"Here reposes Joseph Rolette."Born Oct. 23, 1820."Died May 16, 1871."
The simple chronicle is long since effaced.
"Requiescat in pace!" is the wish and hope of his historian and friend.
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In the years 1864 and 1865 I lived in Carson City, the capital of Nevada, which recently became famous as the place where the great prize fight between Bob Fitzsimmons and Gentleman Jim Corbett occurred. The racecourse which became the arena on that occasion was during all the time of my residence there used by me daily as a gymnasium for exercise. I had very little to do with the actual politics of the country, because I was, and had always been, a Democrat of the most uncompromising character, and the party divisions out in that country were between the Republicans and men from the Southern States, who were generally outspoken rebels; and as it was in the midst of the Civil War, the feeling was intense between them. I was a warm supporter of the war for the Union, and found myself in the position of a man without a party. The situation did not incommode me, however, as I was fully occupied outside the realm of politics.
There were two daily newspapers published in the town,—one Republican, which was called theCarson Daily Appeal, and the other Democratic, called theEvening Post. There were no associated press dispatches, although the telegraph had reached the Pacific Coast and the San Francisco papers had the benefit of that great purveyor of news.
The proprietor of the plant of the Republican paper was an old Minnesota man, and a friend of mine, with whom I frequently came in contact, both in a business and social way. Under this condition of things, youmay imagine my surprise and consternation when I tell you that one day he rushed into my office in a great state of excitement, and told me that his editor had left him and gone to San Francisco, and that he could not keep his paper going unless I would run it until he could arrange for another editor, adding that a failure to publish it for a single day would ruin him. At first I looked upon the proposition as utterly out of the question, and said: "How can I edit a Republican newspaper, when I am at swords' points with everything they believe and advocate?" It was with him, however, "a groundhog case," as we used to call such imperative occasions. Hehadto get him, as he was out of meat. He was persistent in his demands, and as the negotiations progressed, I began to look upon the matter as a good joke, and finally promised that I would undertake to keep the paper going if he would swear that he would never disclose my identity, which condition he promised faithfully to observe.
It was a matter that admitted of no delay. I had to prepare a column and a half of editorial that night for the next morning's issue. What I wrote about, I don't pretend to remember, but it was well received, and its Republican orthodoxy was never questioned, and I repeated the dose daily for some time with the same success, growing more and more violent in my attacks on the Democracy in each successive issue. Carson was a small town, and, as the old editor was missed by his friends, public curiosity increased as to who had succeeded him, and I enrolled myself among the guessers, and improved every occasion to criticise publicly the editorials. It soon became very tiresome and difficult to maintain my ground, with politics as the sole text for my editorials, and as news was very scarce, I sought relief inany channel that opened a way. A great race took place in San Francisco between Charley Brian's ever victorious horse, Lodi, and a colt of the celebrated stallion Lexington, named Norfolk, for which Joe Winters of Carson had paid fifteen thousand andonedollars to the owner of Lexington,—Lord Bob Alexander of Kentucky,—especially to make the race with Lodi. The $15,001 was exacted by the owner of Lexington, because he had been laughed at for paying $15,000 for Lexington when he was old and blind, and had said he would sell his colts for more than he had paid for their sire. This race, of course, created an immense excitement. At least twenty thousand people went to see it, and everybody on the Pacific Coast from the forty-ninth parallel to the Mexican line had a bet on the result. Lodi was beaten, and as Nevada was the victor, and I knew all about Lexington, I wrote several essays on race horses in general and Norfolk in particular.
The office of sheriff of our county was a very hazardous one, every incumbent of it prior to the then holder having "died with his boots on." Tim Smith, who filled the office when I was there, and had shown desperate courage on several occasions in the performance of his duties, had gained my admiration and friendship, and afforded me a good text, and I wrote him up.
There was an ex-governor of California residing in Carson with whom I became intimate, and on one occasion I wrote him up; and last, but not least, I made the acquaintance of a beautiful and accomplished lady living in the town, and as such a person was a phenomenon in that rude land, I was inspired to write her up, and did so in the following poem:
"This descriptive epigram is dedicated to the most beautiful woman in Carson City, by the editor:"Gorgeous tresses, exquisitely arrayed;Noble brow where intellect's displayed;Liquid eyes that penetrate the heart;Teeth of pearl, whose brilliancy impartTo the whole expression of the faceA ray of love, a fascinating sense of grace.A bust—but here presumptuous mortal stay:Let artist gods this beauteous bust portray;Splendor, royalty, magnificence combined,A Venus in Diana's arms entwined.The tiny hand, so soft, so pure, so white,Robs its emerald gem of half its light.The secret charms beneath her robe-folds hidden,Like heavens' joys to mortal eyes forbidden,Are dimly outlined to our rapturous gaze,Like veiled statues through a marble haze.Her fairy foot, as in the graceful waltz it glides,Our admiration equally divides.And proves, that of her many charms of form and voice,If one you had to choose, you could not make the choice.Their perfect harmony is like the arch's span;Displace one stone, you destroy the noble plan."
