And So They Died

The Indians, at least the ones present in the early days of the United States, were very superstitious, and they believed that the hissing and thundering of the geysers to be voices of evil spirits. Not knowing much about the curvature of the Earth, they also regarded the mountains at the head of the river as the crest of the world. They believed that if they could make it over the summits, they would gain the happy hunting-grounds below. They believed their homes would be blessed. The Indians loved this land and felt like it was the land left to them by their fathers, who had hunted there. They didn’t want to hand it over to the white man. Nevertheless, the soldiers were duty bound to pursue the defiant warriors, to avenge the wrongs the Indians had committed while suffering under the sting of tyranny and wrong. It had been a bloody battle and just scant few of the fugitive band finally gathered at the head of the canyon known as the Grand Canyon of the Yellowstone. These few had succeeded in escaping the bullets of the soldiers, and they had courageously decided to die rather than be taken and carried away to be placed in a distant prison. This was their homeland, and they would die rather than leave it again.

The brave warriors built a raft and tied it securely on the river at the foot of the upper falls. Then they reveled, for a few days, in the peace and the bounty of the area that had always belonged to them, feeling once again that it belonged to them and that maybe there was no such thing as the white men who were pursuing them relentlessly. Their time in that beautiful place was, however, short-lived, and one morning, they are aroused from peaceful sleep by the crack of rifles fire. The soldiers had found them.

With resolve, and knowing that they could not escape, the warriors boarded their raft and pushed out toward the middle of the stream. I don’t know if they were trying for the opposite shore, or if they knew what would happen next, but the current immediately grabbed the raft and held it firmly in its grasp. Some of the warriors had guns that they defiantly discharged at the soldiers. For their part, the soldiers just stood in shock as the scene unfolded in front of their horrified eyes. The soldiers didn’t even fire a single shot, but instead, watched with nothing short of dread as the raft passed into the current and was wildly tossed around, whirling faster and faster. The waves seemed to sing a “death song” as they triumphantly forced the raft closer and closer to the edge and the roar of the falls. It is hard to say if the warriors felt and fear, or if they had simply decided that death was preferred to a life in prison. Whatever they felt, was drowned as the faced the soldiers with a look of defiance, and screamed the tones of the death chant, of no less than hate and even celebration, lurched onward to their end.

In times of war, the two sides are prepared to kill, but as the raft raced toward the edge, the soldiers, as hardened as they were, could not stop their shudders as they contemplated the fate the Indians had chosen for themselves. Then, the brink was reached. The raft was pulled between the jaws of the rocks at the top of the falls. Beyond the rocks were vast walls, leading to the floor of the gulf a thousand feet below. The raft tipped toward the gulf, and with a cry of triumph, the Indians were launched over the edge into the raging falls. As the warriors fell, they were met by the brilliant colors of the rising sun. The view would have normally been considered beautiful and even peaceful, except for the horror of what was coming. Nevertheless, the warriors had decided that they would rather die than leave the land they loved, and so they died…on their own terms.