Black Elk Speaks (26 page)

By now more cavalry were coming up the river, a big bunch of them, and there was some hard fighting for a while, because there were not enough of us. We were fighting and retreating, and all at once I saw Red Willow on foot running. He called to me: “Cousin, my horse is killed!” So I caught up a soldier’s horse that was dragging a rope and brought it to Red Willow while the soldiers were shooting fast at me. Just then, for a little while, I was a wanekia
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myself. In this fight Long Bear and another man, whose name I have forgotten, were badly wounded; but we saved them and carried them along with us. The soldiers did not follow us far into the Badlands, and when it was night we rode back with our wounded to the O-ona-gazhee.
¹⁰

We wanted a much bigger war-party so that we could meet the soldiers and get revenge. But this was hard, because the people were not all of the same mind, and they were hungry and cold. We had a meeting there, and were all ready to go out with more warriors, when Afraid-of-His-Horses came over from Pine Ridge to make peace with Red Cloud, who was with us there.
¹¹

Our party wanted to go out and fight anyway, but Red Cloud made a speech to us something like this: “Brothers, this is
a very hard winter. The women and children are starving and freezing. If this were summer, I would say to keep on fighting to the end. But we cannot do this. We must think of the women and children and that it is very bad for them. So we must make peace, and I will see that nobody is hurt by the soldiers.”

The people agreed to this, for it was true. So we broke camp next day and went down from the O-ona-gazhee to Pine Ridge, and many, many Lakotas were already there. Also, there were many, many soldiers. They stood in two lines with their guns held in front of them as we went through to where we camped.
¹²

And so it was all over.

I did not know then how much was ended. When I look back now from this high hill of my old age, I can still see the butchered women and children lying heaped and scattered all along the crooked gulch as plain as when I saw them with eyes still young. And I can see that something else died there in the bloody mud, and was buried in the blizzard. A people’s dream died there. It was a beautiful dream.

And I, to whom so great a vision was given in my youth,—you see me now a pitiful old man who has done nothing, for the nation’s hoop is broken and scattered. There is no center any longer, and the sacred tree is dead.
¹³

After the conclusion of the narrative, Black Elk and our party were sitting at the north edge of Cuny Table, looking off across the Badlands (“the beauty and the strangeness of the earth,” as the old man expressed it).
¹
Pointing at Harney Peak that loomed black above the far sky-rim, Black Elk said: “There, when I was young, the spirits took me in my vision to the center of the earth and showed me all the good things in the sacred hoop of the world. I wish I could stand up there in the flesh before I die, for there is something I want to say to the Six Grandfathers.”
²

So the trip to Harney Peak was arranged, and a few days later we were there. On the way up to the summit, Black Elk remarked to his son, Ben: “Something should happen today. If I have any power left, the thunder beings of the west should hear me when I send a voice, and there should be at least a little thunder and a little rain.” What happened is, of course, related to Wasichu readers as being merely a more or less striking coincidence. It was a bright and cloudless day, and after we had reached the summit the sky was perfectly clear. It was a season of drouth, one of the worst in the memory of the old men. The sky remained clear until about the conclusion of the ceremony.

“Right over there,” said Black Elk, indicating a point of rock, “is where I stood in my vision, but the hoop of the world about me was different, for what I saw was in the spirit.”

Having dressed and painted himself as he was in his great vision, he faced the west, holding the sacred pipe before him in his right hand.
³
Then he sent forth a voice; and a thin, pathetic voice it seemed in that vast space around us:

“Hey-a-a-hey! Hey-a-a-hey! Hey-a-a-hey! Hey-a-a-hey! Grandfather, Great Spirit, once more behold me on earth and lean to hear my feeble voice.
⁴
You lived first, and you are older than all need, older than all prayer. All things belong to you—the two-leggeds, the four-leggeds, the wings of the air and all green things that live. You have set the powers of the four quarters to cross each other. The good road and the road of difficulties you have made to cross; and where they cross, the place is holy. Day in and day out, forever, you are the life of things.

“Therefore I am sending a voice, Great Spirit, my Grandfather, forgetting nothing you have made, the stars of the universe and the grasses of the earth.

“You have said to me, when I was still young and could hope,
⁵
that in difficulty I should send a voice four times, once for each quarter of the earth, and you would hear me.

“To-day I send a voice for a people in despair.
⁶

“You have given me a sacred pipe, and through this I should make my offering. You see it now.

“From the west, you have given me the cup of living water and the sacred bow, the power to make live and to destroy. You have given me a sacred wind and the herb from where the white giant lives—the cleansing power and the healing. The daybreak star and the pipe, you have given from the east; and from the south, the nation’s sacred hoop and the tree that was to bloom.
⁷
To the center of the world you have taken me and showed the goodness and the beauty and the strangeness of the greening earth, the only mother—and there the spirit shapes of things, as they should be, you have shown to me and I have seen. At the center of
this sacred hoop you have said that I should make the tree to bloom.

“With tears running, O Great Spirit, Great Spirit, my Grandfather—with running tears I must say now that the tree has never bloomed. A pitiful old man,
⁸
you see me here, and I have fallen away and have done nothing. Here at the center of the world, where you took me when I was young and taught me; here, old, I stand, and the tree is withered, Grandfather, my Grandfather!

“Again, and maybe the last time on this earth, I recall the great vision you sent me. It may be that some little root of the sacred tree still lives. Nourish it then, that it may leaf and bloom and fill with singing birds. Hear me, not for myself, but for my people; I am old. Hear me that they may once more go back into the sacred hoop and find the good red road, the shielding tree!”

