Wigwam and war-path; or, The royal chief in chains
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Title: Wigwam and war-path; or, The royal chief in chains
Author: A. B. Meacham
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[Illustration]
WIGWAM AND WAR-PATH; OR THE ROYAL CHIEF IN CHAINS.
by
HON. A. B. MEACHAM,
Ex-Superintendent of Indian Affairs and Chairman of the Late Modoc
Peace Commission.
Illustrated by Portraits of
The Author, Gen. Canby, Dr. Thomas, Capt. Jack, Schonchin,
Scar-Faced Charley, Black Jim, Boston Charley,
Tobey and Riddle, Eleven Other
Spirited and Life-Like Engravings,
of Actual Scenes from Modoc Indian Life, as
Witnessed by the Author.
SECOND AND REVISED EDITION.
Boston:
John P. Dale and Company,
27 Boylston Street.
1875.
Entered according to act of Congress, in the year 1875, by
A. B. Meacham,
In the Office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington.
Press of
Rockwell and Churchill,
33 Arch Street, Boston.
PREFACE.
The Hon. A. B. Meacham has committed to me the difficult and delicate, yet
delightful task of revising the manuscript and arranging the table of
contents of the present work.
I have endeavored to review every page as an impartial critic, and have,
as far as possible, retained, in all its simplicity and beauty, the
singularly eloquent and fascinating style of the gifted author. The
changes which I have made have been, for the most part, quite
immaterial——no more nor greater than would be required in the manuscript
of writers commonly called “learned.” In no case have I attempted (for the
attempt would have been vain) to give shape and tone to the writer’s
thoughts. His mind was so full, both of the comedy and the tragedy of his
thrilling narrative, that it has flowed on like a mighty torrent, bidding
defiance to any attempt either to direct or control.
None, it seems to me, can peruse the work without being charmed with the
love of justice and the fidelity to truth which pervade its every page, as
well as the manly courage with which the writer arraigns _Power_ for the
crime of crushing _Weakness_——holding our Government to an awful
accountability for the delays, the ignorance, the fickleness and treachery
of its subordinates in dealing with a people whose very religion prompts
them to wreak vengeance for wrongs done them, even on the innocent.
For the lover of romance and of thrilling adventure, the work possesses a
charm scarcely equalled by the enchanting pages of a Fennimore Cooper;
and, to the reader who appreciates truth, justice, and humanity, and
delights to trace the outlines of such a career as Providence seems to
have marked out for the author, as well as for the unfortunate tribes
whose history he has given us, it will be a reliable, entertaining, and
instructive companion.
Mr. Meacham’s thirty years’ experience among the Indian tribes of the
North-west, and his official career as Superintendent of Indian affairs in
Oregon, together with his participation in the tragic events of the Lava
Bed, invest his words with an authority which must outweigh that of every
flippant politician in the land, who, to secure the huzzas of the mob,
will applaud the oppressor and the tyrant one day, and the very next day
clamor mercilessly for their blood.
D. L. EMERSON.
BOSTON, Oct. 1, 1874.
INTRODUCTION.
The chapter in our National history which tells our dealings with the
Indian tribes, from Plymouth to San Francisco, will be one of the darkest
and most disgraceful in our annals. Fraud and oppression, hypocrisy and
violence, open, high-handed robbery and sly cheating, the swindling agent
and the brutal soldier turned into a brigand, buying promotion by
pandering to the hate and fears of the settlers, avarice and indifference
to human life, and lust for territory, all play their parts in the drama.
Except the negro, no race will lift up, at the judgment-seat, such
accusing hands against this nation as the Indian. We have put him in
charge of agents who have systematically cheated him. We have made
causeless war on him merely as a pretext to steal his lands. Trampling
under foot the rules of modern warfare, we have made war on his women and
children. We have cheated him out of one hunting-ground by compelling him
to accept another, and have robbed him of the last by driving him to
frenzy, and then punishing resistance with confiscation. Meanwhile,
neither pulpit nor press, nor political party, would listen to his
complaints. Congress has handed him over, gagged and helpless, to the
bands of ignorant, drunken and brutal soldiers. Neither on its floor, nor
in any city of the Union, could his advocate obtain a hearing. Money has
been poured out like water to feed and educate the Indian, of which one
dollar in ten may have found its way to supply his needs, or pay the debts
we owed him.
To show the folly of our method, examine the south side of the great
lakes, and you will find in every thirty miles between Plymouth and Omaha
the scene of an Indian massacre. And since 1789 we have spent about one
thousand million of dollars in dealing with the Indians. Meanwhile, under
British rule, on the north of those same lakes, there has been no Indian
outbreak, worth naming, for a hundred years, and hardly one hundred
thousand dollars have been spent directly on the Indians of Canada. What
is the solution of this astounding riddle? This, and none other. England
gathers her Indian tribes, like ordinary citizens, within the girth of her
usual laws. If injured, they complain, like other men, to a justice of the
peace, not to a camp captain. If offenders, they are arraigned before such
a justice, or some superior court. Complaint, indictment, evidence, trial,
sentence, are all after the old Saxon pattern. With us martial law, or no
law at all, is their portion; no civil rights, no right to property that a
white man is bound to respect. Of course quarrel, war, expense,
oppression, robbery, resistance, like begetting like, and degradation of
the Indian even to the level of the frontiersman who would plunder him,
have been the result of such a method. If such a result were singular, if
our case stood alone, we should receive the pitiless curses of mankind.
But the same result has almost always followed the contact of the
civilized and the savage man.
General Grant’s recommendation of a policy which would acknowledge the
Indian as a citizen, is the first step in our Indian history which gives
us any claim to be considered a Christian people. The hostility it has met
shows the fearful demoralization of our press and political parties.
Statesmanship, good sense and justice, even from a chief magistrate can
hardly obtain a hearing when they relate to such long-time victims of
popular hate and pillage as our Indian tribes. Some few men in times past
have tried to stem this hideous current of national indifference and
injustice. Some men do now try. Prominent among these is the author of
this volume. Thirty years of practical experience in dealing with Indians
while he represented the Government in different offices; long and
familiar acquaintance with their genius, moods, habits and capabilities,
enable and entitle him to testify in this case. That, having suffered, at
the hands of Indians, all that man can suffer and still live, he should
yet lift up a voice, snatched almost miraculously from the grave, to claim
for them, nevertheless, the treatment of men, of citizens, is a marvellous
instance of fidelity to conviction against every temptation and injury.
Bearing all over his person the scars of nearly fatal wounds received from
Indians, he still advocates Grant’s policy. Familiar with the Indian
tribes, and personally acquainted with their chiefs, with the old and
young, men and women, their sports and faith, their history and
aspirations, their education and capacity, their songs, amusements,
legends, business, loves and hates, his descriptions lack no element of a
faithful portrait; while his lightest illustrations have always beneath
the surface a meaning which cannot fail to arrest the attention of the
American people, and enable them to understand this national problem.
Never before have we had just such a witness on the stand. Brilliant and
graphic in description, and exceedingly happy in his choice of topics, he
gives us pages startling and interesting as a novel. While his appeals
stir the heart like a clarion, he still keeps cautiously to sober fact;
and every statement, the most seemingly incredible, is based on more than
sufficient evidence. I _commend this book to the public_——study it not
only as accurate and striking in its pictures of Indian life, but as
profoundly interesting to every student of human nature,——the picture of a
race fast fading away and melting into white men’s ways. His contribution
to the solution of one of the most puzzling problems of American
statesmanship is invaluable. Destined no doubt to provoke bitter
criticism, I feel sure his views and statements will bear the amplest
investigation. His volume will contribute largely to vindicate the
President’s policy, and to enable, while it disposes, the American people
to understand and do justice to our native tribes.
(Signed,)
WENDELL PHILLIPS.
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
PAGE.
HON. A. B. MEACHAM _Frontispiece._
GEN. CANBY 480
DOCTOR THOMAS 512
THE LONE INDIAN SENTINEL 8
THE BULL-DOG TRADE 26
FAREWELL TO ONEATTA 73
THE BIRTHPLACE OF INDIAN LEGENDS 142
GRAND ROUND AGENCY 109
THE HORSE RACE 197
CAPT. JACK 295
TOBEY AND RIDDLE 320
MODOCS ON THE WAR-PATH 404
WI-NE-MAH (TOBEY) 444
ASSASSINATION SCENE 492
BRINGING IN THE WOUNDED 531
WARM SPRING INDIAN PICKETS 568
SCHONCHIN AND JACK IN CHAINS 588
BOSTON CHARLEY 641
BLACK JIM 495
SCAR-FACE CHARLEY 632
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I.
EARLY REMINISCENCES——POW-E-SHIEK’S BAND.
PAGE
The Author’s Fears and Hopes——A Bit of Personal History——Two
Great Wrongs——Early Reflections——Removal of Pow-e-shiek’s Band
in 1844——The Lava Beds——Gen. Canby and Dr. Thomas referred to——
Even-handed Justice——Captain of an Ox Team——Sad Scene
Preparatory to Pow-e-shiek’s Departure——The White Man Wanted
It——It is a Fair Business Transaction——A Gloomy Picture——
Government Officials Move Slow——(The Lone Indian Sentinel)——A
Fright in Camp——The Welcome——Cupid’s Antics——An Indian
Maiden’s Ball Dress——The Squaw’s Duties——The Indian’s
Privileges——End of the Journey——The Return——The Conscientious
Church Member——Throngs of Emigrants——A Great Contrast and a
Glowing Picture——Yankee Boys and Western Girls——A Strange
Mixture——The People of Iowa——The Nation’s Perfidy towards the
Savage 1
CHAPTER II.
OVERLAND——BLOOD FOR BLOOD.
Pow-e-shiek Visits his Old Home——His Recognition of the Writer——
He Spends the Winter——His Character——The Ceremonial Smoke, and
the Writer’s Mistake——Pow-e-shiek’s Return——“Van,” the Indian
Pony——Crossing the Plains——Indian Depredations——What Provokes
Them——The Murdered Indian——The Loaned Rifle——Arresting Indians
on “General Principles”——They are Slain on “General
Principles,” also——The Butchery of Indian Women and Children——
The Bloody Deeds of White Men——The Indian’s Revenge 24
CHAPTER III.
INDIANS AND MINERS.
Two Letters——Why they are Introduced——Lee’s Encampment——Gold
Fields of Idaho and Eastern Oregon, in 1863——Tides of
Adventurers——Means of Transportation——Umatilla City——The
Saddle Train——The “Kitchen Mule”——Walker’s Line——Novel Method
of Securing Ponies——Indians Hunting Lost Horses——Sublime
Mountain Scenery——Punch and Judy——A Stalwart Son of Erin——He
Buys an Indian Pony——His Rich Experience Therewith——A Scene
Worthy of the Pencil of a Bierstadt——“Riding a Bottle”——The
Indian’s Friends Denounced——Indian Integrity——Striking
Examples——Tin-tin-mit-si, the Rich Old Indian Chief——“Why
White Men are Fools” 32
CHAPTER IV.
DIAMOND-CUT-DIAMOND.
Treaty with the Government——The Annual Visits——Indians and
Whiskey——The White Man’s Advantage, and the Indian’s
Privilege——Punishment for Intoxication——Indian “Muck-a-muck”——
The Salmon and their Haunts——Ludicrous Scenes——Financial
Revenge——The Oregon Lawyer’s Horseback Ride——He is Sadly
Demoralized——His Scripture Quotations——Fourth of July
Celebration——Disappointed Spouters——Homli’s Sarcastic Speech——
His Eloquence and His Resolve——A Real Change——Three Tribes
Unite——A Fair Treaty——Umatilla Reservation——Gorgeous
Description of an Earthly Paradise——Homli’s Return 45
CHAPTER V.
POLICIES ON TRIAL——“ONEATTA.”
The Author Appointed Superintendent of Indian Affairs——Not a
Political Friend of President Johnson——An Indian “Agency”——
Description of a Hunting-Ground——Shipwrecks——Signal Fires——Why
they are Built——A Tradition——Perilous Adventure of Two
Chieftains——A “Big Canoe” Saved from Wreck——They are Rewarded
with many Curious Gifts——The Squaw’s Surprise——The Pappoose’s
Fears——The Chase——Squaws Disrobed——A Good Time Generally——The
Chiefs Fright——He is Reassured——Comes Alongside the Ship——Love
at First Sight——A Battle without the War-whoop——The Chief
Boards the Ship——The Scene on Deck——The Chief’s Departure——The
Lovers, Oneatta and Theodore——The Chief’s Consent——The Dance——
Lover’s Conquest——The Betrothal——The Ship Ready to Depart——The
Marriage on Board——Farewell to Oneatta 57
CHAPTER VI.
SENATORIAL BRAINS BEATEN BY SAVAGE MUSCLE——PLEASANT
WAY OF PAYING PENALTIES.
The Legend in the Last Chapter——Why it is Introduced——Siletz
Agency——Oyster Beds and Timber Lands——The same “Old Story”
Rehearsed——The Boat Race——Indian _vs._ United States Senator——
The Horse Race——Congressional Avoirdupois——Crossing the Siletz
River——Civilized Indians——A Rare Scene——Euchre Bill——Biting
off Heads——The Indian School——Too-toot-na——His Wife Jinney——
Her Financial Skill——Her Husband’s Hope——Doomed to
Disappointment——Indian Court Day——Hickory Clubs _vs._
Blackstone——The Attendants at Court——The First Case——A Woman’s
Quarrel——Appropriating a Horse——Wounded Honor——An Agreeable
Penalty——The Lone Chief——Indian Bashfulness——The Agent’s
Fears——Old Joshua Speaks——His Eloquence——His Request is
Granted——Religious Influences——A Language of One Hundred
Words——Christianity and Common Sense——The Dialogue——Logs on
Indian Graves——Why Placed there——Religions of the Indians
Discussed Further On——Indian Agent Ben Simpson——His Report——He
Arraigns the Government——Joel Palmer’s Report——Political
Preacher and the Christian Agent——The Treachery of the Former——
A Plea for the Siletz Indians——Base White Men and a Cruel
Government——The Sad Story Repeated——A Ray of Hope——Alsea
Agency——The Alsea Indians——Their Character Peaceable and
_therefore_ Neglected——Crime Rewarded by the Government——
Virtue Punished——The Destiny of the Alsea Tribe——A Stern
Rebuke and a Prophecy 74
CHAPTER VII.
PHIL SHERIDAN’S OLD HOME——WHAT A CABIN COST.
Grand Round Agency——Indian Houses——Cost of a Board——Gen. Phil
Sheridan——A Romance of a Young Chief——The Family from
Missouri——The Red-skinned Archer and Pale-face Gunner——Their
Trial of Skill——Fight with the Grizzly——The Wounded Hunter——
The “Medicine Man”——Santiam and the Pale-faced Maiden——The
Disappointment——Faithful to Her Vows——Description of the
Valley Resumed——The Writer’s First Visit——The Indians There——
Their Progress in Civilization——Ceremonious Hand-shaking——The
Writer’s Remarks——Replies by Joe Hutchins and Louis Neposa——A
Peculiarity of Indian Eloquence——Speeches by Black Tom and
Solomon Riggs——The Writer’s Speech——Its Effect——Wapto Davis’s
Plain Talk——Joe Hutchins’ Sarcasm——Result of the Council 101
CHAPTER VIII.
STOPPING THE SURVEY——WHY.
Official Correspondence——What the Indians Need——Important
Questions Asked——Commissioner Parker’s Reply. (See Appendix)——
The Mills Built——Indian Laborers——A Misunderstanding——The
Indian’s Rights——They are Wronged——A Protest——Interesting
Letter Relating to Allotment of Lands. (See Appendix)——
Singular Request——Reason for It——An Act of Justice——The Indian
Parade——The Indian’s Speech in English——The Writer’s Reply——
Wapto Speaks——Catholics _vs._ Methodists——Father Waller——An
Episode——Leander and Lucy——Love and Law——Old and New——The
usual Course of True Love——Marriage Ceremony——No Kissing——The
Dance——The Methodist Pastor and the Priest——The Catholics
Liberal (?)——A Stupid Preacher——Common Sense in Religion——
Indian Comments——Defective Schools——Unwritten History of Grand
Round Agency——Old and Forsaken 120
CHAPTER IX.
THE AGED PAIR——BIRTHPLACE OF LEGENDS.
The Scene Changes——The River Steamer——The Railroad——The Battle
Ground——Causes of War and Slaughter——A Legend of the Cascades——
Battles——Divine Interpositions——Soul-stirring Traditions——The
Waiting Dead——Sacrilegious Hunters——McNulty, the Noble
Captain——Mount Hood——Mount Adams——Sublime Scenery——The Dalles——
The Salmon Fishery——Its Value——Habits of the Salmon——
Commencement of the Fishing Scenery——Indian Superstition——
Methods of Catching and Curing Salmon 138
CHAPTER X.
DANGEROUS PLACE FOR SINNERS.
Warm Spring Agency——Indians in Treaty Council——Intimidated by
Government Troops——Pledges Unfulfilled——John Mission and Billy
Chinook——They become Converts to Christianity——Treachery of
the Government——Why? because the Indians are Peaceable——
Journey to the Agency Continued——Crossing the Stream——Fire and
Brimstone——A Perilous Descent——The Author’s Report——This
Agency a Fraud——Climate of Warm Springs——Character of the
Indians Here——The Two Treaties——The Indians Declare they were
Deceived——A Great Injustice——Unfitness of the Warm Spring
Agency——Captain John Smith——His Character——His Communication——
A Careful Perusal Urged 150
CHAPTER XI.
THE PARSON BROWNLOW OF THE INDIAN SERVICE.
Captain Smith’s Letter——His Opinion of Catholics——The Indian
Council——An Indian Leads in Prayer——Appearance of this
Council——It was like a Methodist Revival Scene——The Head
Chief’s Speech——He abjures Polygamy——The Author’s Reply——Mark
wants to Change his Name——He selects the Name of Meacham——
Marks’ Second Wife, Matola——Her Speech——John Mission speaks——
Speech of Billy Chinook——Hand-shaking and Enrolling Names——
Pi-a-noose——His Speech——Two Kinds of Indians on this Agency——
The Trial Policy of the Government 160
CHAPTER XII.
NO PLACE LIKE HOME——SQUAWS IN HOOPS AND CHIGNONS.
Umatilla Agency——The Council——Its Object——The Purchase by the
Government of the Reservation——A. B. Meacham’s Speech——Many
Indian Speeches (See Appendix, Chap. XII.)——The Council Fairly
Conducted——Religion of the Umatilla Indians——Wealth a Curse to
Them——They Take the First Prizes——They are Haughty, Proud and
Intractable——“Susan,” the Widow——Her “Receptions”——The Dance——
Women’s Rights——Susan a Good Catholic. 181
CHAPTER XIII.
“HOW-LISH-WAMPO,” KING OF THE TURF——A DEAD THING
CRAWLS.
Indian Sportsman——How-lish-wampo, the Famous Horseman——Pat and
the Indians Once More——French Louie, the Confident Sport——He
is Beaten and Fleeced——Returns on Ponies Given in Charity——Joe
Crabb and His Important Race-Horse——His Groomsmen and
Attendants——Skirmishing Preparatory to the _Great Race_——Joe
Crabb is Shrewd——The Wild Indian is Shrewder——Indian Method of
Training Horses——Intense Interest in the Race——Throngs of
Visitors——Holding the Stakes——Indian Honor——Indians not Always
Stoical——They are _Enthusiastic_ Gamblers——Never Betray their
Emotions——Consummate Strategy of Indian “Sports”——The
Appearance of the two Race-Horses——Preliminary Manœuvres——The
Start——The Indian Horse Ahead——Wild Excitement——The Fastest
Time on Record——All Good Indians Three Feet Under Ground——Fine
Opportunity for Sport——Challenge to Commodore Vanderbilt,
Robert Bonner, Rev. W. H. H. Murray, _or Any Other Man_——
Habits of the Indian Horses——The Cayuse Horse——An Indian
Train——The Squaw’s Outfit——Indian Etiquette——Indian Wives who
Want to be Widows——Indian Maidens——Many of the Umatillas
Civilized——The Prospect of the Umatillas 185
CHAPTER XIV.
SNAKE WAR——FIGHTING THE DEVIL WITH FIRE.
The Snake War——Alleged Cause of the War——Manner of Warfare——
Charley Winslow and Nathan Dixon——H. C. Scott and Family, and
Wheeler, all Victims of the War——Eighty Chinamen Murdered——
Indians Butchered in Turn——Jeff Standiford and His Band of
Butchers——Stone Bullets and Iron Slugs——The Art of Killing
Indians——Joaquin Miller——General Lee——Stonewall Jackson——
General Grant——Capture of the Daughter of a “Warm Spring”
Chief——General Crook calls for Indian Scouts——The Bounty
Offered——The McKay Brothers——A White Chief Fights like a
Savage——Privilege of Scalping Granted——On the War Path——The
Last Battle——The Surrender——A Pile of Scalps——Snake Hair
Playing Switch for White Ladies——Visit to Snake Country——After
a Long Leap Coming Out Smiling——Castle Rock——Old Castle of Jay
Cook——Panting Charger——A Game Chicken in the River——Adams
Laughing and Weeping——A Real Native American——In a Basket——In
College——Baking Bread in a Frying Pan——Jimmy Kane the Indian
Cook——Making Mathematical Calculations——The Test——Seasoning
the Supper——Clothes Don’t make the Man——General Crook under a
Slouch Hat——Tah-home and Ka-ko-na——Transmutation——Fine
Feathers——Arrival at Camp Harney 207
CHAPTER XV.
