Indian Policy Reform Extract from President Chester Arthur's First Annual Message to Congress

Indian Policy Reform
Extract from President Chester Arthur's
First Annual Message to Congress

It has been easier to resort to convenient makeshifts for tiding over temporary difficulties than to grapple with the great permanent problem, and accordingly the easier course has almost invariably been pursued.

It was natural, at a time when the national territory seemed almost illimitable and contained many millions of acres far outside the bounds of civilized settlements, that a policy should have been initiated which more than aught else has been the fruitful source of our Indian complications.

I refer, of course, to the policy of dealing with the various Indian tribes as separate nationalities, of relegating them by treaty stipulations to the occupancy of immense reservations in the West, and of encouraging them to live a savage life, undisturbed by any earnest and well-directed efforts to bring them under the influences of civilization.

The unsatisfactory results which have sprung from this policy are becoming apparent to all.

As the white settlements have crowded the borders of the reservations, the Indians, sometimes contentedly and sometimes against their will, have been transferred to other hunting grounds, from which they have again been dislodged whenever their new-found homes have been desired by the adventurous settlers.

These removals and the frontier collisions by which they have often been preceded have led to frequent and disastrous conflicts between the races.

It is profitless to discuss here which of them has been chiefly responsible for the disturbances whose recital occupies so large a space upon the pages of our history.

We have to deal with the appalling fact that though thousands of lives have been sacrificed and hundreds of millions of dollars expended in the attempt to solve the Indian problem, it has until within the past few years seemed scarcely nearer a solution than it was half a century ago.

For the success of the efforts now making to introduce among the Indians the customs and pursuits of civilized life and gradually to absorb them into the mass of our citizens, sharing their rights and holden to their responsibilities, there is imperative need for legislative action.

My suggestions in that regard will be chiefly such as have been already called to the attention of Congress and have received to some extent its consideration.

First. I recommend the passage of an act making the laws of the various States and Territories applicable to the Indian reservations within their borders and extending the laws of the State of Arkansas to the portion of the Indian Territory not occupied by the Five Civilized Tribes.

The Indian should receive the protection of the law. He should be allowed to maintain in court his rights of person and property. He has repeatedly begged for this privilege. Its exercise would be very valuable to him in his progress toward civilization.

Second. Of even greater importance is a measure which has been frequently recommended by my predecessors in office, and in furtherance of which several bills have been from time to time introduced in both Houses of Congress. The enactment of a general law permitting the allotment in severalty, to such Indians, at least, as desire it, of a reasonable quantity of land secured to them by patent, and for their own protection made inalienable for twenty or twenty-five years, is demanded for their present welfare and their permanent advancement.

In return for such considerate action on the part of the Government, there is reason to believe that the Indians in large numbers would be persuaded to sever their tribal relations and to engage at once in agricultural pursuits. Many of them realize the fact that their hunting days are over and that it is now for their best interests to conform their manner of life to the new order of things. By no greater inducement than the assurance of permanent title to the soil can they be led to engage in the occupation of tilling it.

The well-attested reports of the their increasing interest in husbandry justify the hope and belief that the enactment of such a statute as I recommend would be at once attended with gratifying results. A resort to the allotment system would have a direct and powerful influence in dissolving the tribal bond, which is so prominent a feature of savage life, and which tends so strongly to perpetuate it.

Third. I advise a liberal appropriation for the support of Indian schools, because of my confident belief that such a course is consistent with the wisest economy. . . .

The Dawes Act

February 8, 1887
An act to provide for the allotment of lands in severalty to Indians on the various reservations, and to extend the protection of the laws of the United States and the Territories over the Indians, and for other purposes.

Be it enacted by . . . Congress . . . That in all cases where any tribe or band of Indians has been . . . located upon any reservation created for their use . . . the President of the United States be . . . authorized, whenever in his opinion any reservation or any part thereof of such Indians is advantageous for agricultural and grazing purposes . . . to be surveyed . . . and to allot the lands in said reservation in severalty to any Indian located thereon in quantities as follows:

To each head of a family, one-quarter of a section;

To each single person over eighteen years of age, one-eighth of a section;

To each orphan child under eighteen years of age, one-eighth of a section; and

To each other single person under eighteen years now living, or who may be born prior to the date of the order of the President directing an allotment of the lands embraced in any reservation, one-sixteenth of a section . . .

The once proud Sioux found their free-roaming life destroyed, the buffalo gone, themselves confined to reservations dependent on Indian Agents for their existence. In a desperate attempt to return to the days of their glory, many sought salvation in a new mysticism preached by a Paiute shaman called Wovoka. Emissaries from the Sioux in South Dakota traveled to Nevada to hear his words. Wovoka called himself the Messiah and prophesied that the dead would soon join the living in a world in which the Indians could live in the old way surrounded by plentiful game. A tidal wave of new soil would cover the earth, bury the whites, and restore the prairie. To hasten the event, the Indians were to dance the Ghost Dance. Many dancers wore brightly colored shirts emblazoned with images of eagles and buffaloes. These "Ghost Shirts" they believed would protect them from the bluecoats' bullets. During the fall of 1890, the Ghost Dance spread through the Sioux villages of the Dakota reservations, revitalizing the Indians and bringing fear to the whites. A desperate Indian Agent at Pine Ridge wired his superiors in Washington, "Indians are dancing in the snow and are wild and crazy. . . . We need protection and we need it now. The leaders should be arrested and confined at some military post until the matter is quieted, and this should be done now." The order went out to arrest Chief Sitting Bull at the Standing Rock Reservation. Sitting Bull was killed in the attempt on December 15. Chief Big Foot was next on the list.

When he heard of Sitting Bull's death, Big Foot led his people south to seek protection at the Pine Ridge Reservation. The army intercepted the band on December 28 and brought them to the edge of the Wounded Knee to camp. The next morning the chief, racked with pneumonia and dying, sat among his warriors and powwowed with the army officers. Suddenly the sound of a shot pierced the early morning gloom. Within seconds the charged atmosphere erupted as Indian braves scurried to retrieve their discarded rifles and troopers fired volley after volley into the Sioux camp. From the heights above, the army's Hotchkiss guns raked the Indian teepees with grapeshot. Clouds of gun smoke filled the air as men, women and children scrambled for their lives. Many ran for a ravine next to the camp only to be cut down in a withering cross fire.

When the smoke cleared and the shooting stopped, approximately 300 Sioux were dead, Big Foot among them. Twenty-five soldiers lost their lives. As the remaining troopers began the grim task of removing the dead, a blizzard swept in from the North. A few days later they returned to complete the job. Scattered fighting continued, but the massacre at Wounded Knee effectively squelched the Ghost Dance movement and ended the Indian Wars.

I was interpreting for General Forsyth just before the battle of Wounded Knee, December 29, 1890. The captured Indians had been ordered to give up their arms, but Big Foot replied that his people had no arms. Forsyth said to me, “Tell Big Foot he says the Indians have no arms, yet yesterday they were well armed when they surrendered. He is deceiving me. Tell him he need have no fear in giving up his arms, as I wish to treat him kindly.” Big Foot replied, “They have no guns, except such as you have found.” Forsyth declared, “You are lying to me in return for my kindness.”

