"I wondered if my guardian spirit would come. If he would leave me nameless and alone because I was unworthy of being a man.
"Then without a sound, out of a quiet night, he came. I could not see him. Whether he was young or old I cannot say, but clearly I heard him speak a name.
"I climbed down happy from the snow mountain. Other young men, my friends, had also gone to the sacred place and were given names. We chanted our names until the moon went down and the sun came up.
"I have many names, but Thunder Rolling in the Mountains is the name that binds me forever to this Land of the Wandering Waters."
"I am tired of talk," the general said. "I have heard enough talk. You and your people will leave Wallowa before thirty suns come and go."
Too-hul-hul-sote was walking up and down, staring out from the folds of his blanket. He was a huge man with a fierce eye and a rumbling voice.
"Who are you to tell us what we must do?" he said to the general. "You did not make these mountains. The Spirit Chief made the mountains. He made the streams and meadows, the trees, the grass, the beasts that eat the grass and the birds that weave it into nests. The Spirit Chief made everything. Who is this man that will tell us to leave our home, our mother, and go to a place that does not belong to us?"
"I am that man," the general said.
My father moved between them. I am sure he feared that the hot words would end in a bad fight. Once, when the general first came to Lapwai, he fought with Too-hul-hul-sote, put chains on him, and locked him up in the soldier's jail.
"I can't move my people to Lapwai now," my father said. "The Snake River is flooding. We would need to cross from one shore to the other through torrents of water. Many of my people are women, children, and the old. I have thousands of cattle. Half of them would be swept away."
The general pointed a glittering sword at my father. "Listen," he shouted. "I have heard enough excuses. Now I speak my last words. If you have not moved your tribe from this place before thirty suns have risen and set, then I shall send soldiers with guns to drive you out."
My father drew his blanket close about him. "I hear your words," he said. "I carry them to our people. In thirty suns we will be gone. There must be no blood."
General Howard nodded his head. He did not smile, but there was a glint of pleasure in his eye. He motioned to a soldier. The soldier blew a trumpet and the band galloped off. My father watched them cross the meadow, splash through the stream, and swiftly disappear.
While he watched them and said nothing, I saw the Red Coats scramble out of the bushes. Swan Necklace was waiting with their horses. He got on his own horse and the three of them rode off. I knew where the Red Coats were going. Swift as arrows, they would ride to the village and tell all they had heard. They would say that Chief Joseph had given in to the one-armed general. They would say that Too-hul-hul-sote had stood up to the general. Every word he had said would be said again.
The young warriors would listen to my father, for they loved him, but they would not obey him. They would never leave Wallowa. They would follow Too-hul-hul-sote to death if that is where he led them.
This was good. The idea of being driven away by soldiers to a strange place far from the home I loved made wild thoughts flash through my mind. I saw myself riding into the soldiers' camp with a torch, setting fire to their tents. I saw myself take aim with my rifle and shoot a soldier from his horse. I saw another soldier running across the meadow, and I shot him too.
Four
FIRE BURNED in front of the council lodge. Our people were gathered around it, talking together. As we rode up, a deep silence fell upon the clan. Most of them would obey Joseph, their chieftain. All but the young warriors would follow him faithfully no matter where he led thm.
He stayed on his horse. "Listen to me with your hearts," he said to them, raising his voice against the wind. "You have heard the sad news. You know we must leave our home. Some among us, the young warriors, will say to you, 'Do not leave. Do not flee like old women. Fight. We shall live here in peace.'"
Everyone moved closer to him. "Now," he said, "many soldiers camp on our lake. As many as we have warriors, and they all carry guns. At Fort Lapwai hundreds of them wait. To the east and to the west more soldiers are waiting, many more. To escape them would be dodging hail in a hailstorm."
The people pressed closer to my father. They were terribly quiet. They felt the truth of his words, like heavy stones falling upon them.
