Wounded Knee: From Battle to Massacre

A professional organization I belong to - the Western Writers of America recently published this in its April, 2020 edition of "Roundup" magazine.

In December, 1890, the Holy Cross Episcopal Church on the Pine Ridge Indian Reservation beckoned Lakota converts to enter and find spiritual guidance. Under the direction of the Reverend C. S. Cook, a Yankton Sioux, he showed them how to decorate with some of the trappings of the holiday. Long strings of greenery, wreaths, and ornaments had been hung on the walls above the wainscoting, and a fir tree cut from the prairie stood in the middle of the floor. When finished, a serene seasonal atmosphere greeted worshipers entering the church.

The Episcopal bishop took advantage of an available Indian clergyman to send to the mission. In similar fashion, the Bureau of Indian Affairs had the wherewithal of  a newly-educated Indian doctor to serve this reservation, a Santee Sioux named Charles A. Eastman.  Dr. Eastman, a recent graduate of the Boston University School, was one of the first Indian doctors in the country.

The little church, the Rev. Cook, and Dr. Eastman will all play roles in an unfolding historical drama set in the place familiarly known as Wounded Knee. Rather than going back to the 1600s and the arrival of the first white settlers, imagine here in 1890 how the spreading white presence had squeezed this band of Miniconjou Sioux onto a small patch of land in South Dakota. Unable to follow their nomadic ways in search of the diminishing herds of bison, they were forced to rely on an inadequate dole of food and other supplies distributed by the Indian agent. 

Indians possessed no public relations representatives to present their plight to the general public, but instead suffered at the mercy of sensationalist yellow journalism that pictured them as savages. The 7th Cavalry’s defeat at the Little Big Horn fourteen years earlier had struck a deep chord still resonating in the country, and editors sent reporters out to write articles painting the Indians as bogeymen who must be eliminated. Publishers had discovered stories coming from this standpoint sold papers for them.

One headline proclaimed, “Squaws Swarming at Pine Ridge,” words the writer chose to express danger. However, one must read quite deeply into the article before finding, “Rations are being issued to the Indians again today, and the swarm of squaws about the agency storehouse is greater than ever.” In their state of despair, they wanted food for their families.

One paper, The Kimball Graphic in South Dakota, wrote this on December 26, 1890 about Sitting Bull: “In presenting to our readers the portrait of this ugly and merciless savage, it perhaps would be of interest to give a sketch of the Sioux Indian and chief, whose career has been so marked with deeds of treachery and blood.” The artist did his best to portray the intent of those words with his pencil.

Reporters from around the country, dispatched to the area in search of some rich stories, discovered a scarcity of news which prompted creativity in their writing. Remember L. Frank Baum and his classic story The Wizard of Oz. When we think of him it might be in terms of the wit and creativity he exhibited to conceive such extraordinary literature.

In his earlier days, Baum earned his living writing for the Aberdeen (SD) Saturday Pioneer where he wrote his thoughts about the death of Sitting Bull in the December 20, 1890 issue. “With his fall the nobility of the Redskin is exterminated, and what few are left are a pack of whining curs who lick the hand that smites them.” He went on to call for their total annihilation writing, “…better that they die than live the miserable wretches that they are.”

The figure of Sitting Bull looms large in the story. Friendly with Buffalo Bill Cody and a willing participant in his wild west show, he also understood his presence sold tickets for Cody when he toured. When Sitting Bull left the show, an appreciative Cody made a gift to him of the horse he rode in all those arenas.  

Upon returning home, Sitting Bull met the realities of life on the reservation with the government’s attempt to make farmers of them plus something else. A Paiute man named Wovoka had brought a message inspired by a vision in which he saw ancestors rising from the dead and the white culture disappearing from their lives if only they would don a special protective shirt that promised protection from bullets and perform the Ghost Dance. The destitute Lakota began to gather and dance.

The Indian agent James McLaughlin feared Sitting Bull would travel to Pine Ridge and encourage all-out participation in the dance and so ordered his arrest. In order to carry it out, McLaughlin sent 43 tribal policemen to Sitting Bull’s cabin on December 15 with the intent of arresting and removing him from the scene. Word had gotten to Buffalo Bill of their intention and was hurrying to the scene to defend the chief’s honor and settle tensions. Unfortunately, Buffalo Bill moved a little slowly that day because of a hangover and McLaughlin’s emissary, Louie Primeau, intercepted him and falsely directed him to a location far from Sitting Bull’s actual whereabouts.

Meanwhile at Sitting Bull’s cabin, a scuffle ensued as followers of the chief resisted his arrest, shots rang out, and the Indian leader fell. Witnesses stood shocked, but observed something of which they took note: the horse given to Sitting Bull began to dance and bow upon hearing the sound of gunshots. Some saw it as a symbolic gesture honoring the death of the fallen man. Authorities now became fearful of a violent reaction, enough so that troops received orders to travel to Pine Ridge, disarm the Indians, and contain the potential insurrection.

Colonel James W. Forsyth, leading a detachment of the 7th Cavalry complete with rapid-firing artillery, arrived at Wounded Knee Creek, a spot where the Miniconjou had gathered about 20 miles from the Pine Ridge Agency. He ordered the Miniconjou to surrender their weapons. One of them, a deaf man who was very possessive of his prized rifle, scuffled with soldiers, and the gun discharged. In that tense atmosphere, members of the 7th Cavalry opened fire on the mostly defenseless Indians, including the elderly, women, and children who had started running for their lives. Mounted soldiers easily caught up to the fleeing Indians and shot them at close range. One alibi stated for the indiscriminate killing was that while wrapped in their blankets, women and children couldn’t be distinguished from the warriors.

Even though twenty miles distant from this bloody incident, the church becomes important. Wounded people, Indian and white alike, needed to be taken someplace. Neither race wanted treatment by the other, instead wanting someone of their own skin color to care for them. Dr. Eastman stood available to care for the wounded and Reverend Cook opened the church to serve as a hospital. He found help moving furniture to the sides and spreading on the floor for wounded patients to lie on.

A winter storm had set in and three days passed before Eastman and a party of about 100 men comprised of about 85 Indians and 15 whites could go to the site and bury the dead. Almost beyond belief, they found some still living including a baby trying to feed at the breast of its dead mother. Eastman later wrote, “It took all my nerve to keep my composure in the face of this spectacle…”

The Indians received little sympathy for the affair. One reporter excused the tragedy and wrote in the Salt Lake Herald on January 14, 1891, “The papoose is innocent, but it grows to manhood or womanhood, then commences deviltry.” The army even awarded medals of honor to twenty soldiers for the valor they exhibited this day on the battlefield. One cynical historian has commented that during all of World War II only three soldiers from South Dakota received this honor. 

The tribes received partial solace in 1990 when the 101st Congress passed Senate Concurrent Resolution 153 which cited Wounded Knee as a massacre, not a battle.  While it did not render complete satisfaction it was a step. But to further compound modern Indian thought on the matter, one sharp-eyed observer spotted something. Bob Smith of the Oneida tribe attended a government agency’s annual award ceremony in 1999 and noticed the U. S. army color guard carrying a standard festooned with dozens of battle streamers. On inspection, he found one proclaiming “Pine Ridge 1890-1891.” To remove the streamer he discovered would take congressional and presidential action.


A large number of people, Indian and white, died at Wounded Knee from wounds and exposure. So it is not forgotten, a commemorative ride on horseback occurs each winter when a group rides 300 miles across South Dakota. Efforts to rescind the medals of honor have so far been unsuccessful.