But you ask, has this been the history of our other Indian wars?
Our first war with the Sioux was in 1852 to 1854. For thirty years it had been the boast of the Sioux that they had never killed a white man. How did the war begin? A Mormon emigrant train crossing the plains lost a cow, which a band of Sioux, who were living in the neighborhood in perfect peace, found and took. The Mormons discovering this, made complaint at Fort Laramie, and a lieutenant with a squad of soldiers was sent to recover the lost property. It could not be found. It was already assimilated into Indian. But the Indians offered to pay for it. This the lieutenant refused to accept, demanding the surrender of the man who had taken the cow for punishment. The Indians said he could not be found; whereupon—will it be believed?—the lieutenant ordered his troops to fire, and the Indian chief fell dead. Those troops never fired again; they were killed in their tracks; and this was the beginning of the great Sioux war which cost the Government forty millions of dollars and many lives. (Speech of President Seeley, of Massachusetts, in Congress, April 13, 1875.)
You know the story of the Sioux war in Minnesota—the withheld appropriations, the taunts and the starvation. We need not open that terrible chapter again.
We were at it again in 1866. In violation of the most explicit agreements we built Forts Phil Kearney, Reno and Smith, in their country; they flew to arms; the cost to the Government was a million dollars a month; and finally the forts were vacated.
We had a great war with the Cheyennes in 1864-5. It began in the most atrocious massacre that disgraces the annals of our country. It was at a time when settlers were pouring into Colorado. The buffalo had become scarce; the annuities for some reason had ceased; the Indians were sad and depressed. But they kept the peace. Black Kettle, of whom I have already spoken, was their chief. A white man made complaint to a United States officer that an Indian had stolen some of his horses. The officer did not know the man, nor whether or not he had owned any horses; but he fitted out an expedition to seize horses. Soon they ran across Indians and claimed their stock, though the Indians protested that they had only ponies and no American horses. A fight ensued and some Indians were killed. Black Kettle knew his danger. He rushed at once to the Governor of Colorado, seeking protection. It was refused. Col. Boone, an old resident of the Territory, told Bishop Whipple that it was the saddest company he had even seen when they stopped at his house on their way back. He offered them food, but they said: “Our hearts are sick; we cannot eat.”