From somewhere in the trees, Wah-lit-its called out, "Sitting Bull, the great Sioux chieftain, did not run. He fought Custer. He killed all of his soldiers."
"But where is Sitting Bull now?" Chief Joseph asked.
There was no answer from Wah-lit-its.
"He's far away," said my father, "hiding in Canada, the Old Lady's country."
"It would have been best had he stood and fought," said Two Moons. He stumped up and down, swinging his cudgel. "There would not be so many white soldiers."
"But there are too many white soldiers. So many, we must go," my father said.
Ollokot, my uncle and the best of the warriors, nodded. "You speak the truch," he said. He picked up a cherrywood bow. "This bow looks strong," he said, "but it cannot stand against someone stronger." With a quick movement of his massive hands, he snapped the bow in two.
My father held up his hand. "In ten suns we leave Wallowa. Make bundles of all you value. We will not return, not for a long time. What you leave behind white scavengers will steal."
My mother looked sad. In a few weeks she would have a child. She wanted her child to be born in our Land of Wandering Waters. Many times she had said this. At my father's words, she sighed once, a deep sigh, but she made no protest.
The people waited for my father to say more. When he was silent they wandered off to the lodge. I heard no cries and no weeping. They had swallowed their tears.
A moon came up and the wind faded away. It was a time for love songs, but there were no sweet songs, only the beat of drums.
Before I went to bed I talked to Swan Necklace. The Red Coats had gone and he was guarding their horses in front of his father's lodge.
"You have heard Chief Joseph speak," I said. "Where do you stand?"
"I go with Red Moccasin Tops and Wah-lit-its," he said bravely.
"You guard their horses, but where are your weapons?"
"It is important to guard their horses. And I have a knife."
"But you do not carry it."
"It is hidden in the lodge."
"Why is it not in your belt?"
"I forgot to put it in my belt."
"It's dangerous to ride around without a weapon. You're no longer a painter of pictures. You're a fighter against those who want to kill you."
"I don't feel like a fighter."
"You will when someone shoots at you."
"Do you believe that the Great Chieftain high above will protect me when someone shoots?"
"You must think so, then you'll be brave."
He got up and put his paints away. He was painting a blanket for our wedding.
Everything had been done for our wedding, or almost everything. First Two Moons and his wives had come to talk to my mother and father. They brought many presents—horses, blankets, wooden spoons, and an iron kettle.
They asked Chief Joseph and Springtime whether I wished to marry their son. My mother came outside where I was hiding, listening under a bush, and asked me if I wanted to marry Swan Necklace.
"Yes," I said.
"Do you love him?"
"Since longer than I can remember," I said.
There was more to do before the wedding could take place. Chief Joseph and Springtime had to give presents to Two Moons and his wives, and Swan Necklace had to finish my buffalo blanket.
I asked Swan Necklace about the blanket.
"I talked to my father last night. He was angry that I even thought about a wedding. He said that there was a war to be fought. He said young husbands
make poor warriors."
"That means we can't be married until the war is over."
"Not until the one-armed general and his soldiers are driven from Wallowa, my father said."
"Wait," I said.
I went to the lodge and brought back my rifle and a pouch of bullets. Swan Necklace stared at the rifle as if it were a snake.
"I don't know how to shoot," he said.
"Red Moccasin Tops will teach you," I said. "He will show you how to lie flat on the ground behind a rock. How to lie flat and shoot and push the rock ahead of you. How to ride low to one side of your horse so you can't be seen by your enemy and shoot under the horse's neck."
The booming voice of Two Moons called his name. Before he could move, I put the rifle in his hands and slung the pouch of bullets over his shoulder.
Five
WE WERE on the banks of a mountain ravine. Snow water from many streams poured into the Snake at this place. It came roaring down in a yellow flood. Waves reared up and heavy mist filled the air.
Here, Ollokot took command. He was very tall and had his hair cut in a roach that stuck up and made him look like a giant. He put a guard on the herds at night and circled them himself.