During this time a medicine man, gaudily dressed and fantastically painted, executed the maneuvers of the ghost dance, raising and throwing dust into the air. He exclaimed “Ha! Ha!” as he did so, meaning he was about to do something terrible, and said, “I have lived long enough,” meaning he would fight until he died. Turning to the young warriors who were squatted together, he said “Do not fear, but let your hearts be strong. Many soldiers are about us and have many bullets, but I am assured their bullets cannot penetrate us. The prairie is large, and their bullets will fly over the prairies and will not come toward us. If they do come toward us, they will float away like dust in the air.” I turned to Major Whitside and said, “That man is making mischief,” and repeated what he had said. Whitside replied, “Go direct to Colonel Forsyth and tell him about it,” which I did.

Forsyth and I went to the circle of warriors where he told me to tell the medicine man to sit down and keep quiet, but he paid no attention to the order. Forsyth repeated the order. Big Foot's brother-in-law answered, “He will sit down when he gets around the circle.” When the medicine man came to the end of the circle, he squatted down. A cavalry sergeant exclaimed, “There goes an Indian with a gun under his blanket!” Forsyth ordered him to take the gun from the Indian, which he did. Whitside then said to me, “Tell the Indians it is necessary that they be searched one at a time.” The young warriors paid no attention to what I told them. I heard someone on my left exclaim, “Look out! Look out!” I saw five or six young warriors cast off their blankets and pull guns out from under them and brandish them in the air. One of the warriors shot into the soldiers, who were ordered to fire into the Indians. I looked in the direction of the medicine man. He or some other medicine man approached to within three or four feet of me with a long cheese knife, ground to a sharp point and raised to stab me. He stabbed me during the melee and nearly cut off my nose. I held him off until I could swing my rifle to hit him, which I did. I shot and killed him in self-defense.

“Troop K” was drawn up between the tents of the women and children and the main body of the Indians, who had been summoned to deliver their arms. The Indians began firing into “Troop K” to gain the canyon of Wounded Knee creek. In doing so they exposed their women and children to their own fire. Captain Wallace was killed at this time while standing in front of his troops. A bullet, striking him in the forehead, plowed away the top of his head. I started to pull off my nose, which was hung by the skin, but Lieutenant Guy Preston shouted, “My God Man! Don't do that! That can be saved.” He then led me away from the scene of the trouble.


Quanah Parker:

Comanches Adapt to Reservation Life²⁹
Quanah Parker was the last Chief of the Comanches and never lost a battle to the white man. His tribe roamed over the area where Pampas stands. He was never captured by the Army, but decided to surrender and lead his tribe into the white man's culture, only when he saw that there was no alternative.

His was the last tribe in the Staked Plains to come into the reservation system.

Quanah, meaning "fragrant," was born about 1850, son of Comanche Chief Peta Nocona and Cynthia Ann Parker, a white girl who had been taken captive during the 1836 raid on Parker's Fort, Texas. Cynthia Ann Parker, along with her daughter Prairie Flower, was recaptured by whites during an 1860 raid on the Pease River in northwest Texas. She had spent 24 years among the Comanche, however, and thus never readjusted to living with the whites again. Ironically, Cynthia Ann's eldest son would adjust remarkably well to living among the white men. But first he would lead a bloody war against them.

A few years after his mother’s recapture, Quanah’s father died of an infected wound. Quanah's brother Pecos died of smallpox in 1863 and a few months later Prairie Flower died of influenza. Cynthia Ann starved herself to death mourning the loss of her two youngest children. Quanah, now an orphan, was taken in by one of his father's other wives, but she too later died.

Quanah was an outcast in his tribe being part white, a fact he did not know until after his mother had been returned to her white family. After his stepmother's death Quanah had to forage and fend for himself. He worked harder at being a proper Comanche warrior then most of the other boys. He excelled at hunting but still could not break the barrier of his mixed blood.

The Chieftainship is not hereditary; one must earn the right to be called chief. There are two qualifications. First, one must have an outstanding war record. Second, the candidate must show concern for his followers. Quanah excelled as a warrior but as a youth he did not prove to be always so generous with his followers. He did keep the best horses and lions share of the stolen booty for himself. He did provide well for his followers on the reservation in later years. Providing for his followers and the guests that came to visit, sometimes unannounced, necessitated Quanah to seek loans in the last years of his life.

Quanah fell in love with Weakeah but her father, Ekitaocup, forbid their marriage. The young couple eloped and spent several years out on the plains with a growing tribe of which Quanah was the leader. He was gaining a reputation as a fierce warrior and capable leader. Eventually Weakeah's father accepted the marriage and they were able to return to the Comanche Nation. Years later Ekitaocup accompanied Quanah to Fort Worth where he died in an accident. This accident almost killed Quanah too. It also almost ended his career.

Quanah joined the raiding parties of his father's old band and the band of his father-in-law. During one raid the leader, Bear's Ear, was killed. Usually after the leader was killed the raiders would become disoriented and cease the raid or scatter and loose their booty. Bear's Ear was killed after the raid while they were being pursued. The raiding party had reached the Red River. They had planned to cross the Red River farther west but with the death of Bear's Ear confusion ruled. Quanah shouted to the men to head north to the river where they crossed the river to safety. His actions saved the remainder of the raiding party and their stolen horses. This lead to his being accepted as a true leader. It gained him the right to speak openly in tribal council, something only the most noteworthy obtained.

“Quanah Parker, prior to the reservation”—C.M. Bell

In 1867, a faction of the Comanche Nation, as well as other tribes, signed the Treaty of Medicine Lodge with the American government. This treaty would confined the southern Plains Indians to a reservation in exchange for the government’s promise to clothe the Indians and turn them into farmers, in the imitation of the white settlers. Quanah and his Comanche faction, of whom his father had been chief, refused to accept the provisions of the treaty.

Knowing of past lies and deceptive treaties of the "white man", Quanah continued to lead and join raiding parties even after the signing of the Treaty of Medicine Lodge. In 1874, Colonel R. S. Mackenzie found Quanah's hidden encampment at Palo Duro Canyon. Leading a charge that scattered the tribes’ horses and people, Mackenzie succeeded in breaking many of the Comanches under the command of Quanah. It was another year before Quanah gave up.

Mackenzie sent Dr. Jacob J. Sturm, a physician and post interpreter, to solicit the Quahada's surrender. Dr. Sturm found Quanah, whom he called "a young man of much influence with his people," and pleaded his case.

According to oral tradition, Quanah was unsure of taking his tribe to the reservation. He climbed a mesa at Caon Blanco to meditate on his mother's life. She had been captured as a child and adapted to the Comanche way of life. She later was recaptured by the whites and taken back to her family. While sitting at the top he noticed a wolf below him. The wolf looked up at him, howled and then turned northeastward towards Fort Sill. Quanah then looked up to see an eagle gliding overhead; it too headed northeastward. Quanah took this to be a sign and led his people to Fort Sill and a new way of life.

Dr. Sturm then chose Quanah to be one of the messengers to Colonel Mackenzie. Quanah and the other messengers reached Fort Sill the evening of May 13, 1875. Within a few days Quanah had approached Mackenzie concerning the whereabouts of his mother. Mackenzie sent a letter to the quartermaster of Denison, Texas, asking about Cynthia Ann Parker and her daughter. He received two responses both stating that both mother and child were dead. This interest in his mother proved to be a bonus to Quanah. Mackenzie took an added interest in him and gave him special duties that aided his ascent up the ladder of power at Fort Sill.

