The Ghost Dance Part V

The Ending at Wounded Knee This is what happened: Two worlds collided, And the elder one died. Pony soldiers and Indian police, Triggerhappy and jumping at shadows, Killed Sitting Bull at Pine Ridge; His horse pawed the muddy ground and danced To the thunder of the shots as they rolled over the plain and back, Shuddering through the grey empty space To toll the birth of another memory. When change rolls through, things happen fast. Reason gives way to confusion, In the manner of beginnings and endings. This is how the dancing ended And the Spirits evaporated into silence. Leaderless, his people wandered In the cold of The Moon When The Deer Shed Their Horns, They set out for the Badlands To join their brethren in the New Faith. Searching for Bigfoot's camp on Cherry Creek, Unaware that he was to be arrested, as a "formentor of disturbances." He and his were en route to Pine Ridge To seek protection under Red Cloud. Chief Bigfoot traveled a dying man, chest rattling with the wood of his wagon. He ran up the white flag, Parlayed with the pony soldiers who stopped them. Major Whiteside said to go to the cavalry camp at Wounded Knee Creek. Chief Bigfoot nodded, Red drops raining from his nose To make red flower stains on the snow. They arrived in the twilight, With pony soldiers all 'round in the frozen glow, Ice crystals flashing in the air like Winter fireflies. Somewhere nearby, the Dancers all knew, The heart of Crazy Horse lay buried in a secret place Somewhere his Spirit walked, in converse with the winds. Major Whiteside posted his men about the camp, Placed cannon on a rise, Sent his surgeon to see to the Chief. In the deep, bitter darkness The new 7th Cavalry arrived, Set up 2 more guns Spent the night drinking whiskey. Came dawn, the prisoners were assembled and told to disarm. Unsatisfied, the soldier chiefs had the teepees searched, Then, finally, the warriors' blankets as well. Their Shaman, Yellow Bird, had had enough. Strong in his faith, he stamped the Ghost Dance steps into the snow, Singing a Sacred Song. "The bullets will not go towards you; The Bullets will lose their way." What followed might yet have been avoided, But at last the soldiers found a gun. Black Coyote, who was deaf, resisted, And somehow, it went off. With that, the killing ensued. In the chaos that followed Carbine fire made death; White smoke rolled like fog over the fallen. The guns on the hills roared like Heaven and Earth Being torn asunder; Shreds of teepees, women and children Blew like scattering leaves And blood fell to frost like hot rain. And what of the magic Ghost Shirts? - Back to buffalo hides; the Great God had changed sides again. The Shades of the Ancestors stood by in silence Robbed of Faith's power As the dying stared into the slate sky That heralded a coming blizzard on its descending breath. It was the End, All knew it was so. In madness' aftermath Pony soldiers collected the wounded, Piled them on open carts like cordwood, And rode on back to Pine Ridge. Their caravan arrived in the velvet darkness. Their dead lay where they fell, Contorting into strange frozen shapes Beneath the snow that fell all night to bury them, Holding a great Counsel with the Ancestors Full of such questions and answers as only the Gone-Before conceive. The Pine Ridge barracks were full, So the wounded were left out in the bite of the wind While other accommodation was sought. At last the Episcopal Mission was opened, And the broken and bleeding brought in and lain on hay. 'Twas 4 days past Christmas, Year of the Christ, 1890. Festive greenery yet hung about, And by candlelight those mothers who could read, As they lay groaning in this rough Nativity Could scan the words writ large On a banner above the pulpit: PEACE ON EARTH, GOOD WILL TO MEN. "Why, oh Why," they must have thought, "Fathers, were we yet forsaken again? Was it too little Faith, or too much?