THE COUNCIL WITH THE SNAKE INDIANS——O-CHE-O.
A Camp Scene——Peace Council with the Snake Indians——Announcing
the Presence of Ka-ko-na——Their Representations——Colonel Otis——
Old Winnemucca Sent For——A Bloodthirsty Chief——His Wives——
Their Savage Mode of Life——Indian Women Socially——Result of
the Council——Both Parties Came Armed——The Medicine Man——A
White and Red Doctor Disagree——A Warning——Incantation of a
Medicine Man——Strange and Cruel Treatment of the Sick——“Big
Foot”——A Beautiful Custom——The Fire Telegraph——Spiritualism——
O-Che-Oh and Allen David——A Peaceful Talk in Seven Tongues——
The Old Squaw and Her Heartless Sons——A Gloomy Picture of
Savage Life——The Snakes’ Home——Their Future a Problem——Climate
of this Region——Enemies to——Novel Method of Capturing them——
Crickets for Food——A Cricket Press——Warriors who Eat their
Foes——An Embryo Indian War——How it Can be Avoided——Tah-home
and Ka-ko-na in Tribulation——Power of Medicine Men——Stronger
than love——Wild Men Shrewd in Such Matters——Heart-Broken
Squaw——Proposition to Elope——Fear of Pursuit——No Compromise
224
CHAPTER XVI.
OVER THE FALLS——FIRST ELECTION.
Resuming the Journey——Klamath Reservation——Saying Prayers——The
Accident——Value of a Dead Mule——Different Tribes on the
Reservation——Klamaths never Enemies of the Whites——Lindsey
Applegate——The First Election——White Men Imitated——The Result——
Allen David Elected Chief——His Character——He is an Orator of
Great Power——Preparation for the “Big Talk”——The Scenes in the
Council——The Big Camp Fire——Tah-home and Ka-ko-na in Great
Distress——Indian Strategy Winked at by an Officer——It
Succeeds——The Lovers in a Snow-storm——Outwitted and Glad of
It——Allen David Opens the Council——His Thrilling Speech——The
Author’s Official Report——Another Speech from the Red-skinned
Orator——The Author’s Reply——Joe Hood——Various Speeches Bearing
on the Indian Question——Official Correspondence——Address to
the Klamath Indians——Their Attention——The Indian Allen David——
His Wonderful Eloquence——Extracts——The Author’s Reply——Speech
of Joe Hood——The Reconciliation——The Preparation——The Speeches
of Allen David and Captain Jack——The Author’s Views of
Thieving Officials——An Appeal for Justice——The Request of
Klamaths 245
CHAPTER XVII.
KLAMATH COURT——ELOPEMENT EXTRAORDINARY.
Wife Robbery——Divorce made Easy——Names of Uniformed Officers
Withheld——Why——Blo’s Searching Questions——The Law One-sided——
Little Sally——The New Court——A Novel Scene——The Court Opened——
Sally’s Complaint——Her Husband’s Views——The Baby’s Heart half
his and half his Wife’s——Sally and her Husband Want to be
Re-married——The Bride’s Outfit——A Serious Ceremony——A Pledge
that White Men don’t Take——Indian Modesty——Who Kissed the
Bride——Case Number Two——The Sentence——The Dance——Indian
Theatre——The Actor——A Wild, Exciting Play——The Indian’s
Dramatic Power 262
CHAPTER XVIII.
OMELETS AND ARROWS——BIG STEAM-BOILERS.
Indian Games——Long John, the Gambler——The Wocus Fields——How it
is Prepared for Food——Egging and Fishing——A Bird’s Nest
Described——Trout-fishing——Various Kinds of Trout——Game——Big
Klamath Lake——Link River——Nature’s Steam-power——The Country of
the Modocs——A Grand Scene——Bound for the Home of Captain Jack
279
CHAPTER XIX.
MODOC BLOOD UNDER A FLAG OF TRUCE——SEED SOWN
TWENTY YEARS BEFORE A HARVEST.
The Modoc War——The Origin of the Modocs——The La-la-kas——The
Great Indian Rebellion and the American Revolution——The Office
of Indian Chief——Captain Jack——Form of Government among Indian
Tribes——The Home of the Modocs——Why Modocs Rebelled——The
Modocs in 1846——Schonchin——The Father of Captain Jack——Account
of the Latter——Cruelties Perpetrated by the Modocs——Causes of
the First Modoc Wars——Two Sides of the Question——Chief
Schonchin’s Reason for Killing White Men——The “Ben Wright”
Massacre——Slaughter of Emigrants——Horrible Cruelties——The
Squaw’s Jealousy——Ben Wright——His Character——His Infamous Act
of Treachery——Treaty with the Modocs in 1864——Why it was not
kept by Captain Jack——The Oregon Superintendent makes a
Treaty——It is now being Ratified——Captain Jack understood the
Treaty——He Rebels——Says he was Deceived——Attempt to Force him
to return to the Reservation——His Insulting Language——Lost
River——A Fish Story——Difficulties in the way of meeting
Captain Jack 289
CHAPTER XX.
BLUE EYES AND BLACK ONES——TOBEY RIDDLE.
Captain Jack’s Apology——He Makes a Camp for his Visitors——The
Modoc Women not Slaves like other Indian Women——Sage Brush——
The Modocs would not Eat First——The Reason——Tobey and Frank
Riddle——Riddle’s Romantic Career——Truth Stranger than Fiction——
He Discards his First Love——His Indian Wife——They act a part
in his Story——Captain Jack’s Falsehood Exposed——The Government
Appropriations——Captain Jack Quibbles but Yields——He is
Overruled by the Medicine Man——A Critical Moment——Indian
Vocabularies——Tobey’s Good Sense and Loyalty——Riddle and Tobey
Avert a Scene of Blood——Mr. Meacham’s Bold Speech to Captain
Jack——The Strategy of Meacham’s Party——Two Powers Invoked——
Representatives of Elijah and Ahab——The Soldiers who are sent
for do not Respond as Ordered——They, too, are under the
Influence of _Spirits_——They Rush into Camp——An Exciting
Scene——The Parley with the Modocs and its Results——Queen Mary——
Her Rare Opportunities——She Pleads for her Brother, and Gains
her Point——Jack Surrenders——An Incident——Arrival at the
Klamath Reservation——Reconciliation between Two Chieftains——
Ceremony of Burying the Hatchet——Allen David, the Famous
Indian Orator——His Remarkable Speech——Captain Jack’s Reply——
Allotment and Distribution of Goods——“Head and Pluck”——Indian
Mode of Cooking Meats——A Gorgeous Scene——A Big Council Talk——
Link River Joe’s Solemn Speech——An Impressive Watch-meeting——
The Writer’s Peculiar Position——The Dim Fore-shadowing 311
CHAPTER XXI.
BURYING THE HATCHET——A TURNING-POINT.
A Settlement of Old Difficulties——Trouble Ahead——The Modocs
Taunted with their Poverty——Agent Knapp——His Character——
Captain Jack Applies to Knapp for Protection——Is Treated
Coolly——Schonchin John——Captain Jack and his Band Leave
Klamath——Old Schonchin Removes to Yainax——Captain Jack
Contemplates making his Home there——An Unfortunate Occurrence
Prevents——One more Effort for Peace——Jesse Applegate——Letter
of Instructions to John Meacham——It is Conciliatory but Firm——
Departure of The Commission——Humanity and Common Sense——
Fortunately the Commissioners go well Armed——Assassination
Intended——Prevented by Captain Jack——His Loyalty Doubted by
the Modocs——Schonchin Intrigues for the Chieftainship——Captain
Jack only a Representative Chief——Republican Ideas for once a
Curse——Captain Jack Argues the Cause of his People with Great
Skill and Force——He Refuses to go on to the Reservation again——
Agrees to go to Lost River——How Bloodshed Might Have Been
Avoided——The Author’s Reports referred to——The Modocs become
Restless——They Violate their Pledges——The White Settlers
Annoyed——They demand Redress and Protection——Captain Jack not
blamed by the Whites——He was Powerless 342
CHAPTER XXII.
U. S. SENATORS COST BLOOD——FAIR FIGHT——OPEN
FIELD.
Change in the Indian Superintendency——T. B. Odeneal Appointed——
His Qualifications for the Office——Did not Understand the
Indians——The Modocs Ordered to Klamath Reservation——They
Refuse to go——Captain Jackson Ordered to the Modoc Camp——
Twelve Settlers go to see the Fun——Character of Frontiersmen——
Who are Responsible for Indian Wars——Situation of Jack’s Camp——
Number of his Braves——Arrival of the Soldiers and Citizens——
They come Unexpected——A Fatal Mistake——First Gun of the Modoc
War——First Battle——Modocs Victorious——Fight on the other side
of the River——Inglorious Results to the White——Reinforcements
sent for by Major Jackson——Captain Jack and his Braves retire
to the Lava Beds——Scar-face Charley remains behind——His
Strange Motive for so doing——John A. Fairchild——He learns an
Important Lesson——His Humanity and Wisdom——White Citizens cry
for Vengeance——Fourteen Modocs agree to return to Klamath——Why
they rejoined Captain Jack——The latter always for Peace——The
curly-haired Doctor wanted War——He and other Modocs Commit
Horrid Crimes——Seventeen Whites Butchered——The Scene that
followed——The Victims of the Slaughter——Friends of the
Murderers——The Author’s Authority for many of his Statements——
Captain Jack denounces the Murderers, and demands that they
shall be surrendered to the Whites——Is overruled 361
CHAPTER XXIII.
MOURNING EMBLEMS AND MILITARY POMP.
“Wails of Anguish”——“Intense Excitement”——“A Scene of Woe seldom
Equalled”——“A Sublime Portraiture of Frontier Life”——“Who
shall say Vengeance on The Avenger”——“The Government called to
a Rigid Account”——“War Succeeds Sorrow”——“The Grand Army of
Two Hundred”——“Opinions that _are_ Opinions, and the Reasons
for them”——“A Job before Breakfast not accomplished”——“Benefit
of the War to Oregon and California”——“The Politicians and
Speculators’ Opportunity”——“Four Hundred White Soldiers”——
“Proposition to slay Modoc Women and Children”——“A Little
Gray-eyed Man Objects”——“A good deal of Buncombe and of
anticipated Glory” 377
CHAPTER XXIV.
PEACE OR WAR——ONE HUNDRED LIVES VOTED AWAY BY
MODOC INDIANS.
A Descent to the Lava Bed——Tule Lake——The Lone Woman with a
Field Glass——The Deserted White House——The Dark Bluff——The
Red-skinned Loyal Soldiers——The Solitary Tree——Description of
the Lava Bed——Link River Jack the Natural Traitor——Council
among the Modocs——Jack Still for Peace——Earnest Speeches on
both sides——The Curly-headed Doctor decides the Momentous
Question——The Vote is for War——How the Doctor makes Medicine——
Captain Jack Plans the Battle——A Lost Warning to the Sleepers
388
CHAPTER XXV.
WARPATH.
4 A.M., January 17, 1873——Preparation for the Battle——The
Conflict Begins——The Deadly Modoc’s Bullets——Where are the
Volunteers——The Battle Rages with fearful Loss of Life——Orders
to Retreat——The Wounded to be Rescued——Vain Attempt, the
Victims Scalped——Modoc Rejoicings——Speeches of the Victors——
Captain Jack not so Enthusiastic——General Wheaton’s Defeat——
Comments of the Volunteers——The Sarcasm of the Gray-eyed Man
400
CHAPTER XXVI.
OLIVE BRANCH AND CANNON BALLS——WHICH WILL WIN?
The Peace Commission Appointed——Terms of Peace unwisely Proposed
to the “Modocs”——The “Modocs” seem to accept the Terms——Joy in
Camp——It is suddenly Dampened——The Great Mistake of Steele,
the Messenger——The Fearful Crisis——A Most Suitable Time to say
Prayers——Honor among Savages——The Messenger’s Strategy——It
Saves his Life——His Report——The Author’s Dispatch to
Washington——The Reply——Anxiety and Gloom in Camp——Modoc
Messengers——What they Propose——Commission in the hands of
General Canby——Prejudiced against Tobey——The Modocs offer to
Surrender——Wagons sent to Receive Them——Their Intentions——They
Fail to Agree——Modoc Horses Captured——General Canby won’t
return them 413
CHAPTER XXVII.
CAPTAIN JACK A DIPLOMAT——SHOOT ME IF YOU DARE.
The New Camp——The Modocs Allowed to Visit the Camp——Reasons for
it——The Seven Hours’ Talk with Captain Jack——The Diplomatic
Savage——His Skill in Debate——His Logic and his Eloquence——He
has Right on his Side——This the Only Extended Talk with the
Modocs——Capt. Jack’s Graphic Description of the “Ben Wright”
Massacre——This Cold-blooded Butcher Rewarded by our
Government——Full Report of this Meeting——Another Effort for
Peace——Tobey’s Mission——The Result——She is Warned by a
peace-loving Modoc——The Reports to the Commission——Some do not
Believe Her——The Indiscretion of Rev. Dr. Thomas——Stirring
News from the other Camp——Assassination Intended——Tobey is
Sent for by the Modocs——She Goes——Affecting Farewell to
Husband and Child——A Thrilling Scene in the Modoc Camp——True
Heroism——“I am a Modoc Woman; Shoot Me if You Dare”——The Camp
Moved——Strange Surroundings and Sad Reflections——An Incident——
Peace Council with the Modocs——Their Hostile Intentions
Foreshadowed——The Storm——Proposal to Adjourn——It is Treated
with Contempt by Jack——Says he shall not Melt like Snow——The
Council Adjourns 443
CHAPTER XXVIII.
WHO HAD BEEN THERE——WHO HAD NOT.
General Gilliam’s Opinion about Taking the Modocs——Colonel
Mason’s Opinion——Difference in Judgment——Another Discussion
Going On——Colonel Greene Speaks——Colonel Tom Wright in
Commissioners’ Tent——A Growl——Wager Offered——Proposition to
Send Away Nine Hundred Soldiers——Waiting for the Warm Springs——
Desertion——Common Soldiers’ Opinion——They Want Peace——
Commissioners’ Cooking——Work Divided——Canby Enjoys a Joke——
“Don’t Throw Off on Bro. Dyer” 457
CHAPTER XXIX.
UNDER A WOMAN’S HAT——THE LAST APPEAL.
New Efforts for Peace——Dr. Thomas’ Faith——It Avails Little——
Riddle Appealed to——The Author’s Fatal Absence——Modoc Cunning——
The Guileless Betrayed——The Author’s Fears——The Compact Made——
The Last Breakfast——The Indian Judas——He Wants Meacham to Wear
his New Boots——The Modoc Council——Captain Jack and Scar-face
Oppose the Massacre——The Former Taunted with being a White
Squaw——Being only a Representative Chief he Yields to the
Majority——The Bloody Work Allotted to Each——Another Butchery
Agreed upon——The Warning Repeated but Unheeded——Canby and Dr.
Thomas are Determined to go——The Latter Seems Doubtful of the
Result——The Farewell Letter——Tobey and Riddle Implore them not
to go——Meacham Makes One More Effort to Save Life——He Pleads
with Dr. Thomas and General Canby——A Sad Scene and a Terrible
Resolution——The Derringer Pistol——Departure for the Scene of
Slaughter 462
CHAPTER XXX.
ASSASSINATION——“KAU-TUX-E”——THE DEATH PRAYER
SMOTHERED BY BLOOD——RESCUED.
The Scene near the Council Tent——Several Desperate Modocs
Described——Preparing for the Carnival of Death——The Boy
Murderers and their Weapons——Bogus and Boston Announce the
Approach of the Commission——Why does Meacham Remove his
Overcoat——The Modocs Suspiciously Cordial——Fighting a Battle
with Pride——Appearance of the Commissioners——Hooker Jim’s
Strange Movements——The Intruder Near the Council Tent——The
Butchery for the Time Being Averted——Hooker-Jim’s Ominous
Movements——He puts on Meacham’s Overcoat——“Me old man Meacham
now”——This Act is instantly Interpreted——All are Conscious of
their Impending Doom——Reflections During the Fleeting Moments——
What will General Canby Say——Will he Accede to the Demand of
the Modocs and thus Avert Death——Will he Take the Soldiers
Away——He Breaks the Silence——Duty Dearer than Life——Death
before Dishonor——Dr. Thomas’s Last Speech——What will Captain
Jack do now——Will he Give the Signal——He Changes Places with
Schonchin——The Manner of the Latter——The Attack Begins——
General Canby the First to Fall——His Horrible Death——Dyer is
Shot at by Hooker-Jim——He Makes his Escape——Riddle Pursued by
Black Jim——The Latter Fires at Random——The Reason——The Bloody
Work of Boston and Hooker-Jim——Dr. Thomas’s Tragic End——His
Murderers Taunt him with his Religion——Why don’t he Turn the
Bullets——Schonchin, his Dagger and his Pistol——Meacham
Attacked by Schonchin——Slolux and Shack-Nasty Jim——The
Struggle for Life——Tobey’s Efforts to save Him——The Dreadful
Scene of the Tragedy——Boston as a Scalper——The Squaw Tobey——
Her Strategy——Another Bloody Tragedy Planned but not Executed——
Lethargy followed by Vigorous Action——Meacham Discovered——The
Stretcher——Brandy——“No Time for Temperance Talk”——The Council
Tent a Winding-sheet——Rewards to the Couriers——The
Eighty-three Mile Race——The Gray and the Pinto——The Exultant
Winner 478
CHAPTER XXXI.
HARNESSED LIGHTNING CARRYING AWFUL TIDINGS——HE
MAKES IT——A BROKEN FINGER WON’T DISFIGURE A
CORPSE.
Making Coffins in the Lava Bed——The Patient in the Hospital——A
Broken Finger will not Disfigure a Corpse——The Commotion in
the Modoc Camp——The Disputes——Common Interest a Strong Bond——
The Great Medicine Dance——The Modocs Exultant——The Wife’s
Suspense——The Dreadful News——Its Effect on Wife and Children——
First Robbed by the Government, then its Defenders——Our
Nation’s Perfidy——The Sorrowful Hearts at Home——Prayer and
Praise in Camp——A Lesson for Bigots and Cowards to Learn——The
Medicine Man in the Modoc Camp——He Fires the Modoc Heart——
Capt. Jack Despondent——Long Jim——Novel Scene in the Soldier’s
Camp——The Murder of the Commission to be Avenged——Long Jim
Escapes——Much Powder Wasted——“Nary a Wound” 508
CHAPTER XXXII.
HORIZONTAL PYROTECHNICS——THE SCALP MIRACLE——KILLED
IN PETTICOATS——THE PRESENTIMENT.
Preparations for Another Battle——Stretchers for the Wounded——
Mattresses and Lint——The Wounded Man in the Hospital Expects
Company——The Iowa Veteran——The Signal for Battle——It Begins——
Re-echoing of Cannon——The Assault——No Response Yet——Volleys
from the Concealed Foe——The Retreat——The Dead and Wounded——The
PAT-riotic Sutler——The Walking Sage Brush——The Wounded Pony——
Pat’s Head in Danger——The _Flat_ Assaulted——Lieut. Eagan
Falls——The Two Stages——The Remains of the Lamented Dead——The
Bereaved Widow and the Stricken Wife——The Wounded Warm Spring
Indian——He Ridicules Modoc Powder——The Modocs out of Water——
The Lady Passenger——Sympathy Extended——On Her Way to the Lava
Beds——The Welcome Letter——Still Alive, but Handsome No Longer——
The Battle for Water——The Fair-haired Boy——His Terrible
Presentiment——Courage Triumphs——His Lost Messages to Friends——
The Dread Reality——The Unexploded Shell does Execution——A
Scalp Cut to Suit——The Indian Plays Squaw——He is Suspected and
_Numerously_ Scalped——Military Bombast——Mourning for the Dead——
Remains of Canby and Thomas——The Stricken Parent——The Wife’s
Disappointment and Anguish——The Modocs Withdraw——The Soldiers
Deceived——They Surround Vacant Caves 522
CHAPTER XXXIII.
MUSIC DON’T SOOTHE A SAVAGE——FIGHTING THE DEVIL
WITH FIRE A FAILURE——“WE’LL BURY THE OLD MAN
ALIVE.”
Watching and Disappointment——Visit of Pia-noose to Meacham——Gen.
