From the files of M. Melissa Wolfe

TOWN AND COUNTRY REVIEW

THE LAST OF THE WARRIOR SIOUX

Story of the American Indians

By ELBRIDGE A. BURBANK

Famous American artist who spent a considerable time with various Indian tribes in order to make pictures and drawings.

By reason of their savage victory over the whites in the Custer Massacre, the Sioux had the reputation of being bad Indians, hostile and treacherous. I found them anything but that when I lived among them, painting the portraits of their great Chiefs who had rallied the Sioux war warriors for the last stand of the Indians on the prairie.

The Sioux, who called themselves Dakotas, were the strongest confederation of Indians in the country, judged by man power. As the westward avalanche of the white people pushed the Indians of the Mississippi Valley before it, the Sioux confederation assimilated the tribes which had been driven from their native hunting grounds.

All of these tribes came naturally by their grudge against the white man. They resisted with all of their ability the pale face invasion of the prairies. As the Sioux nation themselves were pushed farther and farther west, they in turn drove their traditional enemies, the Crows, before them until the latter took their stand in the heart of the rockies.

Chief Sitting Bull, Sioux

From a drawing by E. A. Burbank

GREAT NATIONAL HERO

The great national hero among the Sioux was Sitting Bull, who had led them in their last stand against the white man. Everywhere I went I heard stories of Sitting Bull - tales very different from those ordinarily told. Although he was a fierce fighter, Sitting Bull used to love to visit the school where his children were receiving the white mans education. The teacher had a special chair placed for him so that he could sit and listen to the students reciting their lessons. He attended classes day after day with the younger generation.

Sitting Bull was the leader of the Ghost Dance, the mysterious ceremony which gained great influence among the Indians, causing much unrest. It was a dance to prepare for the end of the world, which the Indians believed to be, imminent.

It was the Sioux belief that great clouds of dust would come and cover the earth (very much as they did come in the great Drought of 1934), killing off the white man and their families. The Indians and their children would be saved and their hunting grounds would be returned to them. The Ghost Dance was in the nature of a ceremonial prayer to speed the day.

This dance, plus the Indian belief, led to great unrest on the reservation. The authorities became concerned, and, finally, the teacher in whose classes Sitting Bull used to love to sit decided to speak to him. He asked Sitting Bull to use his power to curb the dance, adding that it was untrue that the white man's world would end. It will only make trouble for the Indians, he said to Sitting Bull.

The great Sioux chief looked at him, then made this reply. Long time ago white people believed much water would come down and drown all the bad people. The situation became so serious that the government agent decided to act, he sent two policemen, both Sioux Indians, to arrest Sitting Bull. They found Sitting Bull taking a nap. He consented to go with them without making trouble.

THE END OF A CHIEF

In the meantime other Indians, learning of his arrest, had gathered in large numbers on the nearby hills. One of these Indians shot a policeman. The other policeman, thinking it was Sitting Bull who had killed his partner, shot Sitting Bull. Buffalo Bill Cody, who was Sitting Bull's friend, had been sent by the government to try to induce the old chief to stop the Ghost Dance. He was only a few miles away when he heard of Sitting Bulls death. Buffalo Bill turned back, satisfied that with Sitting Bull's death the Ghost Dance would end. It did.

I visited Sitting Bull's grave at Fort Yates, South Dakota. However, I learned later that the Indians had exhumed his body and had buried it in another place known only to themselves. The spot was a Sioux shrine hallowed by the memory of their great leader.

One of the greatest of the Sioux chiefs was Red Cloud. He was a good Indian, meaning a chief who had held his tribe in line and had abided by the treaties made with the white men even though the whites themselves consistently disregarded the treaties. Red Cloud had made numerous trips to Washington to see the Great White Father on behalf of the Siouxs (sic).

The Government had built a two-storey house for Red Cloud. I visited him and told him I would pay him if he would pose for his portrait. He stalled me off, saying that he wanted to see what the other Indians thought about it before he would pose. Though I called on him frequently for several months, it was always the same story. Finally, one day, I encountered Red Cloud walking with Chief Spotted Elk, who spoke English well. Using Spotted Elk as an interpreter, I addressed Red Cloud. Tell Red Cloud I am coming out to his house to-morrow to paint his picture. I said, tell him I want him to be ready for me. My things are too heavy to carry all that way for nothing.

Chief Red Cloud, Sioux

From a drawing by E. A. Burbank

RED CLOUD POSES

On the following day I went out wondering whether or not my (text missing). Somewhat to my surprise, I found Red Cloud (text missing) attic, all dressed up in his fine feathers (text missing) turned out to be a fine model. While I was painting his portrait he asked Spotted Elk to tell him how it was getting along. Spotted Elk told Red Cloud that I was making his eyes look as though he could see a long distance. I am glad, said Red Cloud. My friends can see me as I looked when I could see. This was the first intimation I had that he was nearly blind. Red Cloud was so pleased with the things his friends said about the first portrait of him that he came down to my studio later on his own account and posed for another picture, this time wearing his gorgeous yellow beaded jacket.

