The story of the Sand Creek massacre is one of the bloodiest and most disgraceful episodes in the American Indian wars. The territory from Central Kansas to the Rocky Mountains, between the Platte and Arkansas Rivers, had been the domain of the Southern Cheyenne and Arapaho Indians before the 1850’s. The gold rush to Pike’s Peak brought many settlers to the territory and put great pressure on the Indian tribes. By 1859 the Indians were compressed into a small circle of territory which straddled a main line of white emigration. In 1861 the Indians were persuaded by government officials to sell that land to the United States and move to a gameless, arid section of the southeastern Colorado Territory. The Indians claimed they had been cheated and had misunderstood the treaty; in 1864 some tribes in Colorado were goaded into a war and killed many settlers. The Cheyenne, who were then at peace under Chief Black Kettle, gave up their arms and camped where they were promised protection by federal troops against the Colorado militia. Those promises were not kept. A contingent of Colorado militia under the command of Colonel J. M. Chivington, a Methodist pastor in civil life, fell upon the unsuspecting camp, refused to acknowledge a white flag of surrender, and slaughtered and mutilated perhaps as many as 450 men, women, and children. The soldiers scalped the dead and dying, then cut out the genitals of the women and stuck them on poles or wore them in their hats. Chivington later remarked that the children had to be killed because “nits make lice.”
A local newspaper called this episode “a brilliant feat of arms,” and said that the soldiers “had covered themselves with glory.” A Congressional Committee, however, said Chivington had “deliberately planned and executed a foul and dastardly massacre which would have disgraced the veriest savage among those who were the victims of his cruelty.” Chief Black Kettle, who survived, sorrowfully confessed that “my shame is as big as the earth.” “It is hard,” he mildly added, “for me to believe the white man any more.” He was killed in 1868 during the Washita war, when his winter camp was raided by a force under Colonel George A. Custer.
The following account is from the testimony of John S. Smith, an Indian agent well known to the Cheyenne and present during the raid, before the Joint Committee on the Conduct of the War: “Massacre of the Cheyenne Indians,” 38th Congress, 2nd Session, III (1865). See also Stan Hoig: The Sand Creek Massacre (1961); and Ralph K. Andrist: The Long Death: The Last Days of the Plains Indians (1964).
I left to go to this village of Indians on the 26th of November last. I arrived there on the 27th and remained there the 28th. On the morning of the 29th, between daylight and sunrise—nearer sunrise than daybreak—a large number of troops were discovered from three-quarters of a mile to a mile below the village. The Indians, who discovered them, ran to my camp, called me out, and wanted me to go and see what troops they were, and what they wanted. The head chief of the nation, Black Kettle, and head chief of the Cheyennes, was encamped there with us. Some years previous he had been presented with a fine American flag by Colonel Greenwood, a commissioner, who had been sent out there. Black Kettle ran this American flag up to the top of his lodge, with a small white flag tied right under it, as he had been advised to do in case he should meet with any troops out on the prairies. I then left my own camp and started for that portion of the troops that was nearest the village, supposing I could go up to them. I did not know but they might be strange troops, and thought my presence and explantations could reconcile matters. Lieutenant Wilson was in command of the detachment to which I tried to make my approach; but they fired several volleys at me, and I returned back to my camp and entered my lodge.
After I had left my lodge to go out and see what was going on, Colonel Chivington rode up to within fifty or sixty yards of where I was camped; he recognized me at once. They all call me Uncle John in that country. He said, “Run here, Uncle John; you are all right.” I went to him as fast as I could. He told me to get in between him and his troops, who were then coming up very fast; I did so; directly another officer who knew me—Lieutenant Baldwin, in command of a battery—tried to assist me to get a horse; but there was no loose horse there at the time. He said, “Catch hold of the caisson, and keep up with us.”