"This descriptive epigram is dedicated to the most beautiful woman in Carson City, by the editor:
My political attacks did not seem to make much impression on my Democratic contemporary, and he paid very little attention to what I said, feeling, no doubt, indifferent in the overwhelming majority of the Republican party, but when I branched out in the line I have indicated, he opened on me savagely in several editorials. He said theAppealhad discovered a soft-soap mine, and had used it lavishly to lather governors, sheriffs, ladies, and a great many other people, for the purpose of gaining their support and patronage, all of which afforded me a fine opportunity of getting back at him in a humorous, and at the same time effective manner, so I shot at him in verse, which I will repeat; but to a full understanding of it, I will explain that all mining claims are measured by the number of feet the claimant owns on the ledge, and the word "feet" became synonymous with the mine itself. This was my answer:
"SOAP.""Great renovator of the human race!Great cleanser of the human face!Thy potent art removes each stainFrom dirtiest mortal on this sphere mundane.'Tis sad to think thy mystic spellCan't penetrate within the shell,And to a soiled, perverted heartCleanliness and purity impart.Thy subtle essence, heretofore confinedIn bars of Windsor toilet cakes refined;In Colgate's honey for the barber's brush,And shapeless masses much resembling slush,Has now, according to our evening sheet,Been found in ledges, known as "feet."To use the language of thePost, in fine,The greatAppealhas found a mine;And having now much soap to spare,Soaps governors—sheriffs—ladies fair.How sad it is, with all this soap,To know there's not the slightest hopeIf all the Chinamen in townShould wash it up and wash it down,And scrub 'till it gave up the ghost,Of making clean theEvening Post."
"SOAP.""Great renovator of the human race!Great cleanser of the human face!Thy potent art removes each stainFrom dirtiest mortal on this sphere mundane.'Tis sad to think thy mystic spellCan't penetrate within the shell,And to a soiled, perverted heartCleanliness and purity impart.Thy subtle essence, heretofore confinedIn bars of Windsor toilet cakes refined;In Colgate's honey for the barber's brush,And shapeless masses much resembling slush,Has now, according to our evening sheet,Been found in ledges, known as "feet."To use the language of thePost, in fine,The greatAppealhas found a mine;And having now much soap to spare,Soaps governors—sheriffs—ladies fair.How sad it is, with all this soap,To know there's not the slightest hopeIf all the Chinamen in townShould wash it up and wash it down,And scrub 'till it gave up the ghost,Of making clean theEvening Post."
The effect of my shot was equal to a thirteen-inch shell in the camp of the enemy. The whole community laughed, and thePostleft me studiously alone until the new editor came and relieved me. I had lots of fun out of the experiment, besides getting the magnificent compensation of twenty dollars a week for my services. I also had the gratification of knowing that the exciting question of "Who edits theAppeal?" remained unanswered until I answered it myself.
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All old settlers will remember what in the history of Minnesota is known as "The Ink-pa-du-ta War." It occurred in 1857, and, briefly described, was something like the following: Near the northwest corner of the State of Iowa, in the county of Dickinson, and near the southwest corner of the State of Minnesota, in the county of Jackson, there are two large and very beautiful lakes, called Spirit lake and Lake Okoboji. The country about these lakes is surpassingly beautiful and fruitful, and naturally attracted settlers in a very early day. In 1855 and 1857 a few families settled on a small river which heads in Minnesota and flows southward into Iowa, called in English Rock river, and in Sioux In-yan-yan-ke. In 1856 Hon. William Freeborn of Red Wing, Minn., started a settlement at Spirit lake, and near the same time another location was made about ten or fifteen miles north of Spirit lake, and called Springfield.
There was a small band of Indians, numbering ten or fifteen lodges, under the chieftainship of Ink-pa-du-ta, or the "Scarlet Point," which had for long years frequented the region of the Vermillion river, and although Sioux, they had become separated from the bands that made treaties with the United States in 1851, and were regarded as outlaws and vagabonds. This band had planted in the neighborhood of Spirit lake prior to 1857, and ranged the country from there to the Missouri.
Early in March, 1857, these Indians were hunting in the neighborhood of Rock river settlement, and got into a row with the white people from some trivial cause,and the treatment they received greatly angered them. They proceeded north and massacred all the people at the Spirit lake and Okoboji settlements, except four women, whom they captured and carried off with them. They then attacked the settlers at Springfield, and killed most of them. The result of the massacre was forty-two white people killed and four white women taken as captives.
I was then United States agent for the Sioux, and the news of the trouble reached me at my agency, on the Minnesota river, early in March, 1857, by two young men, who had escaped, and had travelled all the way on foot through the deep snow, a distance of nearly one hundred miles. Although the air was always full of rumors of Indian troubles in those days, I was convinced that the news brought by these boys was true, so I made a requisition on Colonel Alexander of the Tenth United States Infantry, stationed at Fort Ridgely, for troops, and he sent me Company "A," commanded by Captain Barnard E. Bee and Lieutenant Murray. I supplied guides and interpreters from my Indians, and after a most laborious and painful roundabout march of many days, we reached the scene of the troubles, only to find, as I fully expected, the Indians gone. The dead were buried, and the troops, after remaining for some time, returned to the fort.
Now comes the most interesting part of the incident. The captured women were Mrs. Noble, Mrs. Thatcher, Mrs. Marble and Miss Gardner. The legislature of the territory was in session, and the news of the event soon reached St. Paul, and, as might be expected, created great excitement, and, of course, the principal interest centered in the rescue of the prisoners. All the legislature could do was to appropriate money to defray theexpenses of the undertaking, and as nobody knew what to do or how to do it, they appropriated $10,000 and wisely left the whole matter to Governor Medary, who was then the governor of the territory, with full power to do what he thought best about it. He, being a practical man, and having no idea at all of how to proceed in the matter, very sensibly turned the whole business over to me, withcarte blancheto do whatever I thought best.
