Chapter 7
General Sherman, who despised Secretary of War Belknap, had moved his headquarters from Washington to Missouri, and so Sloan traveled first to St. Louis to report back to duty, managing to reach Sherman’s headquarters well ahead of schedule.
He arrived in the middle of January, despite the rigors of traveling during a rough winter.
Sherman was a harsh man, but down-to-earth and brutally honest. His battle tactics were merciless, and his vision was damned focused; but Sloan knew him well from the war, and the two men respected each other.
Sherman was a great believer in the nation as a whole, and he would fight to preserve it, whether the enemy was rioters in the North, Southern defectors—or Indians.
There had been a time during Sherman’s conquest of the South when Sloan had been assigned to him as an aide-de-camp.
His service then had stood him well in the years to come; since the war, Sherman had listened to what he had to say, and he knew how to make use of Sloan in the arena of “hostile” communications.
The general greeted him, offering him brandy and one of his best cigars.
They sat in the general’s office, and Sherman explained the latest movements of the army.
“I’m glad you’re back; if there’s a voice of sanity around here, it’s you.
You somehow manage to deal with your fellow officers, even when they are complete, arrogant oafs and asses.
God knows, I’ve had enough of those, though of course…
” The plain-spoken general—his years in the military cleanly etched into his features—paused.
“Well, I can’t dally with words. You’ve managed to gain respect from all your fellow officers despite the fact that you grew up with the damned hostiles we’re seeking to confront now.
Odd thing is, half the men—even the braggarts who claim they can wipe out the Sioux population with one swift stroke—think more highly of the renegade Indians than they do of the ‘loafers,’ as they call the agency Indians.
And hell, half of them can’t tell an Indian we’re supposedly still at peace with from the Lakota we’re chasing. ”
“But there are no more peace games going on with the Lakota?”
Sherman shook his head. “Let’s see, you went on leave in the fall…well, you know what happened at the council when we tried to buy the Black Hills.”
“You always knew they wouldn’t want to sell.”
Sherman shrugged. “I’m not the government.
Since you’ve been gone, a number of miners have been killed.
That’s been seen as a justification for us to claim that any Indians not properly within the boundaries of their reservations are ‘hostiles.’ That includes the Indians on the so-called ‘unceded’ lands.
On December sixth, Indian Commissioner Smith directed the agents at the Nebraska and Dakota agencies to warn Sitting Bull, Crazy Horse, and any other hostiles that the government is requiring them to be within the bounds of the reservations by January thirty-first.”
“Not a lot of time.”
“No.”
“So…the army doesn’t really expect—or want—the hostiles to comply, and is intending to hunt down certain bands and wage full-scale war?” Sloan queried.
“Crazy Horse and Sitting Bull are the trouble-causers, I’m afraid.
Their bands are the ones I want. I know we’re talking about some of your friends—and family, Sloan.
If you can talk to them, talk. I take no pleasure in death, except on the battlefield, when death becomes numbers.
A thousand dead—a thousand less to fight, a thousand less to kill my men. ”
“Regardless of whether treaties are being broken,” Sloan murmured.
He knew that different tribes of Indians had been given different—and specific—lands as reservations, but huge areas of the West were “unceded” lands: not reservation land, but not land that the Indians had agreed to as being “White,” either.
“No White person or persons shall be permitted to settle on or occupy any portion of the unceded land without the consent of the Indians,” Sloan said, paraphrasing the contents of the Fort Laramie Treaty. “And those unceded lands include the Black Hills.”
“Hell, I know that, Major, but I’m not so sure God Almighty could keep miners, prospectors, and adventurers out of the Black Hills right now.
There is gold in the Black Hills. Whites are coming, like a tidal wave.
Like I said, the game of war always disintegrates into politics, and that’s what this is. ”
“I’d heard,” Sloan said. “You’re planning on attempting a pincer-movement war against the hostiles.”
Sherman arched a brow. “You’ve heard—about my plans?”
“I’ve been at my grandfather’s.”
Sherman snorted. “That old war horse would serve me better in the field than half the young fools I’ve acquired since the war’s end. So he sits in Georgetown plucking apart my military operations!”
