In conjunction with his upcoming book, Here Is Where: In Search of America's Great Forgotten History, we're following historian and Legacy Project founder Andrew Carroll as he drives, flies, walks, boats, buses, bikes, and hikes to seek out little-known historic sites in all 50 states. Bookmark all of his posts here.
"This is where the cavalry came in," my guide John Murray tells me, pointing toward the long, sloping hill that leads down to the Marias River. John and his wife, Carol, had met me in Shelby, Montana, and I could not have asked for two more gracious or knowledgeable guides; Carol is the tribal history director for the Blackfeet Indians, and John serves as the historical preservation officer.
Together they narrated for me what had happened at the Marias River 139 years ago:
Early on the morning of January 23, 1870, U.S. Army troops led by Brevet Lt. Col. Eugene Baker rode toward an encampment of Piegan Blackfeet Indians to conduct a retaliatory attack for the killing of a white man named Malcolm Clarke. General Philip Sheridan reportedly said before Baker mobilized his men: "If the lives and property of the citizens of Montana can best be protected by striking Mountain Chief's band, I want them struck. Tell Baker to strike them hard."
Despite being told they were approaching the wrong camp, Baker and his men were hell bent on revenge. Heavy Runner, a tribal leader who had maintained friendly relations with both the Army and white settlers, came running out across the river to show Baker his good conduct papers and explain that his people had nothing to do with Clarke's murder. (Mountain Chief, Baker's real target, was camped miles away.) Heavy Runner was promptly shot, and Baker's troops descended on the camp, wildly firing into the lodgings of terrified Piegans. Those who attempted to escape were either killed or taken prisoner, and many of the casualties were women, children, and the elderly; the strongest men were out hunting.
"This is where the cavalry came in," my guide John Murray tells me, pointing toward the long, sloping hill that leads down to the Marias River. John and his wife, Carol, had met me in Shelby, Montana, and I could not have asked for two more gracious or knowledgeable guides; Carol is the tribal history director for the Blackfeet Indians, and John serves as the historical preservation officer.Together they narrated for me what had happened at the Marias River 139 years ago:
Early on the morning of January 23, 1870, U.S. Army troops led by Brevet Lt. Col. Eugene Baker rode toward an encampment of Piegan Blackfeet Indians to conduct a retaliatory attack for the killing of a white man named Malcolm Clarke. General Philip Sheridan reportedly said before Baker mobilized his men: "If the lives and property of the citizens of Montana can best be protected by striking Mountain Chief's band, I want them struck. Tell Baker to strike them hard."
Despite being told they were approaching the wrong camp, Baker and his men were hell bent on revenge. Heavy Runner, a tribal leader who had maintained friendly relations with both the Army and white settlers, came running out across the river to show Baker his good conduct papers and explain that his people had nothing to do with Clarke's murder. (Mountain Chief, Baker's real target, was camped miles away.) Heavy Runner was promptly shot, and Baker's troops descended on the camp, wildly firing into the lodgings of terrified Piegans. Those who attempted to escape were either killed or taken prisoner, and many of the casualties were women, children, and the elderly; the strongest men were out hunting.
Baker's own official report stated that
173 were killed, but other accounts put the number well over 200.
Baker's estimates also don't include those who fled into the subzero
cold and ultimately froze to death. Unlike Wounded Knee in South Dakota or the Bear
River Massacre in Idaho, which are both well marked, this massacre has
been largely forgotten and remains one of the worst in American history."Why is this so unknown?" I asked John and Carol. They explained that no one really had an incentive to remember it. Certainly not the military, and even for many Piegan the site was a place of shame. "The Piegan were never the same after this massacre," John said.
John
and Carol have been at forefront of remembering the Marias--also known
as the Baker--Massacre, and after discussing why it has been forgotten,
I asked them why the story needed to be told. For one, they responded,
to honor those who died. Carol (pictured, above) hopes to instill in younger generations
of her tribe a sense of "Pikani Strength" (Pikani is a derivation of
Piegan). "Our people have suffered through starvation winters,
massacres, epidemics--and yet still endure," Carol said. "The members
of our tribe who are alive today can learn from and be inspired by the
resilience of those who came before us."Indeed, we all can.
All photos and text © Andrew Carroll
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