Canby’s Remains in Portland, Oregon——Burial of Dr. Thomas——
Burying a Leg——Col. Wright’s Opinion of the Modocs——Modocs in
New Camp——Young Hovey’s Father Informed of his Death——Modocs
Attack Gilliam’s Camp——“You can Play Dead, Old Man”——Scar-Face
an Artillery Officer——The Gray-eyed Man——Proposition to Bury
“The Old Man” Alive——Burial of Young Hovey——Extermination——
Indian Sympathy with Capt. Jack——Warm Spring Messenger to
Linkville——Another Disappointment for Mrs. Meacham——Twenty
Chances in a hundred for Life——The Twenty Chances Win——Hope
Dawns——Another Messenger Sent——Donald McKay in Camp——Reading
News to Meacham——Fairchild’s Opinion of Oregon Press——Ferree’s
Warning to Fairchild——His Reply——Gov. Grover Calls out
Volunteers——Meacham’s Departure for Home——Storm on the Lake——
Old Fields——A Sailor——Dr. Cabanis a Joker——Mrs. Meacham
Watching the Boat——Her Thoughts——The Meeting——Ferree’s
Introduction——Meacham on an Ambulance——Arrival at Linkville——
Big-hearted Men——Soft Hand and a Whispered Prayer 543
CHAPTER XXXIV.
AMEN OUT OF TIME——FRIENDLY ADVICE FROM ENEMIES——BETRAYED.
Meacham at Ferree’s——Then and Now——Capt. Jack——Another Scene in
the Hospital——Maybridge——Bunker Bildad——Modocs Impatient to be
on the Warpath——Gen. Canby’s Remains in San Francisco——The
Silver-haired Man in Iowa——The Warning against the Klamaths——
Old Father Jones and Brother Congar——The Misunderstanding——
Administering Saltpetre——Army Recruiting——Making Another
Coffin——Meacham Again in Danger——Iowa Veteran Ready to Dose
out Blue Pills——Location of Modocs——Reconnoissance Ordered——
Defeat of Thomas and Wright——Scenes of the Slaughter——Warm
Springs to the Rescue——Cranston’s Death——Thirty-four Modocs
Fighting Eighty Soldiers——Peace Commissioners not in the Way——
Lt. Harris’s Mother in Camp——Gen. Davis’s Report of the Fight——
Modocs Leave the Lava Beds——Dry Lake Battle——Modocs said to be
Whipped for Once——Treason of Hooker Jim to Bogus——Gen. Davis’s
Summary of Succeeding Events 562
CHAPTER XXXV.
LAST HIDING-PLACE——HANGING-MACHINE UNTRIED——MODOC
BUTCHERS OUTDONE.
Vivid Account of the Surrender of the Modoc Chiefs——Butchery by
“_Brave Civilized_” White Men——Oregon Laws——The White Butchers
not Arrested——Men who have Political Influence——The Gallows——A
Strange Sight to the Modocs——The Harmless Cannon——The Wails of
Anguish——Legal Justice——The Most Bloody Hands Escape——The
Courier’s Arrival——General Disappointment——A Summary of Scenes
and Events 582
CHAPTER XXXVI.
TAKING A SAFE LOOK AT A SUBDUED LION——POWER BEHIND
BAYONETS——WEAKNESS IN CHAINS.
A Fort Turned into a Court-House——The Prisoners at the Bar——
Those Glittering Bayonets——The Prisoners Arraigned——The Trial
Begins——A. B. Meacham in Court——Have the Prisoners no
Counsel?——Schonchin and Capt. Jack——They Extend their Hands to
Meacham——He Repels Them——The Reason for it——Meacham Advised by
his Physician not to Appear as Prisoner’s Counsel——The Trial
Goes On——Indian Testimony——They Seek to Shift the
Responsibility——Capt. Jack not Himself; “He cannot Talk with
Irons On.”——Hooker-Jim’s Weak Defence——The Modoc’s Attorney
Arrives Too Late——The Most Guilty Modocs Escape Punishment——
The Mistake of the Judge Advocate——The Finding of the Court——
The Death Sentence 607
CHAPTER XXXVII.
THE EXECUTION——THE ROYAL CHIEF OUT OF CHAINS.
Modocs in the Prison and Stockade——New Hanging-Machine——The
Announcement of the Death Sentence——The Fallen Chief——His
Speech——Boston Charley’s Speech——Schonchin’s——The Enraged
Modocs——The Unfettered Traitors——Scar-faced Charley——A Solemn
Scene and an Eloquent Prayer——A White Man in Tears over Red
Men’s Sorrows——Once Proud, Now Humble——Thunder-bolt from a
Clear Sky——Marble Tomb and Pearly Gate——Jumbled Theology——
Whirling Tempest——Roaring Cannon——Lightning Flashing and
Darkened Homes——Passing under the Cloud Alone——Anxious for a
Good Seat——Six Graves——Boston has a Rare Privilege——Short
Questions and Short Answers——More than Bogus could Stand——A
Sheriff among Soldiers——State Rights——United States——A Big
Offer for a Corpse——Under the Eye of Uncle Sam——The Prisoners
Waiting for Marching Orders——The Command: “Come Forth”——Then
and Now——Leaving Living Tombs for Permanent Homes——Solving the
Problem of _Six_ Graves and _Four_ Coffins——In Sight of the
Scaffold——Last in Crime——First to Mount the Ladder——The Chains
Drop Off——Six Graves——Six Ropes——Six Prisoners——Four Coffins——
Four Unfettered Convicts——Suspense Succeeds Certain Death——
Last March——A Single Strand and a Gleaming Axe——On the Drop
Waiting——Sitting on a Coffin Watching——Justice Making a
Protest——Forty Millions of People Talking at Once——What They
Say——The Problem Solved——Justice Surprised——The Last Prayer——
The Drop——Calling the Modoc Roll——The Missing——Where They Are——
Tragedy Ended 636
CHAPTER XXXVIII.
THE TWO GIBBETS.
Mementoes of the Horrid Butchery——A Nation’s Justice towards the
Strong, and its Tyranny over the Weak——Grant’s Humane Policy——
On Whom should the Blame Fall——The Answer——Witnesses Summoned
to Prove the White Man’s Perfidy——O. C. Applegate——His Record
of Bloody Deeds——Hon. J. W. Nesmith——His Intimate Acquaintance
with Indian Affairs——His Unequivocal Testimony——Dr. Wm. C.
McKay’s Testimony——General Harney Bears Witness to the
Indian’s Good Faith——The Indians Not the Aggressors in the
Oregon War——Testimony of Hon. Geo. E. Cole——Mutual Fear
resulting in Butchery——The Rogue River War——The Result——
Another Unimpeachable Witness, Gen. Joel Palmer——His Terrible
Arraignment of the Whites——Judge Steele——Ben Wright’s Plot to
Poison the Indians——Colonel Whiting——Forty-nine Indians
Butchered——A Tribute to Frontier Men——A Simple Remedy for the
_Great Wrong_ 663
WIGWAM AND WARPATH.
CHAPTER I.
EARLY REMINISCENCES, POW-E-SHIEK’S BAND.
“Oh, that mine enemy would write a book!” With that ominous warning
ringing in my ears, I sit down to write out my own observations and
experiences, not without full appreciation of the meaning and possible
reiteration of the above portentous saying. In so doing I shall endeavor
to state plain facts, in such a way, perhaps, that mine enemies will avail
themselves of the privilege.
Hoping, however, that I may disarm all malice, and meet with a fair and
impartial criticism, based on the principles of justice both to myself and
to the peoples of whom I write, I begin this book with the conviction that
the truths which I shall state, though told in homely phrase, will
nevertheless be well received by the reading public, and will accomplish
the purposes for which it is written; the first of which is to furnish
reliable information on the subject under consideration, with the hope
that when my readers shall have turned the last leaf of this volume they
may have a better understanding of the wrongs suffered and crimes
committed by the numerous tribes of Indians of the north-west.
Born on the free side of the Ohio river, of parents whose immediate
ancestors, though slave-holders, had left the South at the command of
conscientious convictions of the great wrong of human bondage, my earliest
recollections are of political discussions relating to the crime against
God and humanity; of _power_ compelling _weakness_ while groaning under
the oppression of wrongs to surrender its rights.
Coupled with the “great wrong” of which I have spoken, occasionally that
other wrong, twin to the first, was mentioned in my father’s family;
impressed upon my mind by stories I had heard of the treatment of Indians
who had in early days been neighbors to my parents, driven mile by mile
toward the setting sun, leaving a country billowed by the graves of their
victims mingled with bones of their own ancestors. What wonder, then,
that, while rambling through the beech woods of my native State, I should
speculate on the remnants of ruined homes which these people had left
behind them, and walk in awe over the battle-fields where they had
resisted the aggressive march of civilization?
While yet in childhood my parents migrated to what was then the “Far
West.” Our new home in Iowa was on the outskirts of civilization, our
nearest neighbors being a band of Sacs and Foxes,——“Saukees.” This was the
beginning of my personal acquaintance with Indians.
The stories that had kindled in my heart feelings of sympathy and
commiseration for them were forgotten for a time in the present living
history before my eyes.
I was one of a party who in 1844 assisted the Government in removing
Pow-e-shiek’s band from the Iowa river to their new home in the West. The
scenes around the Indian village on the morning of their departure were
photographed on my mind so plainly that now, after a lapse of thirty
years, they are still fresh in my memory, and the impressions made on me,
and resolves then made by me, have never been forgotten, notwithstanding
the terrible dangers through which I have since passed.
The _impression_ was, that _power_ and _might_ were compelling these
people to leave their homes against their wishes, and in violation of
justice and right. The resolution was, that, whenever and wherever I
could, I would do them justice, and contribute whatever of talent and
influence I might have to better their condition.
These impressions and resolutions have been my constant companions through
a stormy life of many years on the frontier of Iowa, California, and
Oregon.
The bloody tragedy in the Lava Beds, April, 1873, through which the
lamented Christian soldier, Gen. Canby, and the no less lamented eminent
preacher, Dr. Thomas, lost their lives, and by which I had passed so close
to the portals of eternity, has not changed my conviction of right, or my
determination to do justice to even those who so earnestly sought my life.
Narrow-minded, short-sighted men have said to me, more than once, “I
reckon you have suffered enough to cure all your fanatical notions of
humanity for these people!”
I pity the heart and intelligence of any man who measures principles of
justice and right by the gauge of personal suffering or personal
interest. It is unworthy of enlightened Christian manhood.
“By their works ye shall know them.” So may these people of whom I write
be adjudged in the lights of 1874; so shall this nation be adjudged; so
judge ye the author of this book.
The spring of 1845, Pow-e-shiek’s band of Sacs and Foxes were removed from
their home on Iowa river, twenty-five miles above Iowa City, Iowa, to
Skunk river, one hundred miles west. Eighteen or twenty teams were hired
by the Government to convey the household goods and supplies.
Among the number who furnished teams, my father was one, and I went as
captain of the ox-team. The Indians were assembled at the “Trading Post”
preparatory to starting. While the wagons were being loaded, some of them
were gathering up their horses and packing their goods, ready for
shipment; others were making the air vocal with wails of grief over the
graves of their friends, or from sadness, consequent on leaving the scenes
of a life-time.
I wonder not that they should reluctantly yield to inexorable fate, which
compelled them to leave their beautiful valley of the Iowa. “_The white
man wanted it_,” and they must retreat before the onward march of empire,
notwithstanding their nationality and their ownership of the country had
been acknowledged by the Government, when it went into treaty-council with
them for the lands they held. This was not on the plea of “eminent
domain,” but on account of the clamor for more room for the expanding
energies of a growing population.
“The white man wanted it,” tells the story, as it has been repeated, time
after time, since the founding of the Colonies in America.
I do not know that, in this instance, any advantage was taken of these
Indians, except that advantage which the powerful always have over the
weak. But I do know that if they had been allowed a choice, they never
would have consented to leave the graves of their fathers. ’Twas easy to
say, “It was a fair transaction of selling and buying.”
So is it a business transaction when a man buys the lots adjoining your
own, and builds high walls on three sides, erects powder magazines and
glycerine manufactories, corrupts city councils, and, by means of extra
privileges and excessive taxation, compels you to sell your valuable
property for a mere song, by saying, “Take my price for your property, or
run the risk of being blown up.”
Is it a fair “business transaction,” after he has thus forced the trade?
What though he does faithfully pay the contract-price? Does it atone for
the first moral wrong, in legally forcing the sale? And how much more
aggravated the injury becomes, when, through his agents, or his sons, he
“legitimately,” under various pretences, permits the unfortunate seller to
be robbed, by paying him off in “chips and whetstones,” that he does not
desire nor need, so that in the end he is practically defrauded out of his
property, and finds himself at the last payment, homeless and penniless.
All done, however, under the sanction of law, and in the shade of
church-steeples, and with sanctimonious semblance of honesty and justice.
The picture is not overdrawn. The illustration is fair, or, if deficient
at all, it has bean in excess of advantage to the principal, not the
victim. The latter has accepted the situation and suffered the
consequences.
To return to Pow-e-shiek’s band leaving their home. Who shall ever recount
the sorrows and anguish of those people, while they formed in line of
march, and turned their eyes for the last time upon the scenes that had
been all the world to them? What mattered it though they realized all the
pangs their natures were capable of, in those parting hours, with the
uncomfortable promises that the ploughshare of civilization would level
down the graves of their fathers, before their retreating footprints had
been obliterated from the trail which led them sadly away? They were
“Injins;” and they ought to have been in better luck than _being_
“Injins.”
Such was the speech of a white man in whose hearing I had said some word
of sympathy on the occasion. I did not like the unfeeling wretch then, and
have not much respect for him, or for the class he represents. Now I may
have charity and pity, too, for all such. Charity for the poverty of a
soul so devoid of the finer sensibilities of “common humanity that make
mankind akin;” pity for a heart overflowing with selfishness, made
manifest in thoughtless or spiteful speech.
The trying hour in the lives of these Indian people had come, and the long
cavalcade moved out along the line of westward march, wagons loaded with
corn and other supplies. The old men of the tribe, with darkened brows and
silent tongue, sat on their horses; the younger ones, with _seeming_
indifference, in red blankets, feathers, and gaudy paints, moving off on
prancing ponies, in little squads, to join the funeral pageant; for so it
was. They were leaving the cherished scenes of childhood to hunt for
sepulchres in the farther West.
The women, young and old, the drudges of the Indian household, as well as
homes, where the sunlight of civilization _should_ warm the hearts of men,
and move them to truer justice, were gathered up, and preparing their
goods for transportation, while bitter tears were flowing and loud
lamentations gave evidence of the grief that would not be repressed, and
each in turn, as preparations were complete, would lift the
pappoose-basket with its young soul to altitudes of mother’s back or
horse’s saddle, and then, with trembling limbs, climb to their seats and
join the sad procession, adding what of woful wailing seemed necessary to
make the whole complete with sights and sound that would bid defiance to
painter’s skill or poet’s words, though, in the memory of those who beheld
it, it may live as long as the throbs of sympathy which it kindled shall
repeat themselves in hearts that feel for human sorrow.
The first day’s journey measured but four miles; the next, six; and at
most never exceeded ten or twelve. I did not understand, then, why we went
so slow. It may have been necessary to “kill time,” in order to use up the
appropriation for the removal. When “camp” was reached, each day the
wagons were “corralled;” that is to say, were drawn together in a circle,
one behind another, and so close that when the teams were detached, the
“pole” laid upon the hind wheel of the next forward wagon would close up
the gap, and thus complete the “corral,” which was to answer the double
purpose of “penning the oxen when being yoked up,” and also as an
extempore fort in case of attack by the Sioux Indians.
The wick-e-ups——Indian tents——were scattered promiscuously around, as each
family might elect. After dinner was over the remainder of Uncle Sam’s
time was spent in various ways: horse-racing, foot-racing, card-playing,
shooting-matches by the men, white and red, while the women were doing
camp-work, cooking, getting wood, building lodges, etc.; for be it
understood, an old-style Indian never does such work any more than his
white brother would rock the cradle, or operate a laundry for his wife.
The old men would take turns standing guard, or rather sitting guard. At
all events they generally went out to the higher hills, and, taking a
commanding position, would sit down all solitary and alone, and with
blanket drawn around their shoulders and over their heads, leaving only
enough room for vision and the escape of smoke from their pipes.
In solemn silence, scanning the surroundings, hour after hour thus wore
away. There was something in this scene suggesting serious contemplation
to a looker-on, and I doubt not the reveries of the lone watchman savored
strongly of sadness and sorrow, _may be_ revenge.
[Illustration: THE LONE INDIAN SENTINEL.]
Approaching one old fellow I sought to penetrate his mind, and was
rewarded by a pantomimic exhibition, more tangible than “Black Crook” ever
witnessed from behind the curtains, while recuperating his wasted
energies that he might the more seemingly “play the devil.”
Rising to his feet and releasing one naked arm from his blanket, he
pointed toward the east, and with extended fingers and uprising, coming
gesture quickly brought his hand to his heart, dropping his head, as if
some messenger of despair had made a sudden call. He paused a moment, and
then from his heart his hand went out in circling, gathering motion, until
he had made the silent speech so vivid that I could see the coming throng
of white settlers and the assembling of his tribe; and then, turning his
face away with a majestic wave of his hand, I saw his sorrow-stricken
people driven out to an unknown home; while he, sitting down again and
drawing his blanket around him, refused me further audience. Perhaps he
realized that he had told the whole story, and therefore need say no more.
Often at evening we would gather around some grassy knoll, or, it may be,
some wagon-tongue, and white and red men mingled together. We would sit
down and smoke, and tell stories and recount traditions of the past.
Oftenest from Indian lips came the history of wars and dances, of scalps
taken and prisoners tortured.
At the time of which I write the “Saukies” were at variance with the
“hated Sioux,” and, indeed, the latter had been successful in a raid among
the herds of the former, and had likewise carried away captives. Hence the
sentinels on the outpost at evening.
Just at dusk one night, when the theme had been the “Sioux,” and our
thoughts were in that channel, suddenly the whole camp was in a blaze of
flashing muskets. We beat a hasty retreat to our wagons——which were our
only fortifications——with mingled feelings of fear and hope; fear of the
much-dreaded Sioux, and hope that we might witness a fight.
My recollection now is that _fear_ had more to do with our gymnastic
exercises round about the wagon-wheels than _hope_ had to do with getting
a position for observation. But both were short-lived, for soon our
red-skinned friends were laughing loud at our fright, and we, the victims,
joined in to make believe we were not scared by the unceremonious flight
of a flock of belated wild geese, inviting fire from the warriors of our
camp; for so it was and nothing more. Still it was enough to make
peace-loving, weak nerves shake, and heated brain to dream for weeks after
of Sioux and of Indians generally. I speak for myself, but tell the truth
of all our camp, I think.
The destination of our chief, Pow-e-shiek, and his band was temporarily
with “Kisk-ke-kosh,” of the same tribe, whose bands were on Desmoines
river. There is among all Indians, of whom I have any knowledge, a custom
in vogue of going out to meet friends, or important personages, to assure
welcome, and, perhaps, gratify curiosity.
When we were within a day or two of the end of our journey, a delegation
from Kisk-ke-kosh’s camp came out to meet our party, and, while the
greeting we received was not demonstrative in words, the younger people of
both bands had adorned themselves with paint, beads, and feathers, and
were each of them doing their utmost to fascinate the other. The scene
presented was not only fantastic, but as civilized, people would exclaim,
“most gay and gorgeous,” and exhilarating even to a looker-on.
At night they gathered in groups, and made Cupid glad with the battles
lost and won by his disciples. Then they danced, or, to ears polite,
“hopped,” or tripped the light fantastic moccasin trimmed with beads, to
music, primitive, ’tis true, but music made with Indian drums and rattling
gourds. They went not in waltz, but circling round and round, and always
round, as genteel people do, but round and round in single row, the
circling ends of which would meet at any particular point, or all points,
whenever the ring was complete, without reference to sets or partners, and
joining in the hi-yi-yi-eia-ye-o-hi-ye-yi; and when tired sit down on the
ground until rested, and then, without coaxing or renewed invitation,
joining in, wherever fancy or convenience suited; for these round dances
never break up at the unwelcome sound of the violin,——not, indeed, until
the dancers are all satisfied.
The toilets were somewhat expensive, at least the “outfit” of each maiden
cost her tribe several acres of land,——sometimes, if of fine figure,
several _hundred_ acres,——and not because of the long trails or expensive
laces, for they do not need extensive skirts in which to dance, or laces,
either, to enhance their charms; for the young gentlemen for whom they
dressed were not envious of dry goods or fine enamel, but rather of the
quality of paint on the cheeks of laughing girls; for girls will paint,
you know, and those of whom I write put it on so thick that their beaux
never have cause to say, “That’s too thin.”
The boys themselves paint in real genuine paint, not moustaches alone,
but eye-brows, checks, and hair. They wore feathers, too, because they
thought that feathers were good things to have at a round dance; and they
followed nature, and relieved the dusky maidens of seeming violation of
nature’s plain intention.
