The Comanche Way

Foreword

Some of this story is taken from the annals of history in the late 1880's and reflects the documented relationship between the supposedly civilized white people and the supposedly savage Native American tribe of the Comanche. It is important to remember that as has been paraphrased by many over the centuries, history is always written by the victorious and not by the defeated.

The culture of the Comanche was significantly different from the culture of white people in some ways, but very similar in others. The Comanche culture was based on a way of life most white people of the time could not comprehend and so they ignored it in the writing of history. In actuality, it was a way of life the Comanche developed over centuries of living in harmony with their environment. It is true that part of that culture involved warring with first other Native American tribes and then with the white settlers who encroached on traditional Comanche hunting grounds. The same can be said for all civilizations, white or other, from antiquity to the present day.

The remainder of the story is what I imagine to be the actual truth about the Comanche in the times before they were relocated to the reservation and afterward. After all is said and done, humans all share the same hopes, dreams, and motivations regardless of their ancestry or location. It is their environment that constructs their culture and not some imagined superiority of certain groups over others.

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On the 18th of May, 1875, Melody Arens climbed down from the wagon that had brought her to Fort Sill, Oklahoma Territory from the railroad depot in Caddo. After retrieving her bag from the wagon, she walked to the building where the office of the Indian Agent was located.

Melody's purpose for coming to Fort Sill was not a personal preference nor was it something she believed would further her career. It was an assignment to observe the surrender of the last group of Comanche Indians to the US Cavalry and then interview some of them. In her heart she knew she'd been sent by the St. Louis Post Dispatch only to write a story for the newspaper that would attract the women readers of such stories.

Sending her there also gave her editor a little respite from Melody's constant asking when she would get an important reporting assignment. He wasn't about to give her an assignment he'd always given a man. He might have to put up with female reporters, but he didn't have to give them important assignments.

Melody was what was known as a "Sob Sister" by the male reporters of the various newspapers. Several female reporters worked for newspapers, but the articles they wrote concentrated on things that were enjoyed by women. Chief among those things was the emotional toll of some tragedy on the people involved and the sympathy those same people deserved. It was thought by the male reporters that those articles often reduced the female reader to tears, hence the name "Sob Sister". Melody's last assignment was covering the funerals of several people who had perished when the boiler of a steamboat blew up while leaving the docks at St. Louis.

Melody had interviewed the few survivors as well as the relations of those who had perished, and then wrote a column about the plight of the widows and orphans of the men killed. Her editor said it was a good article, but Melody already knew that. She was surprised when he said he was going to put it on the front page, at the bottom, of course. She also didn't know how much of an impact that column would have on the newspaper, the community, and most importantly, on her life.

The effect on the newspaper was immediate. The first edition for that day sold out within two hours and the paper printed a second edition that hit the streets right after noon. It also sold out by five that evening.

The newspaper responded by donating the profits of the first edition to the churches in St. Louis and was to be used to pay the funeral costs for the deceased. Those churches found that once that article appeared in the next day's edition as well, people from St. Louis were asking if they could donate money toward the cost of the funerals or to a fund to help the widows and orphans.

The newspaper owner was so happy he told her editor to give her a more important assignment. Her editor told her to get herself to Fort Sill to witness the surrender of the last group of Comanche Indians at Fort Sill.

"We'll run your story as a series over a week on the second page. You know what to write. Just stay away from writing about the Indian men. Everybody already knows they're savage killers at heart. Concentrate on the women and children. Write how their lives used to be and how they're now going to change. Our women readers will be waiting at the paper drop to buy the next day's edition."

To Melody, this assignment was the same as all the others she'd gotten except this one would be harder to write. The reason was that since the end of the Civil War, most of the stories considered newsworthy by the Chief Editor had to do with the violent resistance of the many Indian tribes against moving to the reservations in Indian Territory and the bloody fighting that took place between those tribes and the US Cavalry.

