The Great Sioux Uprising (as it is commonly known) of 1862 has always held a particular interest for me. It occurred, first of all, in my home state of Minnesota, so I am personally familiar with many of the massacre and battle sites. When I was young, my dad took me on a weekend’s tour of the Upper and Lower Sioux Agencies, Fort Ridgely, and the town of New Ulm.
For me, a second early attraction of the uprising was its generally horrific nature. Before you demand that I go back in time and see a child psychologist, hear me out. Violence has an unmistakable allure. The Dakota Uprising was a paroxysm of pent-up anger, frustration, and desperation. In a short period of time, it cut a wide swath of bloodstained devastation. I was forbidden from watching R-rated movies in my youth; but I had full access to Kenneth Carley’s The Sioux Uprising of 1862, with its graphic pen-and-ink sketches of places like “Slaughter Slough.” History was an entrée into the forbidden world of adult knowledge.
Finally, as an adult, I’ve come to appreciate the complicated context of this event. The older you get, and the more compromises you make, tends to instill in you a realization that the world is gray. That nothing is all right or all wrong. The Dakota Uprising is so much more than poor white settlers getting murdered in their cabins and fields; it is also so much more than Cooper’s noble savages enacting justified revenge. It is the extreme consequence of hundreds and thousands of conversations, decisions, rationalization, interactions, slights, misunderstandings, competing sovereign interests, and competing self-interests.
The Dakota Uprising is significant in both its local impact – resulting in the deportation of hundreds of Indians – and in numerical terms, as the bloodiest such uprising in our nation’s long Indian Wars.
Yet the event is mostly unknown.
This past August was the 150th anniversary of the uprising. Outside of Minnesota, the sesquicentennial passed quietly. I probably would have missed it, were it not for a fortuitous visit to mom’s house, and a Minnesota Public Radio symposium on the uprising. Compare this to the battle of Antietam, which reached 150 years of age almost exactly a month after the Dakota Uprising. The Antietam sesquicentennial made the New York Times, NPR, and resulted in new books by acclaimed authors.
As far as I can tell, Scott Berg’s 38 Nooses is the only major publication timed to coincide with the uprising’s anniversary. It is also, to its credit, a bit unusual in its approach. This is not simply a more-modern retelling of an already-told story. Rather, it has its own unique angle, one that ties the Dakota Uprising (and its leader, Little Crow) to the rest of the nation (and its leader, Abraham Lincoln).
To be honest, I was a bit hesitant of Berg’s strategy. After all, Abe Lincoln has never been more in vogue. It seems almost cynical to graft the 16th president onto a story in which he played only a secondary role: that of determining which of the convicted Dakota Indians would be executed (out of 265 condemned Indians, 38 were hanged, hence the title).
But I was pleased with the end result.
Berg’s book provides only the most general overview of the Dakota Uprising. To be sure, he takes you through the seminal moments of the uprising, from the murder of a handful of settlers in Acton, Minnesota, to Little Crow’s assault on Fort Ridgely, to the battle of Birch Coulee and the hangings of 38 Dakota warriors in Mankato. However, none of these incidents are handled in any great depth. If you are a newcomer to the chronology – or more interested in the day to day drama of the uprising – you are better served by starting with Duane Schultz’s Over the Earth I Come, which is the standard work on the subject.
Instead, Berg views the events through the prism of several different historical characters, some of them direct participants, others connected only at a distance. The viewpoints Berg has chosen include Little Crow, chief of the Mdewakanton Dakota; Henry Benjamin Whipple, a bishop and Indian advocate; Sarah Wakefield, a white captive; and, of course, Lincoln.
Little Crow is the man chosen by history as the leader of the uprising. In actuality, he was not a warlike man, only a man who wanted to hold onto his slice of the pie. Following the murder of several settlers in Acton, Minnesota, and with retribution sure to come, Little Crow was forced to make a choice: lead the rebellion or lose his primacy as a leader. He chose unwisely.