As I shall treat under the head of amusement the dances of Indians more at
length, I only remark, in this connection, that the dance on this
occasion, while it was a real “round dance,” differed somewhat from round
dances of more high-toned people in several ways, and I am not sure it was
not without advantage in point of accommodation to the finer feelings of
discreet mammas, or envious “wall-flowers.” At all events, as I have said
on former pages, the whole set formed in one circle, with close rank,
facing always to the front, and enlarged as the number of the dancers
grew, or contracted as they retired; but each one going forward and
keeping time with feet and hands to the music, which was low and slow at
first, with short step, increasing the music and the motion as they became
excited, until the air grew tremulous with the sounds, rising higher and
wilder, more and more exciting, until the lookers-on would catch the
inspiration and join the festive ring; even old men, who at first had felt
they could not spare dignity or muscle either, would lay aside their
blankets until they had lived over again the fiery scenes of younger days,
by rushing into the magnetic cordon, and, with recalled youth, forget all
else, save the soul-storming fury of the hour, sweetened with the charm of
exultant joy, over age and passing years.
And thus the dance went on, until at last by degrees the dancers had
reached an altitude of happiness which burst forth in simultaneous shout
of music’s eloquence, complete by higher notes of human voice drawn out to
fullest length.
The dance was over, and the people went away in groups of twos and threes.
The maidens, skipping home to the paternal lodge without lingering over
swinging gates, or waiting for answering maids to ringing bells, crept
softly in, not waking their mammas up to take off for them their
lengthened trails, but perhaps with wildly beating hearts from the dance
to dream-land.
The young braves gathered their scarlet blankets around them, and in
couples or threes, laughing as boys will do at silly jest of awkward maid
or swain, went where “tired Nature’s sweet restorer” would keep promise
and let them live over again the enchanting scenes of the evening, and
thus with _negative_ and photograph would _feel_ the picture of youth
their own.
The older men, whose folly had led them to display contempt for age, went
boldly home to lodge where the tired squaws had long since yielded to
exhausted nature, and were oblivious to the frolics of their _liege
lords_.
Mrs. Squaw had no rights that a brave was bound to respect. It was _her_
business to carry wood, build lodges, saddle his horse, and lash the
pappoose in the basket, and do all other drudgery. It was _his_ to wear
the gayest blanket, the vermilion paint, and eagle-feathers, and ride the
best horses, have a good time generally, and whip his squaws when drunk
or angry; and it was nobody’s business to question _him_. He was a _man_.
Now, if my reader has failed to see the picture I have drawn of Indian
dances, I promise you that, before our journey is ended, I will try again
a similar scene, where the music of tall pine-trees and tumbling torrents
from hoary mountains will give my pencil brighter hues and my hand a
steadier, finer touch.
The arrival of our train at the camp of Kisk-ke-kosh called out whatever
of finery had not been on exhibition with the welcoming party who had come
out to meet us. And when the sun had gone down behind the Iowa prairies
the dances were repeated on a larger scale.
The following day we were paid off and signed the vouchers. Don’t know
that it was intended; don’t know that it was not; but I do remember that
we were allowed the same number of days in which to return that we had
occupied in going out, although on our homeward journey we passed each day
two or three camps made on the outward journey. I ventured to make some
remark on the subject, suggesting the injustice of taking pay for more
time than was required for us to reach home, and a nice kind of a
churchman, one who could drive oxen without swearing, said in reply, “Boys
should be seen and not heard, you little fool!”
He snubbed me then, but I never forgot the deep, earnest resolve I made to
thrash him for this insult when “_I got to be a man._” But, poor fellow,
he went years ago where boys _may_ be heard as well as seen, and I forgive
him.
We met the rushing crowds who were going to the “New Purchase”; so eager,
indeed, that, like greedy vultures which circle round a dying charger and
then alight upon some eminence near, or poise themselves in mid air,
impatient for his death, sometimes swoop down upon him before his heart
has ceased to beat.
So had these emigrants encamped along the frontier-line, impatient for the
hour when the red man should pull down his wigwam, put out his
council-fires, collect his squaws, his pappooses, and his ponies, and turn
his back upon the civilization they were bringing to take the place of
these untamed and savage ceremonies. While the council-fire was dying out,
another was being kindled whose ruddy light was to illuminate the faces,
and warm the hands of those who, following the westward star of empire,
had come to inherit the land, and build altars wherefrom should go up
thanks to Him who smiled when he created the “beautiful valley” of the
Iowa.
How changed the scene! Then the gray smoke from Indian lodge rose slowly
up and floated leisurely away. Now from furnace-blast it bursts out in
volume black, and settles down over foundry and farm, city and town,
unless, indeed, the Great Spirit sends fierce tempests, as an omen of his
wrath, at the sacrilege done to the red man’s home.
_Then_ the forest stood entire, like harp-strings whereon the Great Spirit
might utter tones to soothe their stormy souls, or rouse them to deeds in
vindication of rights he had bequeathed.
_Now_ they live only in part, the other part decaying, while groaning
under the pressure of the iron heel of power.
Bearing no part in sweet sounds, unless indeed it be sweet to hear the
iron horse, with curling breath, proclaiming the advance of legions that
worship daily at Mammon’s shrine, or bearing forward still further
westward the enterprising men and women who are to work for other lands a
transformation great as they have wrought for this.
Then on the bosom of the river the red man’s children might play in light
canoe, or sportive dive, to catch the mimic stars that seemed to live
beneath its flow, to light the homes of finny tribes who peopled then its
crystal chambers.
_Now_, it is turgid and slow, and pent with obstructions to make it flow
in channels where its power is wanted to complete the wreck of forests
that once had made it cool, fit beverage for nature’s children, or is
muddied with the noisy wheels of commerce, struggling to rob the once
happy home of Pow-e-shiek, of the charms and richness of soil that
nature’s God had given.
The prairies, too, at that time, were like a shoreless sea when, half in
anger, the winds resist the ebb or flow of its tides; or they may be
likened to the clouds, which seem to be mirrored on their waving surface,
sporting in the summer air, or, at the command of the Great Spirit, hurry
to join some gathering tempest, where He speaks in tones of thunder, as if
to rebuke the people for their crimes.
Where once the wild deer roamed at will is enlivened now by the welcome
call of lowing herds of tamer kind.
The waving grass, and fragrant flowers, too, gave way to blooming maize of
finer mould.
The old trails have been buried like the feet that made them, beneath the
upturned sod.
And now, while I am writing, this lovely valley rings out a chant of
praise to God, for his beneficence, instead of the weird wild song of
Pow-e-shiek and his people at their return from crusades against their
enemies.
Who shall say the change that time and civilization have wrought, have not
brought nearer the hour, “When man, no more an abject thing, shall from
the sleep of ages spring,” and be what God designed him, “pure and free?”
No one, however deeply he may have drank from the fount of justice and
right, can fail to see, in the transformation wrought on this fair land,
the hand of Him whose finger points out the destiny of his peculiar
people, and yearly gives token of his approbation, by the return of
seasons, bringing rich reward to the hands of those whom he has called to
perform the wonders of which I write, in compensation for the hardships
they endured, while the transit was being made from the perfection of
untamed life to the higher state of civilization.
While we praise Him who overrules all, we cannot fail to honor His
instrumentalities.
The brave pioneers, leaving old homes in other lands to find new ones in
this, have made sacrifices of kindred, family ties, and early
associations, at the behest of some stern necessity (it may be growing out
of bankruptcy of business, though not of pride and honor, or manly
character), or ambition to be peers among their fellows.
Or, mayhap, the change was made by promptings of parental love for
children whose prospects in life might be made better thereby, and the
family unity still preserved by locating lands in close proximity, where
from his home the father might by some well-known signal call his children
all around him. Where the faithful watch-dog’s warning was echoed in every
yard, and thus gave information of passing events worthy of his attention
enacting in the neighborhood. Where the smoke from cabin chimneys high
arose, mingled in mid air, and died away in peaceful brotherhood. Where
the blended prayer of parent and child might go up in joint procession
from the school-house-churches through the shining trees that answered
well for steeples then, or passing through clouds to Him who had made so
many little groves, where homes might be made and prepared the most
beautiful spots on earth for final resting-place, where each, as the
journey of life should be over, might be laid away by kindred hands, far
from the hurrying, noisy crowds, who rush madly along, or stop only to
envy the dead the ground they occupy, and speculate how much filthy lucre
each sepulchre is worth.
Others went to the new country with downy cheeks of youth, and others
still with full-grown beards, who were fired with high ambition to make
name, fame, home, and fortune, carrying underneath their sombre hats
bright ideas and wonderful possibilities, with hearts full of manly
purposes, beating quickly at the mention of mother’s name or father’s
pride, sister’s prayer or brother’s love.
And with all these to buoy them up, would build homes on gentle slope, or
in shady grove, and thus become by slow degrees “one among us.”
I was with the first who went to this new country, and I know whereof I
write. I know more than I have told, or will tell, lest by accident I
betray the petty jealousies that cropped out; when Yankee-boys, forgetting
the girls they left behind them, would pay more attention to our western
girls than was agreeable to “us boys.”
Others there were who had followed the retreating footsteps of the
Indians. These were connecting links between two kinds of life, savage and
civilized. Good enough people in their way, but they could not bear the
hum of machinery, or the glitter of church-spires, because the first drove
back the wild game, and the devotees who worshipped beneath the second,
forbade the exercise of careless and wicked noises mingling with songs of
praise.
A few, perhaps, had fled from other States to avoid the consequences of
technical legal constructions which would sadly interfere with their
unpuritanical ways. But these were not numerous. The early settlers, taken
all in all, possessed many virtues and qualifications that entitled them
to the honor which worthy actions and noble deeds guarantee to those who
do them. They had come from widely different birth-lands, and brought with
them habits that had made up their lives; and though each may have felt
sure their own was the better way, they soon learned that honest people
may differ and still be honest. And to govern themselves accordingly, each
yielded, without sacrifice of principle, their hereditary whims and
peculiar ways, and left the weightier matters of orthodoxy or heterodoxy
to be argued by those who had nothing better with which to occupy their
time than to muddle their own and other people’s brains with abstruse
themes.
The “early settlers” were eminently practical, and withal successful in
moulding out of the heterogeneous mass of whims and prejudices a common
public sentiment, acceptable to all, or nearly so. And thus, they grew,
not only in numbers but in wealth, power, intelligence, and patriotism,
until to-day there may be found on the once happy home of Pow-e-shiek a
people rivalling those of any other State, surpassing many of them in that
greatest and noblest of all virtues, “love for your neighbor.”
No people in all this grand republic furnished truer or braver men for the
holocaust of blood required to reconsecrate the soil of America to freedom
and justice, than those whose homes are built on the ruins of
Pow-e-shiek’s early hunting-grounds. Proud as the record may be, it shall
yet glow with names written by an almost supernal fire, that warms into
life the immortal thought of poets, and the burning eloquence of orators.
We are proud of the record of the past, and cherish bright hopes of the
future. But with all our patriotic exultations, memory of Pow-e-shiek’s
sacrifices comes up to mingle sadness with our joy. Sadness, not the
offspring of reproach of conscience for unfair treatment to him or his
people by those who came after he had gone at the invitation of the
Government, but sadness because he and his people could not enjoy what
other races always have, the privilege of a higher civilization; sadness,
because, while our gates are thrown wide open and over them is written in
almost every tongue known among nations, “Come share our country and our
government with us,” it was closed behind him and his race, and over those
words painted, in characters which he understood, “Begone!”
CHAPTER II.
OVERLAND: BLOOD FOR BLOOD.
In 1846 Pow-e-shiek came with his band to visit his old home. We were
“early settlers” then, and had built our cabins on the sloping sides of a
bluff overlooking the valley below. From this outpost we descried the
bands of piebald ponies and then the curling smoke, and next the poles of
his wick-e-ups (houses); and soon we saw Pow-e-shiek coming to make known
his wish that he might be permitted to pasture his stock on the fields
which we had already robbed of corn. The recognition in me of one who had
assisted in removing his people seemed to surprise and please him, and for
a moment his eye lit up as if some fond reality of the past had revived
the friendship that had grown out of my sympathy for him in his dark hour
of departure from his home. And when I said, “This is my father, and my
mother, these my sisters and my brothers, and this place is our home,” he
gave to the welcoming hands a friendly grasp in evidence of his good
intentions, and then assured us that no trouble on his part should grow
out of his coming, and that, if his young men should do any dishonest
acts, he would punish them; that he had come back to spend the winter once
again near his haunts of olden times, perhaps to kill the deer that he
thought white men did not care about since they had so many cattle and
swine. We accepted his assurance, and believed him to be just what he
pretended,——a quiet, honest old chief, who would do as he agreed, nor seek
excuse for not doing so.
The dinner hour had passed, but such as we had my mother set before him,
and he did not fail to do full justice to everything upon the table. He
made sure that his pappooses should complete what he began by making a
clean sweep into one corner of his blanket to bear it to his lodge. After
dinner he drew out his pipe, and filling it with Kin-ni-ki-nick (tobacco),
and lighting it with a coal of fire, he first sought to propitiate the
Great Spirit by offering up to him the first puff of smoke; next the
devil, by blowing the smoke downward, and saved the third for himself; and
after that he offered to the fourth person in his calendar, my father, the
privilege of expressing his approval. But, as he was not a smoker himself,
he passed the pipe to his oldest son, intimating his desire that he should
be represented by proxy. I, willing to do his bidding, in friendship for
our guest, _it may be_, or perhaps from other personal motives, soon
reduced the Kin-ni-ki-nick to ashes and handed back the empty pipe to
Pow-e-shiek. I knew not that I had transgressed the rules of politeness
until afterwards, when I offered a pipe to our strange-mannered guest, he,
with dignity, drew a puff or two and then passed it back, with an
expression of countenance which declared unmistakably that it was meant
for reproof.
If I felt resentment for a moment that a savage should presume to teach me
manners, I do not feel that I was the only one who might be greatly
benefited by taking lessons of unsophisticated men and women of other
than white blood; not alone in simple politeness, but also in regard to
right and justice, whose flags of truce are never raised _ostensibly_ to
insure protection, but _really_ to intimidate the weak and defenceless,
who dared to stand up for the God-given rights to home and country.
Pow-e-shiek made preparations to return to his lodge, and we, boy-like,
followed him out of the cabin door, and while he was saying good-by he
espied a fine large dog that we had, named Van, though the name did not
indicate our politics. Pow-e-shiek proposed to trade a pony for “old Van,”
and we were pleased at first, because we thought the pony would do to ride
after the “breaking team” of dewy mornings in the spring. But when we
learned that “Van” was wanted by the chief to furnish the most substantial
part of a feast for his people, we demurred. “Old Van,” too, seemed to
understand the base use to which he was to be put, and reproached us with
sullen side-looks; and the trade was abandoned, and would have been
forgotten only that Van was ever afterward maddened at the sight of
Pow-e-shiek or any of his race.
The winter passed, and our red neighbors had kept their promise, for
although neither the granary nor any other building was ever locked,
nothing had been missed, and our mutual regard seemed stronger than when
the acquaintance was renewed. When spring had fully come, Pow-e-shiek,
punctual to his promise, broke up his camp and went away.
[Illustration: BULL-DOG TRADE.]
Occasionally, for years afterwards, his people came back to visit; but _he
no more_.
Years have passed, and he has joined the great throng in the happy
hunting-grounds.
When the gold fever was at its height, in 1850, in company with others I
journeyed overland to the new Eldorado. While en route, we heard much of
Indians, of their butcheries and cruelties; I think there was good
foundation for the stories. Indeed, we saw so many evidences of their
handiwork, in new-made graves and abandoned wagons demolished, that there
could be no reasonable doubt of their savage treatment of those who came
within their power.
While _I do not now, never have, and never will attempt to justify their
butcheries, yet it is but fair that both sides of the story be told_.
When our party was at “Independence Rock,” in 1850, and no Indians had
disturbed the passing travellers, near where we were then, we “laid over”
a day, and within the time a man came into camp and boasted that he had
“knocked over a _buck_ at a distance of a hundred yards,” and when the
query was made as to the whereabouts of his game he produced a _bloody
scalp_. He gave as an excuse that the Indians had frightened an antelope
he was trying to kill, and that he shot the Indian while the latter was
endeavoring to get away. Is it unreasonable to suppose that the friends of
the murdered Indian, when he came not to the lodge at nightfall, would
hunt him up, and that, when his brother or friend saw his scalpless head,
he should avow to avenge his death?
Doubtless he did avenge both himself and his tribe, and he may have slain
many innocent persons in retaliation for this foul deed.
As to the cause of the Indian troubles on the Humbolt river, during the
summer of 1850, I know nothing. Probably they originated in some lawless
act similar to the one above described. In September following I loaned a
rifle to a miner who was going out on a prospecting tour. On his return he
proposed to buy it, saying that “it was a good one, he knew, because he
tried it on an Indian, shooting from one bluff to another; and,” said this
civilized white man, “I dropped him into the river, and he went where all
good Injuns go.”
Later in the season two friendly Indians came into the town of “Bidwell’s
Bar,” and, although no evidence was produced against them, they were
arrested on “general principles,” it was said; and while threats were made
of hanging them on “general principles” too, _better_ counsels prevailed,
and they were placed in charge of a guard, who were to convey them to
“Long’s Bar,” and turn them over to the sheriff to be held for trial.
_The guard returned in a short time, and reported that the prisoners had
“slipped down a bank and were drowned.”_ It was, however, understood that
they were killed by the guard “to save expense.” Following this accident
several white men were murdered by Indians, it was said, although the
murdered men, it was evident, had met death through _other instrumentality
than bows and arrows_.
A company was raised to go out and punish the offenders. On their return
they reported grand success in finding Indian rancheros, and in the
wholesale butchery they had committed. Do you wonder that twenty or thirty
white men were _riddled with arrows within a short time, after such manly
conduct, by the brave butchers of Indian women and children_?
I have not at hand the data from which to mention in detail the various
Indian wars that harassed the miners of California. Suffice it that they
were of frequent occurrence, and, indeed, continued until the mountain
bands of Indians were broken up. If the truth could be heard from the lips
of both the living and the dead, we should hear many things _unpleasant to
the ears of white men_ as well as Indians, and, perhaps, discreditable to
both. I doubt not such revelation would support the declaration I here
make,——that _bad white men_ have always been the instigators of the bloody
deeds through which so many innocent persons have passed on to the other
life.
The proofs are not wanting in almost every instance in support of this
statement. That the Indian is vindictive, is true; that he is brave,
cunning, and inhuman to his enemies is also true; but that he is faithful
to his compacts, whenever fairly dealt with, is _not less true_.
CHAPTER III.
INDIANS AND MINERS.
WALLA-WALLA, WASHINGTON TERRITORY,
February 4th, 1863.
DEAR BROTHER (_Suisun City, Cal._):——
I have found a good country and more business than I can manage alone;
come and help me. Better leave your family until you can see for yourself.
You may not like it, though I do. Money is plenty, everything new, and
prices keyed up to old “forty-nine” times.
Your brother,
H. J. MEACHAM.
LEE’S ENCAMPMENT, FIFTY MILES SOUTH OF WALLA-WALLA,
ON TOP OF BLUE MOUNTAIN, March 6, 1863.
MY DEAR WIFE (_Suisun, Cal._):——
“Eureka.” Come; I am camping in four feet of snow, and cooking meals in a
frying-pan, and charging a dollar; selling “slap jacks” two bits each;
oats and barley at twelve cents, and hay at ten cents per pound, and other
things at same kind of prices; can’t supply the demand. Go to William
Booth, San Francisco, and tell him to ship you and the children with the
goods, to Walla-Walla, Washington Territory, via Portland, Oregon, care
Wells, Fargo & Co.’s Express.
A. B. MEACHAM.
These two letters are copied here, to carry the reader and the writer over
a period of twelve years, leaving behind whatever may have transpired of
interest to the work now in hand, to be taken up on some other page, in
proper connection with kindred subjects of later date.
Lee’s Encampment is located near the summit of the Blue Mountains in
Oregon, on the great highway leading from the Columbia river to the rich
gold fields of Idaho and Eastern Oregon. It is fifty miles south of
Walla-Walla, and is also one of the out-boundaries of the Umatilla Indian
Reservation, occupied by the Walla-Walla, Cayuse and Umatilla Indians.
The roads leading out from the several starting-points on the Columbia
river, to the mines above-mentioned, converge on the Reservation, and,
climbing the mountain’s brow, on the old “Emigrant trail,” cross over to
Grand Round valley.
During the spring of 1863, the great tide of miners that flowed inland, to
reach the new gold fields, necessarily passed through the Reservation, and
thence via Lee’s Encampment. This circumstance of location gave abundant
opportunity for observation by the writer. Of those who sought fortunes in
the mines, I might write many chapters descriptive of the motley crowds of
every shade of color and of character, forming episodes and thrilling
adventures. But my purpose in this work would not be subserved by doing
so, except such as have bearing on the subject-matter under consideration.