An accident controlled the situation, and shaped future events. Two of my Indians, who had been hunting on the Big Sioux river, heard that Ink-pa-du-ta was encamped at Skunk lake, about seventy-five miles west of Spirit lake, and had some white captives in his camp; so they went to see him, and succeeded in purchasing Mrs. Marble, for whom they paid horses and rifles, and whatever they had, and brought her into the Yellow Medicine agency and delivered her to me. I paid them $500 each for their services, and immediately sent out another expedition to try to rescue the other captives. I say I paid these two Indians $500 each. The fact is, I could raise but $500 in money on the reservation, which I gave them, and resorted to a financial scheme to get the rest, which has since become quite the fashion when people or communities are short. I issued a territorial bond, and as it is the first government bond that ever was issued in all the country that lies between the Mississippi to the Rocky Mountains, I give it in full.
"I, Stephen R. Riggs, missionary among the Sioux Indians, and I, Charles E. Flandrau, United States Indian agent for the Sioux, being satisfied that Mak-pi-ya-ka-ho-ton and Si-ha-ho-ta, two Sioux Indians, have performed a valuable service to the Territory of Minnesota and humanity, by rescuing from captivity Mrs.Margaret Ann Marble, and delivering her to the Sioux agent, and being further satisfied that the rescue of the two remaining white women who are now in captivity among Ink-pa-du-ta's band of Indians depends much upon the liberality shown towards the said Indians who have recovered Mrs. Marble, and having full confidence in the humanity and liberality of the Territory of Minnesota, through its government and citizens, have this day paid to the two said above named Indians, the sum of five hundred dollars in money, and do hereby pledge to said two Indians that the further sum of five hundred dollars will be paid to them by the Territory of Minnesota or its citizens within three months from the date hereof."Dated May 22nd, 1857, at Pa-Ku-ta Zi-zi, M. T."STEPHEN R. RIGGS,Missionary A. B. C. F. M."CHAS. E. FLANDRAU,"U. S. Indian Agent for Sioux."
"I, Stephen R. Riggs, missionary among the Sioux Indians, and I, Charles E. Flandrau, United States Indian agent for the Sioux, being satisfied that Mak-pi-ya-ka-ho-ton and Si-ha-ho-ta, two Sioux Indians, have performed a valuable service to the Territory of Minnesota and humanity, by rescuing from captivity Mrs.Margaret Ann Marble, and delivering her to the Sioux agent, and being further satisfied that the rescue of the two remaining white women who are now in captivity among Ink-pa-du-ta's band of Indians depends much upon the liberality shown towards the said Indians who have recovered Mrs. Marble, and having full confidence in the humanity and liberality of the Territory of Minnesota, through its government and citizens, have this day paid to the two said above named Indians, the sum of five hundred dollars in money, and do hereby pledge to said two Indians that the further sum of five hundred dollars will be paid to them by the Territory of Minnesota or its citizens within three months from the date hereof.
"Dated May 22nd, 1857, at Pa-Ku-ta Zi-zi, M. T."STEPHEN R. RIGGS,Missionary A. B. C. F. M."CHAS. E. FLANDRAU,"U. S. Indian Agent for Sioux."
This bond differed materially from some that were issued by Minnesota afterwards, in being paid promptly at maturity.
My expedition brought in Miss Gardner, but Mrs. Noble and Mrs. Thatcher were killed before relief reached them.
All this occurred before I heard of the action of the legislature, and was done wholly on my individual responsibility. I, however, reimbursed myself for the outlay from the state funds, and covered the balance of the appropriation into the treasury.
Very shortly after the rescue of Miss Gardner, while at the Redwood agency, I received a note from Sam Brown, a trader at Yellow Medicine, by an Indiancourier, which informed me that Ink-pa-du-ta and several of his band were at the Yellow Medicine river. I at once determined to kill or capture them, and sent word back that I would be on hand with a proper force on the morning of the second day, and that he must send an Indian who knew where to find them, who would meet me at midnight on the top of a butte half way between the Redwood and Yellow Medicine rivers, and guide me in.
I then made a requisition for troops on the commander of the post at Ridgely, who sent me a lieutenant and fifteen men. It chanced to be Lieutenant Murray, who had accompanied the expedition to Spirit lake. While waiting for the soldiers, I raised a volunteer force of about twenty men, among whom was a son of the celebrated electrician, Professor Morse, and some other young gentlemen who were visiting the agency, all of whom insisted on going for the fun of the thing. The balance consisted of employes, most of whom were half-breeds. The soldiers arrived about five o'clock in the afternoon, and I put them in wagons. I mounted my squad on good horses, and every man was furnished with a double-barrelled shotgun and a revolver. We started about dark, and at midnight arrived at the butte. I galloped to the top of it, and found sitting there in the most composed manner possible smoking his pipe, An-pe-tu-toka-sha, or John Otherday, who had been deputed by Brown to guide us in. He said he knew where we could find the enemy, and indicated six lodges standing together about four miles above the Yellow Medicine Agency, on the open prairie. He left the road, and guided us through the open country to a point on the river about a mile below the lodges, they being on the other side of the river. We arrived at about four o'clockin the morning, just as the light of day was breaking. It was an engrossing study to observe how skillfully he kept us concealed from view of the enemy, by keeping rolls of the prairie between us. All his movements were like those of a wary animal, stealthy and noiseless. The fact is, the education of a savage is learned from the wild animals on which he lives, and that is what makes him such a good hunter and fighter.
