Later Life
Although never punished, Chivington was forced to resign from the Colorado Militia. Public outrage also forced him to withdraw from politics and kept him out of Colorado's campaign for statehood. In 1865 he moved back to Nebraska and became an unsuccessful freight hauler.
After living briefly in California, Chivington returned to Ohio to farm. Later he became editor of a local newspaper. In 1883 he campaigned for a seat in the Ohio legislature, but when his opponents drew attention to the Sand Creek Massacre, he withdrew from the election race.
He returned to Denver where he worked as a deputy sheriff until shortly before his death from cancer in 1894. His funeral took place at the city's Trinity United Methodist Church before being interred at Fairmount Cemetery. To the end of his life, Chivington maintained that Sand Creek had been a successful operation. He argued that his expedition was a response to raids on white people. He ignored his betrayal of official agreements for protection of Black Kettle's friendly band. In addition, he overlooked the contribution of the massacre to the Cheyenne, Arapaho and Sioux bands strengthening their alliances and increasing raids on white settlers. Until he died, he always claimed to have been justified in ordering the attack, stating whenever anyone asked how he felt about his actions "I stand by Sand Creek."
Read more about this topic: John Chivington
Famous quotes containing the word life:
“The novels are as useful as Bibles, if they teach you the secret, that the best of life is conversation, and the greatest success is confidence, or perfect understanding between sincere people.”
—Ralph Waldo Emerson (1803–1882)
“I remember my youth and the feeling that will never come back any more—the feeling that I could last for ever, outlast the sea, the earth, and all men; the deceitful feeling that lures us on to joys, to perils, to love, to vain effort—to death; the triumphant conviction of strength, the heat of life in the handful of dust, the glow in the heart that with every year grows dim, grows cold, grows small, and expires—and expires, too soon, too soon—before life itself.”
—Joseph Conrad (1857–1924)