Of the thousands who landed at Umatilla City and Walla-Walla, en route to
the “upper country,” few brought means of transportation overland. There
were no stages, no railroads; and what though Haley & Ish, Stephen Taylor,
and many others, advertised “saddle trains to leave for the mines every
day of the week, at reasonable rates,” which were, say, sixty dollars, on
ponies that cost perhaps forty dollars; yet there were hundreds that could
not get tickets even at those rates. The few who engaged _reserved seats_
were started off on saddle-horses of various grades, under the charge of a
“conductor,” whose principal duty was, not to collect fares, but to herd
the kitchen mules,——every train had with it one or more animals on whose
back the supplies and blankets were carried,——and indicate the camping
places by pulling the ropes that loosed the aforesaid kitchens and
blankets, when, like other trains, at the pull of the rope, the whole
would stop, and not be startled into unnecessary haste by “twenty minutes
for dinner” sounded in their ears. One or more nights the camp would be on
the Reservation, thus bringing travellers and Indians in contact.
I have said that many could not get places, even on the backs of mules, or
Cayuse ponies. Such were compelled to take “Walkers’ line,” go on foot and
carry blankets and “grub” on their backs. The second night out would find
them also on the Reservation, and those who had the wherewith, purchased
horses of the Indians; some, perhaps, without consulting the owners. Not
stealing them! No. A white man would not do so mean a thing; but ropes are
suspicious things when found in the pack of one of “Walker’s” passengers,
and if a pony was fool enough to run his head into a noose, the handiest
way to get clear of him was to exchange with some other man of similar
misfortune, and then it was not stealing in the eyes of honest white men.
If the Indian missed his property, and, hunting along the line, found him
under a white man, you might suppose he could recover his horse. Not so,
my lord! Not so. The white man had proof that he had bought him of some
other man, may be an Indian. Such was sometimes the case, for I do not
believe that all men are honest, white or red; and these red men were not
behind the white in sharp practice; and it is safe to say, that those of
whom I am writing now were peers of those who sought to outwit, them.
The horses of saddle trains would sometimes “stray away,”——often those of
freighters,——and, since time was money, and strangers might not understand
the “range,” the Indians were employed to hunt for the straying animals,
and paid liberally if they succeeded; and thus it _made the stock of other
trains restless_, _and often they_ would run away——and so the business
increased, and the Indians grew wealthier, notwithstanding their own
sometimes followed off a rope in the hands of white men.
The road, along which this stream of miners poured, left the valley of
Umatilla on the Reservation, leading up the mountains. Near the foot of
the hill, but with a deep ravine or gulch intervening, and on another
hill,——part really of the valley, though sloping toward the former,——was
The “Trading Post,”——Indian’s sutler store. ’Twas here that saddle trains
and “Walker’s line,” halted for the night, or “to noon” and rest, after
travelling a fourteen-mile “stretch.”
The “Walker” passengers were already worn out, with heavy packs of picks
and pans, bottles and blankets. The situation of the post, with reference
to the mountain, was to an observer like standing on the sloping roof of
one house and measuring the “pitch” of the one adjoining, making it seem
much steeper than it really is. So with this mountain. True, it required a
broad upward sweep of vision to take in the height. On the first bench,
one mile above, the trains and men seemed to be transformed into dogs and
boys. On the second bench, two miles up, they looked still smaller. On the
third, three miles up, they very closely resembled Punch and Judy driving
a team of poodles. The Indians found here a market for their horses, and
sometimes did a livery business, in Indian style.
A stalwart son of Erin, standing against the wall of the store to “rest
his pack,” after looking at the trail leading up the mountain, said to the
merchant doing business there, “I say, misther, is it up that hill we go?”
Hearing an affirmative answer, he looked again at each bench, his brow
growing darker the higher his eye went; at length he gave vent to his
estimate of the undertaking by saying, “By the howly St. Patrick, if me
own mother was here in the shape of a mule, I’d ride her up that hill,
sure! I say, Misther Injun, wouldn’t you sell us a bit of a pony for to
carry our blankets an’ things over the mountain with?”
The Indian had been in business long enough to understand that, and
replied, “Now-wit-ka mi-ka pot-luetch. Chic-a, mon, ni-ka is-cum,
cu-i-tan!”——“Och! Mister Injun, don’t be makin’ fun of a fellow,
now, will ye? It’s very sore me feet is, a-carrying me pick and
pan and cooking-traps. Why don’t you talk like a dacent American
gentleman?”——“Wake-ic-ta-cum-tux,” said Tip-tip-a-noor, the Indian. “Don’t
be playin’ your dirty tongue on me now, or I’ll spoil your beautiful face
so I will.”
Drawing his arms out of the straps that had kept the pack in position on
his shoulders, and lowering it “aisy,” to save the bottle, he began to
make demonstrations of hostile character, when Mr. Flippin, the
post-trader, explained that Tip-tip-a-noos had replied to his first
request, “Yes, you show the money, and I will furnish the horse;” and he
had replied to the second, “I don’t understand you.”——“And is that all he
says? Shure, he is a nice man, so he is. Shan’t I swaten his mouth wid a
dhrop from me bottle?”——“No,” says Flip., “that won’t do.”——“Away wid yees;
shure, this is a free counthry, and can’t a man do as he plases with his
own?”——“Not much,” replied Flip. “I say now, Mike, will you join me in the
byin’ of a bit of a pony for to carry our blankets and things?”
The man addressed as Mike assented to the proposal, and soon
Tip-tip-a-noos brought a small pinto calico-colored horse; and after some
dickering the trade was completed by Pat, through pantomimic signs, giving
Tip to understand, that if he would follow down into the gulch, out of
sight of Flip., he would give him a bottle of whiskey, in addition to the
twenty dollars.
The pony was turned over to Pat and Mike. The next move was to adjust the
packs on the Cayuse. This was not easily done. First, because the pony did
not understand Pat’s jargon; second, they had not reckoned on the absence
of a pack-saddle. Flip., always ready to accommodate the travelling
public, for a consideration, brought an old cross-tree pack-saddle, and
then the lash-ropes,——ropes to bind the load to the saddle. Pat approached
the pony with outstretched hands, saying pretty things in Irish brogue;
while Mike, to make sure that the horse should not escape, had made it
fast to his waist with a rope holding back, while Pat went forward, so
that at the precise moment the latter had reached the pony’s nose, he
reared up, and, striking forward, gave Pat a blow with his fore-foot,
knocking him down. Seeming to anticipate the Irishman’s coming wrath, he
whirled so quick that Mike lost his balance and went down, shouting,
“Sthop us, sthop us; we are running away!” Pat recovered his feet in time
to jump on the prostrate form of Mike, going along horizontally, at a
furious gait, close to the pony’s heels. The Cayuse slackened his speed
and finally stopped, but not until Mike had lost more or less of clothing,
and the “pelt” from his rosy face.
When the two Irishmen were once more on foot, and both holding to the
rope, now detached from Mike’s waist at one end, and buried into the
wheezing neck of the Cayuse at the other, a scene occurred that Bierstadt
should have had for a subject. I don’t believe I can do it justice, and
yet I desire my readers to see it, since the renowned painter
above-mentioned, was not present to represent it on canvas.
Think of two bloody-nosed Irish lads holding the pony, while he was
pulling back until his haunches almost touched the ground, wheezing for
breath, occasionally jumping forward to slacken the rope around his neck,
and each time letting Pat and Mike fall suddenly to the ground, swearing
in good Irish style at the “spalpeen of a brute” that had no better
manners, while Mr. Indian was laughing as he would have done his
crying,——away down in his heart. Flip., and _others_ looking on, were
doing as near justice to the occasion as possible, by laughing
old-fashioned horse-laughs, increasing with each speech from Pat or Mike.
Occasionally, when the Cayuse would suddenly turn his heels, and fight in
pony style, Pat would roar out Irish, while the horse would compel them to
follow him, each with body and limbs at an angle of forty-five degrees,
until his horseship would turn again, and then they were on a horizontal
awhile. Securing him to a post, Pat said, “Now, be jabers, we’ve got him.”
After slipping a shirt partly over his head, to “blind” him, they proceed
to sinche——fasten——the pack-saddle on him, and then the two packs. When
all was lashed fast, and a hak-i-more——rope halter——was on his nose, they
untied him from the post, and proposed to travel, but Cayuse did not
budge. Mike pulled and tugged at the halter, while Pat called him pretty
names, and, with outspread hands, as though he was herding geese, stamping
his foot, coaxed pony to start. No use. Flip. suggested a sharp stick. Pat
went for his cane, like a man who had been suddenly endowed with a bright
idea. After whittling the end to a point, he applied it to the pony.
The next speech that Irishman made was while in half-bent position. With
one hand on the side of his head, he anxiously addressed Tip. “Meester
Injun, is me ear gone——Meester Injun, what time of night is it now? I say,
Meester Injun, where now is the spalpeen of a pony?”
Mike had let go of the rope soon after Pat applied the sharp stick, and
was following the retreating blankets and bottles, ejaculating, “The
beautiful whiskey! The beautiful whiskey!”
When Pat’s eyes were clear enough, Meester Injun, without a smile, pointed
to the valley below, where frying pans and miners tools were performing a
small circus, much to the amusement of a band of Cayuse horses, who were
following Pat’s pony with considerable interest.
I don’t think the goods, or the whiskey either, were ever recovered by Pat
and Mike, but I have an idea that “Tip-tip-a-noor” had a big dance, and
slept warm under the blankets, and possibly a big drunk.
Of course, reader, you do not blame Irishmen for their opposition to “The
Humane Policy of the Government.”
The Indian, however, if detected in unlawful acts, was sure of punishment
under the law, no matter though he may have been incited to the deed by
whiskey he had bought of white men, who vended it in violation of law.
This commerce in whiskey was carried on extensively, notwithstanding the
efforts of a very efficient agent to prevent it.
Men have started out on “Walker’s line,” carrying their blankets, and in a
day or two they would be well mounted, without resorting to a “rope” or
money to purchase with, and obtain the horses honestly too; that is to
say, when they practised self-denial, and did not empty the bottles they
had concealed in their packs. One bottle of whiskey would persuade an
Indian to dismount, and allow the sore-footed, honest miner, who carried
the bottle, to ride, no matter though the horse may have belonged to
other parties. I have heard men boast that they were “riding a bottle,”
meaning the horse that bore them along had cost that sum.
Such things were common, and could not be prevented. Young “Black Hawk”
learned how to speak English, and make brick, and various other arts,
through the kindness of the Superintendent of the State’s Prison. These
things he might never have known, but for the foresight of some fellow who
disliked the fare on “Walker’s” line.
The question is asked, “What was the agent doing?” He was doing his duty
as well as he could, with the limited powers he possessed. But when he
sought to arrest the white men who were violators of the laws of the
United States, he was always met with the common prejudices against Indian
testimony, and found himself defeated. But, when he was appealed to for
protection against Indian depredations, he found sympathy and support, and
few instances occurred where guilty Indians escaped just punishment.
I knew the agent well, and doubted not his sense of justice in his efforts
to maintain peace.——If he did not mete out even-handed justice in all
matters of dispute between white men and Indians, the fault was not his,
but rather that of public sentiment. When colored men were “niggers,” the
Indian “had no rights that white men were bound to respect.”
He who proclaimed against the unjust administration of law so unfavorable
to the Indians, in courts where white men and Indians were parties, was
denounced as a fanatical sentimentalist, and placed in the same category
with “Wendell Phillips” and “Old John Brown,” whose names, in former
times, were used to deride and frighten honest-thinking people from the
expression of sentiments of justice and right.
I wish here to record that, although we did a large amount of business
with white men and Indians, we never had occasion to complain of the
latter for stealing, running off stock, or failing to perform, according
to agreement, to the letter, even in matters left to their own sense of
honor.
On one occasion, “Cascas,” a Reservation Indian, who was under contract to
deliver, once in ten days, at Lee’s Encampment, ten head of yearlings, of
specified size and quality, as per sample, at the time of making the
bargain, brought nine of the kind agreed upon and one inferior animal.
Before driving them into the corral, he rode up to the house, and calling
me, pointed to the small yearling, saying that was “no good;” that he
could not find “good ones” enough that morning to fill the contract, but
if I would let the “Ten-as-moose-moose”——small steer——go in, next time, he
would drive up a “Hi-as-moose-moose”——big steer——in place of an ordinary
yearling. If I was unwilling to take the small one, he would drive him
back, and bring one that would be up to the standard.
I assented to the first proposition. Faithful to the promise, he made up
the deficiency with a larger animal next time, and even then made it good.
Another circumstance occurred which asserted the honesty of these Indians.
After we had corralled a small lot of cows purchased from them, one
escaped and returned to the Indian band of cattle, from which she had
been driven. Three or four years after, we were notified by the owner of
the band that we had four head of cattle with his herd. True, it was but
simple honesty, and no more than any honest man would have done; but there
are so many who would have marked and branded the calves of that little
herd, in their own interest, that I felt it worthy of mention here to the
credit of a people who have few friends to speak in their behalf.
Notwithstanding their lives furnish many evidences of high and honorable
character, yet they, very much like white men, exhibit many varieties.
In pressing need for a supply of beef for hotel use, I called on
“Tin-tin-mit-si,” once chief of the Walla-Wallas (a man of extraordinary
shrewdness, and possessed of great wealth, probably thirty thousand
dollars in stock and money), to make a purchase. He, silently, half in
pantomime, ordered his horse, that he might accompany me to the herds.
Taking with us his son-in-law, John McBerne, as interpreter, we soon found
one animal that would answer our purpose. The keen-eyed old chief, with
his blanket drawn over his head, faced about, and said, “How much that cow
weigh?”——“About four hundred and fifty pounds,” I answered. “How much you
charge for a dinner?”——“One dollar,” I responded. “How much a white man
eat?” said “Tin-tin-mit-si.” I read his mind, and knew that he was
thinking how to take advantage of my necessity, and, also, that he was not
accustomed to the white man’s dinner. I replied, “Sometimes one
pound.”——“All right,” quoth Indian; “you pay me four hundred dollars, then
what is over will pay you for cooking.”——“But who will pay me for the
coffee, sugar, butter, potatoes, eggs, cheese, and other things?” I
replied.
While Johnny was repeating this speech the old chief moved up closer, and
let his blanket slip off his ears, and demanded a repetition of the
varieties composing a Christian dinner; and, while this was being done, he
looked first at the interpreter, then at me, and said, in a surly, dry
tone, “No wonder a white man is a fool, if he eat all those things at
once; an Indian would be satisfied with beef alone.”
After some mathematical calculations had been explained, he agreed to
accept forty-five dollars, a good, round price for the cow. And I drove
away the beast, while “Tin-tin-mit-si” returned to his lodge to bury the
money I had paid him along with several thousand dollars he had saved for
his sons-in-law to quarrel over; for the old chief soon after sent for his
favorite horse to be tied near the door of his lodge, ready to accompany
him to the happy hunting-grounds, where, according to Indian theology, he
has been telling his father of the strange people he had seen.
CHAPTER IV.
DIAMOND-CUT-DIAMOND.
It was understood, in the treaty stipulation with the Government and these
people, that they were to have the privilege of hunting and grazing stock
in common with citizens on the public domain. In the exercise of this
right, they made annual journeys to Grand Round and other valleys, east of
the Blue mountains, driving before them, on these journeys, their horses.
They were often thus brought in contact with white settlers, and sometimes
difficulties occurred, growing, generally, out of the sale of intoxicating
liquors to them by unprincipled white men.
Indians are not better than white men, and, when drunk, they exhibit the
meaner and baser qualities of their nature as completely as a white man.
Deliver us from either, but of the two, an intoxicated white man has the
advantage; he is not held responsible to law. The Indian has one privilege
the civilized white brother is not supposed to enjoy. He can abuse his
family, and as long as he is sober enough can whip his squaw; but woe be
to him when he gets past fighting, for then the squaw embraces the
opportunity of beating him in turn, and calls on other squaws to assist in
punishing her lord for past as well as present offences.
The chiefs generally watch over their men, to prevent the purchase of
liquor by them. “Homli,” chief of the Walla-Wallas, sometimes punished
his braves in a summary manner for getting drunk, using a horsewhip in the
public streets. However worthy the example, I believe that it was not
often followed by others of either race.
The annual visits of which I have spoken occurred in the latter part of
June, when the mountain sides of Grand Round valley were offering tempting
inducements in fields of huckleberries. The valley, too,——where not
enclosed and turned to better use,——was blooming with Indian
“muck-a-muck,” a sweet, nutritious root called ca-mas, with which the
Indian women filled baskets and sacks, in which to carry it to their homes
for winter use.
The beautiful river of Grand Round was inviting the red men to war against
the shining trout and salmon, that made yearly pilgrimage to greater
altitudes and cooler shades, there to woo and mate, and thus to people the
upper waters with finny children, who would, in time of autumn leaves, go
to the great river below, and come again when mountain snows, now changed
to foaming torrents, hastened to the river’s mouth, and tempting salmon
flies had come from their hiding places, and swarmed on bush and bank, to
lure the fish onward and upward, or beguile them to the fisher’s net, or
hidden spear, if, perchance, they were warned away from angler’s line, or
escaped the lightning arrow of Indian boys.
Then, too, this beautiful garden of the mountains wore its brightest hues
on plain and sloping hills and cultured field. The farmers were idle then,
and often went to join the red men in racing horses, and chasing each
other in mimic wars. Sometimes the two would engage in trades of wild
Cayuses (Indian horses), teaching each other how to tame these fiery
steeds. Great circus shows were these, in which the red man might for once
laugh at the white man’s clumsy imitations of red men’s daily recreations.
Again, the red man had sweet revenge for sharper practice which he had
felt at the hands of his white brother. Selecting some ill-natured beast,
whose tricks he well knew, he would offer him at a price so low, that some
white man who was tired of going to his neighbors for a ride, or had a
hopeful son anxious to imitate little Indian boys in feats of
horsemanship, would purchase him. Then fun began, to witness which the
town sometimes turned out. The colt, unused to civilized bit or spur,
would, like his former owner, show contempt for burdens he was not made to
bear without “bucking.” When, with bridle and saddle, and rider, all new,
surrounded by scenes unlike his coltship’s haunts, he was called upon to
forward move, he would stand as if turned to marble, until by persuasion
of whip and spur he’d change his mind. Then, with a snort, a bound, or
upward motion of his back, his nostrils buried in the dust, he’d whirl and
whirl until the rider dizzy grew, of which circumstance he seemed aware,
when, with all his power brought into quick use, he sent the rider in
mid-air or overhead, and straightway bent each bound toward his former
home, followed by loud shouts of laughter, made up of voices joined of
every kind and age, except perhaps that of the disgusted father——who had
sundry dollars invested in furniture on the runaway’s back——and the crying
boy in the dust.
The chances against the new owner’s boy ever “putting on much style” on
that pony were not very numerous. Fearing as much, the next proposition
was to sell the pony back to “Mr. Injun” at a heavy discount; which was
done much against the wishes of the dethroned boy, whose aspirations for
western honor were thereby “nipped in the bud.”
A lawyer of “La Grande,” celebrated for his shrewdness in business
generally, and who was the father of several enterprising sons, made an
investment in Cayuse stock, for the benefit of the aforesaid boys, and
fearing that he, too, might go in mourning over the money thus spent, in
fatherly tenderness determined that he himself would ride the pony first.
The horse was saddled, and led by a long rope to the office door. The
lawyer said, “Now, Charley, I’ll fool that pony, sure. I’m little, you
know, and he’ll think I’m a boy.” The rope was made fast to an
awning-post, and then, in presence of a hopeful audience, he mounted
slowly, though in full lawyer’s dress, a bell-crowned “plug” (hat)
included. When softly springing in the stirrups, to assure himself all was
right, and confident that his “nag” was there, subject to his will, he
essayed to display his horsemanship. But pony was not ready then. The
lawyer called for whip and spurs, and without dismounting they were
furnished, and while holding out his foot to have the spur put on,
remarked that “he did not half like the white of the pony’s eye. But, boys,
I’ll stick while the saddle does.” With sober face and eye fixed on the
ears in front, he coaxed again, and with soft speech sought to change the
pony’s mind. But he was not ready now, until he felt the rowel stick into
his sides, and then away went horse and rider together, to the end of the
rope, where the pony stopped, though the lawyer did not, until his head
had struck the crown of his hat; and not then even, but, going at a
furious rate, the lawyer, hat, and torn trowsers had landed all in a heap
on the other side of the street; the awning-post gave way, and the
lawyer’s Cayuse went off, with a small part of the town following him.
The language used by him on this occasion consisted not of quotations from
Blackstone, or the Bible either, unless in detached words put strangely in
shape to answer immediate use. It is not safe to say anything about
fooling ponies, in court or elsewhere, in the town of La Grande, unless
the speaker wants war. That lawyer, although a stanch Republican, and
liable to be a candidate for Congress, is strongly opposed to President
Grant’s peace policy with Indians,——the Umatilla Indians in particular.
To say that Chief Homli and his tribe enjoyed little episodes, growing out
of horse-trading with the citizens of La Grande, is too gentle and soft a
way of telling the truth, and have it well understood, unless we add the
westernism “hugely.”