Sloan shrugged. “Sir, there is no such thing as a secret; the press keeps every bit of news in the papers.”
“We haven’t settled on the particulars of the expedition yet, but yes, I see the best way of settling this conflict as striking quickly: a winter war. A pincer movement would press the hostiles between large, prepared forces. So tell me, what will happen with my plan?”
“You have your commanders moving from various forts, and you plan on crushing the hostiles between them somewhere along the rivers west of the Black Hills—the Powder, the Tongue—in that area.”
“Yes. Well?”
Sloan hesitated. “What have your generals reported?”
“Crook is in a hurry, certainly.”
Sloan smiled, looking down at his hands.
“General, I’m warning you, you can’t imagine what winter will be like.
You’re talking about an area where it can be thirty degrees one day and sixty below the next.
Winds, snow, hail—all will have an effect on what’s happening.
I think you should take great care, sir, if you’re really trying to reduce the hostiles to a peaceful situation, that some of those fools and oafs you’re talking about don’t go attacking the wrong camps, or you’ll have Indians who consider themselves friends of the American government joining up with your hostiles and creating one great tribe that will be a huge and formidable enemy to the military. ”
Sherman scratched his jaw, shaking his head. “Each minor chief makes his own decisions; we both know that.”
“Yes, but look at the ardent followers both Crazy Horse and Sitting Bull have drawn.”
Sloan saw that Sherman weighed his words, but the general recognized, as many men didn’t, how many different tribes of Indians traveled the same hunting grounds at times.
“Under the circumstances, Sloan, I’d say that you came home just in time to do your damned best to get the word out regarding the time limit we’ve imposed.
You know damned well that some of the agents who’ve been ordered to spread the word will make little effort.
And even if agency Indians, deserting the agencies to follow Crazy Horse or Sitting Bull, tell other Indians about the ultimatum, they may not be believed.
Take your message to the Hills. You may be trusted. ”
“I can almost guarantee you it won’t matter.
Crazy Horse isn’t an insane warrior; the ‘Crazy’ didn’t come from any foolish or rash actions on his part.
His name was his father’s, and it came to him when he reached adulthood.
He’s a thoughtful, serious man who has watched what has happened to his people throughout the years.
He doesn’t believe a White is capable of telling the truth, and to the best of my knowledge, there isn’t a White man alive that he trusts. ”
“He trusts you.”
“I’m not White.”
Sherman smiled. “Whiter than you think. You’ve got your orders, Major Trelawny.
Damned strange ones. You go out there and do your best to make sure that both Sitting Bull and Crazy Horse understand that their Great Father in Washington wants to settle the problems between us, and if it means annihilation of those Sioux who refuse to report to their agencies…
well, Major Trelawny, I hope they don’t decide to shoot the messenger.
I expect you to keep in close communication with my generals in the field. ”
Sloan nodded. “Right. I’m afraid, sir, that communications may be all that we have for a time; I’ll find our troops bogged down in snow, and no more. And may I suggest that we haven’t given the hostiles time to comply with these wishes, if they chose to do so?”
“You may suggest as you please, Major. But the question of a Great Sioux War against these hostiles is out of my hands,” Sherman said. He tapped his fingers on his desk. “I know well that my friend General Sheridan is not one of your favorites—”
“Well, sir, every time he looks at me, I know he’s thinking he ought to be hiding his wife and children.”
Sherman inclined his head with a slight smile, not arguing the fact.
“We’ve all come in from our various battles with different visions,” he said dryly.
“I’m not expecting General Sheridan to be in the field, but the division here remains in his hands, and he is your superior officer. I expect you to keep that in mind.”
“I have remained in the military, sir,” Sloan reminded him, “and I am aware that he is my superior officer.”
“As to field communication, General Ord is out; General Crook will be leading troops. I know that you have great sympathy for the hostiles, but try not to let our men be taken by surprise or perish while walking around lost in the snow.”
“I won’t, sir.”
Sherman nodded. “I’ll expect to hear from you personally within the month. Telegram any communications you have for me, and you’ll receive further orders. I know that you’ve often used Fort Abraham Lincoln as your base. General Terry may well be riding from there—”
“Terry? Terry hasn’t taken a field command in years, sir. Custer usually leads his men—”