The river, with a narrow stretch of bottom land and a bluff of about thirty feet in height, lay between us and the plateau on which was the camp where Ink-pa-du-ta was supposed to be. Here we formed our plan of attack. As soon as we crossed and attained the high prairie, and located the enemy, we were to divide our force into two squads, one of which was to be the soldiers and the other the mounted men. The soldiers were to double-quick up the edge of the bluff, to intercept a retreat into the river bottom, while the mounted men took the open prairie to cut off escape in the other direction. Lieutenant Murray was to lead the soldiers and I the horsemen. I said to Otherday and my interpreter: "How are we to know the guilty parties?" The answer was: "Whoever runs from the camp you may be sure of."
The scene presented when we reached the high land was beautiful, inspiring, and frightfully alarming. As far as the eye could reach there was an unbroken camp of savages, not less than eight or ten thousand of them, representing all the Indians of my upper bands, and those from the Missouri who always visited us at payment time. I knew many of them were relatives of Ink-pa-du-ta and his people, and most of them his friends, but there was no time for balancing chances, and, at the word, away we went for the enemy's camp, which wasthe farthest up the river of them all. The night had been very hot, and, as is the custom, the tepees had been rolled up at the bottom, to allow a free circulation of air, which, of course, allowed the inmates an open view of the prairie. When my squad got within about two or three hundred yards of the lodges a young Indian, holding the hand of a squaw and carrying a double-barrelled shotgun, sprang out, and made for the river bluff as fast as his legs would carry him. All the soldiers fired at him, but he did not seem to be hit, and disappeared among the chaparral in the bottom. We surrounded him. He fired four shots, and each time I looked to see a man fall, but only one shot was effective, and that struck the cartridge box of a young soldier, turning it completely inside out, but without injuring the wearer. Whenever he shot, we poured a volley into the place indicated by the smoke, and succeeded in killing him. We took his squaw and put her into one of the wagons, more for the purpose of identifying the man than anything else, and started down the river towards the agency. We had to pass through the heart of all these camps, and the squaw yelled as only a scared squaw can. The savages swarmed about our party by the hundreds and thousands, threatening vengeance, and flourishing their guns in a blood-curdling manner. A shot from one of them, or from one of us, would have sent us all into heaven in less than a moment. The shot was not fired, and we succeeded in reaching the agency in safety. I have always attributed our escape to the moral force of the government that was behind us.
At the agency there were great log buildings, in which we fortified ourselves. I sent a courier to Fort Ridgely for reenforcements. The commanding-officer sent us the old Sherman Buena Vista Battery, which assisted us in letting go and getting out.
The Indian we killed turned out to be the eldest son of Ink-pa-du-ta, who was one of the head devils in the Spirit lake massacre. He had ventured in to see his sweetheart, and was the only one of the gang that was present when we made our attack.
The question has often been asked, why the government allowed the massacre to go unpunished. Colonel Alexander of the Tenth and I had a plan by which we would have destroyed Ink-pa-du-ta and his band without a doubt, but just at the moment of putting it into execution an order came for all the companies of the Tenth at Ridgely to leave at once for Fort Bridger, in Utah, to join the expedition under General Albert Sydney Johnson, against the Mormons, and that was the end of it.
Our raid was about as foolhardy and reckless a one as ever was undertaken, and our escape can only be credited to providence or good luck.
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My attention was once arrested by a short editorial, under the caption of "Gold Lace Lawmaking," which recalled an amusing incident in my experience that occurred in 1856. The editorial said: "When the lawmakers of the province of Manitoba met at Winnipeg, the occasion was something to impress the voter. The Royal Canadian Dragoons paraded, and the Thirteenth field battery roared a salute. Mark the contrast. On one side of the line, ceremony, gold lace and honor. On the other, nothing but a few clean collars and a camp-fire of the bobby."
It is not my intention to discuss the question of which is the better method, but to relate an incident which will cast some light on the views people of the two sections take of legislative etiquette and ceremony, and the slight effect such ideas have on the practical subject of legislation and the conduct of the legislators.
In the year 1856 I was elected by the people of the Minnesota valley to the territorial council, which corresponds to the state senate under our present political organization. At the same election a neighbor of mine, George McLeod, was elected to the house of representatives from the same district. George was a Scotch Canadian, who had passed his life in that part of Canada where French is the dominant language, and it had become his most familiar tongue. He was a giant in build, being much over six feet in height, and correspondingly powerful. He was red headed, and although well educated, preferred his fists to any other weapons in argument, and generally carried his points. He was fond of good horses, boasted of his skill as a hunter, and possessed all the requisites of a successful frontiersman. He added to these accomplishments an extensive knowledge of Scotch poetry and a varied repertoire of choice songs, which he sang on all appropriate occasions. On the whole, George might be classified as an all around good fellow. Another attribute which I must not forget to mention was, that he was the brother of one of our most distinguished first settlers, Martin McLeod, who was a member of the first territorial council, which convened in 1849, and also the brother of Rev. Norman McLeod, a plucky Presbyterian preacher, who settled in Salt Lake City in the fifties, and preached the Gentile religion when Mormonism was at its height and its disciples were in the habit of killing people who differed from them.
