WIGWAM AND WARPATH.
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; ofpowercompellingweaknesswhile 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 Governmentin 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.
Theimpressionwas, thatpowerandmightwere 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 gaugeof 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 ithas 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 isfair, 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 thanbeing“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, withseemingindifference, 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 civilizationshouldwarm 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 thehind 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 berevenge.
Indian pondering invading wagon trains and hunters.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 recuperatinghis 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 flashingmuskets. 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 thatfearhad more to do with our gymnastic exercises round about the wagon-wheels thanhopehad 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 ascivilized, 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, severalhundredacres,—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 degreesthe 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 withnegativeand photograph wouldfeelthe 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 theirliege lords.
Mrs. Squaw had no rights that a brave was bound to respect. It washerbusiness to carry wood, build lodges, saddle his horse, and lash the pappoose in the basket, and do all other drudgery. It washisto 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 drunkor angry; and it was nobody’s business to questionhim. He was aman.
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 boysmaybe 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. Nov 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.
Thenthe 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.
Nowthey 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 promptingsof 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 whimsand 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 privilegeof 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!”
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 hisassurance, 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 andwomen of other than white blood; not alone in simple politeness, but also in regard to right and justice, whose flags of truce are never raisedostensiblyto insure protection, butreallyto 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.
Indian negotiating a trade with white family.Bull-Dog Trade.
Occasionally, for years afterwards, his people came back to visit; buthe 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.
WhileI 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 abuckat a distance of a hundred yards,” and when the query was made as to the whereabouts of his game he produced abloody 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 theHumbolt 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,bettercounsels 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 throughother 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 wereriddled 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 thingsunpleasant to the ears of white menas well as Indians, and, perhaps, discreditable to both. I doubt not such revelation would support the declaration I here make,—thatbad white menhave 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, isnot less true.
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,” fewbrought 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 engagedreserved seatswere 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 getclear 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 itmade the stock of other trains restless,and often theywould 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 adacent 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, fora 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 atthe “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., andotherslooking 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 thehorse 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 thesame 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 whichshe 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 mefor 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.