Shortly after his arrival at Fort Sill, Mackenzie sent Quanah into the field to retrieve some runaways. Two months after leaving the reservation he returned with 21 runaways. He pleaded the case for the runaways asking for clemency. He made the whites happy by bringing in the runaways and made the runaways happy by keeping them out of prison. Thus started Quanah Parkers career in politics.

Reservation life required a complete societal change for the Comanches. Quanah desired to traveling the "white man's road," but he did it his way. He refused to give up polygamy and the spiritual tradition of using peyote, much to the reservation agents' chagrin.

Reservation agents being political appointees of the Federal Government, their main concern was to destroy all vestiges of Native American life and replace their culture with that of theirs. Never before in the history of the Comanche Nation had there been one central leader. Prior to reservation life every clan had their own chief. Actually two chiefs, one for peacetime and one for war. The white "overlords" were unable to accept this kind of political system and imposed a white political system on the Comanches. Quanah was chosen by the reservation agent to be the primary chief. Quanah proved to be influential not only with the Comanches but also with the Kiowa and Apaches with whom they shared the reservation.

In the North Plains the Ghost Dance cult was forming. Quanah scoffed at the Ghost Dance. Some Indians at the reservation did follow the Ghost Dance but most did not. There are several theories as to why Quanah did not follow the Ghost Dance. The Ghost Dancers were told that their shirts made them impervious to bullets, the same thing Eschiti had told the Comanches prior to the battle at Adobe Walls. Others speculate that Quanah would not follow another's teachings because he wanted to be the leader. While still others simply state the ideals of the Plains Indians religious beliefs.

The Bureau of Indian Affairs was to supply the Comanches on the reservation with food, clothing, blankets and other necessities per the Treaty of Medicine Lodge. The Treaty also stated that the natives could hunt to supplement the supplies given by the government. The game was very scarce on the reservation and feelings towards the natives were very tense off of the reservation. The Comanches needed military escorts to go hunting off of the reservation. After one such hunting trip that had ended in failure, Quanah and his hunting party were accused of stealing horses. In defense Quanah pointed to the horses they rode showing their poor condition. If they had stolen horses they would have stolen horses in better shape then those they rode. Considering the Comanches knowledge of horseflesh this would have been true.

The Comanches began ranching. They started raising cattle. But they also had a problem with the ranchers in the area. Many ranchers from Texas would drive their cattle across the reservation to take their stock to market. The reservation consisted of 3,000,000 acres of land with a population of 3,000 Native Americans. Ranchers used the western section on their way to Dodge City. Because of the ranchers using the land the Bureau of Indian Affairs encouraged the Indians not to use the western section of the reservation.

Quanah saw this as an opportunity to provide for his people. He received a letter from the Indian Agent at the reservation; the letter recognized him as Chief of the Comanches. He would go out into the area where ranchers were seen driving their herds. He would approach the trail boss and show him the letter. He would offer advise as to where the good grass and water was and extract a payment in head of cattle. In this manner he provided extra food for those who followed him.

Quanah also leased out sections of "his" pasture to the Texas ranchers. This was not an actual lease. What he would do is care for the ranchers stock saying it was his own. The rancher would pay a nice sum of money to Quanah for this service. Quanah was paid $50 per month and his four employees were paid $25 per month.

The ranchers approached the Bureau of Indian Affairs with a proposal of leasing the western section of the reservation. At first Quanah was anti-lease. His profitable relationship with the ranchers lead to his conversion to being pro-lease. December 1884 saw the signing of the first lease agreement. The ranchers leased the land at $.06 per acre. The money received from this lease agreement was referred to as "grass money". The "grass money" was divided up equally amongst the Indians on the reservation, but held in trust by the Federal Government.

During the time of the lease agreements Quanah Parker flourished financially. Quanah was close friends with the ranchers. During their time leasing the rangeland the ranchers provided Quanah with an invaluable education, an education that he was to use later when dealing with the government concerning allotments.

In 1888 Quanah farmed 150 acres. In 1890 Quanah had 425 head of cattle, 200 hogs, 3 wagons, 1 buggy and 160 horses. Quanah was a celebrity, hosting several dignitaries of his time, including hosting a wolf hunt for President Theodore Roosevelt.

Roosevelt understood the Indians. He understood why they fought so fiercely to save their land. Roosevelt was an outdoorsman and as such loved and respected nature. The hunting expedition with Quanah served as the avenue for Roosevelt being made aware of the plight of the Native American. This did prompt Roosevelt to veto the Stephens Bill to open the reservation to settlement. Several months later Roosevelt did sign the revised bill on June 5, 1906.

The Jerome Commission came to the reservation on September 19, 1892. The Jerome Commissions duty was to convince the Indians to sign a treaty allowing allotting of land. The allotments were to be 160 acres each, per the Dawes Act. The Treaty of Medicine Lodge had stated that when allotments occurred the lots were to be 320 acres each. According to The Treaty of Medicine Lodge allotting of the land was to happen in 1898. Quanah pointed this out in one of the meetings. He also started asking how much per acre were the Indians going to get for the land that was being opened up for settlement. An estimate of $2,000,000 had been given for the sum total of money the Indians would receive for the land. The following is an excerpt of this discussion between Quanah Parker and Commissioner Sayre:

Quanah Parker: How much per acre?

Mr. Sayre: I can not tell you.

Quanah Parker: How do you arrive at the number of million dollars if you do not know?

Mr. Sayre: We just guess at it.

Because of Quanah's line of questioning Commissioner Jerome had came up with some figures to give him the next day. But Quanah was onto another line of questioning, he started lobbying for an additional $500,000. Lone Wolf of the Kiowas expressed concern for the more impoverished and less educated of the reservation. Quanah agreed with Lone Wolf and went on to say:

There has been several statements as to the amount of money that we receive. It is a great deal of money to be paid each person, and if the Indian makes good use of it he can live like Tanananaka and myself. You look around you and see so many good faces, but they will take their money and buy whiskey. . . . We think we understand what the commission has said to us, but do not think the commission has understood what we have said. . . . This land is ours, just like your farm is yours; but for one reason we cannot hold on to ours, because on the right had is what you are trying to do and on the left hand is the Dawes bill.

Quanah had realized he could not stop the allotments, but he could postpone them. He knew he had two options. One, deal with the Jerome Commission or two let the Dawes Act dictate what happened. He chose to deal with the Jerome Commission. It took the Jerome Commission one month to accomplish getting the "signatures" they were after.

Quanah told the commission that as long as the Jerome Agreement was not ratified he would continue to see to the leasing of the grassland. The Jerome Agreement was ratified 1900. The version that passing the House in March 1900 gave each Indian 160 acres, but it did not guarantee them money for the remainder of the land. The Indian Rights Association lobbied against this bill. In a statement they condemned it by saying:

utterly destructive of that honor and good faith which should characterize our dealings with any people, and especially with one too weak to enforce their rights as against us by any other means than an appeal to our sense of justice.

This pressure lead to another version of the Jerome Agreement. This version gave each Indian 160 acres, an additional 480,000 acres of land to be held communally, and guaranteed the Indians would receive at least $500,000 of the $2,000,000 purchase price for the surplus land. This was the version of the Jerome Agreement that was ratified in 1900. Provisions were also made for the children that had been born during the time of the signing of the Jerome Agreement and its ratification.