After the excitement of the election was over, George naturally began to reflect upon his exalted position, and, of course, all his conclusions were reached from a Canadian point of view. Feeling a little doubt on some questions, he decided to consult me, supposing I was more familiar with the American way of doing things than he possibly could be; so one day he came to see me on the all-engrossing subject. We found each other in the regulation costume of the country, which consisted of blue flannel shirts, cheap slop-shop trowsers, Red River moccasins, and the whole finished off with a scarlet Hudson's Bay or a variegated Pembina sash, all of which was picturesque, but carried with it no semblance of pretentious aristocracy. I welcomed George with great cordiality, and he at once opened his budget. He said: "Flaundreau," giving my name the full French pronunciation, "when we get down to parliament, we will have to set up a coach." My surprise may be well imagined,when I tell you a journey of a hundred miles on foot was to either of us no unusual event, and that neither McLeod nor I had been the owner of a boot or a shoe for several years. I, however, restrained my astonishment, and asked: "What makes you think so?" His reply was, that it was entirely inadmissible for a member of parliament to walk from his hotel to the parliament house or to ride in a public conveyance. The question of British or Canadian etiquette flashed upon me, and explained McLeod's meaning; but it required an immense effort on my part to control my laughter, when I had fully taken in the ludicrous features of the proposition. I would no more have given way to my inclinations, however, than I would have yielded to the same desire when some ridiculous event happens at an official Indian council. The picture of a coach with liveried coachman and footman driving up to the door of the old American House in St. Paul, and two half-savage looking men, shod in moccasins, climbing into it, to be transported three or four blocks to the old capitol, with a gaping crowd of half-breeds and ruffianly spectators looking on in amazement, passed before my mind, and made me wonder what would be the result of such a phenomenal spectacle; but I simply said: "We had better wait until we get there, and see what the other fellows do; but there is one thing I can promise you, and that is, that our district shall not fall behind any of the rest of them if it takes a coach and six to hold it up."
When we arrived at the parliament, of course McLeod's ideas of etiquette and good form met with a rude check, and that was the last I ever heard of the subject.
But it was not the last I heard of my colleague. His convivial and belligerent characteristics led him into all sorts of scrapes. He was, however, usually quitecompetent to take care of himself, and we each followed our own trails without interference, until some political question of more than ordinary interest came up in the house, and an evening session was agreed upon for its discussion. McLeod was to speak on the subject, and he spent nearly all day in preparation, which consisted in dropping in at old Caulder's, a brother Scotchman, about every hour and taking a drink, so when the time arrived he was loaded to the guards with inspiration.
In the old capitol the halls of legislation were on the second floor, the house on one side and the council on the other, with an open hall between them and a stairway leading up from below. The height between the floors was about sixteen feet. It had been arranged that a keg of whisky should be put into the council chamber, to be presided over by the sergeant-at-arms of the council, who was an enormous man, larger even than McLeod.
The hour arrived, a large party attended the debate, among whom were Joe Rolette and I, many ladies also gracing the occasion. McLeod spoke, and after he had finished, he sauntered over to the council chamber to refresh himself. While the custodian of the keg was getting him a drink, McLeod asked if he had heard his speech, and how he liked it. The sergeant ventured a not very flattering criticism on some remark he had made, when George slapped him viciously across the face with a pair of buckskin gauntlets he held in his hand. He had hardly struck the blow, when the sergeant seized him, and rushed him across the hall to the railing around the staircase, reaching which, over McLeod went backwards to the bottom, sixteen feet below, with a crash that could be heard all over the building. In a moment or two, my friend, Joe Rolette, came running breathlessly to me, and gasped out, "Hiawatha, Hiawatha" [the name he always called me], "McLeod is dead." I sprang to my feet, and rushed down stairs, where I found McLeod laid out on a lounge in the office of the secretary of the territory, with Doctor Le Boutillier, a French member from St. Anthony, endeavoring to pacify him. The conversation ran as follows:
Doctor: "Georges, mon ami; ne bouge pas, tu a le bras cassé."McLeod: "Fiche-Moi la paix, on peut courber le bras à un Ecossais; on ne peut pas le lui casser."Which translated would read:"George, my friend, be quiet, your arm is broken.""Stand aside, you may bend a Scotchman's arms, but you can't break them."
Doctor: "Georges, mon ami; ne bouge pas, tu a le bras cassé."
McLeod: "Fiche-Moi la paix, on peut courber le bras à un Ecossais; on ne peut pas le lui casser."
Which translated would read:
"George, my friend, be quiet, your arm is broken."
"Stand aside, you may bend a Scotchman's arms, but you can't break them."
Poor McLeod's right arm was broken badly, which laid him up until the end of the session.
A short time after the legislature had dissolved George was standing in a saloon on Third street, with his right arm in a sling, and a glass of whisky in his left hand, which he was about to drink, when who should walk in but the big sergeant. Without a word George discharged the contents of his glass into the face of the sergeant, and prepared for battle, crippled as he was; but the interruption of friends and the chivalry of the sergeant prevented an encounter, and so ended the legislative career of the gentleman from Canada. Whether it would have terminated otherwise had we set up our coach and livery and changed our moccasins for patent leather boots I leave to the decision of the reader.
He went with General Sibley's command to the Missouri, where I believe he remained.
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In all ages, and among all people who had progressed beyond absolute individualism and gained any kind of government or community interests, there must have been some kind of law to settle disputes and controversies, whether of a public or private nature, and I remember once, in the very early days of Minnesota, of witnessing a test which bore a close resemblance to a trial by jury, and involved an important question of individual character which would have been classified under our jurisprudence as an action of slander. It occurred among the Sioux Indians, and presented many features of much interest that made an impression on me which I have never forgotten. The whole proceeding was absolutely natural and aboriginal in its character and conduct, and free from the technicalities which sometimes obstruct the progress of the administration of justice in modern times.