We who listened now noted that thin clouds had gathered about us. A scant chill rain began to fall and there was low, muttering thunder without lightning. With tears running down his cheeks, the old man raised his voice to a thin high wail, and chanted: “In sorrow I am sending a feeble voice, O Six Powers of the World. Hear me in my sorrow, for I may never call again. O make my people live!”

For some minutes the old man stood silent, with face uplifted, weeping in the drizzling rain.
⁹

In a little while the sky was clear again.

THE END

Transcript of stenographic notes for a letter written by
John G. Neihardt to Nick Black Elk, 6 November 1930
*

Nick Black Elk
Oglala, South Dakota

Dear Friend,

Your letter of November 3 has just reached me and I am very happy to hear from you! I wondered why I did not hear from you. But I was sure that you would write to me, for I felt when we parted at your home in Manderson that we were friends and that you would not fail me. I see now why you did not write sooner.

I am glad to know that you are willing to make the picture story of the Messiah and of Wounded Knee for me. You say if I will send you $7 for the material, you can go ahead on this work, and I am sending you the money with this letter, so that you can get started. You did not tell me how much you will want for your work. Please do. I think that fawn skin will be even better for the picture than rawhide.
¹

Now I have something to tell you that I hope and believe will interest you as much as it does me. After talking with
you four and a half hours and thinking over many things you told me, I feel the whole story of your life ought to be written truthfully by somebody with the right feeling understanding of your people and of their history. My idea is to come back to the reservation next spring, probably in April, and have a number of meetings with you and your old friends among the Oglalas who have shared the great history of your race, during the past half century or more.

I would want you to tell the story of your life beginning at the beginning and going straight through to Wounded Knee. I would have my daughter, who is a shorthand writer, take down everything you would say, and I would want your friends to talk any time about, and share in, the different things that you would tell about. This would make a complete story of your people since your childhood.

So, you see, this book would be not only the story of your life, but the story of the life of your people. The fact that you have been both a warrior and a medicine man would be of great help in writing the book, because both religion and war are of great importance in history. The book that I sent you at Manderson [The Song of the Indian Wars] is a poem dealing only with the wars between the Sioux and white men and does not tell everything that ought to be told. This book about you would be written in prose, and I would use as much of your language in it as possible. My publisher is eager to have me do this, for I have told him all about it.

I would, of course, expect to pay you well for all the time thatyou would give me. It would probably be necessary for us to have eight or ten meetings. Does this plan seem a good one to you, and if it seems good to you, will you not be willing to help me make it successful? I do feel that so much is known by you Indians that our white people do not know and should know, that I am very eager to write this book if you will help me. Write and tell me how much you think
you should be paid for each meeting, and there should be from six to ten meetings. And tell me if you think you could get three or four of the fine old men that you know to meet with us and talk about old times while you are telling your story to me.

This is not a money-making scheme for me. I can make money much faster and easier in other ways. I want to do this book because I want to tell the things that you and your friends know, and I can promise you that it will be an honest and a loving book.

I often look at the beautiful ornaments you gave me, and I am very proud of them. And also when I look at them, I think of what they tell me, and that makes them more beautiful still.

With every kind thought for you and your family.

Your friend,

John G. Neihardt

The Standing Bear drawings available today are courtesy of the Western Historical Manuscript Collection—Columbia, John G. Neihardt (1881-1973), Papers, c
. 1858–1974.

1. Title Page of the First Edition

This collage of Standing Bear’s drawings includes twenty small tepees bordering the central rectangle.
Top left
: Two crossed long-stemmed pipes with T-shaped catlinite bowls.
Top middle
: Man and woman outside a tepee that is painted with a rainbow above the doorway, a horse on the left side, facing the doorway, and a buffalo on the right side, also facing the doorway. A drying rack covered with meat is to the left of the tepee.
Top right
: A man in winter dress, wearing a furred robe, leggings, and moccasins, with a quiver of arrows slung over his right shoulder and bow held in his right hand like a cane, drags a dead antelope, evidently over the snow.
Upper middle right
: A shield, painted blue, depicts a golden eagle; above the eagle are five stars and below are three rainbow designs; eagle tail feathers are attached to the sides and bottom.
Center middle right
: A man, wearing only a breechcloth and a spotted eagle feather in his hair, offers a pipe, the stem pointing upward.
Lower middle right
: A sacred bow lance, decorated at the top and bottom with two spotted eagle feathers, is crossed with an arrow.
Bottom right
: A bear, standing on its hind legs; this may serve as Standing Bear’s signature.
Bottom
: A man on horseback, with a furred robe tied around his waist and two feathers in his hair, holds a bow as he gallops after two buffalo and a calf.
Bottom left
: A ceremonial wand from the
(adoption) ceremony. Three woodpecker heads are attached to the wand, together with pendants of red horsehair, a fan of eagle tail feathers, and, at the tip, a pendant of downy plumes.
Middle left
: A man wearing the regalia of a men’s society. His body is painted red and he holds an undecorated lance, suggesting that he may be an officer in the
Sotká yuhá
‘bare lance owners’ society. He wears a headdress that appears to be of cut raven feathers, tipped with red plumes or horse hair, surrounding five eagle tail feathers, also tipped with red. Around his left shoulder and across his body he wears a society sash decorated with eagle tail feathers. In battle he will not flee from the enemy but will stake the sash to the ground and not retreat unless he is victorious or is released by one of his fellow society members.
Top left
: A curved coup stick, wrapped with fur and decorated with four clusters of eagle tail feathers.