Quanah never learned to read but he spoke three languages, Comanche, Spanish and English. Realizing that the only way for his people to survive was to acculturate he encouraged education. Ironically, his own children were not always in school. Lack of space in the schools kept them from attending regularly. In 1893, the Fort Sill Boarding School opened. The addition of this school afforded many children, Quanah's included, the opportunity for an education they would not have otherwise received.

Because of the lack of a school in his area Quanah had enrolled his son Kelsey in a white school in Cache. The residents of Cache protested an Indian in their school. Officially the reason given for Kelsey being denied access to the school was that he lived outside of the school district. So Quanah enrolled Kelsey in the Fort Sill School. Kelsey was not happy. Quanah said of the Indian school:

“Quanah Parker, after to the reservation”—C.M. Bell

In 1908 Quanah offered a piece of his property to be used for a school. The reason for the proposed school was that many Indian and white children in the area where Quanah lived were not in any school district. This school never was built. Rumor was that Quanah's son, White Parker, was to be the teacher. Quanah wanted a white teacher; he felt that an Indian teacher would not speak English well enough to truly teach the children.

On December 4, 1910, Quanah re-interred his mother's remains. He had brought her body up from Texas to Oklahoma. During the ceremony he said:

Forty years ago my mother died. She captured by Comanches, nine years old. Love Indian and wild life so well no want to go back to white folks. All same people anyway, God say. I love my mother. I like my white people. Got great heart. I want my people to follow after white way, get educated, know work, make living when payments stop. I tell 'em they got to know how to pick cotton, plow corn. I want them know white man's God. Comanche may die today, tomorrow, ten years. When end comes then they all be together again. I want see my mother again then.

Quanah Parker died on February 23, 1911, and was buried next to his mother at Ft. Sill Military cemetery on Chiefs Knoll in Oklahoma. For his courage, integrity and tremendous insight, Quanah Parker's life tells the story of one of America's greatest leaders and a true hero.

Biographer Bill Neeley writes:

"Not only did Quanah pass within the span of a single lifetime from a Stone Age warrior to a statesman in the age of the Industrial Revolution, but he accepted the challenge and responsibility of leading the whole Comanche tribe on the difficult road toward their new existence."

Of these, 130,000 are self-supporting on their own reservations, "receiving nothing from the Government except interest on their own moneys, or annuities granted them in consideration of the cession of their lands to the United States."

Of the remainder, 84,000 are partially supported by the Government-the interest money due them and their annuities, as provided by treaty, being inadequate to their subsistence on the reservations where they are confined.

There are about 55,000 who never visit an agency, over whom the Government does not pretend to have either control or care. These 55,000 "subsist by hunting, fishing, on roots, nuts, berries, etc., and by begging and stealing"; and this also seems to dispose of the accusation that the Indian will not "work for a living." There remains a small portion, about 31,000, that are entirely subsisted by the Government.

There is not among these three hundred bands of Indians one which has not suffered cruelly at the hands either of the Government or of white settlers. The poorer, the more insignificant, the more helpless the band, the more certain the cruelty and outrage to which they have been subjected. This is especially true of the bands on the Pacific slope. These Indians found themselves of a sudden surrounded by and caught up in the great influx of gold-seeking settlers, as helpless creatures on a shore are caught up in a tidal wave. There was not time for the Government to make treaties; not even time for communities to make laws. The tale of the wrongs, the oppressions, the murders of the Pacific-slope Indians in the last thirty years would be a volume by itself, and is too monstrous to be believed.

It makes little difference, however, where one opens the record of the history of the Indians; every page and every year has its dark stain. The story of one tribe is the story of all, varied only differences of time and place; but neither time nor place makes any difference in the main facts. Colorado is as greedy and unjust in 1880 as was Georgia in 1830, and Ohio in 1795; and the United States Government breaks promises now as deftly as then, and with an added ingenuity from long practice.

One of its strongest supports in so doing is the wide-spread sentiment among the people of dislike to the Indian, of impatience with his presence as a "barrier to civilization" and distrust of it as a possible danger. The old tales of the frontier life, with its horrors of Indian warfare, have gradually, by two or three generations' telling, produced in the average mind something like an hereditary instinct of questioning and unreasoning aversion which it is almost impossible to dislodge or soften. . . .

President after president has appointed commission after commission to inquire into and report upon Indian affairs, and to make suggestions as to the best methods of managing them. The reports are filled with eloquent statements of wrongs done to the Indians, of perfidies on the part of the Government; they counsel, as earnestly as words can, a trial of the simple and unperplexing expedients of telling truth, keeping promises, making fair bargains, dealing justly in all ways and all things. These reports are bound up with the Government's Annual Reports, and that is the end of them. . . .

The history of the Government connections with the Indians is a shameful record of broken treaties and unfulfilled promises. The history of the border white man's connection with the Indians is a sickening record of murder, outrage, robbery, and wrongs committed by the former, as the rule, and occasional savage outbreaks and unspeakably barbarous deeds of retaliation by the latter, as the exception.

Taught by the Government that they had rights entitled to respect, when those rights have been assailed by the rapacity of the white man, the arm which should have been raised to protect them has ever been ready to sustain the aggressor.

The testimony of some of the highest military officers of the United States is on record to the effect that, in our Indian wars, almost without exception, the first aggressions have been made by the white man. . . . Every crime committed by a white man against an Indian is concealed and palliated. Every offense committed by an Indian against a white man is borne on the wings of the post or the telegraph to the remotest corner of the land, clothed with all the horrors which the reality or imagination can throw around it. Against such influences as these are the people of the United States need to be warned.

To assume that it would be easy, or by any one sudden stroke of legislative policy possible, to undo the mischief and hurt of the long past, set the Indian policy of the country right for the future, and make the Indians at once safe and happy, is the blunder of a hasty and uninformed judgment. The notion which seems to be growing more prevalent, that simply to make all Indians at once citizens of the United States would be a sovereign and instantaneous panacea for all their ills and all the Government's perplexities, is a very inconsiderate one. To administer complete citizenship of a sudden, all round, to all Indians, barbarous and civilized alike, would be as grotesque a blunder as to dose them all round with any one medicine, irrespective of the symptoms and needs of their diseases. It would kill more than it would cure. Nevertheless, it is true, as was well stated by one of the superintendents of Indian Affairs in 1857, that, "so long as they are not citizens of the United States, their rights of property must remain insecure against invasion. The doors of the federal tribunals being barred against them while wards and dependents, they can only partially exercise the rights of free government, or give to those who make, execute, and construe the few laws they are allowed to enact, dignity sufficient to make them respectable. While they continue individually to gather the crumbs that fall from the table of the United States, idleness, improvidence, and indebtedness will be the rule, and industry, thrift, and freedom from debt the exception. The utter absence of individual title to particular lands deprives every one among them of the chief incentive to labor and exertion—the very mainspring on which the prosperity of a people depends."

All judicious plans and measures for their safety and salvation must embody provisions for their becoming citizens as fast as they are fit, and must protect them till then in every right and particular in which our laws protect other "persons" who are not citizens. . . .

However great perplexity and difficulty there may be in the details of any and every plan possible for doing at this late day anything like justice to the Indian, however, hard it may be for good statesmen and good men to agree upon the things that ought to be done, there certainly is, or ought to be, no perplexity whatever, on difficulty whatever, in agreeing upon certain things that ought not to be done, and which must cease to be done before the first steps can be taken toward righting the wrongs, curing the ills, and wiping out the disgrace to us of the present conditions of our Indians.

