Sand Creek

Chiefs Black Kettle, White Antelope and tribes of Cheyenne and Arapahoe, In November of eighteen sixty-four camped nigh Sand Creek in Colorado, Sending out hunting parties to harvest bison that were than so rife, Provided by the Great Spirit to sustain the Native American's way of life! Gold, that bane of the Indian, on the South Platte River was found, Bringing hordes of prospectors to the heart of their sacred hunting ground. Again, the long-suffering Indian was being pushed further west. For peace and brotherhood Black Kettle tried to do his very best! On a lodge pole by his tent, an American flag was flown by the Chief. Surely that emblem from the Great White Father would cause no grief, But on that fateful November dawn, cavalry advanced in a steady trot, Some from the east, others from the west to fulfill a dastardly plot! "Reverend" Chivington's men shamed themselves killing with gun and blade, Slaying innocent natives who were assured they wouldn't be betrayed. White Antelope died singing his death song with all he could muster. Black Kettle eluded that brutal mob - four years later he was slain by Custer! The Ghost Dance Movement expressed longing for a life of celebration, A return to the free-roaming life, rid of hardship and subjugation. Alas, the massacre at Wounded Knee brought such aspirations to an end. Herded to squalid reservations, upon the "pale face" they had to depend! Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired (© All Rights Reserved)