Although Red Cloud was a good model, he always took too much time out to rest. I would have to hunt him up. Usually, I would find him in the store haranguing the other Siouxs (sic) and denouncing the Crows. He had had many battles with the latter and regarded them as his bitterest enemies. I discovered that at Red Cloud's house his wife was the boss. Any time the Indian Agent or officials wanted something of Red Cloud they went to his wife. Had I known this I might have secured his portrait much sooner.

Rain-in-the-face was one of the most famous of the Sioux Indians, having been one of the leaders in the Custer battle. I was eager to paint his picture - until I saw him. I had asked several Indians to let me know when Rain-in the-face came to town. I was eating my dinner one evening when an Indian told me Rain-in-the- face was in the store. Hurriedly dropping my knife and fork, I went to see him. They pointed out a stolid-looking Indian with a round, German face, dressed in a policeman's uniform. He was about 5 feet 4 inches tall. Having been crippled in the Custer fight, he went about on two crutches. I was so disappointed when I saw him that I did not even speak to him, and went back to finish my dinner. Later on I reconsidered and decided to paint his portrait any way. By that time he had departed for a gathering of the Sioux at a point 40 miles away. A friendly Sioux and French half-breed offered to take me there. Arriving the next morning, I found Rain-in-the-face eating breakfast with some Indian women. Studying his face, I realized that perhaps he did have qualities I had overlooked. A Squaw man whom I knew invited Rain-in-the-face over to meet me. Shortly the famous Sioux rode over on his horse. Through an interpreter I told him about my work, and asked if I might paint his picture.

How much you pay me asked Rain-in-the-face. Two dollars for 6 hours, I said. He readily accepted the offer. However, when I tried to get him to take off his Policeman's uniform and put on his Sioux war costume, he stoutly refused. He said, my dear sir, and pointed to the hundreds of Indians gathered about on the plain. You will not find even an Eagle feather among them, he told me through the interpreter. This was the truth. Few of them had any Indian clothes left. So I painted the great Rain-in-the-face in a blue policeman s uniform. For a studio we used an old abandoned log jail. Rain-in-the-face was a good sitter, but he would pose for only one picture. He was a very sober Indian and would not laugh at the jokes of the other Indians nor have much conversation with them.

ROLLED ON THE GROUND

When the Squaw man who had acted as interpreter for us left, I asked him how to say "It is time to rest", in Sioux, but when I first used the words on Rain-in-the-face he looked at me for a moment in astonishment and then went outside and rolled on the ground laughing. Whatever it was the Squaw man told me to say, Rain-in-the-face found it very funny indeed. An old man clerking in the Indian trading store at Fort Yates told me about an encounter Rain-in-the-face once had with Tom Custer, who was General Custer's brother. One day when Rain-in-the face was in the store, Tom Custer came in and arrested him. As he departed, this old clerk said he heard Rain-in-the-face say in Sioux: "The first chance I get I will cut out your heart and eat it." General Custer's brother died with him in the massacre, and the Indians claimed that Rain-in-the- face made good his threat.

After the Wounded Knee fight, the Sioux abandoned their Indian costumes as they fled. Yellow Bird, a canny Sioux, gathered all the real Indian costumes on that part of the reservation. From his fine collection I was able to fit many a chief in a true war regalia. I was interested to observe how the Sioux fastened eagle feathers to their hair. They bored small holes through the quill and made small braids of their hair, which were threaded through the holes. Thus the feathers looked as though they belonged to the chief's head.

Chief Kicking Bear was one of the most perfect built Indians I have ever seen. When he was in Washington The Smithsonian Institute made a model of his body a representative of the finest physique in the Indian race. After I had painted his portrait, Kicking Bear took a great liking to me. He urged me to come and live with him, an offer which I had to refuse. He had several children and was tremendously fond of them. All of the Indian children on the reservation were required to attend school. One time Kicking Bear's offspring became slightly ill - not seriously, but enough to keep them at home. The authorities thought they were playing hooky, and sent a policeman to bring them to school. Kicking Bear refused to let them go. When the policeman returned the second time he found Kicking Bear standing guard on his porch with a gun in his hand. The matter was reported to the Indian Agent, but he being a sensible man, let it drop. The Indian youngsters, particularly the boys - being true creatures of the wild - resented school. Chief Stinking Bear's son disliked it so much that when he was forced to attend, he shot himself.

Stinking Bear was a noted chief with a keen sense of humour (sic). The portrait I painted of him was one of the most popular pictures I have ever made. One day while he was posing in my studio, a little Indian girl came into the room. My papoose, said Stinking Bear. Give her money - hungry. I gave the little girl a quarter. The next day another papoose came in and Stinking Bear made a similar plea. It cost me another quarter. On the third there was still another papoose. We repeated the ceremony. I was curious to see how far he would carry it, so I contributed a quarter each day until the sixth, when I told him that if he had any more children to bring them in at once so that I could get the charity over with. Stinking Bear saw that the game was up. No more, he said.