Cheating, robbing, breaking promises--these three are clearly things which must cease to be done. One more thing, also, and that is the refusal of the protection of the law to the Indian's rights of property, "of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness."

When these four things have ceased to be done, time, statesmanship, philanthropy, and Christianity can slowly and surely do the rest. Till these four things have ceased to be done, statesmanship and philanthropy alike must work in vain, and even Christianity can reap but small harvest.

The Life and Legacy of Elias C. Boudinot

A few years later, Marcus J. Wright described Boudinot as “perhaps the best known on the streets of Washington, and [he] has a pleasant smile and kind word for everyone he meets.” It was also said of him that he “was on familiar and easy terms with the learned justices of the Supreme Court, with stately senators, members of Congress, distinguished military men, and indeed, with every class of society.”

Yet, Boudinot also was a person who would engage in a brawl outside of the office of the Commissioner of Indian Affairs and who supposedly was threatened with death several times. He was described as “a betrayer of his people and his race,” and a person who “prostitutes his Indian blood to these base purposes for the sake of money.” Hero or villain, visionary or rogue, Boudinot certainly earned the distinction of being one of the most controversial personalities in Cherokee history.

Throughout his life, Boudinot seemed either surrounded by conflict or embroiled in it, fostering differing, often contradictory, views of the man both contemporaries and historians. And that, as much as anything else, makes him an intriguing historical agent. Loved by some, loathed by others, Boudinot left not only a rather disjointed and dubious image of himself for posterity—produced by the mixture of his actions and disputable character—but also one that invites reappraisal.

After Arkansas left the Union in 1861 Boudinot enlisted in the Confederate Cherokee regiment being raised by his uncle, Stand Watie. With Watie and other Confederate supporters, Boudinot pushed the Cherokee Nation toward and alliance with the Confederacy to which Principal Chief John Ross only reluctantly acceded. But by the fall of 1862, Ross and his followers had switched sides; the Southern Cherokees, in tern, elected Watie as Principal Chief. Boudinot, who had attained the rank of lieutenant colonel, was chosen as the Cherokee delegate to the Confederate Congress in Richmond.

Following the Confederacy’s defeat, Boudinot became a major spokesman for the Southern Cherokees in treaty negotiations with the federal government. He endeavored to have the Cherokee Nation formally split between former Confederates and Union supporters. He argued that the two groups could not again live in harmony and especially lashed out at Ross, whom he blamed for the murder of his father, portraying the old chief as a hypocritical traitor. Led by Boudinot, the Southern Cherokees wanted to organize a central government for Indian Territory, grant railroad rights-of-way through the Cherokee Nation, and sell the Cherokee-owned Neutral Land to the federal government. They almost attained their goals, but in the end a new treaty was made with Ross’ delegation.

John Ross died shortly thereafter, and William Potter Ross was chosen to complete his uncle’s term as Principal Chief. Many of the elder Ross’ faction, however, harbored misgivings about William. Desiring to foster unity within the tribe again, they supported Lewis Downing against Ross in the next national election. Downing won, in part, with the votes of Southern Cherokees. In turn, he appointed three Southern Cherokees, including Boudinot, to the Cherokee delegation in Washington, D.C.

Although he spent much time in Washington, Boudinot maintained business interests in the Cherokee Nation. He operated a ranch, but most important was the tobacco factory that he and Watie established in 1868. He also worked to bring railroads into the Cherokee Nation, becoming closely associated first with the Missouri, Kansas, and Texas (or Katy) and later with the Atlantic and Pacific. In 1871 he founded the town of Vinita, Indian Territory, at the junction of the Katy and the A&P tracks.

By that time Boudinot had already suffered some severe setbacks. He had been dropped from the Cherokee delegation for several reasons. He championed railroad construction in the Cherokee Nation and thus angered tribesmen who feared that their nation would lose land to these companies and be inundated with white settlers. He still entertained the idea of establishing a central government for all tribes in Indian Territory, thereby assaulting the sovereignty of tribal government. And he generally seemed more engaged in furthering his own interests rather than those of the Cherokee Nation.

Most devastating, however, was the confiscation of his tobacco factory by federal agents in 1869 for violating a tax law enacted in 1868. The case eventually reached the United States Supreme Court, which ruled that the United States government and Indian nations were not equals and the 1868 statute superseded Article X of the Cherokee Treaty of 1866.

At this juncture, Boudinot further alienated himself from his native brethren when he began to call for making Indian Territory an official territory of the United States, establishing a federal court in the territory, bestowing American citizenship on Indians, and dividing tribal lands in severalty. He defended his advocacy of these measures on the grounds that the court’s ruling in essence destroyed the validity of Indian treaties and that Indians were subject to the laws of the United States. Their rights would be secured, he averred, only after they held citizenship and their real property would be safeguarded only if they had private, not tribal, ownership. Consequently, in an effort to gain support for his views, Boudinot became the spokesman for minority factions in the Cherokee Nation—mixed-blood and white tribal members, Cherokee freedman, and Delawares and Shawnees who had been adopted as Cherokee citizens.

The high point in Boudinot’s political life came in 1885, when, counting on his close connections with Democratic leaders, he initiated a strong bid to be named Commissioner of Indian Affairs in President Cleveland’s administration. After his efforts failed, Boudinot returned to Arkansas, where he practiced law, oversaw his ranch and other holdings in the Cherokee Nation, and remained active, but to a much lesser degree than before, in Cherokee politics. Most notably, he fought to keep the Cherokee government from leasing the Cherokee Outlet to the Cherokee Strip Livestock Association, a point of view which many Cherokees shared with Boudinot.

Boudinot died in September 1890. By that time, the Unassigned Lands in Indian Territory had been opened to non-Indians and Oklahoma Territory established over the area. A federal court had been created for Indian Territory and a new right-of-way law allowed more railroads to enter Indian Territory. Also, the Dawes Act of 1887 had become law. Although it excluded the Five Civilized Tribes, this legislation empowered the President to terminate selected reservations, allot their lands in severalty to tribal members, and confer United States citizenship on them. All were measures which Boudinot had fought for and which so many of his fellow Indians had struggled against.

Even from this cursory biography of Boudinot, it is easy to understand why, for a good portion of his life, many Cherokees held him in low repute. The Northern Cherokee treaty delegation in 1866, for example, described him as “a Cherokee by birth, but reared and educated under the good old Puritan system of New England—a man who without cause has spent the vigor of his fault-finding with the Cherokee Nation, of which he has never been a citizen.” A biased view, of course, but one containing sentiments that were later expressed by others was made by Principal Chief Lewis Downing, who by 1873 would denounce Boudinot as a “betrayer of his people and his race.” Downing further declared, “This man is employed in the interest of Railroads. . . . With vast schemes, for self-aggrandizement by private speculation in the land which is the common heritage of the Cherokee people, he used the name of the Cherokee for the purpose of robbing and crushing the Cherokee people. He prostitutes his Indian blood to these base purposes for the sake of money.” Several of his erstwhile friends also turned against him, such as William Penn Adair, who lamented, “I am only sorry that he does not lend us the aid of his strong talent and ability to carry out the views and rights of his people.” More caustic was L.H. “Hooley” Bell, who compared Boudinot to Judas Iscariot and Benedict Arnold and characterized him as a Cherokee leader who had “betrayed his trust and deserted his people and in turn was discarded by them.”

