Chloë Bradley 1 5-10-05

Sparrow's Legacy

The firelight flickered, casting shadows on the reassuring faces of my tribe. "Everyone, Hush! Let Walking Sparrow tell her story!" whispered old women to playful youngsters. I gathered my thoughts, shunning the awful memories until later in the story, and began my tale.

"It was early in the morning, before the sun had entered the sky. White Antelope heard soldiers approaching and rode out on his horse to meet them. In his hand he carried the papers signed by Great Father Lincoln, the papers of peace. We heard White Antelope sing the death song as the Bluecoats' bullets tore through his chest.

"Black Kettle gathered us together under his teepee over which he had raised the American flag and the white flag of peace. He said that as long as we stood under the Stars and Stripes, we would not be harmed. That was when the Bluecoats opened fire and sent bullets racing through the crowd.

"I ran, along with everyone else. We ran nowhere in particular, just ran out of fear. Where could we go? The men came racing into camp, killing everyone in sight. They spared no one. Small children screamed and knelt on the dirt ground in front of the soldiers, begging for their lives. The drunken soldiers paid them no heed, bashing in their skulls and moving on to new victims."

"No! No, no, no, no . . ." a woman cried out, sobbing and rocking back and forth. Someone went to her and motioned for me to continue my story.

"The uneven ground pounded beneath my feet as I ran toward the river, darting between teepees and around soldiers. A few brave men formed a line behind me, fighting off the Bluecoats and giving several of us time to escape. Behind me, I heard my mother scream, and I stopped and turned to look at her. She met my eyes and motioned toward our tipi, motioning that I should get my brother, Little Owl. I saw the man creeping up behind her and tried to scream, but I was paralyzed with fear. He reached out and slit her throat and I watched in horror as her blood spilled on the ground. Black Kettle yelled at me to move, that we didn't have much time, and I jerked out of my trance. Springing into action, I ran into our tipi, pushing aside the buffalo skin door. I darted over to the bundle of furs that served as a bed and pulled my three year old brother out from his hiding place. I tucked him under my arm and ran for the river, praying to the god of protection to keep the soldiers at bay until I was safe.

"I reached the river and stepped into its icy, swirling water. I did not look back, so intent was I on reaching safety. The sandy bottom of the river quickly changed to small, slippery stones and I slipped and fell several times, soaking myself, but managing to keep Little Owl out of the water. Screams from the village echoed in my ears and blood spilled from peaceful souls, staining the Kiowa countryside.

"I reached the other side of the river and kept moving, following the other people who managed to escape. Little Owl started crying, very softly, tears slipping out of his wise brown eyes, so I pulled him close, crooning a song our mother used to sing at night. Tears slipped down my face as I heard the cries of my friends and family growing dimmer, and the memories of blood and pain grew more vivid. I knew the wounds inflicted that night would never heal for most. Instead, they would fester, forever deepening the gap between the Cheyenne and the white man, a gap impossible to bridge until the Cheyenne defeat the white man or die trying. I had a feeling it would be the latter."

I watched the faces around me and saw pain, anger and a deep, deep sorrow. One by one the members of my tribe began the long slow chant of mourning, and, my heart heavy, I joined in.