Soldiers camped above us on the side of the riverbank and built fires. They watched to see that we crossed the river. They did not offer to help us.
My father said, "If General Howard had let us wait until late summer, when the water is low, then we could cross safely. Now we must struggle."
"Lose cattle and horses and risk our lives," Ollokot said. "They brought us here to drown. They plan to get rid of us forever."
Ferocious Bear, a shaggy warrior from the Seven Devils country, spoke up. "We should not move from this shore," he said. "The soldiers wait there on the mountain to see us swept away. Let us stay and kill them."
"Kill one and ten will take his place," Chief Joseph said.
Too-hul-hul-sote sat on his spotted pony gazing at the river while the other chiefs talked. His restless pony pawed the ground.
When they fell silent, Too-hul-hul-sote gathered air in his huge chest and shouted. He spoke to the one-armed general, wherever he was.
"Our Great Spirit Chief made the world," he said. "He put me here on this piece of the earth. This earth is my mother. You tell me to live like the white man and plow the land. Shall I take a knife and tear my mother's bosom? You tell me to cut the grass and make hay. But dare I cut off my mother's hair? The Spirit Chief gave no man the right to tell another man where he must live and where he must die."
His voice trailed off. The leader of the white soldiers did not hear him. My father and Chief Ollokot, his brother, did not hear him. They did not listen to him, nor did Tall Elk and Ferocious Bear. The decision had been made to cross the river.
"Now we build rafts for the crossing," my father said. "And boats."
"Gather our herds," Ollokot said. "More than two hundred cows have been driven off by the whites since we came to the river and half that many horses. We'll lose many more before the sun rises again."
"We go at dawn," Chief Joseph said.
Too-hul-hul-sote's eyes flashed but he said nothing more.
That night we built fires and by their light made rafts and boats for the crossing of the Snake. Men cut alder trees and bound them together with leather thongs. The rafts were strong but hard to handle. The women made bullboats from willow frames and buffalo hides stretched tight. Bullboats look like melons cut in half. They swirl round and round and bob like corks, yet they are safe in the rushing water.
As the sun came up, our five bands gathered at the riverbank. In my father's band from Wallowa, the Land of the Wandering Waters, there were sixty-two warriors and three hundred women, children, and old people. The warriors were naked except for breechcloths. Their bodies were covered with thick bear grease to keep out the cold and they wore red feathers in their braided hair.
Chief White Bird, who was very old, brought a band that was next in size to my father's band. It had fifty-one warriors and two hundred and fifty-five women, children, and old people. They came from White Bird Canyon, beyond the river.
Chief Looking Glass was there. He was a great warrior, not as tall as my father. His black braids were streaked with white and their tips wrapped with brass wire. He wore brass rings in his ears. A round-looking glass always hung from a rawhide around his neck. Looking Glass brought forty warriors and two hundred women, children, and the old. They had lived peacefully in a small hidden village on the Clearwater River, yet white miners had found them and treated them badly. They had killed their cattle and stolen their horses.
The smallest of our bands belonged to quarrelsome Too-hul-hul-sote. There were fewer than fifty of these Palouses, but their warriors carried good rifles and were the best buffalo hunters among all the Ne-mee-poo.
The night was long. Gathered on the bank, we waited for the sun. It came up bright and lit the hills where the soldiers were camped.
It took a long time, half the morning, for the sun to find its way down the dark canyon walls. It lay on the river in shimmering sheets that blinded us. We couldn't see the river because of the fierce light, so the chiefs decided to make the crossing late in the day.
When the light changed, Ollokot sent out riders to herd the horses close to the river. Chief Joseph stood at one end of the herd, Ferocious Bear stood in the middle, and Ollokot on his big stallion stood at the other end.
Ollokot fired his pistol. The riders shouted. The frightened horses stampeded into the river and swam for their lives. All of them got to the far shore. The cattle were next. Warily, they walked into the shallows, but the riders forced them into the river. Half of the cows and all of the spring calves were lost.
