Day 11 -- Sayre to Oklahoma City, Oklahoma plus side trip to Washita Massacre Site -- 170 Miles

Last night we chose our campsite for its proximity to the infamous massacre site that took place in 1866 on the Washita River in Oklahoma. There the famed (or infamous) Lieutenant Colonel, George Armstrong Custer, along with the U.S. Army's celebrated 7th Cavalry, massacred as many as sixty men, women, and children, essentially in cold blood, and also destroyed the tribe's entire horse herd of over 650 ponies.

The most awful and shameful aspect of this massacre is not just the needless deaths, but the fact that this particular Southern Cheyenne band of Native Americans had as their leader, Chief Black Kettle. This Chief was the most peaceful of all the Cheyenne leaders and had repeatedly proclaimed his pursuit of non violence to the extent that he had actually erected a large American flag on his Teepee.

The senseless massacre at the Washita was even more unforgiveable as it came on the heels of another attempt to eradicate Black Kettle's band of Cheyenne. Just two years before, in 1864, at an eastern Colorado river location known as Sand Creek, the Colorado 100-days Volunteer Cavalry swooped down on Black Kettle's village that included mostly women, children, and the elderly. The Colorado volunteers slaughtered an estimated 150 tribe members.

Custer's "blue-bellies" didn't get off as easily as they might have hoped. According to accounts of the battle, 18 troopers were themselves massacred when Cheyenne warriors from nearby camps on the Washita descended on them and wiped them out. In addition, another 22 troopers were wounded. Some might say it was insufficient payback for the deed the soldiers were intent on performing that day.

These episodes have been extremely interesting to me from the time I was a child and learned that my great granduncle, Benajah Stubbs, was a member of the Colorado 100-days Cavalry. When I was still in junior highschool, my mother showed me a diary that had been penned by my great grandmother in which she described the soldiers, including her brother, who rode away one day in late November, 1864, and returned many days later with scalps hanging from their saddles.

Concetta and I visited Sand Creek some years ago, and we were quite moved by the eerie and somber feeling of the massacre site in the sand hills of eastern Colorado. And as we walked from the nearby museum up to the edge of the arroyo that is Sand Creek and looked out over the battle site, Concetta told me that she could actually feel the presence of the dead, especially the children who seemed to want to guide her footsteps.

Today, we toured the museum that is perched on a small hill overlooking the Washita River and became thoroughly acquinted with the whole sad story, some of which we had read about previously. We learned that Chief Black Kettle's wife had a premonition that an attack was coming, and on the very night before the massacre, pleaded with the tribal elders to pick up and move the camp closer to a quartet of other, stronger camps upriver.

The answer Medicine Woman Later got, unfortunatley, was that perhaps the elders would consider moving in the morning. Sadly, many of tribe would not live through the following morning including Black Kettle and Medicine Woman Later herself.

As we left the museum today we happened upon something littering the ground that neither of us had ever seen before. The object was as hard and unyielding as a baseball, but was a chartruess green in color and covered with rounded spikes. Thinking it must be some kind of fruit or nut of some sort, I whipped out my pocket knife and attempted to cut the object in half. Much to my surprise it proved to be just about as tough to cut through as a basefall and resembled a cucumber complete with tiny seeds. Cutting it left a sticky residue on my knife that proved impossible to wipe off.

Just about then the park ranger strolled by on his way to lunch and we stopped him and asked about the weird fruit. "Osage orange," the ranger said. "Also known in French as the bois d’arc, or bowwood as the new, green branches of the Osage Orange tree were used to make bows with wich to shoot their arrows."

The ranger went on to tell us that you can't eat them, but if eaten by cattle the animal is likely to get the tough rind stuck in its throat and die. "But," He said. "Farmers would cut the limbs of the trees for fence posts because once planted in the soil and strung with barbed wire, the darn things would last forever. Because of the plant's toughness, native Americans would also use the wood for clubs."

When we rolled out of the museum's parking lot, we drove the short distance to the trailhead where, if you were up to a 1.5 mile hike, you could visit the actual site of the massacre. Since neither of us are equipped to do any hiking these days, we had to be content with a few photographs of the distant river. But the whole experience was much the same as our visit to Sand Creek. You just can't help but be struck by the utter brutality and waste that occured as settlers poured into the Great Plains and Native Americans tried valiently to stem the overwhelming tide of humanity in the only fashion they knew.

Since we spent a good three hours driving to the Washita, enjoying the museum and driving back to Interstate 40, we didn't have much of the day left to accomplish anything but driving. Though we put 170 miles on the oddometer, including driving to and from the Washita Museum, we only got as far as Oklahoma City and the Rockwell RV Park this afternoon. Tomorrow we will be continuing east on Interstate 40 towards Fort Smith, Arkansas, a city I don't think we've ever visited.

So, until tomorrow, we wish you exciting adventures of your own.