Such varying remarks about Boudinot can be attributed in part to differing perspectives. Boudinot’s contemporaries often judged him from subjective personal appraisal. Historians recounting the triumph of statehood for Oklahoma could see him as a progressive Indian in the vanguard of opening the Indian Territory to white civilization. Other, however, pictured the Indians as people wronged by white America, and unlike John Ross, who became identified as a noble tribal leader trying to protect his people, Boudinot provided possibly the best example of an outspoken promoter of assimilation, who was perceived at best as a misguided mixed-blood, at worst a villainous traitor.

Clearly there is a lack of consensus in appraising Boudinot’s character and motivations. But despite the disparity of these conclusions about Boudinot, there are, nevertheless, certain considerations that lend themselves to formulating a better understanding of the man.

For one, Boudinot was relentless in battling his foes, especially John Ross, William Potter Ross, and the tribal faction they led. But others, indeed almost all, who opposed his views or actions, incurred his animosity. And the evidence of his seemingly ever-present conflicts makes him appear as a constantly quarrelsome person, a view far removed from the perceptions of his many friends and acquaintances who knew him to be a genial, gentle, gentlemanly fellow full of charm and warmth. There is, however, no real paradox. Like all human beings, Boudinot was often moved by his emotions, which were sometimes very strong, a facet of his personality which was sympathetically explained in the Fort Smith Times at the time of his death: “To hate was not part of his nature, and though he did hate his enemies with all the fervor of his soul, he did it religiously—did it with the impulsive feeling that no to hate them would be treason to the memory of his father and friends who suffered at the hands of savage cruelty.”

Second, Boudinot sought status in both Cherokee and white society. The force of his ambitions propelled him into political and economic activities, while failure or rejection only spurred him with dogged determination into further ventures. However, regardless of how much he proudly proclaimed his Indian heritage—to the point, for example, of wearing his hair long as a distinguishing feature—Boudinot thought and acted like a white man. He embraced white America’s concept of progress, and after the Civil War, his business dealings, his spirit of boosterism, his dreams of wealth, his seemingly constant scheming, all clearly placed him in the main stream of Gilded-Age America. In this context, he represented that “new type” of Indian pointed out by H. Craig Miner, the culturally more white than red mixed-blood who promoted economic enterprises apparently for personal profit without regard to the wishes or best interests of his Indian brethren.

The foregoing leads to the crucial question: did Boudinot ever have the welfare of the Cherokees at heart? Probably he did not in every instance, but nevertheless it may be contended that generally he did and that he never doubted his commitment to their best interests—as he saw them. He came to envision the changes modernizing white America ultimately overtaking the Cherokee Nation and virtually destroying the inhabitants unless they adapted to white ways. “The world is moving,” he declared. “We [Indians] must move with it or be crushed.” In fact, the argument might be made that in his own way, Boudinot followed in his father’s footsteps. The elder Boudinot had worked to “civilized” the Cherokees by preaching Christianity and advocating education, but the prejudice that he found in whites finally led him to conclude that assimilation would be impossible, thus prompting him to accept removal in hopes of saving his tribe from destruction. His son, on the other hand, understood the situation in his own times differently. His particular plight with his tobacco factory, mixed with his fundamentally white views, led him to conclude that the best protection Cherokees, indeed all Indians, could have would be private ownership of their land and American citizenship. To him, assimilation became the requisite for Indian survival. Red men could not stop the tide of white advances, but they could, he proposed, “join the resistless army of civilization and progress, and thus save our people from destruction.”

Boudinot also saw the path to civilization in economic development. He wanted more commercial and industrial enterprises in the Cherokee Nation and saw railroads, in particular, as the catalyst for such because they “would send the blood of enterprise tingling through the viens of every Cherokee.” Railroads in the Cherokee Nation, he proclaimed:

are inevitable; they are the great civilizers of the world. If we are ever to prosper as a civilized people, we must do as others do, by multiplying the facilities of communication. I do not fear their demoralizing influences, because the fact is, that the individual Indian has improved just in proportion as he has come in close contact with civilization.

All this is not to say that Boudinot was imbued with altruism. He was not, nor was he as principled as he would have wanted people to believe. There was significant truth in some of the charges of his critics. He was not above duplicity. He was cozy with railroad companies. He was ever looking for his own gain. These foibles, however, do not necessarily negate his having concern for his fellow Cherokees. What might be said is that Boudinot wanted the Cherokee Nation to boom with a prosperity, one in which he, too, shared, one produced by a bond of unity and common purpose between Indians and whites.

Unfortunately for Boudinot, many Cherokees and others, including historians, neither trusted his motives nor shared his views. Indeed, his undertakings and battles more often than not could be interpreted as questionable in purpose. But regardless of any misgivings—justified or not—about Boudinot, it cannot be denied that he played a prominent role in Cherokee history for almost three decades.

In retrospect, while not excusing but looking beyond his faults, Boudinot can be characterized in the context of latter nineteenth century America, and be seen in much the same way as by Judge Isaac Parker, Boudinot’s friend and a staunch defender of Indian rights:

I think he was much misunderstood by some of his people. They had a belief that he was not true to their interest, and that he was willing to barter away their rights. This was a great mistake. He was jealous of the rights of the Indians as any of them, and I believe he was ever ready to defend their rights of life, liberty, and property. He was just a little ahead of his people. He wanted them to fall into the ranks of the great column of civilization and progress, as it goes marking on to that higher, greater, and nobler goal of the nation.

Although Parker’s remarks were intentionally eulogistic, they are, nonetheless, arguably accurate and fair, to a point, in presenting an assessment of Elias C. Boudinot.

Into Oklahoma at Last

Thousands Wildly Dashing in for Homes

The Scramble of Settlers, Sooners, and Spectators—Reports of Disturbances and Quarrels³²
Purcell, Indian Territory, April 22—A great change has come over this town. Yesterday it was a metropolis; tonight it is a hamlet in point of population. The metamorphosis was affected at 12 o'clock today, when several thousand men, women, and children crossed the Canadian River and entered upon a wild struggle for homes in the Promised Land. The scenes connected with this . . . will never be effaced from the memory of those who witnessed them.

The sun was not up sooner than the average Boomer this morning. Probably not half the people slept at all during the night. Gasoline lamps flared from sundown to sunrise in the two business streets, and the ghostly forms of prairie schooners could be seen moving toward the ford a mile north of town. Daybreak found scores of men in the saddle and within an hour the town was as lively as it has been since the boom began. A steady stream of wagons poured from the broken country, west and north to the main ford and, when this became blocked, hundreds of them were turned to the right, facing the river at every point where fording seemed at all practicable. At least fifty wagons halted where their owners only sought a safer spot when Lieut. Samuel E. Adair of the Fifth Cavalry flatly told them he would prevent them from attempting to cross there.

Lieut. Adair, with a small body of troopers, came to the scene at 8 o'clock and patrolled the riverbank until noon. Another guard was stationed at the Santa Fe Bridge, and still another detachment crossed to the race side and began beating the bush for hidden Boomers. While this body failed to find any of the five outfits which have invaded the Territory during the last three days, it captured several wanderers and made an appalling discovery. Twenty men compromised the command, and they rode along the river for several miles before turning to scout through the timber. Below the bridge is a great bend, where the quicksand is known to be most treacherous.

