I am Chief Joseph, popular by Hin-mah-too-yah-lat-kekt. I was born on March 3, 1840, in Wallowa Valley, Oregon Territory. When the United States attempted to force the Nez Perce to move to a reservation in 1877, I reluctantly agreed. Following the killing of a group of white settlers, tensions erupted again, so I tried to lead my people to Canada, in what is considered one of the great retreats in military history. I am the leader of one band of the Nez Perce people. My formal Native American name translates to Thunder Rolling Down a Mountain, but I was largely known as Joseph, the same name as my fathers, Joseph the Elder. When my dad Joseph the Elder died in1871, I assumed my father's leadership role as well as the positions he'd staked out for his
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As my father had done before me, I, along with fellow Nez Perce leaders, the White Bird, and I balked at the resettlement plan. As tensions mounted, the three of us sensed that violence was imminent. In 1877, recognizing what a war could mean for their people, we backed down and agreed to the new reservation boundaries. Just before the move, however, warriors from White Bird's band attacked and killed several white settlers. I understood there would be brutal repercussions and in an effort to avoid defeat, and most likely my own death, I led my people on what is now widely considered one of the most remarkable retreats in military history. Over the course of four long months, my 700 followers and I, a group that included just 200 actual warriors, embarked on a 1,400-mile march toward Canada. The journey included several impressive victories against a U.S. force that numbered more than 2,000 soldiers. But the retreat took its toll on the group. By the fall of 1877 my people and I were exhausted and very tired. We had come within 40 miles of the Canadian border, reaching the Bear Paw Mountains of Montana, but we were too beaten and starving to continue to
As my father had done before me, I, along with fellow Nez Perce leaders, the White Bird, and I balked at the resettlement plan. As tensions mounted, the three of us sensed that violence was imminent. In 1877, recognizing what a war could mean for their people, we backed down and agreed to the new reservation boundaries. Just before the move, however, warriors from White Bird's band attacked and killed several white settlers. I understood there would be brutal repercussions and in an effort to avoid defeat, and most likely my own death, I led my people on what is now widely considered one of the most remarkable retreats in military history. Over the course of four long months, my 700 followers and I, a group that included just 200 actual warriors, embarked on a 1,400-mile march toward Canada. The journey included several impressive victories against a U.S. force that numbered more than 2,000 soldiers. But the retreat took its toll on the group. By the fall of 1877 my people and I were exhausted and very tired. We had come within 40 miles of the Canadian border, reaching the Bear Paw Mountains of Montana, but we were too beaten and starving to continue to