It is well known that the value of the testimony of a witness depends very much upon his demeanor and manner of delivering it in court, and that the judge usually tells the jury that they must take these matters into consideration in giving it its true weight; but in the case I am about to relate there was nothing but the appearance and manner of the witnesses testifying upon which to base a judgment of their truth or falsity, and it was this novel feature that lent additional and peculiar interest to the controversy.
The Sioux Indians have a rude kind of jurisprudence which gets at the truth by a sort of natural intuition, and the case I witnessed convinced me that justice had been reached with more certainty than in nine out of ten of our jury trials. We have all heard of trial by battle, under the old English law, and the trial of witches by water, where, if they sank and drowned they were innocent, and if they floated they were guilty and were hanged. But this trial was based on public sentiment or the ability of bystanders to detect guilt or innocence from the appearance and conduct of the litigants during the trial, which, although a crude method, is, in my judgment, much safer than some of those practised by our ancestors at no very remote date.
The trial I refer to is called the "Virgin Feast." It is brought about in this way: Some gossip or scandal is started in a band about one of the young women. It reaches the ears of her mother. In order to test its truth or falsity, the mother commands her daughter to give a "Virgin Feast." The accused cooks some rice, and invites all the maidens of the band to come and partake. They appear, each with a red spot painted on each cheek, as an emblem of virginity. They seat themselves in a semi-circle on the prairie, and the hostess supplies each of them with a bowl of rice which is set before her. A boulder, painted red, is placed in front of them, about ten feet distant, and a large knife is thrust into the ground in front of, and close up to, the stone. All the young men attend as spectators. This ceremony is, on the part of the accused and any girl who takes a place in the ring, a challenge to the world, that, if any one has aught to say against her, he has the privilege of saying it. If nothing is said, and the feast is eaten uninterruptedly, the maiden who gave the feast is vindicated, and the gossip disbelieved; but if the challenge is taken up by any young buck, he steps forward and seizes the girl he accuses by the hand, pulls her out of the ring, and makes his charges. She has the right of swearing on the stone and knife to her innocence, which goes a great way in her vindication, but is not conclusive. If she swears,and he persists, an altercation ensues, and public sentiment is formed on view of the contestants' actions.
I remember once, at one of these trials, of seeing a young fellow of about twenty-five, step forward and rudely grasp the hand of a girl of about sixteen, jerk her to her feet, and make some scandalous charge against her. The look she gave him was so full of righteous indignation, scorn and offended virtue that no one could see it without being at once enlisted in her favor. She glared on him for a moment, with a look that only outraged innocence can assume, when shouts went up from the crowd, "Swear! Swear!" She approached the stone with the bearing of a princess, and placed her hand upon it with an air that could not be mistaken; then throwing a look of triumph at the spectators, she strode back to face her accuser with the confidence that bespeaks innocence. The fellow began to weaken, and in less than a moment was in full flight with a howling mob after him, hurling sticks and stones at him with no gentle intent. He disappeared, and the girl took her place in the ring as fully vindicated as if the lord chief justice of England had decided her case. I recollect very distinctly that my convictions of her innocence induced by the general features of the trial and conduct of the litigants were as strong as any member of the court.
It probably would not do to depend upon such evidence in the more complicated affairs of civilized life, and with a people educated in dissimulation and the control of the emotions, but with a simple and natural people I don't believe many mistakes were made in arriving at just judgments.
"Innocence unmovedAt a false accusation doth the moreConfirm itself; and guilt is best discover'dBy its own fears."
"Innocence unmovedAt a false accusation doth the moreConfirm itself; and guilt is best discover'dBy its own fears."
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From the earliest days of recorded history man has regarded his prowess in war as the most valuable of his exploits, and success in war has generally been measured by the number of slain on the battle-field. I don't know how the facts were arrived at in ancient times, and whether or not they had war correspondents who followed the armies and reported their doings I can't say, but as the art of printing was unknown, and the means of communication were very limited, it seems doubtful if the results were arrived at in that way. From what I know of human nature and character, I am convinced that, if the reports were made through the commanders in the field, the lists of the enemy slain may fairly be discounted about seventy-five per cent. Have we not had reports of the most exaggerated character as to the number of prisoners captured and enemies killed so recently as our Civil War? And have we ever read of a battle with the Indians or other uncivilized people where, after giving our own losses, we have not met with the old stereotyped report, "that the loss of the enemy was far greater, but as they always remove their dead and wounded, it is impossible to ascertain the exact number?" The wars now raging in the Philippines and Samoa form no exception to this familiar report. So far as our fights with the American Indians are concerned, I feel quite confident that, where we have killed one Indian, we have lost ten whites, take it through from the Atlantic to the Pacific; but you can't figure out any such results from the reports whichhave made up history. The temptation to exaggerate for the purpose of hero-making and future political preferment is too great to be resisted, and the consequence is that truth suffers amazingly. Perhaps it is better for mankind that the slaughter should be on paper, rather than in fact.
Modern warfare has introduced the new element of the war correspondent. He is generally either a creature of the commander, or desirous of flattering him for personal advantage or some other consideration, and he piles on the praises of the side he represents, diminishes the credit due the enemy, and resolves every doubt against him.