As the troops emerged from a little strip of forest they saw, lying upon the sand, the body of a youth of not more than twenty years. He was poorly clad and his eyes, his ears, and his nostrils were filled with sand. A wagon track, heading from the opposite shore to a point about forty feet from where the body lay, and there suddenly disappearing, told the tale as well as an eye witness could have done. Some enterprising Boomer, with his family and effects, had essayed to ford the stream and the quicksand had swallowed his outfit when it was apparently beyond the reach of danger. How they came, will never be known. The dead boy was freckled and homely, and was dressed in the primitive Texas style. His pockets contained nothing to throw light on the mystery. The oldest river man is puzzled to know how he managed to reach the shore after the others had perished. There have been many tragic occurrences in this country since the Oklahoma excitement began, but none more terrible than this boy disclosed. The troops made such disposition of the body as was possible and searched up and down stream for further traces of the fatality, but nothing more was found and the scout continued.

A mile below a Boomer was discovered who had just crossed and was urging his horse up a ravine. He was captured without difficulty, and a soldier was sent back with him to the ford at Purcell. Three more rustlers were corralled soon after, and it being then nearly 11 o'clock, the troop was headed for Purcell, and the last Oklahoma raid was at an end. Several hundred men with outfits are known to have been in the timber or ravines of the Territory, and these are now reaping the reward of their temerity in opposing the mandate of Uncle Sam.

At the Santa Fe station this forenoon hundreds had gathered hours before the time for the departure to the north. There was more baggage piled on the platform than would be put in any union station in the country. On a side track fully fifty cars were loaded or being loaded with household goods and merchandise destined for Oklahoma City or Guthrie. Poles and barbed wire for fences composed the cargo of fully one fourth of the cars and these were marked for immediate shipments. A barbed wire fence will be a powerful argument against occupation of a quarter section by five or ten boomers, if it is erected within twenty-four hours after pre-emption. A carload of beer was known to be sidetracked here this morning, but as most of the Deputy United States Marshals had gone to Guthrie or Kingfisher, it was not descended upon. The other day Chief Deputy Ensley discovered a barrel of beer on the platform of the station at Norman, and he destroyed it in the presence and to the infinite disgust of dozens of thirsty travelers.

Men with packs on their backs and their arms full of goods came down the bluff this morning and joined the crowd at the station. The eating-houses were jammed to the very kitchen doors, and in the rear of one of these a curious woman, as she broiled beefsteak and made coffee over a fire in the yard.

About 10 o'clock the street fakirs and gamblers closed up their schemes and games for the present, packed their paraphernalia, and made tracks for the station. Some were bound for Guthrie and others for Oklahoma City, and a few expressed their determination to go to Kingfisher, which they considered desirable from the fact that it would not be overrun at first with gentlemen of their calling. If all the Purcell "sports" settle in Oklahoma and display the hustling qualities they have shown here the other fellows will have to rise very early in the morning to make the running with them.

When the first train of eight coaches rolled in to the station from the south every Boomer who had planned to invade Oklahoma by railroad was on hand. A howl of rage went up as the train sped on, with trainmen on every platform to prevent anyone from getting aboard. This train ran a little below town and halted until the hour set for its departure into the Territory.

Soon afterwards a special train of 12 coaches appeared, and inside of five minutes it was crowded with over one thousand people. It ran down the switch and stopped until 11:40 o'clock. The overflow was so great that another train of equal size was brought up, and this also was crowded to the platforms in an incredibly short time.

The owners of the horses being so carefully groomed were, for the most part, young men who own regulation Boomer outfits; who have been here for months, and some of them for years, and all of whom, it is believed, belong to the Oklahoma Legion. Every man of them has staked out a claim within ten miles of Purcell, and the idea of each is to get to it as soon after midday as possible and wait for the wagon to make a more leisurely trip. To accomplish this each had secured a fleet horse, and cared for it religiously in anticipation of this trying hour. No cavalrymen going on inspection ever paid such minute attention to details, as did those home seekers. Every girth, every strap, was put to the severest test, and bridles and bits were carefully examined.

Finally, when nothing more remained to be done, the Boomers mounted and rode to a point half a mile south of this town, where a wide stretch of sand, with no more than an eighth of a mile of water, formed the only barrier to Oklahoma. Here they formed a line, and patiently waited for the signal to break for the Promised Land.

At the main ford, a mile below other horsemen had gathered in advance of the long procession of wagons which ranged up the river in one line and to the top of the bluff in another. To the northeast, hidden from view by a clump of tumbles, many wagons whose owners were too timid to trust the river were stationed in readiness to cross the railroad bridge as soon as the troops should give the word. A number of Deputy United States Marshals were noticed among the horsemen at both fording places, and although there was any amount of grumbling, they retained their positions in the line and seemed determined to make the race with the others. Events show that they did so and an infinite amount of trouble will grow out of this very fast.

Lieut. Adair, with his troops, forded the stream at 11 o'clock, and the men were stationed at intervals on the further banks, so they could guard every known fording place. Previous to crossing, the Lieutenant had announced that at noon, sun time, he would order his bugle to sound the recall, and that this would be the signal for the rush to begin. At 11:30 o'clock one of the troopers discovered a wagon crossing, half a mile below him, and succeeded in heading it off. The old Texan who owned it swore roundly, but was forced to follow the sand drifts to where the Lieutenant was stationed, and was kept there until after the signal was sounded.

As the supreme moment drew near the excitement increased. Every person who had not arranged to cross had secured an advantageous position on a housetop or the great bluff just north of the town and was feverishly waiting. Not a few field glasses were brought into requisition. Oklahoma is visible for miles from any elevation in Purcell and seems a succession of beautiful valleys, with well-timbered ridges between. The Times' correspondent, glass in hand, stood 100 feet above the river and had an uninterrupted view of the panorama.

At 11:40 o'clock the conductor of the long special train on the siding gave the signal. The engines whistled shrilly and the special began its trip toward Oklahoma. It seemed as if every man on the train shouted when the train moved, and a moment later the sound of the pistol shots told that the Texans were firing their salute. Gathering speed, the train soon came opposite the ford, and then a furious fusillade broke out. It was continued until the train dashed around the bend, preparatory to crossing the bridge.

The succeeding twenty minutes were the longest of the day to those on the banks of the river. Lieut. Adair could be seen calmly sitting watching, and all eyes were centered on him.

Suddenly he is seen to motion to the soldier near him, and the next moment the cheerful strains of the recall are sounded. In an instant the scene changes. There is a mighty shout, and the advance guard of the invading army is racing like mad across the sands toward the narrow expanse of water. The north and south wings seem to strike the water together. In they go, helter-skelter, every rider intent on reaching the bank first. There goes a horse into a deep hole and his rider falls headlong out of the saddle. Before he can arise he is apparently crushed by another animal, which has stumbled and fallen in. The crowd on shore gives a cry of horror, which speedily changed to relief as neither man is hurt. They struggled to their feet, and as one of the horses breaks away and joins the flying host his owner surges after him, with the water up to his waist, and the other man remounts.

By this time the swiftest ones are over and speeding up the slope of the nearest ridge. The head of the line of wagons is just emerging from the riverbed. At this rate it will not be ten minutes before all are across. The racers take different directions, but most of the wagons northeast. The glass detects dozens of men miles beyond the river. These are Boomers who have been hiding.

There goes a white flag raised over what appears to be a wagon two miles away. "That's Dr. Johnson's claim," said an anxious watcher, "and the doctor is riding for it for all he's worth. I reckon he will lose it though." The doctor does lose it, dugout and all, unless he can prove that the man who hoisted the flag was on the ground before 10 o'clock.