These visits had other beneficial results than those growing out of trade,
since they extended over the Fourth of July, when all the people of the
valley came together to celebrate the “nation’s birthday,” when, with fife
and drum, the country-folks would join with those in town, who “marched up
a street and then marched down again,” to the willow-covered stand, where
readers and orators would rehearse, one, the history of the “Declaration,”
the other, repeat some great man’s speech.
The tables groaned beneath the loads of viands, spread by gentle women’s
hands. The reader and the orator of the day would take positions at either
end, and the meek chaplain in between, while the bashful country boys
would lead up their girls, until the table had been filled. Homli and his
people, dressed in Fourth-of-July regalias, would look on from respectful
distance, and wonder what the reader meant, when he said, “All men are
born free and equal,” and wondered more to hear a wicked orator protest
that the “flag above was no longer a flaunting lie.” The Indians were then
serving in the house of a foolish old man, named Esau. When fair lips
refused longer to taste, and manly breast was filled too full for
utterance, Homli and his people were invited to partake. Some of his
people accepted the gift of the remnants; but he, Homli, never.
In the absence of better pastime, the crowd would come again to the grand
stand, to give opportunity for disappointed spouters to ventilate pent-up
patriotism. Homli, too, made a speech, and with keen rebuke referred to
days gone by, when white men had come to his lodge, and craved his
hospitality; how his women had culled their berry-baskets to find
something worthy of the white man’s taste, and how the finest trout had
been offered in proof of friendship for the stranger guest, and boasted
that he had given the finest horses of his band to help the stranger on,
and sent an escort of trusty braves to direct him over all doubtful
trails. He boasted, too, that no white man’s blood had ever stained his
hand, even when he was strong, and they were weak; then, with well-made
gesture, pointed to the valley, once all his own, and covered with
antelope and feathery tribes. No houses, fields, or barns marred then the
beautiful valley of the mountain. Turning half around, he gazed at people
and town, and sadly motioned to the mountain-sides, robbed of fir and
pine, and seemed to drink in, what, to him, was desolation made complete.
With eye half closed, he mused a moment, and then broke forth like some
brave soul that had mastered self, and was reconciled to the inexorable
destiny that his mind had seen in store, declared that he would be a man
himself, with white man’s heart, and that his people would yet join with
pride in the coming celebrations.
The triumph of civil hopes over savage mind was complete, and when the
change was realized by the lookers-on, they gathered round the chieftain,
and gave him welcome to a brotherhood born of a nation’s struggles to
redeem mankind, when the white men were few and Homli’s people numerous as
the stars that looked down on the rivers of this beautiful land. Who shall
remember the mild reproof of Homli, when he, under the humane and
enlightened policy of the Government, shall have made good this
declaration to be a white man in heart and practice?
Little things sometimes move in harmony until they unite, and make up an
aggregate of causes, whose combined power becomes irresistible for good or
ill to peoples, tribes, and nations.
The chieftain of whom I write had, at various times, felt the thongs that
bound him to his savage habits loosening, little by little, until at last,
under the influence of the patriotic joy of freemen, he himself had
stepped from under a shadow that was once a benison, but had now, because
of his enlightenment, become a barrier to his happiness.
The change was real, and the heart that had come laden with reproach to
his neighbor, and felt the sting of slighted manhood, now exulted in the
recognition he had found in the sunshine of American Independence, and the
warm hands of freedom’s sons, who bade him welcome to a better life.
No human brain can correctly measure the influence of such events. Homli,
as I have said, was a chief of the Walla-Wallas, who, in conjunction with
the Umatillas and Cayuses, occupied the reservation spoken of as
“Umatilla” (horse-heaven), it being the original home of the tribe bearing
that name. In 1856, the three tribes above named united in treaty council
with the Government, represented by the lamented J. I. Stevens and General
Joel Palmer.
This treaty was conducted with firmness and on principles of justice, the
Indians having, in this instance at least, half “the say.” By the terms
agreed upon, a portion of country was reserved by the three tribes for a
permanent home, to be held jointly by them. It is located on one of the
tributaries of the Columbia, known as the Umatilla river. The
out-boundaries measured one hundred and three miles, covering a country
possessing many natural advantages, conducive to Indian life, and of great
value in the transfer of these people from a barbarous to a civilized
condition.
Its surface is diversified with rich prairie lands, producing an excellent
quality of bunch grass,——so called because of its growing in
tussocks,——covering not more than half the surface of the round, the
remainder being entirely devoid of vegetation, very nutritious and well
adapted to grazing.
The mountains are partly covered with forests of pine and fir, valuable
for commercial and building purposes. The streams are rapid, with bold
shores, abounding in latent power, waiting for the time when labor and
capital shall harness its cataracts to machinery, whose music will denote
the transformation process going on in the forest of the mountain; the
fleeces from the plain, and in the cereals they contain, in embryo, for
better use than shading herds of cattle and Indian horses, or its fleeces
made traffic for traders and shippers, who enrich themselves by taking
them in bulk and returning in manufactured exchanges; or for its fields to
lie dormant and idle, while commerce invites and starving people clamor
for bread they might be made to yield.
True, its almost unbroken wilderness, echoing the call of cougar or cayote
(ki-o-te); its tall grass plains, tangled and trembling with the tread of
twenty thousand horses; its valleys decked with carpets of gorgeous
flowers,——fit patterns for the costumes of those who dance thereon,——or
speckled with baby farms, belonging to red-skinned ploughmen, or shaded by
the smoke of council wigwams; its waters sometimes shouting, as if in
pain, while hurrying headlong against the rock, or, laughing beneath the
balm-wood trees at the gambols of its own people, or, divided into an
hundred streams, go rushing on, still playing mirror for the smiling faces
of the youths, whose hearts and actions take pattern after its own
freedom; true, indeed, that this lovely spot of earth seems to have been
the special handiwork of the Almighty, who had withheld from other labors
the choicest gems of beauty, that he might make a paradise, where youth
could keep pace with passing years, until the change of happy
hunting-grounds should be noted only by the wail of weeping widows, or
sighs of sorrowing orphans.
’Twas to this Indian paradise that Homli returned from his summer visit,
his heart laden with new feelings of pride; for he had been recognized as
a man. If he did not then begin to enjoy the realization of his hopes,
there were reasons why he did not that few have understood.
Born to a wild, free life, possessed of a country such as few over enjoy,
with a channel of commerce traversing his home; brought in constant
contact with white men, some of whom, at least, he found to be soulless
adventurers, ever ready to take advantage of his ignorance of trade;
confused and bewildered by the diversity of opinions on political and
religious subjects; witnessing the living falsehood of much of civilized
life; but half understanding the ambitions of his “new heart,” or the
privilege he was entitled to; with the romance of his native education in
matters of religion, its practical utility to satisfy his longings that
reached into the future, or to meet the demands of conscience, where duty
led him, or anger at insult drove him; the performance of its ceremonies,
connecting social with religious rites,——added to these the power that his
red brethren who were yet untouched by the finger of destiny, and were
luxuriating in idle, careless life, enhanced by the sight of the hardened
hands and sweating brows of those who sought to find admission to circles
where labor insures reward; confused when witnessing the enforcement of
laws “that are supposed to be uniform in operation,” by the outrageous
partiality shown; treated with coldness and distrust, because of his
color; envied of his possessions, to which he had an inalienable right, by
deed from God, and confirmed by the government of the United States;
compelled to hear the constant coveting of others for it, and to hear
government denounced because it did not rob him of his home; to see
distrust in every action toward him; his manhood ignored, or crushed by
cruel power; his faith shaken; treated as an alien, even in his
birthplace; taunted with the threat that when he planted his feet on
higher plains, he should be crowded off, or forced to stand tottering on
the brink; his fears aroused by the threats he overheard of being finally
driven away; of speculations on the future towns that should spring up
over the graves of his fathers, when he was not there to defend
them,——added to all these discouragements the oppressions of his would-be
teachers, in moral ethics and religion; demanding his attendance on
ceremonies that were intangible, incomprehensible, to his mind, made more
unbearable by the tyranny of his red brethren, growing out of their
recognition of church-membership, and the consequent arrogance, even
contempt, with which they spoke of his religious habits and ceremonies;
unable to reconcile the practices of these people with the precepts of
their priest; ostracised from those, who, while untouched by the hand of
Christianity, had mingled voice and prayer with him in wilder worship;
finding friends among white men, whose hearts were true, but who, instead
of soothing his troubled feelings by patiently teaching him charity and
liberal-minded views touching matters of religious practice of his
Catholic friends and their ministers, would pile the fagots on the burning
altar ’twixt him and them, increasing distrust, making the breach wider,
thus becoming alienated from the other chiefs, How-lish-wam-po, of Cayuse,
and We-nap-snoot, of the Umatillas, and those of their tribes who had been
led, by ministrations of priest and chief, to the solemn masses of the
church: if then Homli failed to be a “white man” in heart, on whom does
the responsibility rest?
I have not dealt in fiction, but have stated the circumstance plainly, the
truth of which will not be questioned by those whose personal knowledge
qualifies them for passing judgment, unless, indeed, it be those whose
minds have been trained to run in narrow, bigoted grooves, whose hearts
have never felt the warming influences of the high and pure love for truth
that characterizes a noble Christian manhood, and whose measure of right
is made by the petty and selfish interest of himself, who, with the
judgment of a truckling demagogue, barks for pay in popular applause or
political reward.
For the present, I leave my readers to chide Homli for his failure, if,
indeed, they can, with the facts before them. As to the responsibility, I
shall discuss the subject fully and fearlessly on some future page of this
work, where the argument for and against the several “policies” may be
made and applied in a general way in the consideration of the subject of
“Indian civilization.”
CHAPTER V.
POLICIES ON TRIAL——“ONEATTA.”
In the fall of 1866, the “Oregon Delegation,” in Washington, proposed the
name of the author of this book for appointment as Superintendent of
Indian Affairs in Oregon.
President Johnson, on inquiry, learned that he was not a “Johnson man,”
and, of course, refused to make the nomination.
The recommendation of the author’s name was made without his solicitation
or knowledge. On the accession of President Grant, the recommendation was
renewed, the nomination was made and confirmed by the Senate of the United
States; bonds filed, oaths of office administered, and notice given to my
predecessor; and on the 1st of May, 1869, I assumed the duties of the
office indicated.
The new administration had the Indian question in transit, between three
policies: The old way, “_Civil Service_,” “_The War Department Policy_,”
and General Grant’s “_Quaker Policy_.”
With good intention, doubtless, the several policies were put on trial.
Oregon superintendency and all its agencies were assigned to the tender
care of the War Department policy, and I was ordered to turn over my
office to an officer of the army, even before I had performed an
important official duty. Remonstrance was made by the people of Oregon
against the change.
A compromise was effected. I was retained as Superintendent, and Hon. Ben.
Simpson, Agent at Siletz, and Capt. Charles Lafollette, Agent at Grand
Round also of the civil service policy. The remainder of the agencies were
assigned to officers of the army. This mixing up of elements was somewhat
embarrassing for a time.
I began again my official duties. From the records in the Superintendent’s
Office, Salem, Oregon, I learned the location and something of the
condition of the several agencies under my charge.
“_The Coast Reservation_,” covering three hundred miles of the Pacific
coast, embraced several stations, or agencies, comprising not more than
one-third the territory within its boundaries. It had never been ceded to
the Government, neither acquired by conquest, but was set apart by an act
of Congress for the benefit of the several tribes of the Willamette
valley. It is partly timbered and generally mountainous. It abounds in
resources suitable to Indian savage life.
Once this wild region had been peopled with deer and elk, whose plaintive
call had led the cougar to his feast, or quickened the steps of the
huntsman, whose steady nerves enabled him to glide through the tanglewood,
bearing with him images of his children (who, dependent upon his archery,
awaited his return); and of faithful clutchmen (squaws), whose eyes would
kindle at sight of hunter, laden with fruits of the chase, that were to be
food and clothing for her little ones. These forest trees had stood
sentinels, guarding its people, from the gaze of tamer huntsmen, and from
the rough ocean winds that sweep the coast; or, uttering hoarser sounds,
or sighing songs, warning of coming storms, that sometimes beat the
white-winged ship, laden with merchandise, from foreign lands, against the
rocky shore (whose caverns were the refuge of sea-lions), or, echoing back
Pacific’s roar, were waiting for the debris from wrecks of stately crafts,
or coming of sea-washed mariners.
Then, at such perilous times, the peoples of this wild western verge of
continent would, in pure charity, build warning-fires on higher bluffs, at
nightfall, and thus give signals of danger; or, mayhap, they sometimes
built them to decoy, in order to avenge insult (or wrong, real, or
imaginary) of some former seaman, who had repaid them for good will by
treacherous act of larceny of some dusky maiden, or black-eyed boy, or
stalwart warrior, carried away to other lands.
Tradition’s living tongue has furnished foundation for the pictures I have
made. And many times to listening ears the story has been told, changed
only in the name of maiden, or boy, or braves, as date or location gave
truth to the sorrowing tale.
Living still, on a home set apart by the State, are two chieftains of a
western tribe, whose people tell, in story and in song, how, at a certain
sign of danger to a ship, they went out over the breakers in a hollow-tree
canoe, to meet the white “tyee” of the “great canoe,” and in pity for the
poverty of his knowledge of sea line had proffered him shelter in a quiet
nook of land-locked ocean, until such time as the Great Spirit might give
evidence of anger past, by smiling on the boisterous waves that had made
sport of man’s puny efforts to control his own going.
These chieftains, in dainty craft, had won the captain’s confidence, and,
by consent of favoring winds and rolling seas, with trust he follows past
lone rocks that stand above the sunken reef, and through the foamy
passage, guarded by “headlands” on either side; past bars, unseen, that
break huge rollers into waves of shorter measure; past, still past, the
homes of fishermen on shore, until at last his sails flapped approval on
the mast, the keel complains of unaccustomed touch, and anchors dropped in
fathoms short to the bed of a bay that gives evidence of welcome, by
sending its sands to surface, speckled with mica or sparkling with grains
of gold.
Thus the white man’s big canoe found rest, and sailors crowded the rail to
give signs of gratitude to the strange, strong-armed pilots.
The captain let down his stairs, that they might come on deck and exchange
mutual feelings of each heart. On the one hand, that of thankfulness, that
misfortunes make mankind akin, and used such occasions to teach the lion
that the mouse may be his master when circumstances bring his ability into
demand.
The white man felt gratitude, and made proof of it by loading the red
man’s “hollow tree” with rich stores of choice sugars from the islands,
blankets made in colder zones; with clothing that illy fitted the red
man’s limbs; with lines, and nets, and hooks, and spears of foreign make,
and with weapons of fiery breath and noisy mouth, that poorly mated the
bow and arrow, though mating good by force of execution the loss in
warning talk.
The chieftains, too, gave back, with answering hand and smiling face, the
gladness of their hearts that they had found opportunity to serve the
white man.
When they departed, the “tyee” bade them come _again_. This was a great
day for the chieftain’s _household_, when they landed beneath the willow
trees near their e-li-he (home). The women, with great, wondering eyes at
the sight of so many ic-tas (goods), began to unload the “hollow-tree
canoe,” and, as each article new to them came in sight, they would wonder
and chatter and try them on, until at last they stood clothed in sailor’s
garb, of jacket, pants and shoes. To their camps they came, loaded with
the precious freights, and, coming to their own, the little ones would cry
and run, shouting, “Hal-lu-me, til-li-cum” (strangers); nor would they
trust to their mothers’ voices until they had put aside their costumes.
These chiefs still laugh at the surprise they felt at sight of what they
supposed to be the new-found friends, until the merry cluchmen (women)
shouted, “Cla-hoy-em-six, tyee?” (How do you do, chief?) They quickly rose
from their cougar skin and panther’s pelt, caught the bogus sailors, and
quickly robbed them of their borrowed clothes.
That night, while the sun was going to rest in his bed of flaming billows,
on the ship’s deck and on the sand of the red man’s floor, happy hearts
bade each “Good-night.” The white man was happy now that his home was
gently rocked by flowing tides. The red men, happy with their
til-li-cums, retailing in guttural notes their great adventures, and
dancing the pot-lach dance (giving dance), would stop, and with their
hands divide the prizes won, without thought of shells, or Indian coin, or
white man’s chick-a-mon (money). When “to-morrow’s sun” had climbed over
the craggy ledges of the coast mountain, and sent out his fiery messengers
to announce his coming, they came to the vessel’s deck, and found no
watchman there. They peeped into the forecastle and cabin, and waked the
slumberers up to welcome the new morn begun on the bosom of Ya-quina Bay.
At the Indian lodge, the soft voice of cluchman, mingling with the murmur
of rippling rills, that from snow-banks high on the mountain side came
hurrying down to quench the thirst of sailor or of savage; maybe, the
briny lips of the sea-monster or salmon fish, that come in to rest from
surging waters and bask awhile in the smooth currents of the bay.
The chiefs arose and made breakfast on foreign teas and island sugars, and
when in new attire, with cluchman in beads and fine tattoo (an adornment
of savage tribes), with noses pierced by long polished shells, that made
an uncouth imitation of a dandy’s moustache, with pappoose in basket hung
with bells, or lashed to boards with wild-deer thongs, and slung on
mother’s back, secured with sealskin belts worn on the brow. To make the
whole a complete picture of Indian life, the dogs were taken in, and then
sitting in the prow to give command, the “hollow-tree canoe” was pointed
toward the ship. The loud hurrah of sailors, that was intended to give
welcome, was at first construed to be a warning, and quick the
“hollow-tree canoe” was turned about, each paddle playing in concert to
carry the frightened visitors away, while cluchmen and maidens, with
woman’s privilege, screamed in terror of expected harm.
The chief soothing them, and looking back descried the tyee captain, with
beckoning hand and signs recalling him to fulfil his purpose, and make the
visit. He bade the oarsman cease, and, while his canoe moved on from
acquired motion, though slower going, while he backward gazed, he, with
noiseless paddle, again brought the prow towards the sides of the “big
canoe.”
Slowly and cautiously he, with his precious cargo, floated nearer and
nearer still, with eyes wide open, to detect any sign of treachery,
sometimes half stopping at suggestions of frightened mothers or timid
maidens, and then anon would forward move; still, however, with great
caution, until at last the two canoes were rocking on the gentle tide in
closest friendship.
The seamen who made this welcome port came on deck, with a sailor’s pride
of dress, wide-legged trowsers, and wider collars to their shirts over
their shoulders falling, and with wide-topped, brimless caps. When the
new-comers had passed their fright, and the old chief had climbed on deck
to be sure that all was safe, he called his family, and, though the jolly
tars went down to assist them, they remained waiting for some further
proof of friendship.
While their eyes were upward turned, and Jack’s were downward bent, two
pairs (at least) met midway, and told the old, old tale over again.
On deck, and leaning over the rail, stood a youthful sailor, with deep,
earnest eyes. These had met the gaze of another, the daughter of the pilot
chief. Silently the arrows flew; and, without honeyed word, or war-whoop,
the battle went on, until, by special invitation of looks, Oneatta came
aboard, and stood beside the smiling pale-face; and soon the older women
followed with the baby baskets until all were there except the dogs, who
cried at the partiality shown to the master and his family.
The scene on deck was novel. The tyee captain and the chief were teaching
each other the words with which to give token of hospitality and
gratitude; half-sign, half-word language ’twas, though, in which exchanges
of friendly sentiments were told.
The sailors, with the women and maidens, had organized a school, on a
small scale. Merry laughter often broke at the clumsy efforts of white
man’s tongue to imitate Indian wa-wa (talk). The little ones received the
touch of rough fingers on dimpled chin, and turned like frightened fawns
away to listen to the tinkling of the little bells above their heads.
The chief had brought with him richest offerings of venison and fish; the
women, specimens of handiwork in beads and necklaces, which they offered
in exchange for such articles of bright-hued colors as the sailors might
have bought in other lands.
The bargains were quickly made, each side proud of success in securing
something to remind them of the visit.
The chief signified his intention to return to his home on the beach, when
the good captain, not to be outdone in matters of courtesy, brought fresh
supplies of various kinds, and had them stowed away in the “hollow-tree
canoe.”
When the parting came, to prove his good will, the tyee captain promised
to return the visit. Oneatta had said to Theodore, the sailor, “Come;” and
he, with eyes doing service for his lips, had made promise. The red chief
and his family withdrew, and soon they were riding the laughing waves in
the “hollow-tree canoe.”
Thus the day had passed and joined the happy ones gone before it; and
bells had called the sailors to the deck, and the Indian chief reposed his
limbs on the uncut swath of willow grass, and waited for the approach of
night, that he might, by signal fires, call his kinsmen to the pil-pil
dance; a dance in honor of each Indian maiden when she “comes out.”
Oneatta had demanded of her parents this honor, and, since custom allowed
this privilege, she on that day reached an era in her life, when she chose
to be no longer a child.
