His Name Changed Generations

it's not a gentle story, but it's a true one

The toddler's life held true in the midst of murder and destruction. His name was to pass down through many generations, and the story of how it was received was told over and over again, and will be told yet again. But on November 30, 1864, the little boy stood covered in old blood, hand in his mouth, silent and stunned. Everyone he'd known was dead. They surrounded him, all dead.

    It was the day after the Sand Creek Massacre, referred to by the man who caused it as "The Battle of Sand Creek." There was no battle. It had been a simple camp set up by Cheyenne and Arapaho Indians, right by Sand Creek in Indian Territory. It was set up as advised by the U.S. Army. The Indians in the camp also flew a white flag for safety, just as they were told. There were only old men, women and children in the camp, as warrior-age men were sent elsewhere. There was no battle.

    U.S. Calvary Commander John Chivington knew about the camp, there in Southeastern Colorado, and he wanted to destroy it. He did not think of Indians as human. He thought of them as in the way of the Pike's Peak Gold Rush. He said this later about how he felt:

    "Damn any man who sympathizes with Indians! I have come to kill Indians, and believe it is right and honorable to use any means under God's heaven to kill Indians. Kill and scalp all, big and little, nits make lice."

    Outspoken witnesses said Chivington encouraged his men, hundreds in force, to get drunk and let their enmity toward Indians take the worst forms imaginable. The troops attacked at dawn. They murdered and assaulted all the Indians they saw, from babies to grandmothers. The Indians ran to escape, and some did, in the woods nearby. They were also hunted down. The Calvary made sport of it, and thought they left everyone dead. There was no battle.

    Though they were reported, Commander Chivington resigned his post before the Army charged him. One witness to the carnage was murdered two weeks after he testified. About 150 Indians were killed, over 100 of them women and children. Chivington boasted that he killed between 500 and 600 Indians in his battle. There was no battle. Many now know it as "The Sand Creek Massacre."

    The next dawn, toddler stood, caked with blood, soundless. He was naked and alone. He wasn't aware of it, but he was sought. A group of Mexicans, who heard of the massacre, arrived soon to see what they could see. They sought survivors. They found none except the boy.

    He remained silent when they wrapped him in a blanket and carried him on horseback away from the end of his former world. For the next several years, one family in the Mexican town raised the boy as their own. He grew strong and a little wild. His Indian features separated him from his new brothers and sisters, but none felt that way; they only noticed them briefly. His features were a little sharper - his hair straight, very black and worn longer. His eyes seemed like laughing slits above high cheekbones; they glittered black. He was loved.

    When Pedro, for so he was named, became seven years old, his life changed again. Indians rode into town, and when they saw Pedro, they went immediately to his Mexican parents. They had found the survivor they were looking for.

    They said, "We've looked for this boy for years. We heard your people found him at Sand Creek. He is Arapaho. He belongs to us. We intend to raise him, now that we've found him. Thank you for guarding his life. Now he belongs to us."

    The adults ate together and discussed it more. The Mexicans were loathe to give up a boy they thought of as a son. They knew he really had another family because he'd been found, after all. Still, it was hard. But the Indians were persuasive. They said that in two years, if the boy wanted to, he could return. The Indians would bring him back themselves.

    After the meal, Pedro found himself astride a pony, led by an Indian man and gathered around by the group who had sought him. Pedro cried. He was afraid. The Indian riding next to him explained gently and firmly that Pedro was actually an Arapaho boy, perhaps a son of an old chief who was killed at Sand Creek. The Indian said his life would be good. He'd be taken care of, and shown marvelous things. "Here," the man said. "Some jerky. Here. Wipe your face with this cloth. You always belonged to us. It will be right, now. We already see you with love."

    Soon, Pedro was assimilated into the tribe. He made new friends. He had new brothers and sisters, new parents, a new language and an interesting new life. He was happy. But there was one thing he never gave up. He insisted his Arapaho family call him "Pedro."

    As generations passed, this name became the last name of all Pedro's children, grandchildren and more. There are many Pedros now, and that became my last name when I married an Arapaho. My daughter's last name was Pedro before she married. And the Pedro elders in Oklahoma and Wyoming were always happy to tell me, over and over again, how they got such an unusual last name.

Reviews

[Brian Shepard]

I know absolutely nothing about native American culture. However...My great grandparents on both sides emigrated from french Canada and I was raised in a tightly bound Franco American subculture in coastal Maine. I remember all of the generational stories pere and papere told about "our people". This was wonderful because it was alien and familiar at the same time. Nice.

[LJ]

Thanks! When I first met the two Natives who would become my husband and father-in-law (and later, many more in-laws and friends) I actually thought all Native Americans were dead. That makes me laugh now, but I was young and had never been around Indians before. So, I understand what you mean by "...alien and familiar at the same time." And yes, I think it's nice, especially because it reminds you of your own family history. That's grand. Thanks again for reading and reviewing.

[Julie McCarthy (juliesp..]

Love this it’s so interesting
I do Nt know anything about native Indians But as a young gal in the sixties would watch the cowboy and Indians movies westerns on a Saturday after midday I was always a bit scared of the big Indians and their headwear lol
How interesting was your story love the way you can tell a story a true one and not make it sound textbook style
Good work

[LJ]

Thank you! I'm glad you overcame your fear of headdresses and managed to read this bit of history. lol -And I'm relieved you said this isn't textbook style. I remembered the story as my N/A relatives told it and researched the rest. Thanks again!