Now the Indian has a way of arriving at the truth of such matters which is infinitely more satisfactory than that of his white brother. He knows just as well as any one what boasters all men are on matters relating to their own exploits, and especially those relating to war, and in order that there shall be no humbug about such matters, he will give no credence to any statement that is not accompanied by the most irrefragable proof. When a warrior comes home and says, "I killed six enemies on my last raid," he is confronted with the demand to produce his evidence, and the only evidence admissible is the scalps of the dead enemies. Should he make such an assertion without the proof, he would be laughed out of the camp as a silly boaster.
Most people think the practice of scalping an enemy, generally indulged in by the Sioux, is a wanton desire cruelly to mutilate the foe. Such is not the case at all; he is prompted solely by the desire of procuring proof of his success, and he will take more chances to get a scalp than he would for any other object in life. Among the Sioux, and I believe most of the tribes of North America, for every enemy killed a warrior is entitled to wear a head-dress with an eagle feather in it, which to him fills the same place in his character and reputation as the Victoria cross or the medal of the legion of honor, or any other of the numerous decorations bestowed upon white men for deeds of bravery and honor; and to gain this distinction he is moved by the same impulse that actuated Hobson in sinking the Merrimac in the harbor of Santiago, or the actors in the thousand and one daring deeds in which men in all ages have freely risked their lives.
Scalping is an art, and the manner in which it is done, depends wholly upon the circumstances of the occasion. A complete and perfect scalp embraces the whole hair of the head, with a margin of skin all round it about two and a half inches in width, including both ears with all their ornaments. This can only be obtained when the victor has abundant time to operate leisurely. When he is beset by the enemy, all he can do, as a general thing, is to seize the hair with the left hand and hold up the scalp with it and then give a quick cut with his knife, and get as big a piece as he can. By this hurried process he rarely gets a piece larger than a small saucer, and generally not bigger than a silver dollar; but no matter how small it may be, it entitles him to his feather. Among the Sioux the killing of a full grown grizzly bear is equivalent to the killing of an enemy, and entitles the victor to the same decoration. I have known Indians who wore as many as sixteen feathers.
It is not alone the importance that these decorations give the wearer which enters into their value. When he returns from the war path, bearing scalps, he is received by all his band with demonstrations of the greatest pride and honor. If you can imagine Dewey landing at NewYork from the Philippines, you can form some idea of the honors that would be heaped upon a victorious savage. If the weather is pleasant, he strips to the waist, and paints his body jet black. He places on the top of his head a round ball of pure white swan's down, about the size of a large orange, and takes in his hand a staff, about five feet long, with a buckskin fringe tacked on to the upper three feet of it. On the end of each shred of the fringe is a piece of a deer's hoof, forming a rattle, by striking together when shaken up and down. When arrayed in this manner he marches up and down the village, recounting in a sort of a chant the entire history of the events of the raid on the enemy, going into the most minute details, and indulging in much imagination and superstition. He tells what he dreamed, what animals he saw, and how all these things influenced his conduct. He continues this ceremony for days and days, and is the admiration of all his people. I have seen four or five of them together promenading in this way, and have taken an interpreter and marched with them by the hour listening to their stories.
When this part of the performance is over, the scalps are tanned by the women, as they would tan a buffalo-skin, the inside painted red, and the whole stretched on a circular hoop, about the size of a barrel hoop, to which is attached a straight handle, about four feet long, so that it can be carried in the air above the heads of the people. It is also decorated with all the trinkets found on the person of the slain.
Then begins the dancing. When night comes the men arrange themselves in two lines, about fifteen feet apart, facing each other, all provided with tom-toms, and musical instruments of all kinds known to the savage. When everything is ready, they sing a kind of a weirdchant, keeping time with the instruments and their feet. Then the squaws, with the scalps held aloft, dance in between the lines of men from opposite directions, until they meet, when they chassé to the right and left, then dance back and forward again, every once in a while emitting a sharp little screech which I have never known to be successfully imitated. During the dance, the men join in a kind of shuffle from right to left, and back again, keeping the music going all the time. The whole performance is one of the most savage and weird ceremonies I have ever witnessed. It is kept up for weeks.
It was a frequent amusement for half a dozen of us to throw blankets over our heads, and join in the dance for half an hour or so. I have been lulled to sleep many times by this wild music, heard from a distance of half a mile, on a still night.
It was supposed that when the scalp was taken while the leaves were on the trees, it was danced over until they fell, and then buried, and when taken in winter it was buried when the leaves came in the spring, but I never was quite sure about this. I wanted one very much once, and a party of us went in the night just back of St. Peter, where we supposed they had been buried, and dug for them, and to our horror struck the toes of a dead Indian. That cured my desire in this direction.
