Sitting Bull: The Inglorious Return
GRANT MACEWAN

It was the most difficult decision Sitting Bull had ever been obliged to make. No doubt he repeated the unhappy sentiment communicated to relations at Standing Rock some time earlier: “Once I was strong and brave, and my people had hearts of iron, but now I am a coward and will fight no more forever. My people are cold and hungry. My women are sick and my children freezing. I will do as the Great Father wishes. I will give my guns and ponies into his hands. My arrows are broken and my war paint thrown to the wind.”

With no hope of obtaining a reserve in Canada, he attempted to negotiate for some much-needed supplies for his destitute followers. Inspector A. R. Macdonell, who had taken over the Mounted Police command at Wood Mountain from Inspector Crozier in June, was no more helpful than his predecessor. Sitting Bull's own body was emaciated and even the horses and dogs were weakened from hunger. Called to the Police headquarters a few days after his return from Qu'Appelle, Bull was as stubborn as ever and Inspector Macdonell, not knowing what was in the Chief's mind, became impatient and ordered him to leave.

Jean Louis Legaré, the tall, friendly and courteous French-Canadian trader, had befriended the Sioux from the day the first band crossed the Boundary to pitch tipis in Canada almost five years earlier. After Walsh, Legaré ranked as the white man in whom the Indians had the greatest confidence. Most traders placed profits far ahead of a reputation for honest dealing and cared but little for Indian welfare. Earlier in the summer, Legaré had provisioned a group of local Sioux and had accompanied them to Fort Buford. He was ready to go again, this time with a bigger prize, Sitting Bull. But he knew the necessity of caution and diplomacy; the Americans had hinted at a reward for anyone who succeeded in bringing Sitting Bull to surrender and if the Chief was given reason to suspect that the trader was using him for personal gain, he would certainly have shown how obstinate he would be.

Sitting Bull gave Legaré the opportunity to repeat the oft-sounded advice about returning and then surprised the trader by saying he would consider going back if assured of sufficient provisions for his immediate needs as well as for the long trip. Jean Louis agreed to supply the wagons, carts, horses and helpers needed, and to escort the Indians personally to see that they were properly received at the American post.

Having received Bull's word, Jean Louis became the man of the hour and the Police recognized the magnitude of the task he was undertaking. Moving about 200 men, women and children with their tipis and belongings would require considerable equipment and Jean Louis, understanding from Major Brotherton that the United States would reimburse him for expenses, was prepared to back the operation with all the resources he could command. Since the freetraders had no business dealings with the Hudson's Bay Company, it was necessary to cart supplies over the long trail from St. Paul in Minnesota and costs were high. Jean Louis took stock of his reserves and furnished ten bags of flour as an advance payment, agreeing to have ten more for the journey. But as the day for departure drew near, the Chief protested that Legaré was loading nine bags, not ten. Sitting Bull could not read but he could certainly count.

When Legaré's cavalcade of wagons and carts was ready, the Chief announced that he would require another ten days to reconsider. Legaré was exasperated but he did not dare offend the Chief and run the risk of inviting refusal to go through with the plan. He accepted, with the understanding of a definite deadline, July 11, 1881. In the meantime, Legaré was feeding the Indians, and as a means of sustaining their confidence even provided a feast with gifts of tobacco.

It was not a joyful departure. Minutes before Jean Louis gave the signal to start, several families withdrew, determined to remain in Canada whatever it might hold for them.

The cavalcade was the biggest seen in those parts since the Mounted Police trek of seven years earlier. Thirty-five wagons, three carts, an undetermined number of horse-drawn travois and 60 or more horses with riders moved away in disorderly array. Wagons were piled high with supplies and tipis. Women and children rode on top or walked behind and kept company with the numerous dogs. There were still Indians, particularly men, who refused to ride on the white man's wagon wheels, which they saw as symbols of evil. Among the Métis guides was Jean Chartrand, who lived long and often related the experiences of the trip. He recalled Sitting Bull's insistence that his own mounted warriors act as advance and rear guards for the expedition. The man who showed no fear on the battlefield was now fearful that his enemies would take advantage of his weakened position and swoop down to kill.

The travellers were ten miles along the way when they pitched tipis for the first night. Legaré ordered one of his Métis helpers to make the first distribution of supplies: flour, bacon, tea and sugar. Even then there was argument about the rations being too small. One excited Indian drew his revolver and blasted a bag of the flour until the contents were lost. Legaré was most anxious to avoid trouble and submissively replaced the damaged bag. But at this point he realized that his total stock of one ton of flour would not be enough to feed the 200 or 225 people until they reached Buford, and knew he must make other arrangements. After the Indians had settled down for the night, he instructed two of his most reliable Métis guides to ride through the darkness and advise Brotherton at Fort Buford that he was on the way but faced a serious food shortage which could wreck the entire plan. He requested a wagonload of meat and flour to be sent forward with all possible haste—but without a military escort which might alarm the Indians.

Major Brotherton was as anxious as Legaré to see this mission completed. On his instructions, Captain Walter Clifford and a small staff proceeded with two loaded wagons to meet Legaré. The Major understood Legaré's worry about creating needless alarm and he took a further precaution. There existed a danger that an American force in the area might confront Sitting Bull's Sioux and spoil the plan by trying to effect a capture in the field. To guard against this, Captain Clifford carried specific orders to take immediate command of any troops in the area to ensure against any action likely to alarm the Indians or interfere with their voluntary surrender. Clifford accompanied the wagons while the Métis made a wide detour, rejoining Sitting Bull's party from the rear, thereby avoiding any appearance of collusion.