Her father, the chief, wondered at this sudden change of manner wrought,
but, yielding to his doating child, gave his assent. The picture I am
making now is true to the life of many a maiden, who may follow Oneatta’s
history, whose faces take their hue of colors that give token of their
race.
Some of them may recall their “coming out” ‘neath dazzling chandeliers, on
carpets of finest grain, in dresses trailing long, in which they stepped
with timid gait to softest music, of silver lyre, or flute, or many-voiced
piano.
But Oneatta’s parlor was lighted up with glittering stars, that had done
service long, and brighter grew to eyes of each new belle, who had, from
time to time, lent first a listening ear to soft-voiced swain.
The carpets were brightest green, and sanded by waves stranded on the
beach at the flowing of the tide.
The music was grandly wild, a combination of the hoarse drum, or angry
roar of sea-lions, mingling with the deep bass voice of waves, breaking on
the rocks, while, soft and low, the human notes came in to make the
harmony complete to ears long trained to nature’s tunes.
The maiden, whose heart was now tumultuous as the scenes around her, had
dressed with greatest care in skirts of scarlet cloth, embroidered with
beads and trimmed with furs of seal and down of swan. Her arms, half
bared, were circled with bands of metals; her neck, with hoofs of fawns,
or talons of the mountain eagle; pendent from her ears, rattles of the
spotted snake; the partition of her nose held fast a beautiful shell of
slender mould; her cheeks, rosy with vermilion paints; while in her raven
hair she wore a gift from her pale-faced lover, brought from some far-off
shore, intended for some other than she who wore it now. It was but a
tinsel, yet it fitted well to crown her whose eyes were dancing long
before her beaded slippers had touched time upon the sanded floor.
The circular altar, built of pebbles of varied colors, was lighted up with
choicest knots of pine from fallen trees.
The watch on board the “big canoe” was set, and down its swinging stairway
the tyee captain, mate, and sailors descended to the waiting boat; then
softly touched the oars to smiling waves, and steady arms kept time to
seamen’s song in stern and bow, guided, meanwhile, by the altar fire. Over
the glassy bridge they flew, and touched the bank beside the “hollow-tree
canoe.”
With hearty hand the chieftains bade them welcome, and gave silent signal
for the dance to begin, while the tyee captain and his men took station at
respectful space. The dancers came, and, forming round the maiden’s altar
fires, awaited still for her to come from lodge.
The pale-faces, lighted up with blaze from knotty wood, with folded arms
and curious wonder stood gazing on the scene.
One among the number had scanned the merry circle of bashful Indian boys
and timid girls; his face bespoke vexation at his disappointment, for he
had failed to catch the eye of Oneatta.
She came, at length, tripping toward the festive throng, and spoke to him
ere the dance began, not by smile, or deed, or word, but in Cupid’s own
appointed way, that never lies. He, as every other swain can do, read it
in her eyes, and made answer in ways that do not make mistake.
When the circle had closed round the altar, the song of gladness broke
forth from the lips of the tattooed and painted red chins, and from the
drum of hoarser sound, and then the happy dancers, without waiting for
partners, went with lithesome step in gay procession round. Louder rang
the music, quicker grew the steps, each time round; the little invisible
arrows flew from sailor-boy to Indian maiden, and from maiden to
sailor-boy; glancing each against the other, would rustle and then go
straight to target sent, until at last the maiden tired grew, her bosom
overladened with the arrows Cupid’s quiver had supplied. She bade the
dancers stop, and with native grace, and stately step, she stood beside
her lover without a thought of wrong; for she was Nature’s child, and had
not felt the thongs of fashion’s code, which forbid her to be honest.
Her tiny hand was pressed between the hard palms of the captive sailor,
for he had been fighting a battle where each is conquered only to be a
conqueror.
Oneatta led the sailor-boy to join those who, with wondering eyes, had
waited for her return. He took his place beside his tutor now, to learn
how a step unused by tamer people might make speech for joy and gladness.
The dance was ended. Pale faces, and red ones, too, had lost sight of the
stars, and were lulled to sleep by the rocking tides or muffled song of
rippling waters, or by the breakers beating the rocky shores of Ya-quina.
Day followed day, and each had a history connecting it with its yesterday
and prophesying for the morrow. The sailor-boy went not on duty now, for
his “chummies” stood his watch. He spent much time at the e-li-he of the
tree chief, or with Oneatta went out in a small canoe to watch the
fishermen spear the fattened salmon.
Sometimes they rambled on the mountain side beneath the mansinetta trees,
and exchanged lessons in worded language. He told her of his home, where
cities and towns were like the forest of her native home; of people who
outnumbered the stars above, and of bright-colored goods, of beautiful
beads and shells; and by degrees he won her consent to go from her native
land, to leave country and kindred, all for the sake of the promised
happiness he could give.
The sailor made confident of his captain, and glowing pictures painted of
his princess, and what he would do with her when to his mother’s home he
came.
The honest captain found objection to the plan of carrying her away, and
sent for “Tyee John” (for so they called the chieftain then), and made him
understand how the young people had become betrothed.
The face of Tyee John grew dark at first, and he was impatient to be gone;
but kindly words and presents hinted at brought him to consider. He
proposed that the sailor-boy should become one of his tribe, and make his
home with them, and then he could be his son.
The conference was transferred to the e-li-he of Tyee John. The sailor
would not consent to remain on this wild shore, and made vows to come
again and bring Oneatta.
At length by rich presents given, and promises of more when he should
come, the compact was made, to the joy of the Indian maiden and her sailor
lover.
The sea gave a favoring breeze. The sails repaired, the tyee captain made
known his will to ride again the bounding waves. Oneatta bade farewell to
sorrowing mothers, sisters, brothers, giving each a token to keep until
her coming. O foolish Oneatta! you know not what you do! You act now from
example of your fairer sisters, who listen to the wooing notes of foreign
lips. We pity you as we do them. You have not thought how strange will be
the customs, manners and life of those with whom you are to mingle. A time
may come when you will long for the caresses of your rude mother, to hear
the merry shouts of brothers, to gaze into the face of your dark-eyed
father; perhaps long to hear love in native accents spoken by the young
brave who has given you choicest gems of ocean’s strand and mountain
cliffs.
We see you yet when your kinsmen tell of you in song, or story, your dark
eyes brimming with tears of hope and sorrow mingled.
You reach the side of the “big canoe.” We see the brave and manly
sailor-boy, who hastened to catch your trembling hand, and help you up the
swinging steps, and when on deck you stand, we see the sailor’s chums,
from the ship-yards above, gaze down on you and him, with glances half of
envy, and half of pleased surprise.
And now we see you startle at the fierce command of the mate, to heave the
anchor up, then their response drawn out in lengthened “Aye-aye, sir,” and
singing, while they work, the seamen’s song; and how wide your dark eyes
open at sight of whitened sails, outspreading like some monster swan, and
the troubled, anxious look you give to the humble e-li-he of childhood, as
it passed away, as if moving in itself, and the headlands that seem
floating towards you, and the great water that came rushing to meet you.
We see, too, your father, Tyee John, in his “hollow-tree canoe,” leading
the way, and pointing to some sunken rock, or shallow bar, or hidden reef,
until he rounds to in proof of danger past to the “big canoe.”
How its huge white wings fold up at a signal from the tyee captain! And
then your father comes board, and stands in mute attention to the
ceremonies of seamen’s marriage law. And you, in innocence, give heed to
word or sign until you are bound in law to the fortunes and freaks of a
roving sailor-boy.
When Tyee John turns away, hiding his tears in his heart, while yours run
down your cheeks, we see him reach his canoe, and you hanging over the
sides of the ship to catch a last glance of his eye.
[Illustration: FAREWELL TO ONEATTA.]
And then the white wings are spread again, and soon he grows so small that
his paddle seems but a dark feather in his hand, and your old home
recedes, and you have caught the last glimpse you ever will, of the
mountain sinking in the sea, and you, _alone_,——no, not alone, for your
sailor-boy is with you, now drying the tears from your dusky cheeks.
Oneatta, we leave you, with a prayer that your life may not be as rough as
the seas that drove the “big canoe” into Quina bay. Whether your hopes
have blossomed into fruition, or have been blasted, we know not, nor if
you still live to be loved or loathed. We only know that your
silver-haired sire sits on the stony cliff, overlooking the mouth of the
harbor, and watches passing sails, or hastens to meet those that anchor,
and repeat the old question over and over, Me-si-ka, is-cum,
ni-ka-hi-ak-close, ten-as-cluchman, Oneatta? (Have you brought back my
beautiful daughter, Oneatta?)
When Cupid comes with pale-faced warrior to the dusky maiden now, they
repeat the warning tale, with Ni-ka-cum-tux Oneatta. (I remember
Oneatta.)
CHAPTER VI.
SENATORIAL BRAINS BEATEN BY SAVAGE MUSCLE——PLEASANT
WAY OF PAYING PENALTIES.
The story I have related is but one of the many that belong to this
region, and for the truth of which, witnesses still live, both whites and
Indians; another reason I introduce it here is to show my readers who may
think otherwise, that Indians——savage as they are at times, often made
savage by their religion——have _hearts_. Again and again shall I refer in
this work to the red man’s emotional nature, and to his religion. I cannot
do so too often, as the reader will admit before he turns the last leaf.
This agency is located west of the coast range of mountains, and bordering
on the Pacific Ocean. The valleys are small, irregular in shape, fertile
and productive, with prairies interspersed with forests of fir;
picturesque almost beyond description. At some points the mountains reach
out into the ocean, forming high headlands whereon are built light-houses,
to guard mariners against the dangers of the coast. Long white sandy
beaches stretch away for miles, and are then cut off by craggy bluffs.
At the southern boundary of Siletz——two miles from the line——may be found
a beautiful bay, navigable inland for thirty miles. The banks are varied
in altitude; undulating hills, with rich alluvial bottom lands
intervening. The greatest width of bay is perhaps four miles, and
occasionally cut into channels by beautiful islands narrowing inland to
receive the small river Ya-quina. Midway between the mouth of the river
and the ocean entrance to the bay, extensive oyster-beds exist.
This “Chesapeake” of the Pacific was once a part of Siletz reservation.
The discovery of the oyster-beds, and also of the numerous forests of
timber accessible to navigation, attracted the attention of the white men;
and the old, old story was again rehearsed,——“_The white men wanted
them._”
That it was wanted by the white men was _sufficient_, and no ambitious
candidate for Legislature or Congressional honors _dare_ oppose the
violation of a solemn compact between the United States Government and the
Indians, who had accepted this country in compensation for their homes in
Umpyua and Rogue river valley. It was _cut off_, and given to commerce and
agriculture in 1866.
That an equivalent was ever made to the Indian does not appear from any
records to which I have had access. It is, however, asserted, that a small
sum was invested in stock cattle, for the benefit of Siletz Indians. There
are two approaches to Siletz from the valley of Willamette; the principal,
via Ya-quina river and bay; the other, over the mountain by trail. My
first visit was by the former. In September, 1869, in company with Hon.
Geo. H. Williams, then U. S. Senator, now Attorney General of the United
States, Judge Odeneal, since my successor in office, and other citizens,
we reached the head of navigation late on the evening of the 12th. We
remained over night at “Elk Horn Hotel.” The following morning, in the
absence of steamer, we took passage in small row-boats, propelled by
Indians.
The adventures of the day were few, only one of which I shall refer to
now. Our U. S. Senator, who had done much for reconstruction in the
Senate, challenged one of our Indians for a trial of muscle at the oars.
The challenge was accepted, and senatorial broadcloth was laid aside, and
brain and muscle put to the test. After a short race the prow of our boat
ran into the bank on the side where brains was at work. For once at least,
muscle proved more than a match for brains, and, besides, an Indian had
won a victory over a great tyee. Now although our senator had proven
himself a match for other great senators in dignified debate, he was
compelled to listen to the cheers of our party in honor of a red man’s
triumph over him. I doubt if those who of late defeated him, when a
candidate for the highest seat in our halls of justice, felt half the
gratification that “To-toot-na-Jack” did that morning when the tyee
dropped the oar, exhausted and disgusted with his failure to hold even
hand with a red brother, who was _not a senator_.
After a row of twenty miles, we landed within a half hour’s ride of
Siletz. The agent, Mr. Simpson, met our party with saddle-horses.
While en route a horse-race was proposed; the dignified gentleman turning
jockey for the nonce. In fact, the entire party engaged in a run. The road
passed over low hills, covered with timber and tall ferns. While the
Congressional and Indian Departments were going at a fearful speed, a
representative of the latter went over his horse’s head, and soon felt
the weight of the United States Senate crushing the Indian Department
almost to death.
The parties referred to will recognize the picture.
This was not the first time, or the last either, that the Senate of the
United States has “been down on the Indian Department.”
Without serious damage, both were again mounted, and soon were fording
Siletz river,——a deep, narrow stream, whose bed was full of holes,
slight——“irregularities,” as defaulters would say.
We crossed in safety, except that one horse carried his rider into water
too deep for wading. It matters not who the rider was, or whether he
belonged to Congress or the Indian Department.
On reaching the prairie a sight presented itself, that gives emphatic
denial to the oft-repeated declaration, that Indians cannot be civilized.
Spread out before us was a scene that words cannot portray. The agency
building occupied a plateau, twenty feet above the level of the valley.
They were half hidden by the remnants of a high stockade that had been
erected when the Indians were first brought on to the agency fresh from
the Rogue-river war. At that time a small garrison was thought necessary
to prevent rebellion among the Indians, and to secure the safety of the
officers of the Indian Department.
It was, doubtless, good judgment, under the circumstances. Here were the
remnants of fourteen different tribes and bands, who had been at war with
white men and each other, and who, though subjugated, had not been
thoroughly “_reconstructed_.”
They were located in the valley, within sight of the agency, and were
living in little huts and shanties that had been built by the Government.
Each tribe had been allotted houses separated from the others but a few
hundred yards at farthest. They drew their supplies from the same
storehouse, used the same teams and tools, and were in constant contact.
They had come here at the command of the United States Government, in
chains, bearing with them the trophies of war; some of them being
fair-haired scalp-locks, and others were off red men’s heads. Think for a
moment of enemies meeting and wearing these evidences of former enmity;
shaking hands while each was in possession of the scalp-locks of father or
brother of the others!
But, at the time of the visit referred to, no sentinel walked his rounds.
No bayonet flashed in the sunshine on the watch-tower of the stockade at
Siletz. The granaries and barns were unbarred; even Agent Simpson’s own
quarters were unlocked day and night. Fire-arms and tools were unguarded;
Indians came and went at will, except that Agent Simpson had so taught
them that they never entered without a preliminary knock. The Indian men
came not with heads covered, but in respectful observance of ceremony.
The kitchen work and house-keeping were done by Indian women, under the
direction of a white matron. The agent’s table afforded the best of
viands. Tell the world that Indians cannot be civilized! Here were the
survivors of many battles, who, but a few short years since, had been
brought under guard, some of them loaded with chains, and with blood on
their hands, who were living as I have described.
Sometimes, it is true, the remembrance of former feuds would arouse the
sleeping fires of hatred and desire for revenge amongst themselves, and
fights would ensue. But no white man has ever been injured by these people
while on the Reservation, since their location at Siletz.
This statement is made in justice to the Indians themselves, and in honor
of those who had control of them, both of whom merit the compliment.
Amongst these people were Indian _desperadoes_, who had exulted in the
bloody deeds they had committed. One especially, braver than the rest,
named Euchre Bill, boasted that he had _eaten the heart of one white man_.
This he did in presence of Agent Simpson, during an effort of the latter
to quell a broil. The agent, always equal to emergencies, replied, by
knocking the fellow down, handcuffing him, and shutting him up in the
guard-house, and feeding him on bread and water for several days, after
which time he was released, with the warning that, the next time he
repeated the hellish boast, he would “not need handcuffs, nor bread and
water.” Bill understood the hint. The agent remarked to us that “Bill was
one of his main dependants in preserving order.”
During our visit we went with the agent to see Euchre Bill. He was hewing
logs. On our approach he dropped the axe, and saluted the agent with
“Good-morning, Mr. Simpson,” at the same time extending his hand. When
informed of the personality of our party, Bill waved his hat, and made a
slight bow, repeating the name of each in turn.
We looked in on the school then in progress; we found twenty-five children
in attendance. They gave proof of their ability to use the English
language, and understand its power to express ideas; the lessons were all
in primary books. Their recitations were remarkable. Outside of books they
had been instructed in practical knowledge, and answered readily in
concert to the questions, Who is President of the United States? What city
is the capital? Who is Governor of Oregon? Where is the capital located?
Who is Superintendent of Indian Affairs? What year is this? How many
months in a year? When did the count of years begin? Who was Jesus Christ?
And many other questions were asked and readily answered. The boys were
named George Washington, Dan Webster, Abe Lincoln, James Nesmith, Grant,
Sherman, Sheridan,——each answering to a big name. “Dan Webster” delivered
in passable style an extract from his great prototype’s reply to Hayne.
The school also joined the teacher in singing several Sunday-school hymns,
and popular songs. Short speeches were made by visitors and teachers. We
were much encouraged by what we saw, and left _that_ school-house with the
belief that Indian children can learn as readily as others when an
opportunity is given them. I have not changed my conviction since; much of
its prosperity was due to the teacher, William Shipley, who was fitted for
the work and gave his time to it. We also called at some of the little
settlements. The agency farm was tilled in common; notwithstanding we saw
many small gardens around the Indian houses, growing vegetables, and in
one or more “_tame flowers_.” At one place several men were at work on a
new house, some of them shingling, others clinking cracks. One man was
hewing out, with a common axe, a soft kind of stone for a fire-place.
We entered the house of “Too-toot-na Jack,” the champion oarsman. He
welcomed his vanquished rival in the boat-race above referred to, and his
friend, and offered one an arm-chair, and stools to the remainder. His
wife came in, and Jack said, “This is my woman, Too-toot-na Jinney. She is
no fool either. She has a cooking-stove in the kitchen.” Jinney was much
older than her husband; but that was not unusual. She was a thrifty
housewife, and was a financier,——had saved nearly one thousand silver
half-dollars; and what she lacked in personal charms, on account of
tattooed chin and gray hairs, she made up, like many a fairer woman, in
the size of the buckskin purse wherein she kept her coin. Jack seemed
fully to appreciate the good qualities of his “woman;” not because he had
access to her fortune, but because _she_ was old and _he_ was young, and
the chances were that _he_ would be at _her_ funeral.
That hope has made many a better fellow than Too-toot-na behave with
becoming reverence for his wife. But “many a slip ’twixt cup and lip”
applies to all kinds of people. Jack never realized on _his investment_.
_He_ went _first_, and Jinney is now a rich widow, and has no doubt
marriage offers in abundance.
We were present on “court day,” the agent holding it for the adjustment of
all kinds of difficulties among his people. In such cases he appoints
juries from among the bystanders, always taking care to select such as had
no tribal affinities with the parties to the suit. He had a sheriff in
every tribe, and on occasions where their own friends were interested he
summoned others to act. He _himself_ was the _court and high sheriff_, and
always _sat_ with a large hickory cane, called “Old Moderator.”
My readers may smile at this kind of a gavel; but it was a practical and
useful thing to have in such courts,——much more potential than Blackstone
or any other kind of commentaries, unless, indeed, it be the last revised
edition of Samuel Colt.
The records of that court were sometimes made on untanned parchment; by
which I mean, my poor, unsophisticated reader, that these Indian citizens
would sometimes forget very willingly to observe the decorum due before
that august tribunal, and fall to making a record for themselves and on
one another with fists, clubs, whips, knives, pistols, and other lively
weapons, until the good Judge Simpson completed that record by a vigorous
application of the aforesaid hickory club, and some of the citizens had
editions for personal adornment.
The walls of the court-room had transcript fragments done in carmine,——or,
to be better understood, in “claret.” Court day had been announced to the
visitors while at breakfast. The senator had been a successful lawyer
before entering the political arena; the judge was then in the enjoyment
of a lucrative practice; the superintendent had done something in the law
line in county courts before justices of the peace.
The court-room was crowded, the doorways and windows were occupied, and
black shining eyes were glistening through every crack, all anxious to see
and hear. These people, of Siletz especially, were apt imitators, and
more readily fell in with the vices and frivolities of civilization than
with its virtues and proprieties.
The assembly was composed of the greatest variety of character, color,
costume, and countenance ever found in any court-room. Women were there,
learning law. Perhaps, they had, woman-like, intuitively snuffed the purer
air of freedom that is soon to sweep over our beautiful country and blast
the hopes of demagogues who now _rule_, without _representing_, the better
portion of the people.
Old chiefs were there to learn wisdom, to take with them to the
hunting-grounds above. Don’t chide them, reader. They never had an even
chance in this life; let them have it in the next, if possible.
The boys were there, and why not? They were looking forward to a time when
an Indian will be as good as a negro, if they behave as well. They had an
eye to political and pecuniary affairs. In fact, the people were all there
except camp-watchers and sick ones.
When our party were seated, the “Moderator” touched the floor, and soon
all was silent.