By this time the Indians had fled; had scattered in every direction. The troops were some on one side of the river and some on the other, following up the Indians. We had been encamped on the north side of the river; I followed along, holding on the caisson, sometimes running, sometimes walking. Finally, about a mile above the village, the troops had got a parcel of the Indians hemmed in under the bank of the river; as soon as the troops overtook them, they commenced firing on them; some troops had got above them, so that they were completely surrounded. There were probably a hundred Indians hemmed in there, men, women, and children; the most of the men in the village escaped.
By the time I got up with the battery to the place where these Indians were surrounded there had been some considerable firing. Four or five soldiers had been killed, some with arrows and some with bullets. The soldiers continued firing on these Indians, who numbered about a hundred, until they had almost completely destroyed them. I think I saw altogether some seventy dead bodies lying there; the greater portion women and children. There may have been thirty warriors, old and young; the rest were women and small children of different ages and sizes.
The troops at that time were very much scattered. There were not over two hundred troops in the main fight, engaged in killing this body of Indians under the bank. The balance of the troops were scattered in different directions, running after small parties of Indians who were trying to make their escape. I did not go to see how many they might have killed outside of this party under the bank of the river. Being still quite weak from my last sickness, I returned with the first body of troops that went back to the camp.
QUESTION. Were the women and children slaughtered indiscriminately, or only so far as they were with the warriors?
ANSWER. Indiscriminately.
QUESTION. Were there any acts of barbarity perpetrated there that came under your own observation?
ANSWER. Yes, sir; I saw the bodies of those lying there cut all to pieces, worse mutilated than any I ever saw before; the women cut all to pieces.
By Mr. Buckalew:
QUESTION. How cut?
ANSWER. With knives; scalped; their brains knocked out; children two or three months old; all ages lying there, from sucking infants up to warriors.… They were terribly mutilated, lying there in the water and sand; most of them in the bed of the creek, dead and dying, making many struggles. They were so badly mutilated and covered with sand and water that it was very hard for me to tell one from another.…
By Mr. Gooch:
QUESTION. Did you see it done?
ANSWER. Yes, sir; I saw them fall.
QUESTION. Fall when they were killed?
ANSWER. Yes, sir.
QUESTION. Did you see them when they were mutilated?
ANSWER. Yes, sir.
QUESTION. By whom were they mutilated?
ANSWER. By the United States troops.
QUESTION. Do you know whether or not it was done by the direction or consent of any of the officers?
ANSWER. I do not; I hardly think it was.…
QUESTION. Were there any other barbarities or atrocities committed there other than those you have mentioned, that you saw?
ANSWER. Yes, sir; I had a half-breed son there, who gave himself up. He started at the time the Indians fled; being a half-breed he had but little hope of being spared, and seeing them fire at me, he ran away with the Indians for the distance of about a mile. During the fight up there he walked back to my camp and went into the lodge. It was surrounded by soldiers at the time. He came in quietly and sat down; he remainded there that day, that night, and the next day in the afternoon; about four o’clock in the evening, as I was sitting inside the camp, a soldier came up outside of the lodge and called me by name. I got up and went out; he took me by the arm and walked towards Colonel Chivington’s camp, which was about sixty yards from my camp. Said he, “I am sorry to tell you, but they are going to kill your son Jack.” I knew the feeling towards the whole camp of Indians, and that there was no use to make any resistance. I said, “I can’t help it.” I then walked on towards where Colonel Chivington was standing by his camp-fire; when I had got within a few feet of him I heard a gun fired, and saw a crowd run to my lodge, and they told me that Jack was dead.
QUESTION. What action did Colonel Chivington take in regard to that matter?
ANSWER. Major Anthony, who was present, told Colonel Chivington that he had heard some remarks made, indicating that they were desirous of killing Jack; and that he (Colonel Chivington) had it in his power to save him, and that by saving him he might make him a very useful man, as he was well acquainted with all the Cheyenne and Arapahoe country, and he could be used as a guide or interpreter. Colonel Chivington replied to Major Anthony, as the Major himself told me, that he had no orders to receive and no advice to give.