As Legaré expected, Sitting Bull was disturbed by the approach of the Americans but when informed that the loads were made up exclusively of flour and pemmican, and were intended for his people, he acceded. The supplies had arrived none too soon. Legaré's stocks were becoming dangerously low, and now the arrival of fresh provisions called for a celebration before going on.

Captain Clifford had a pleasant personality and his smile alone was enough to set Sitting Bull at ease. He was able to answer certain questions which seemed to be bothering the Chief; one concerning the Chief's daughter who had eloped with a young man from Wood Mountain and then surrendered at Fort Buford. A rumour had reached her father that she was held prisoner in chains at Fort Yates. Clifford was able to tell the old man that the girl was well and free. Pleased with the good news, the Chief seemed almost ready to forgive Clifford for wearing the uniform of the United States army.

Two days later, on July 19, Legaré's wagons reached Fort Buford and the Indians were apprehensive. The United States troops were lined up imposingly with their guns ready. In the background was the fort, the symbol of the new authority in their lives. Major Brotherton advanced to greet Legaré and smiled at Sitting Bull, who continued to sit stoically on his old cream-coloured horse. His blanket was drawn to hide his face and he was in no hurry to dismount or to indulge in handshaking. A sign of a smile came only when he recognized Inspector A. R. Macdonell, who had ridden in from Wood Mountain to be present for this occasion. Sitting Bull had not known Macdonell long. He knew this Inspector could be firm and tough but the Chief liked him much better than the efficient and rather overbearing Crozier.

Macdonell greeted the Chief and told him what Brotherton had planned. The Sioux would give up their guns and some of their horses and could then pitch tipis beside the fort and prepare to eat all they wanted of United States government food. “And when you're ready,” Macdonell added, “we'll have a meeting in Major Brotherton's office—Brotherton and Legaré and you and I will talk about the plans they have for you.”

The Indians dismounted, dutifully deposited their guns, and then gathered in small groups or strolled aimlessly beside the river. Sitting Bull alone sat motionless on his horse until Macdonell signalled to him to come to Major Brotherton's office. The Chief responded slowly, his reluctance showing in every step. He took with him one of his young sons, the one named Crowfoot because of his admiration for the Blackfoot Chief. The officer was wise enough to know that the presence of Macdonell and Legaré would make it easier for him to give the impression of good faith on the part of the Government.

Brotherton explained that as soon as possible, Bull and his followers would be transported down river to Fort Yates and Standing Rock Reservation where most of the Sioux from Wood Mountain were already located. There, the Major was sure, Sitting Bull could live peacefully and comfortably. As long as he refrained from hostile acts, he would not be molested by soldiers.

Sitting Bull sat as motionless as a marble statue—and just as silent. He knew it would be his last chance to speak in the presence of the Canadians. Finally, he broke the silence. He was now convinced that surrender on his part was the proper decision, distasteful as it might be. He hoped that he and his people would still be allowed some liberties. He hoped he would be allowed to hunt and even tramp back to visit Wood Mountain. He wished those of his tribe who remained at Wood Mountain would now decide to join him here. Turning to Inspector Macdonell and his friend, the trader, he said: “Tell them to come. Tell them I said so. They'll be all right here.”

Then he lifted his old rifle from under his blanket, handed it to his seven-year-old son and said: “You take your father's gun. I surrender it through you. You must learn the ways of the whites and how to live with them. I'm too old to learn much. And remember, your father was the last Sioux to surrender his gun.”

With the least possible delay, riverboats were requisitioned and Sitting Bull and all the disarmed Sioux were on their way to the Indian agency at Standing Rock, downstream on the Missouri. Captain Clifford, the officer in charge, had twenty soldiers with him but said he did not feel the need for any; his charges were perfectly orderly. The dispatch from Fort Buford, dated July 29, 1881, reporting Sitting Bull and 187 of his band leaving by steamer for Standing Rock that day added only: “Bull was silent and reserved.”

Along the way, the Chief became the object of great interest. Crowds turned out at stopping places to gaze at this man whose name had for so long filled North Americans with terror. He returned their stares with fixed defiance. With him were five other chiefs: White Dog, Scarlet Thunder, High-As-The-Clouds, Four Horns and Bone Tomahawk. With him, also, were his two wives, children, sisters and his aged father.

As the boat splashed its way downstream, nobody in the Indian party was finding more entertainment from passing scenes than Sitting Bull's father. Having made very few contacts with the new race except in warfare, much that the old man saw was strange and new to him. For the first time in his life he saw the white man's villages and towns, and even more amazing, a railroad track with a train on it. He had seen wagons on the trails and steamboats on the rivers and felt quite reconciled to these but steam engines running on rails frightened him, as a news report from Bismarck, dated August 1, 1881, noted:

Sitting Bull arrived here yesterday … He arrives at Standing Rock today … He has great fear of locomotives. The terror of the North, the hero of a hundred battles, the Indian brave who never quailed before the arrow, the tomahawk or the rifle, is afraid of a locomotive. It evinces a power quite beyond his comprehension, and for once he feels himself awed into realization of his utter inability to cope with the forces of civilization. Wherever the locomotive penetrates, the savage is subdued.

Sitting Bull's arrival at Standing Rock, without arms, without horses, marked the end of one of the most important chapters in North American history. The United States military beheld it with the sense of relief. The Indian Wars which plagued the West for so many years appeared to have ended.

^ BACK TO TOP