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In the early days of what is now Minnesota there were two families of missionaries living among the Sioux of the Mississippi, who, like many of their profession, devoted their whole lives to spreading the gospel of Christ among the savages. They were those of Dr. Williamson and the Rev. Stephen R. Riggs, both of whom had lived with these Indians long before I came among them. When I first became connected with these Indians I found the missionaries comfortably installed at the Yellow Medicine agency, with quite a village around them. They had dwelling houses, and a commodious schoolhouse, where they took Indian children at a very early age, with a view of civilizing and Christianizing them. They had also a very pretty church, with a steeple on it, and a bell in the steeple, and all the other buildings necessary for the complete and efficient operation of their laudable undertaking. They were full of zeal and enthusiasm in the cause, and had progressed to a point where it looked to an outsider as if success was only a question of a short time, if it was not already an accomplished fact. The Bible had been translated into the Sioux language, and they had hymn books and catechisms in the same language. They had learned to speak Sioux thoroughly, and could preach and sing in that language. Many is the time I have attended church at the little meeting house, and heard the simple old Presbyterian hymns sung to the tunes that have resounded for generations through the meeting houses of New England. It was a most solemn and impressive spectacle, in the heart of the Indian country, tosee a Christian church filled with devout worshippers all in the costume of savagery, and to listen to the oft-told story of the Saviour who died that man might live. Such a scene carries with it a much more convincing proof of the universality of the Christian religion than a church full of fashionably dressed people in a great city. It suggests its limitless application to all the human race, even if dwelling in the remotest part of the earth.
The experience of these good missionaries had taught them that civilization was the most potent auxiliary to religion, and, for the success of either, the other was a necessary aid and adjunct when dealing with these primitive people. So they set themselves to work to devise plans to instill into the Indians the elemental principles of government based on law. They organized a little state or community among them, through which they endeavored to prove to them the advantages of civilized rule through the agency of officers of their own choice and laws of their own making. They called their state "The Hazelwood Republic," which embraced all the missionary establishment, and all the Indians they could induce to unite in the enterprise. They drew a written constitution, the provisions of which were to govern and direct the conduct of the members and the workings of the community. Of course, the fundamental principles upon which the whole fabric rested were similar to those taught by the ten commandments. The Indians, with the advice of the missionaries, elected a president for the young republic, and the choice fell upon a wise and upright man, about fifty years of age, whose name was Ma-za-cu-ta-ma-mi, or "The man who shoots metal as he walks," and to give the matter a more pronounced ecclesiastical aspect, they added a scriptural name by way of a prefix to the names of all the officers.For instance, they called the president, Paul Ma-za-cu-ta-ma-mi, and one of the deacons, Simon Ana-wang-ma-ni, which means "The man who can keep up with any moving object;" or, as things turned out in the end, it could well have been translated into the "Fast Man."
The first act necessary for initiation as a citizen of the republic was cutting off the long hair universally worn by the Sioux, and if any act could be taken as indicative of sincerity, this one seemed to be conclusive. It is quite as much of a sacrifice for an Indian to cut off his hair as it would be for a young lady in society possessed of a splendid suit of hair to cut it off short and appear at a grand ball with her head thus denuded.
The next step was to wear a hat, and exchange the breech-clout for pantaloons, and the blanket for a shirt or coat. Notwithstanding this terrible ordeal of naturalization, the population of the republic increased, and the church was well attended. The praying and singing was participated in quite generally by the members, and the future republic looked promising. One of the most exemplary citizens and devout worshippers was deacon Simon Ana-wang-ma-ni. He led in prayer, and labored heart and soul for the good of the republic and the church. He was the last man that anyone would have expected to fall from grace, and no one ever thought of such a thing; but, strange as it may appear, he one day sought an interview with the missionaries, and announced the astounding fact that an Indian who had killed his cousin some eight years before had returned from the Missouri river country, and he thought it was his duty to kill him in retaliation. The astonishment of the missionaries may be well imagined. They cited to him the commandment, "Thou shalt not kill," and dwelt upon the awful sinfulness of such an act, and he wouldsay, "I know what the Bible says, and I believe in Sundays, but he killed my cousin." Then they would attack him on the laws of the republic of which he was a high official, and dwell upon the dreadful example such an act would set before the brethren of the church, and he would reply, "Oh, yes; I know all that; but he killed my cousin." Then, in despair, they would tell him that he was no longer an Indian; that he had become a white man, and the laws of the white man forbid such revenge. "I know all that," he would say, "but he killed my cousin." As a final resort, the faithful and believing missionaries concluded to call in the aid of heaven to assist them, and they prayed with Simon for hours, days and nights, in all of which he joined with fervor and unction; but he could not divest himself of the all-pervading idea that his cousin had been killed, and the sacred duty had devolved upon him to avenge his death. This belief had been born in him, and no religion of the white man could eradicate it. True to the creed of his ancestors, he got a double-barrelled shotgun and went out and killed his enemy.
Of course, this murder opened up a new feud, arraying relative against relative, and destroyed Simon's influence as a deacon in the church and an officer of the republic to such a degree as almost to destroy all the good that both had accomplished. I mention this incident to show what uncertain ground the missionaries find to sow the seeds of Christianity in when working among savages.
Notwithstanding such discouragements as the above, I believe much good was done through the efforts of the missionaries. In times of great trouble and excitement I always found the best friends of the whites among the Indians who had felt the enlightening influences of themissionaries, not excepting Simon, who with Paul, John Otherday, and many others, performed heroic services for the whites when friends were most needed; but I have never been able to settle the question in my mind as to whether any of them ever grasped the principles of the Christian religion.
In 1862 the Sioux openly rebelled against the whites, and it was solely through the good offices of Otherday and Paul that these missionaries escaped massacre. All their buildings and their labor of long years were destroyed, and they were driven out of the country. Most people would have thought that they would have had enough of such a life. I know I thought so, but not so with these devoted people. Shortly after the suppression of the outbreak I met Dr. Williamson, and asked him what were his future intentions. Without the least hesitation he answered that he would look up the remnant of his tribe, and continue his work.
All the heroes are not found in the ranks of the fighters.