Bishop Whipple was a rarity, a white man concerned with Indian affairs while the frontier was still in flux. Whipple was passionate in his advocacy. Unfortunately, he was trying to get Lincoln’s attention at the worst possible moment: while the North was losing the Civil War.
Sarah Wakefield is chosen by Berg to be the spine of the uprising narrative. She escaped the Upper Sioux Agency only to be captured and protected by the warrior Chaska. She survived the uprising under Chaska’s auspices, and later wrote one of the classic captivity narratives, Six Weeks in the Sioux Tepees. As you might expect, with prevailing 19th century racial and sexual attitudes, her homecoming to the whites was not seamless. Her savior, Chaska, was hanged by mistake in Mankato.
Looming over these characters is Lincoln. As I mentioned above, including Lincoln is a bit of a stretch. I understand Berg’s intent, but Lincoln’s connection to the Dakota Uprising is as a distracted, distant observer. Indeed, one of Lincoln’s chief moves in response to the disaster was sending Minnesota the disgraced General John Pope. Pope had recently lost the Second Battle of Bull Run (perhaps the greatest of all Union catastrophes) and Lincoln needed a place to store him. So he gave him to Minnesota (instead of the Federal troops that were requested).
More resonant, of course, is Lincoln’s decision regarding the execution of 265 Indians. After the uprising had been quelled, Henry Sibley held rushed, quasi-legal (quasi-legal being extremely generous) military tribunals to ferret the guilty from the innocent. Some of transcripts of these trials are online, and they are not exemplars of the adversary process.
There is a reason that attorneys love to claim Lincoln as one of their own. He was pragmatic. He was diligent. He was concerned with questions of jurisdiction and precedent, even as he tested the limits on both.
He was also a Clintonian triangulator, a more subtler practitioner of Solomonic wisdom. He was a compromiser and an incrementalist. (Ex. A: the Emancipation Proclamation). Those qualities shine through in this incident. Lincoln assigned his aides to go through every transcript and ferret out the truly heinous crimes. First they tried rapes, but found only two. Next they looked for murders. Combining the two gave them 38. (Many of the original convicts had merely participated in the battles at Fort Ridgely and New Ulm). For those, like Whipple, who thought the Indians had been played a bad hand (lied to, cheated, starving on their shrinking reservation), 38 deaths were barbaric. For the white settlers on the frontier, 265 dead Indians didn't even amount to a good start.
Berg’s story extends beyond the uprising and hangings (attended by Dr. Charles Mayo, who wanted corpses for science) and to the exodus of the Dakota. He follows Little Crow as he attempts to escape, describes how Fort Snelling was turned into a concentration camp (interestingly, I never saw that mentioned as a kid, when I used to buy rock candy at the sutler’s), and even includes some of the aftershocks of the uprising, including Colonel Sibley’s incursion into the Dakota Territory, resulting in the little known massacre at Whitestone Hill.
Berg intercuts the frontier bloodshed with eastern digressions, to visit the First Minnesota at the battle of Antietam. I think I understand Berg’s point in tying together these two stories. History, after all, is not comprised of mutually exclusive events. All this bloodletting was occurring simultaneously. And really, it didn't lessen my enjoyment. Still, 38 Nooses is the newest mainstream book about the Dakota Uprising, and possibly the first on the subject for many readers. For them, these cutaways might prove annoying.
When I was growing up, one of my many tactless uncles pointed to a hill and told me it was an Indian mound. An Indian mound?. Yeah, he said. Underneath it is dead Indians. Thus, for much of my youth, whenever I saw a rolling hills, my mind took on x-ray vision, so that I could see beneath the grass, to the bleached white skeletons beneath.
Now I see the figurative truth in that assertion. Minnesota is a state marked by old Indian names and built on old Indian villages and roiled by the political clout of casino-rich, newly-resurgent Indian tribes. It’s a complicated past leading to a complicated present. Berg’s interpretation, focusing as it does on a handful human beings (the greatest complication of all), does justice to that reality.