Tag Archives: Greasy grass

Which Way, Brothers

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Crow Warriors – Crow Reservation Click to see large version

It was a confusing day for everyone involved that fateful day of Jun 26th, 1876. The battle that was going to go down in history as the most devastating defeat for the American troops of the 7th cavalry they had ever faced, and the greatest victory for the massed Indian tribes gathered in the valley of the Greasy grass had just begun. It would be forever known as the Battle of the Little Bighorn.

The troops of the 7th cavalry had made contact and everyone on that side was gathering up their weapons and racing to get on their horses if they weren’t already mounted, while the Indians had already joined the various groups they were going to fight with and were heading out to different areas where they would meet their foe.

Some of the younger warriors were not affiliated with any warrior group yet but were determined not to be left out of the action. They formed their own small groups of family members and friends and against the advice of the older men were not going to be left out of the fighting. It was their time to become men and they were going to show what they were made of. They were going to battle, but first they had to find it.

As they raced out of the village the first challenge they ran into was, Which way, brothers. Which way to meet their destiny.

After the Battle

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Crow Warrior washing off his horse’s warpaint in the Little Bighorn river

The Crow and every other tribe that used horses in the 1800’s used them for battle as well as other aspects of their life. The horses were used for traveling, moving camp, as a measure of wealth, as dowries, to make it impervious to bullets and protect it’s rider from harm, and as a measure of their prowess as a warrior. The art of stealing horses from enemies was a constant effort and proved the worth and valor of the warrior that was successful in obtaining the most horses.

When they were used for war the horses were often painted with symbols important to its owner. Every mark placed on the horse had a special meaning to its owner and could be religious in nature, or derived from a dream, or to signify who the owner was as they sometimes used the same markings on both rider and horse.

After the battle the markings were removed to preserve their meaning and value, so a trip to the river was in order to remove the paint from both horse and rider. This rider is washing the paint off his mount while standing in The Little Bighorn river just downstream a bit from where the remains of the 7th lay on the hillside in the greasy grass.

Ghost Child

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The battle at the Little Bighorn was a tremendous victory for the gathered tribes against the white soldiers of the United States Western Frontier Army entering their hallowed ground. There had been many smaller engagements between the two adversaries with the Indians normally realizing small victories if any. This time it was different. The overwhelming number of warriors engaged the soldiers and took the victory in fairly short order, handing a defeat to the cavalry unlike any they had ever seen before.

The number of the soldiers of the 7th cavalry killed in the battle at the Little Bighorn river is placed at approximately 260 killed and buried in place where they fell. The number of Indians that were also killed is not exactly known although they were far, far less than their adversaries numbering perhaps in the dozens if that many. Most if not all of the bodies of the slain warriors were removed from the field of battle immediately after the fight was over and taken back to the camp and their families.

The battlefield became a quiet eerie place where the only sounds were the rushing of the wind through the tall Montana grass where the dead had lain and the occasional call of a raven flying overhead. The gunshots, battle cries and the screaming of the victors over the moaning of those still alive after it was over were long gone. Silence reigned supreme over the Greasy Grass. It became a place where the spirits wandered over the low hills and along the riverside. It was a place of big medicine.

As time passed there were the occasional reports of things that couldn’t be explained occurring. A shadowy figure riding slowly in the near dark of impending dusk. The sound of hooves breaking the surface of the gently moving river. A pale rider just visible in the light of a full moon as he crossed slowly from one bank to another. It is unknown whether the young rider was a participant in the battle, becoming a casualty, or simply a dream produced by the medicine of the battle. In any case if you happened to be there now on that long ago battlefield, and by chance stayed until the river was illuminated by the light of a full moon, you might see the ghost child riding on his endless vigil. Remember there is big medicine there. And there are things that cannot be explained.

Open Late

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It was around mid-June, maybe the 14th or 15th of 1876 and General Alfred Terry of the United States Army had led one of the three Columns of troops heading toward the meadow known as the Greasy Grass where the Little Big Horn river flowed gently though the valley. The 7th cavalry was a part of this column under the command of General George Armstrong Custer. A large camp of Lakota and Cheyenne were known to be in the area and a huge battle was imminent.

After one of the three columns were met and turned back by the Indians General Terry halted his column and made camp. He then sent General George Armstrong Custer out with the 7th to gather intelligence on where the Indians might be camped. While Custer was gone time was spent getting the troops and their gear ready for the forthcoming battle. The Quartermaster was in charge of a sort mobile general store filled with military items and it was his job to hand out whatever was needed to keep the troops ready for action. Missing gear was reissued, repairs were made to what ever was broken or damaged, saddle straps mended, rifle slings replaced if necessary, bullet pouches filled, all the necessary small items soldiers carried with them that needed to be ready and in good condition were reconditioned and made ready for the events to come.

The Quartermaster was the person to see for any extra parts and other sundries that might be needed. Since it wasn’t known when they might see action the Quartermaster’s tent was kept open late so everyone could get what they needed. At this time there had been no word back from Custer and the troops took the opportunity to rest and make sure they were as squared away as possible before they moved out. It was a chance to get a little rest, eat some food and get ready for what ever was next. As a result the Quartermaster kept his store open late.

Misses His Friends

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Young men and war. How glorious it is. Sitting around the campfire, hearing the elders talk about battles they had when they were young warriors. Riding out across the prairie with a comrade and speaking of brave deeds you would do if given a chance. Scalps you would take, coup you would count, enemies dying on your lance or from your arrows. The excitement, the stories to bring back to the lodge of your prowess in battle, the admiring glances of the young maidens. All this and more if you can only get into the next fight. How agonizing not to have participated yet and be a respected warrior.

Then it happens. You get your opportunity to wage war with your sworn enemy. In this case it is the blue coats that have been relentlessly entering your land, running off the game, killing anyone they see. They’re coming and it will be a big battle, the biggest anyone has ever seen. The biggest in the memory of even the oldest old man in the village. Bigger even than the old mans grandfather could have remembered were you able to ask him. All the tribes are joining together to take part in this exciting, exhilarating, awful, incredible magnificent event. The medicine men have been singing of visions they have had where the Greasy grass is covered with the dead, the women going from body to body making sure no one is alive. Guns, rifles, and pistols laying about for the taking. Reputations made, brave acts to sing about for generations. And you and your friends will play a part. You will  be the relentless, merciless warrior and be victorious in this battle just as you have dreamed of since you  were a child.

 And then after a time filled with smoke and war cries, violence and death it is over. The Greasy grass is indeed covered with the dead just as foreseen by the visionaries and the spoils of war have been collected and it’s time for feasts and celebrations, and dancing and story telling, and a time to come down from that glorious battle high and look around you for your friends. That’s when you find that several of them are not at the celebration and never will be again. They’re among the dead laying in the Greasy grass. Killed by the enemy you were victorious over.

Suddenly in the aftermath of what was your greatest adventure you see that those friends that you rode with and boasted with and fought alongside of are no more. They are the same as the enemy now, lifeless and scattered across the land waiting for loved ones to come gather them for preparation to spend eternity in that other world where the dead reside. Songs will be sung about them that will live in the hearts of some for a while but the truth is they are gone forever now and will not share anything with you ever again. This death today is permanent. There will be more conquests and defeats for you to come, very likely more  of the latter than the former but those boyhood friends will not be a part of them. Now you think and mourn, the shine has gone off the day and in reflection you find that there is a high price to pay for glory. Perhaps too high but that’s something to think about later. His name tonight is Misses His Friends.