The attacks by the Indians on settlements that left many white people dead with desecrated bodies had taken the front page many times. So had the several battles between the Indians and the US Cavalry, and the Indians had always been portrayed as bloodthirsty madmen who killed for the sake of killing and then mutilated the bodies of their victims. Convincing a reader that the women of those Indian tribes felt the same feelings about losing their husbands and children and their tribal lands as white women did would take some skillful writing.

Melody's plan was to witness the formal surrender and then talk to the Comanches about the past and about what they thought of their future. She wasn't sure if the Comanche men would talk with her because she knew from reading the newspapers that most Indian men considered women to be useful only for the drudgery of the household and for bearing children. Some Comanche men were known to have married up to six wives in order to have an easier way of life and to sire more sons.

Melody thought if she could speak directly to the Comanche women, she'd learn their real plight and how they felt about their situations. She doubted they would tell any of the male reporters now milling around Fort Sill their innermost secrets, but they might tell another woman.

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The surrender ceremony wasn't what Melody had expected. She'd anticipated there would be speeches by the Commanding General of Fort Sill and speeches by the conquered Indians. This had been the case when several large units of Confederate soldiers had surrendered at the end of the war.

Instead, the Cavalry column rode up to the parade ground where she stood. Behind them were the Comanche men on horseback, and behind them were the women and children on foot and leading horses laden with packs or pulling a frame made of small trees on which were more packs. There were a few words exchanged between Horace Marks, the Indian Agent and one of the Comanche men, and then the column left.

The only remarkable thing to Melody was the look of the Indians. She'd expected to see them dressed in shoddy clothing and looking downcast and sad. That's what she'd read in the newspaper descriptions of the defeated Confederate soldiers when they surrendered.

Instead, the Comanche men sat straight on their horses with the firm faces of pride and dressed in clean, finely cut leather clothing decorated with colorful beadwork and many feathers. The women's garments were not so rich, but still were clean and sported some decorations of beads and shells. She could not believe these were a defeated people. They looked more to her like people who had resigned themselves to their fate but had refused to surrender their personal pride.

As the column moved out, Melody realized she wasn't going to be able to talk with any Comanche women until they got to wherever the Cavalry was taking them. She walked up to the throng of reporters who surrounded the Indian Agent in hopes of finding out where that would be. It was quickly obvious to her that she had little hope of that happening.

The other reporters, all men, were yelling questions at the Indian Agent and asking how many Indians had been killed before they surrendered and how many of the Cavalry had been killed. They also would not let her get close enough that the Indian Agent could hear her voice over the yelling.

The men reporters all seemed sad when the Indian Agent said there had been no battle. He and the Commanding General of Fort Sill had just sat down with the leaders of the last band of Comanches still not on the reservation to talk. The General had explained that his orders were to bring all the Comanche to live on the reservation and that if they continued to resist, he would only send more soldiers to kill them.

The Indian Agent had pointed out the fact that the vast herds of buffalo that had been almost the sole resource for the Comanche were nearly gone, so even if they continued to live off the reservation, they would starve. The only way to survive as a people with their own religion and customs would be to live on the reservation where the US Government would provide for their needs.

The tribal elders had a long discussion, and at the end, the war chief of the band, a man named Towahwi, stood and said the band would move to the reservation.

Once the Indian Agent had explained all this, the male reporters all left for the telegraph office in the fort. Each wanted to be the first to get their story to their newspaper.

Melody waited patiently until the last one left and then walked into the building. She found the Indian Agent's office and after she knocked, he let her in and asked her to have a seat.

"Ma'am, I saw you in that crowd of reporters, but thought you were just a bystander. What can I help you with?"

Melody laid her Saint Louis Dispatch press card on the desk in front of the Indian Agent.

"I wish to speak with the Comanche to get information for a newspaper article."

The Indian Agent looked at it for a second and then handed it back to Melody.