These Indians are fond of “law,” and since the old law and new——that is to
say, Indian and white men’s——were somewhat mixed up, it was a difficult
matter to execute justice uniformly. Agent Simpson, being a practical man,
had not sought to enforce the white men’s law any further than the Indian
comprehended it.
The Indian lawyers were on hand ready for business. The first case called
was for assault and battery. The court and the visitors had been partial
witness of the little fight, which occurred the day previous to the trial,
on the “Plaza,” in front of the agent’s head-quarters. The contestants
were clutchmen (women); _the cause of war_, the only thing that women ever
fight about,——_a man_.
The statement in court was to the effect that one woman had stolen another
woman’s husband. The parties were arraigned, the statement made concerning
the case, and the matter compromised by sending both parties to the “Sku
Kum” House (Guard House).
The next case called was that of a man charged with unlawfully using a
horse belonging to some one else. The accused was ordered to pay for the
offence about what the real service of the animal was worth; no damages
were allowed. The third case was somewhat similar to the first.
One of Joshua’s people——name of a tribe——claimed damage for insulted
honor, and destruction of his domestic happiness.
A Rogue-river Indian had, very much after the fashions of civilized life,
by presents and petty talk, persuaded the wife of the aforesaid warrior to
elope with him. The old history of poor human nature had been repeated.
The villain deserted his victim, and she returned to her home. Her
husband, with observing eyes discovered more ic-tas (goods) in the woman’s
possession than could be accounted for on honorable grounds, and demanded
an explanation. She made “a clean breast,” and agreed to go into court
with her husband and claim _damages_, not divorce; for I have before
remarked that Indians were eminently practical. The husband demanded
_satisfaction_. The accused, whose name was “Chetco Dandy,” would have
accorded him the privilege of a fight; but that was not the satisfaction
demanded. The husband had made his ultimatum. _Two horses_ would settle
the unpleasantness. Chetco, however, owned but one. The court decided that
he should make ten hundred rails, and deliver the horse to the injured
husband, with the understanding that the latter was to _board_ him while
doing the work.
I can’t resist a query: how long a white man, under such arrangements,
would require to make ten hundred rails. The husband was satisfied, his
honor was vindicated, and he owned another horse. After the docket was
cleared, a council talk was had.
These people had been placed here by the Government, in 1856, numbering
then, according to Superintendent Nesmith’s report for 1857, 2,049 souls,
representing fourteen bands; and although, in 1869, they numbered little
more than half as many, they kept up tribal relations, at least so far as
chieftainship was concerned. In the council that day one or two of the
chiefs represented tribes in bands of ten or twenty persons; and one poor
follow, the last of his people, stood alone without constituency. He was a
chief, nevertheless.
I cannot report here the reflection that such a circumstance
suggests,——only that he, with the usual solemn face of an Indian in
council, seemed the personification of loneliness.
The speeches made by these people evinced more sense than their appearance
indicated. They were dependent on the Government, and felt their
helplessness. When the usual speeches had been made preliminary to
business talk, I said to them that I was gratified at the advancement they
had made, considering the circumstances, and that I was willing for them
to express their wishes in regard to the expenditure of money in their
interest.
They were loth to speak on this matter, because they had never been
consulted, and a recognition of their manhood was more than they had
expected. After some deliberation, during which they, like bashful boys,
asked one another, each nudging his neighbor to speak first, old Joshua at
last arose, half hesitatingly, and said, “Maby, I don’t understand you. Do
you mean that we may say what we want bought for us? Nobody ever said that
before, and it seems strange to me.”
I had consulted the agent before making this experiment, and he had
doubted the propriety; not because he was unwilling to recognize their
manhood in the premises, but he feared they would betray weakness for
useless articles, and thereby bring derision on his efforts to civilize
them. Perhaps it might establish a precedent that would be troublesome
sometimes.
He exhibited great anxiety when Old Joshua rose, lest he would disgrace
his people by asking for beads, paint, and powder, and lead, and scarlet
cloth. I can see that agent yet, with his deep-set eyes fixed on the
speaker, while he rested his chin on his cane. Old Joshua spoke again,
and, though he was considered a “terrible brave on the warpath,” and had
passed the better portion of his life in that way, now when, for the first
time in his life, he was called upon to give opinions on a serious
matter, concerning the investment of money for his people, he appeared to
be transformed into a _man_. He _was_ a man. Hear him talk:——
“I am old; I can’t live long. I want my people to put away the old law
(meaning the old order of things). I want them to learn how to work like
white men. They cannot be Indians any longer. We have had some things
bought for us that did us no good,——some blankets that I could poke my
finger through; some hoes that broke like a stick. We don’t want these
things. We want _ploughs_, _harness_, chick-chick (_wagons_), _axes_, good
hoes, a few blankets for the old people. These we want. We have been
promised these things. They have not come.”
The agent’s face relaxed; his eyes changed to pleased surprise. Other
chiefs spoke also, but after the pattern that Joshua had made, except that
some of them complained more, and named a former agent, who came poor and
went away rich. No Indian suggested an unwise investment. We assured them
that they should have the tools and other goods asked for; and _that
promise was kept_, much to the gratification of the Indians and agent.
I have not the abstract at hand, but I think I purchased for them soon
after $1,200 worth of tools and twenty sets of harness, and that a few
blankets were issued.
But, to resume the council proceedings. These people were clamorous for
allotments of land in severalty. Their arguments were logical, they
referring to the promises of the Government to give each man a home. The
land has been surveyed, and, if not allotted to them, I do not know why
it has not been done.
The subject of religion was discussed at some length. The agent, willing
to advance “his people,” had given them lessons in the first principles of
Christianity. He had taught them the observance of Sunday, had forbidden
drinking, gambling, and profanity. He invited ministers to preach to them,
and, when necessary, had been their interpreter. There were several
languages represented in the council; the major portion of the Indians
understood the jargon, or “Chi-nook,” a language composed of less than one
hundred words; partly Indian, Spanish, French, and “Boston.” The latter
word is in common use among the tribes of Oregon and Washington Territory
to represent white men or American.
The Christian churches have enjoyed the privilege of ministry to these
people since they were first located on the Reservation.
The Catholic priests, who had baptized some of these people, were very
zealous. Occasionally, the Methodist itinerant called and preached to
them. The labors of neither were productive of much good, because they did
not preach with simplicity, and could not, therefore, preach with power.
It would be about as sensible for a Chinaman to preach to Christians, as
for the latter to preach to Indians in high-flown words, abstruse
doctrines, or abstract dogmas. One case will illustrate.
A very devout man of God visited the agency, with, I doubt not, good
intentions. He preached to these people just as he would have done to
white men. He talked of Jesus Christ, the Saviour of the world; besought
them to flee from the wrath to come; that Jesus Christ was the Saviour of
the red men as well as white men; that he had died for the sins of the
world; that he rose again the third day and ascended into heaven.
The discourse was interpreted to the Indians by an employé on the
Reservation. A few days after, a Si-wash, the usual word for Indian, who
answered to the name of Push-wash, entered into conversation with the
above-named employé, by saying, “What you think about that Sunday-man’s
talk,——you think him fool?”——“No; he is a good man; he has plenty of
sense.”——“What for he swear all time?”——“He did not swear; he talked
straight.”
“What for he say Jesus Christ so many times? All the time he talk the
same.”
“That was all right; he told the truth; he did not talk wrong.”
“You think me fool? What for a good man die for me? I am not a bad man. I
did not tell him to die.”
“The Jews killed him, they did not like him.”
“You say Jews kill good man?”
“Yes, they kill him, and he come to life again on the third day.”
“You think he came to life? I don’t believe they kill him. He not live any
more.”
“Yes; everybody will live again some time.”
“You suppose a bad Indian get up, walk ’bout again, all the same a good
man?”
“They will all rise, but they won’t all be good.”
“What for the Sunday man tell that? He say Jesus Christ die for bad Indian
too? Say he go to heaven all the same as a good Indian, good white man;
that aint fair thing. I don’t no like such religion.”
A few days afterwards the man who reported this dialogue passed near the
grave of an Indian, and found it covered with stones and logs. He learned
afterwards, that Push-wash had explained to other Indians the meaning of
the “Sunday-man’s talk,” and they had piled stones and logs on the graves
of their enemies, to prevent them rising from the dead.
The reader will thus appreciate the necessity for sending ministers who
are qualified to preach to these people; otherwise they may do the savage
more harm than good. Farther on in the work I shall discuss more fully
this most important of all questions, with special reference to the
difficulties in the way of treating with the Indians, in consequence of
their numerous and peculiar religious beliefs, which few white men know
anything about.
I left Siletz with a favorable opinion of the people, and the prospects
before them. Notwithstanding the many impediments in the way of their
civilization, the transformation from a wild savage to a semi-civilized
life had been wrought in fourteen years.
In this connection I submit the last annual report of Hon. Ben.
Simpson,[1] late United States Indian agent at Siletz. I do so, because
whatever of progress these people may have made was under his
administration as Indian agent, and believing the short history presented
by him will be of interest to my readers.
[1] See Appendix.
He is a gentleman of unimpeachable integrity, though blessed with enemies
whose assaults have polished his character like a diamond. Whatever vices
these Indians may have exhibited to his successor,——Gen. Palmer,——they
were not the results of Mr. Simpson’s management, or example; but rather
the natural consequences of association with profligate soldiers and other
white men, during the first years of their residence on the Reservation.
Gen. Joel Palmer was recommended as Mr. Simpson’s successor by the
Methodist Church. He went to his duty with long experience, and in many
respects well fitted for the work.
Scarcely had he assumed the duties of his office, with a new set of
employés, before he was made to realize that poor human nature will in
most cases control human action. Ingratitude is said, by Indian haters, to
be characteristic of those people. Better be honest and say it of mankind.
I have said that he selected a new set of officers. Among them was one
chosen on account of his religious habits,——habits, I say, not
character,——who had lent a listening ear to the call, “Go preach my Gospel
to all nations.” This man answered this urgent call, and Agent Palmer
employed him. No sooner had he unfurled the banner of Christianity among
these people, than he began in a clandestine way to undermine Agent
Palmer. Unfortunately for the agent, this preacher had been recommended by
the same church for position. This gave him influence. He made use of it.
He proposed to other officers of the agency that if they would assist in
ousting Palmer he would retain them in their respective positions.
To consummate this act of religious villany, he circulated reports against
the man, whose kindness fed him and his family, that he (Palmer) had men
in his employ who were “not, strictly speaking, Christians; that he was
not competent to discharge the duties of his office.” The agent found,
what nearly every officer has learned sooner or later, that his position
was of doubtful tenure, and felt the sting of this man’s treachery so
severely that he proposed to resign.
“Brother ———— is determined to oust me, and I reckon I will let him have
the position. He wants it, and I don’t care to worry my life out fighting
for an Indian agency.”
This is the substance of the speech Agent Palmer made to me as
superintendent. I said to him, “Do no such thing. Go back to your agency
and tell that man to roll his blankets and be off, or you will put him in
irons. Then discharge every accomplice he has, and select good, true men
instead.”
Brother Palmer replied that “the church recommended Brother ————, and I
don’t like to do such a thing.” I prevailed on him to withdraw his
resignation; and on his return to Siletz, he discharged Brother ————. But
the war was continued against him until Agent Palmer demanded a successor
to relieve him; and after a short administration he retired without having
christianized the Siletz Indians.
I have mentioned this episode for the reason that I desire full justice
done a man who meant well, with a sincere hope that those having the
appointing power may be made to reflect a moment before making
nominations for office in deference to the demands of any church, and
without regard to the fitness of the appointee.
I have due respect for church members, and recognize the necessity of
having men of moral character among the wards of this Government.
Gen. Palmer, with his long experience, was, in many respects, qualified
for his position; but he was a poor judge of character. I may be censured
for making these comments, but they are just, nevertheless; as was the
opinion I gave of the aforesaid Brother ————, when his name was proposed
as a missionary to the Siletz Indians, by the presiding elder of the
district.
I answered him, “That man’s face says he would undermine his father, to
forward his own interests.”
The elder said in reply, “Brother Meacham, you must be mistaken; he is a
good, Christian man, and will be a great help to Brother Palmer.” In
courtesy to the presiding elder, I consented, with the remark, “Try him;
but he will make a thorny bed for Brother Palmer.”
Here is the history. It is not written to bring ridicule on the church
nominating him.
Siletz agency has been established fourteen years, during which time five
agents have represented the Government. Some of them have been good men
for the position.
Although these Indians are not up to the standard of moral character, or
church requirements, a great change has been wrought, and credit should be
given to whom it is due.
Uncouth these Indians on Siletz may be, but let truth speak for them, and
you will hear of how they came to this new home captives, and in chains,
under guard of bayonets, borne on shoulders of men wearing the uniform of
the U. S. A.
You will hear how these men were stationed among them to guard them, and
compel obedience to the mandates of a Government that permitted the
grossest outrages on their rights, and made no effort to redress their
wrongs.
You would hear, too, of a people living in careless indolence on Umpyua
and Rogue rivers, in southern Oregon, when disturbed by the advent of
white men, who came with prejudices against them, who disregarded their
rights, denied them the privilege of living on the land God had given
them, who failed to protect them from the outrages committed by vicious
white men; of the indiscriminate warfare that was carried on against them
for resenting such insults; of their native land left in ruins, where the
wail of weeping pale-faces over slain friends mingled with their own
lamentations on taking leave of the homes of their earliest life.
Truth would tell of the many crimes committed by and against them, since
their residence at Siletz; of how they have been punished for their own
misdeeds, and have seen those who sinned against them go unpunished.
Be patient, you half-savage people! Death is rapidly healing your wounds
and curing your griefs. Those who survive may, in time, be given homes.
The lands have been surveyed for these people, but have not yet been
allotted. Nothing could do more to revive them than the consummation of
this promise.
Some of them have lived with white men as laborers, and have learned many
things qualifying them for this great boon. Surely a magnanimous
Government will complete this great act of justice to a helpless people.
May God speed the day!
ALSEA AGENCY.
It is located on the coast Reservation south of Yaquina bay. The people
are “salt chuck,” or saltwater Indians, and the majority of them were born
on the lands they now occupy; hence they are the most quiet and
well-behaved Indians in Oregon.
They are easily controlled, and are making progress in civilization. But
few in number, and of the character I have named, they have never taken
part in any of the many wars that have made Oregon “the battle-ground of
the Pacific coast.”
A sub-agency was established over them in 1866. The pay of sub-agent is
$1,000 per annum, without subsistence or other allowance. The Alsea people
being non-treaty Indians,——that is to say, they have no existing treaty
with the Government; no funds being appropriated especially for
them,——they are sustained entirely from the “Incidental Funds” for Oregon
Superintendency.
The fact that the Alsea Indians have always been easily managed has been
to their disadvantage in securing Government aid. Had they been more
refractory, they would have been better treated. This sounds strangely,
and yet I declare it to be true. Why should Government reward them for
being peaceable? They have asked for buildings; the Government gave them
huts. They asked for schools and churches; but no school-house stands out
in the bleak ocean winds of their home; no church-bell calls them to hear
the wonderful story of a Saviour’s love. Notwithstanding the wealth of
their successors peals forth in loud strains which echo on foreign shores,
no hammer rings out its cheering notes on anvil of theirs.
This little agency demonstrates the fact, that the only _sure_ way for
Indians to secure attention is _through blood_. Our Government follows the
example of the father of the Prodigal Son, with this remarkable
difference, that it abuses its dutiful children, while it fawns upon and
encourages the red-faced reprobates, by _rewarding_ them for their
rebellious deeds.
The department farm at Alsea was made by Government, on Indian land,
ostensibly for the Indians’ benefit. It is located on a bleak plain, that
stretches away from the ocean surf to the foot of the coast range
mountains. It produces potatoes and oats. The mountains are high and
rugged, and covered with dense forests of fir and cedar timber; much of
the former has been “burnt.” A heavy undergrowth has become almost
impenetrable except for wild animals or Indian hunters.
The cedar groves cover streams of water that will in time be of great
value, when turned on to machinery with which to convert the cedars into
merchandise for foreign markets. The streams are plentifully supplied with
fish. No long list of employés answer to the command of an agent at Alsea.
In some respects it is the better way, inasmuch as it is to the interest
of the agent to teach his wards the more common arts of handiwork. In this
way, the improvements have been made by Indian labor, under the direction
of an agent; and now, while I write, these people are coming slowly up
towards the gate that _should_ open to them a way to the brotherhood of
man.
Efforts are being made to reduce the area of the Reservation, and, should
they succeed, these people who have cost the Government so little of blood
or treasure, will be compelled to yield; only repeating, “Might versus
Right.” I am not opposed to reduction of the limits of the coast
Reservation, if these people, who have already given up so much beautiful
country, shall be provided with schools, churches, shops, and other means
whereby they may be compensated, and, in the mean time, prepared by
civilization for the new life that awaits the survivors, that, a few years
hence, may be left to represent their people.
The Government owes to these humble Indians all I have suggested, and, in
addition, a home marked out and allotted in severalty, made inalienable
for one or two generations.
But, however deserving they may be, it is doubtful if they ever enjoy the
boon they crave. Few in number, peaceable in disposition, unknown to the
world by bloody deeds, the probabilities are that the white man will
encroach on their lands, a few miles at a time, until at last, hemmed in
by a civilization they cannot enjoy, they will gradually mix and mingle,
becoming more licentious and corrupt by association with vicious white
men, and in a generation or two will be known only by a few vagabonds, who
will wander, gipsy-like, through the country, a poor, miserable fag-end of
a race.
Perhaps a few may take humble positions as laborers, and attain to a
half-way station between savage and civilized life. Another few will
become slaves to King Alcohol, and their chief men, lying around whiskey
mills, drunken, debauched, despised, will drop back again to mother earth,
mingling with the soil their fathers once owned.
Thus the people of Alsea will pass away. I pity you, humble, red-skinned
children of the Pacific surf! You were happy once, and carelessly rode in
your canoes over the shining sands of your native beach, or chased the
game on the mountain side, little dreaming of the coming of a human tide
which would swallow you and your sea-washed home, or carry both away out
on the boundless expanse of a civilization whose other shores you could
not see had sepulchres ready for your bones. You have spent your lives
with your feet beating the paths your fathers made centuries ago; but your
children shall follow newer trails, that lead to more dangerous jungles
than those trod by your ancestors. Strange demons they will meet, before
whom they will fall to rise no more.
Your fathers watched the shadows of Alsea mountain moving slowly up its
western front, making huge pictures on its sides, and gazed without fear
on the sun dropping under the sea, wondering how it found its way under
the great ocean and high mountains, to come again with so much regularity;
or perhaps they believed, as others do, that the Great Spirit sent a new
“fire-ball” each day, and nightly quenched it in the sea. You now see the
shadows climb the mountain, fitting emblem of the white man’s presence in
your land, and read in the setting sun the history of your race. Better
that you had never heard the sweet sounds of civilized life than that
you, with feet untrained, should follow its allurements to your
destruction.
You, that once gave to the beautiful mountain streams smile for smile, are
now haggard and worn, giving only grim presages of your doom.
Others of your race have avenged their ill-fortunes with the tomahawk,
and, in compliance with their religion, have rejected offers of a better
life than they knew. But you——you have yielded without war, and, like
helpless orphans thrown on the cold world, have accepted the mites given
grudgingly by your masters, who treat with contempt and ridicule your
cherished faith, who misconstrue your peaceful lives into cowardice. They
have fixed their eyes on your home. They will make Alsea river transform
the forest on its banks into houses, towns, and cities. They will make the
valley where you now follow the government plough, to yield rich harvests
of grain, and they will convert the ocean beach into a fountain of golden
treasure. A few years more, and the noise of machinery will wake you early
from your slumbers. The roar of ocean’s breakers will mingle with the hum
of busy life in which you may have no part. The white man’s eyes will
dance with gladness at the sight of your mountains dismantled of their
forests, and the glimmer of coming sails to bear away the lofty pines.
Yours will weep at the sacrilege done to your hunting grounds; theirs will
gaze on the wide Pacific, and see there the channels that will bring
compensation to them for the spoils of your home. Yours will recognize it
only as the resting-place for the bones of your people. The white man
says, “Your fate is fixed,——your doom is sealed.” Few hearts beat with
sympathy for you; you are unknown and unnoticed. You must pass away,
unless, indeed, the white race shall, from the full surfeit of vengeance
upon you and yours, at last return to you a measure of justice.
He who dares appeal in your behalf is derided by his fellows. A proud,
boastful people, who claim that human actions should be directed by high
motives and pure principles, treat with contempt every effort made to save
you from destruction. Strong may be the heart of the Indian Chief to
resist the encroachments on his people’s rights, but stronger still the
arm of a Government that boasts rebellion against oppression as its
foundation stone.
CHAPTER VII.
PHIL SHERIDAN’S OLD HOME——WHAT A CABIN COST.
GRAND ROUND INDIAN AGENCY.
I Made my first official visit to this agency in the latter part of
September, 1869. Captain Charles La Follette was then acting agent.
The r
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