Across the fence: Battle Mountain

“A messenger arrived from the great west with news of a wonderful water which, he said, had been touched by the finger of the Great Spirit…”

These are the beginning words of the historical marker titled ‘Battle Mountain’ at the northwestern edge of town above the Fall River that runs through Hot Springs, South Dakota. The brief narrative continues with the messenger’s news of the waters ability to cure disease and the subsequent migration of Native Americans to the sacred site. The brass lettering on a black background jumps forward through centuries of unrecorded history to reveal that, “After a lapse of more than 200 years, the Cheyenne took possession of the springs and built an immense tipi city covering hundreds of acres.”

My search, for the stories of the discovery of these hot springs of the Black Hills and the subsequent battles between the native tribes of the west for control of the sacred waters, has come up empty. Perhaps these stories remain only in the oral history of the original inhabitants of the region. Hopefully I will one day come across a written history, but for now, I can only imagine…

How many hundreds of years ago could it have been when the steaming waters, that poured out from the depths of the mountains and rushed down the canyon, were first discovered? From which tribe was the messenger ‘from the great west’? Perhaps the messenger was Sioux, maybe Cheyenne or possibly Pawnee. Regardless of the source it is apparent that someone journeyed far to the west and returned with the strange news of the mysterious, healing waters. Perhaps it was a young warrior seeking his destiny, testing his endurance and courage, as he struck out across the plains to discover the land that, each day, swallowed the evening sun.

Leaving his village, on the banks of the Missouri, the young man traveled northwesterly ever watchful of the land around him. He listened to the birds for any sign of danger and watched the scampering antics of the furry four-legged rodents that chirped a warning before diving into their earthen burrows. Each day took him farther from the things he knew and deeper into a land unknown.

He crossed clear, cold streams that could be easily forded and journeyed for many days, up and down rolling, sandy hills of lush grass that cradled vast shallow lakes more brilliantly blue than the sky. After weeks of travel he could see, in the far distance, the dark blue shadows of the pine-covered hills that stretched across the horizon. Here the land was different, unlike the rich, soft black earth along the river of his home, this land was gray and rocky. The long, open stretches of prairie gave way to sudden wide draws where wind and water had cut the earth and carved strange images in rock that crumbled to dust when touched.

His journey had begun with the new moon when its shining crescent appeared low in the western sky. He had watched it grow until it rose full and bright in the east and had followed its journey across the night sky until, once again, its silvery crescent hung below the bright evening star. At last he reached the pine-covered hills that had beckoned to him for so many days. The dense forest was both inviting and frightening. Inviting, where cool breezes whispered through the boughs yet frightening with dark trunks obscuring whatever unknowns might lie ahead.

The early signs of autumn had begun to cover the hills as Cottonwood and Willow leaves turned to soft amber and crimson. The young warrior knew he must return to his village before the snows and bitter cold of winter swept across the prairie. On the day he had chosen to turn to the east and begin his homeward journey, he stood atop a high plateau and gazed down into a narrow canyon. Through this canyon rushed a small stream that tumbled and frothed as it cascaded over its rocky bed. From out of one side of the canyon a small waterfall splashed over a mossy wall and down to the stream below. And most amazingly, the water seemed to be on fire for smoke rose from the streambed along the entire length of the canyon.

Tomorrow the young warrior would turn toward home. Today he must look more closely at the water that smoked. As he made his way down the canyon walls, his curiosity overshadowed his caution. The steep canyon walls betrayed his footing and threw him down upon the jagged rocks. His fall was long and painful as the rocks tore at his flesh, hammered against his head and crumbled at his grasp as he desperately clawed for something to stop his decent. When he hit the canyon floor he felt a searing pain in his ankle and heard the crack of bone in his arm. For a long while the young man lay still on the canyon floor as he considered his misfortune.

Unable to travel, the young man began to make preparations for his survival during the coming winter while he healed from his injuries. It was during these preparations that he discovered that it was the warmth of the water against the chill of autumn that caused it to steam, not smoke. Throughout the autumn, as he prepared for a long, solitary winter, the young warrior discovered the soothing effects of the water as he lay in a pool of warmth. He was aware of its healing powers on his bruised and swollen ankle and the rapid healing of his scraped and torn flesh. He noticed the seemingly miraculous return of strength, endurance and health. Surely these waters had been touched by the Great Spirit.

When the young man returned to his village he told them of the valley with the healing waters and in time the entire village made the journey westward. Word of this sacred place carried throughout the tribes of the plains resulting in much conflict over who would posses the land and the power it contained.

By the mid-1800s the Cheyenne had occupied the region and had established a large village whose lodges covered many hundreds of acres around the sacred springs. Shortly thereafter the Sioux also began to migrate into the region and in 1869 a fierce and deadly conflict ensued between the Sioux and the Cheyenne. The Cheyenne fortified themselves on the mountain overlooking the sacred waters and were there defeated by the attacking Sioux. Since that time the mountain has been called Battle Mountain.

The historical marker reads; “The Sioux won the battle and possession of the springs which they called wi-wi-la-kah-to (Springs - hot). They called the area Minnekahta (Water - hot) and termed the Black Hills a great "Medicine Home".

In time, the tribes began to cooperate with each other and decided that the healing waters were a gift of the Great Spirit and were meant to be shared, for the good of all. The valley and the healing waters that flowed through it became neutral ground and its healing powers were used by all—that is until white settlers began to overrun the country and the Black Hills became the spoils of yet another treaty.

In the early 1880s, after the Sioux and Cheyenne had been confined to their respective reservations, a Frenchman by the name of Joseph Larvie had settled in the northwestern part of the Nebraska panhandle. Joseph had married a Sioux Indian maiden from the Dakota Territories and had settled near what is today White Clay Creek. Larvie was told, by his Native family, of a place in the Black Hills where healing waters poured hot and steaming from out of the earth. Larvie and his partner investigated this unusual phenomenon and were able to acquire a tract of land that contained one of these amazing springs. Each of the men decided to move their families to this place and settled there. In time, other settlers heard of the healing qualities of the warm, medicinal waters and also settled in the valley where Larvie had taken his family. Eventually Larvie sold his holdings, which later became the town site of Hot Springs, South Dakota. The price that Larvie received for the site of the healing waters was $600 and a handsome and athletic, grey thoroughbred stallion.

It is said that the founding fathers restricted the use of the hot mineral waters and controlled all access to them. Naturally, in the interest of upholding the long-held sanctity of capitalism, the healing waters were to be shared with all who could pay.

Battle Mountain still stands guard over the town of Hot Springs and the sacred waters of Fall River. The valley has become the haven of men and women of the armed forces who have each fought on their own personal ‘battle mountain’ and the historic Veterans Administration facilities continue to be a place where those who have served can come to rest and heal.

M. Timothy Nolting is an award winning Nebraska columnist and freelance writer. To contact Tim, email; [email protected]