"Miss Arens, what can I tell you that I haven't already told all the others? There was no battle. Towahwi is a smart man and understood his cause was lost."

Melody smiled in hopes of putting the Indian Agent at ease.

"I do not wish to write about the surrender as such. I wish to write about the Comanche people. In order to do that, I would ask you to take me there and make the necessary introductions. I will then interview the people. In a day I will be on my way back to Saint Louis."

The Indian Agent smiled back.

"Ma'am, I can take you to their encampment, but are you certain you want to go there? Towahwi assured me his band will fight no more and I believe him. I do not know if all the members of his band share that opinion. Should something happen to you, that incident would be serious enough for General Hayward to send troops to arrest the offenders.

"That could possibly cause another battle where more of the Comanche would die and that could stir up another uprising amongst the other groups of Comanche currently on the reservation. I have worked too long and too hard to bring those savages to the reservation for it all to come undone because of one woman reporter."

Melody was becoming upset. She hadn't come all this way to be refused access to the Comanche and she didn't intend to be. She might be a female reporter, but that didn't mean she couldn't use the same tactics as a male reporter.

"Mister Marks, if you will not take me to the Comanche, I am certain someone at Fort Sill knows where they are and will be willing to take me for the right price. My newspaper is read all over the United States, including even Washington, D.C. Which would you rather be published in the Saint Louis Post Dispatch -- that the agent of the Bureau of Indian Affairs graciously assisted me in writing my article, or that you refused to help me and I was forced to pay someone else? I would be sure to include your name in either case."

Horace Marks was smiling, but he was also thinking about the threat this impudent woman had just made because it was real. The Bureau of Indian Affairs was part of the Department of the Interior and that office was located in Washington, D.C.. Through the Superintendents, the Department of the Interior managed the Bureau of Indian Affairs which included appointments as Indian Agents as well as budgeting.

So far, his relationship with the Superintendent of Oklahoma Territory had been only by mail. At the end of each month, Horace sent a report of his actions and expenses to the superintendent. The Superintendent then sent Horace the money to cover those expenses.

Should his name appear in a newspaper with the statement that he hadn't helped the reporter, it could cause the Superintendent of Oklahoma Territory to visit him. A visit would probably reveal that while on his monthly reports Horace claimed to have six employees working in the Agency, in truth he only employed his wife as a secretary and his nephew as a driver for his carriage. The wages for the other four went into Horace's pocket.

A visit by the Superintendent might also reveal that while Horace had been billing the Department of the Interior for prime beef to feed the Indians on the reservation, he'd actually been buying what was known as "cutters and canners". That beef was usually from either worn out milk cows or from cattle that had suffered injuries or disease or a lack of feed. The weight of each individual carcass was half that of prime beef. Most of the difference between what Horace paid and what he billed the Department of the Interior for went into his pocket. The rest he paid to the suppliers of the substandard beef to keep them quiet.

Of the two options the woman had given him, helping her was the only logical choice. If the Comanche decided to rape her and then cut her to ribbons, he could always say he'd tried to discourage her.

"Well, Miss Arens, since you seem to be determined to risk your life, I will ask the General to have a man drive you to Towahwi's camp. With a Cavalry soldier along, you will probably be safe enough. After the beating Towahwi's warriors took at his last battle, he probably won't try anything. I would assume you wish to leave as soon as possible."

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As Melody rocked back and forth on the hard seat of the Cavalry wagon, she decided that Mister Marks had decided to make her visit to the Comanche as uncomfortable as possible. It wasn't just the wagon that rocked and shuddered over the rough road. That was uncomfortable but bearable. It was the man driving the wagon that made her more uneasy.

On his shoulders he wore the single stripe of a private, but on his sleeve, he wore three stripes that denoted he'd been in the Cavalry for fifteen years.

Melody knew enough about the military ranks to know he should not have been a private with fifteen years of service if he was a good soldier.