Ollokot sent out rafts loaded with the things we had saved—clothes, ornaments, buffalo robes, lodge skins, packets of gold dust, bags of kouse mush, dried berry cakes, camas roots, and smoked meat and salmon wrapped in deerskin.
We lost only two rafts. The soldiers watched from the hill but did not offer to help.
The sun moved down in the sky. In its rays the rushing water sparkled like a river of jewels where Ollokot gathered our people. The old women, the old men, and the children were placed on rafts and lashed down. Babies in cradleboards were strapped to their mothers' backs.
One end of a stout rope was tied around the waist of a horseman, the other end to a corner of a raft. In this way, with a horseman at each corner, and the horses plunging against the swift water while their riders clung desperately to their backs, our people crossed the river.
Three of us were left to go, Chief Joseph, my mother, and myself. One star shone above us. The dark river turned to silver. I had made a bed of buffalo skin for my mother. It was warm but she complained of the cold. She got up and wrapped a robe around herself and went down to the river.
Fires were burning on the far shore.
"It is time to go," my father said.
Springtime did not answer. She lay down again and pulled the robe over her head.
My father got out the last of the bullboats and I made a bed for my mother in its bottom. He picked her up to put her in the boat, but she slipped from his grasp and went along the bank to a big rock that jutted over the river.
"This is no time for play," Chief Joseph said.
"I am not playing," Springtime said. "I will have my child here before we cross the river. This is my home. This is Wallowa. Over there where the soldiers watch and fires burn is not our country."
"It will be our country soon," my father said. "It is better that our child be born where his home will be."
He edged toward her and talked softly.
Her back was against a rocky ledge that hung over the river. He moved closer talking softly, ready to take her in his arms. The ledge was slippery with spray and she was heavy, but before he could grasp her she clawed onto the ledge, out of his reach.
She sat above the torrent, looking down at him. Her hair was wild with spray. I
think that if he had tried to follow my mother she would have thrown herself into the river. If she had, I would have followed her.
"How long do you sit?" Chief Joseph said. He was not pleased. He was not used to being defied, not by his wife. "Already you shiver with cold. You will be sick. The child will be sick. How long does this madness last?"
"Until the child is born," my mother said.
"After we cross the river," Chief Joseph said, "it is yet a march before we come to Lapwai, our new home."
"In my heart," she said, "this is my home. Not over there on the far side of the river."
"And in my heart, also," I said to her.
I said this under my breath, but Chief Joseph heard it. He walked away, gazed for a while at the raging river, then came back. He asked me to build up the fire. In a gentle voice he spoke to Springtime and she came down from the ledge.
As the sky grew light in the east, her child was born. At dawn we got into the bullboat and horsemen guided us to the far side.
Six
NOW WE WERE on the far side of the Snake, and Chief Joseph took command of our people. We climbed out of the dark canyon to an aspen grove, where the herds were allowed to graze. Then we set off toward Lapwai, our new home.
We went to the Salmon River and crossed it safely because we had crossed the mighty Snake already. At Rocky Canyon we camped beside a pond surrounded by aspen trees. Twenty suns had risen and set since we crossed the big river.
"Lapwai is near," Chief Joseph said. "We can reach it with a short march and obey General Howard. But before we go there'll be songs and dances, horse races and games to mark our last days of freedom."
Everyone agreed with him, especially the young warriors. The feast days were loud with the hoofs of racing horses, the nights with the throb of drums and the soft cries of flageolets. On the last day before we left there was a parade of all our clans. The horses wore beaded harnesses and their finest saddles. Colored streamers fluttered from their manes and tails.
I didn't go to the parade. Bending Willow, my new baby sister, was sick and I stayed to help Springtime take care of her. I had built a fire to make a kettle of kouse mush. Night shadows lay on the meadow where we were camped, when Swan Necklace rode up to the fire. Braids of his long hair hung wild around his face. He opened his mouth but couldn't speak.