Six shots in rapid succession, coming from a point a mile away, attract attention. "They're settling one dispute already," remarked a man who has pioneered all through the West.

"Pashaw, they're only giving notice of preemption," said another.

More shots were heard, but no one could satisfactorily explain them.

Soon the last wagon had crossed the main ford and the canvas covers began to dot the Oklahoma landscape. Within thirty minutes Purcell had resumed its normal aspect.

At the Santa Fe Bridge the mode of crossing was so wearisome that after two wagons had been hauled across by hand the Boomers became discouraged and decided to brave the dangers of the ford after all. So they took the back track and about 2 o'clock were safely in Oklahoma and headed for the north. As every claim within ten miles of Purcell had already been taken, these people will travel late tonight to make up for lost time.

About 5 o'clock reports from the front began to come in, and they give a fair indication of the state of affairs which today's grand rush precipitated. The businessmen of Purcell were largely represented among the horsemen who led the precession. Two of these headed for a claim which one had long since staked out and which the other coveted. They made first-class running, but the covetous man won by a few yards and set a stake. The other declared that he would hold the claim, and began work on a dugout. The situation was waxing when mutual friends, who had secured the adjoining 160 acres, came along and succeeded in preventing "gun play." The dispute was not settled, however, and tonight both men claim the homestead.

Another merchant named Harness made a noble ride and came up to his selected claim only to find Tom McNally, Deputy United States Marshall, in possession. Harness dismounted, and by and by his wagon arrived with a tent, which he proceeded to put up. McNally asserted that he had been sent into the territory by Lieut. Adair and was therefore entitled to take up a claim. This argument is worthless, because McNally was in Government employ at the time, and even if he wished to resign he could not well do so all by himself. McNally is a tough citizen and is considered extremely dangerous when drunk. He swears tonight that he will hold the claim and Harness is equally positive he will not.

The Purcell merchants who have preempted claims today have clearly violated the spirit of the law. They do not intend to live upon them, and most of them will make no improvements at present beyond building shanties or tents or making a dugout. In the meantime home seekers will roam through Oklahoma and perhaps lose their lives in contesting claims with other needy men.

A dispatch from Oklahoma City tonight says that at 12 o'clock men seemed to rise out of the ground there, and in an incredibly short time a town site was staked off and lots placed on the market. These men dropped from last night's southbound train when it slowed up for the station. It is estimated that 200 left the same train between Guthrie and Oklahoma. It is reported that two men have been killed eight miles from Purcell.

Identity,

Far and Away
By Steve Russell³³
Next month, I will testify again in front of the Texas Legislature, and once again I will hear in my mind the unspoken question: What makes you Indian? You don’t ride a horse; you drive a truck. You don’t live in a tipi, but in a house that looks a lot like mine. You are in front of a legislative committee rather than dancing in the woods. You have three college degrees. What makes you any different from me?

Yesterday, instead of vision-questing or sitting around a fire with a shaman, I was channel-surfing on the satellite service (cable), and came upon a movie I missed in the theatres, the Tome Cruise/Nicole Kidman vehicle, Far and Away.

The film tells the story of Irish immigrants from the Auld Sod (Ireland) to Oklahoma Territory. It contains a gritty portrayal of class conflict and lack of opportunity in Ireland, poverty and crime and exploitation in turn of the century Boston. The Holy Grail for the downtrodden Irish is “free land” in Oklahoma.

“Free land” indeed. Locked into that phrase, “free land,” was the story of my people, a story that eluded the pretty people on the big screen. (By the way, can you imagine how the people on reservations would appear if malnutrition, alcohol, and regular beatings produced the appearance of Tom Cruise and Nicole Kidman?)

The “free land coveted in Far and Away came from lands declared “surplus” after the Curtis Act [similar to the Dawes Act, but focused on the Five Tribes] destroyed the reservations of the Five Tribes in Indian Territory: Choctaw, Chickasaw, Seminole, Muscogee (Creek), and my people, the Cherokee. The Dawes Commission went out and took rolls, a census of those who would voluntarily receive a piece of the tribal homelands, a process that proceeded in spite of resistance led by the Muscogee Chitto Harjo and the Cherokee Redbird Smith.

The lands allotted by the Dawes Commission had been given to the tribes in perpetuity (and also involuntarily) in exchange for the land of their ancestors in the Southeastern U.S. The Indians were removed at gunpoint in an ethnic cleansing noted, if at all, in American history as the Trail of Tears. Cherokees lost their sacred lands and third of their people. My great-great-great grandmother made that walk, a lucky survivor.

The climatic land rush of the film visually recreates the famous photos [taken by famed photographer William S. Prettyman] of the run for the Cherokee Strip. The Strip, also known as the Cherokee Outlet, was given to the tribe as a guaranteed path to the rich bison hunting on the Southern Plains. That used of the land was rendered moot with the near-extinction of the bison, which of course did more harm to the Plains Indians than to the Cherokee.

My Dutch immigrant great-grandfather was an unsuccessful participant in that very land rush. My Cherokee great-great grandfather was a victim of it. None of this was adverted to in the film. The only Indians on the screen were extras in crowd scenes. Yes, I am a thoroughly modern Indian, and even am a fan of Tom Cruise. From the jet jock in Top Gun to the wounded warrior in Born on the Fourth of July to the jaded doctor in Stanley Kubrick’s final effort, Eyes Wide Shut, I appreciate the entertainment I have received from the actor.

But yesterday, channel-surfing on the satellite service, I found myself in tears. And I was not crying for the Irish.

To disguise their identity, (Coffeyville was the Dalton's hometown) two of the Daltons wore false beards and wigs. Despite this, the gang was recognized as they crossed the town's wide plaza, split up and entered the two banks. Suspicious townspeople watched through the banks' wide front windows as the robbers pulled their guns. Someone on the street shouted, "The bank is being robbed!" and the citizens quickly armed themselves—taking up firing positions around the banks.

The ensuing firefight lasted less than fifteen minutes. A brief moment in time in which four townspeople lost their lives, four members of the Dalton Gang were gunned down and a small Kansas town became part of history.
Anatomy of a Gun Battle
David Elliott was editor of the local newspaper and published a detailed account soon after the gun battle. We pick up his story as the desperadoes dismount and head towards their targets:

. . . After crossing the pavement the men quickened their pace, and the three in the front file went into C.M. Condon & Co.'s bank at the southwest door, while the two in the rear ran directly across the street to the First National Bank and entered the front door of that institution. The gentleman [the observer] was almost transfixed with horror. He had an uninterrupted view of the inside of Condon and Co.'s bank, and the first thing that greeted his vision was a Winchester in the hands of one of the men, pointed towards the cashier's counter in the bank. He quickly recovered his lost wits, and realizing the truth of the situation, he called out to the men in the store that “The bank is being robbed!” Persons at different points on the Plaza heard the cry and it was taken up and quickly passed around the square.

At the same time several gentlemen saw the two men enter the First National Bank, suspecting their motive, followed close at their heels and witnessed them “holding up” the men in this institution. They gave the alarm on the east side of the Plaza. A “call to arms” came simultaneously with the alarm and in less time than it takes to relate the fact a dozen men with Winchesters and revolvers in their hands were ready to resist the escape of the unwelcome visitors.