It was easy to tell that he probably wasn't a good soldier. He was fat enough his uniform had been let out in both the legs and the shirt, and even the effort of climbing into the wagon seemed to have made him gasp for breath.

There was also the way he'd looked at her when she climbed to the seat beside him. It was a look she'd seen before by the men in the rougher parts of St. Louis. It was a leering look that made her feel threatened.

Melody had been jostled and jolted for a little over half an hour when she saw the village of partially erected tepees in the distance. Her driver laughed.

"Well, little lady, there be it such as it is. Them savages lives in them buffalo hide tents you see there. It'll be the womens who put them up. The men'll be sittin' down and watchin' because that's what they do. The men do the killin' and their womens does ever'thin' else. Ain't no killin' now, so the men just sit on their backsides until their womens get a bed made for 'em and git some food fixed.

"I ain't goin' no farther'n the edge of the camp, an' I'm keepin' my Colt in my hand. I seen enough of them redskins an' I ain't getting' closer'n I have to. You'll have to go interduce yerself an' see if'n they'll talk to you. Mister Marks said you should ask for Running Fawn. She can talk English as well as that jabber the Comanche talk. When you git done, jest walk back to the wagon here an' I'll take you back to Fort Sill."

When the driver stopped the wagon, Melody took her pad and pen and climbed down from the wagon. After taking a deep breath, she started walking toward the village. Her plan was to reach the first tipi she came to and ask to speak to Running Fawn.

Melody was quickly surrounded by small children who felt her dress and then followed her. She looked at the girl who seemed to be the oldest and asked, "Running Fawn"?

The girl smiled and then started to walk away. Melody followed her to a tipi in the center of the village. A woman with white hair was just coming out of the circular entrance. The girl ran up to the woman and said something Melody couldn't understand. The older woman shielded her eyes from the sun as she looked at Melody, then walked to within a pace.

"Small Dove say you want Running Fawn. I Running Fawn. What want?"

Melody explained that she wanted to talk with the Comanche to hear what had led up to their surrender and agreement to live on the reservation. She told the woman that the Indian Agent, Mr. Marks, had said the woman named Running Fawn spoke both English and Comanche.

Running Fawn frowned.

"Why want?"

Melody smiled hoping to change Running Fawn's expression.

"I write articles for a newspaper...that's a piece of paper that white people buy to read the articles I write. I want to write an article, a story if you will, about the Comanche people."

"What write?"

Melody shrugged.

"I will write whatever the Comanche tell me."

Running Fawn was still frowning.

"You write that Comanche kill whites. Go away."

Melody took a step forward.

"No. I don't write that kind of story. I write stories for women. I want to tell women in Saint Louis about the Comanche women."

Running Fawn chuckled then.

"Comanche women not different than white women."

Melody smiled.

"Oh, I am sure there are differences. Why would you think there aren't differences?"

Running Fawn finally smiled.

"Not think. Know. I white woman."

Melody looked carefully at Running Fawn then. Her skin was maybe a little paler than the other women she saw, but the big difference she saw was in Running Fawn's face. Running Fawn's face wasn't quite as rounded and her cheekbones weren't as prominent. Melody had no idea of how old Running Fawn was, but her face had crows feet at her eyes and a few wrinkles around her mouth. She didn't see either on any of the other women.

"You're a white woman living with the Comanche?"

Running Fawn smiled.

"You come tipi I tell you story."

Melody didn't know what to expect when she stepped through the entrance to the tipi. From the outside it looked like just a few hides sewn together and held up by several long poles. Inside it was different.

Inside and attached to the poles was another set of hides stitched together and tied to the poles to line the tipi. The liner was about head high. There were several areas that seemed to have a definite purpose as well.

In the very center was a circle of stones with more stones piled on the outside. Inside the circle were a few slender branches and just inside the entrance to the tipi was a stack of thicker branches. It was obvious to Melody that the circle of stones was to contain a fire, probably for cooking and warming the tipi. She had no idea what the other stones were for.