[3]See Appendix.
[3]See Appendix.
The enrolment referred to was completed. The surveying was done by Col. D. P. Thompson, United States Deputy Surveyor.
While he was engaged in doing this work, the Indians assisted materially, and followed him in crowds, each anxious to see where the lines would run, whether they would conform to their preconceived hopes or not.
The thoughts of these men—for they were men—must have been very comforting at the prospect of promises being at last fulfilled. Many years had passed,waiting, waiting, waiting for the time to come when they should have homes “like white men.” They well understood the arrangement in regard to the amount of land that was to be given to each. I have not the “Willamette Treaty” before me, but, from memory, state, that eachgrown personwas to have twenty acres, with ten acres additional for each minor child.
Col. Thompson, the surveyor, relates, that while engaged in surveying near the house of a “Wapto” Indian, said Indian came to him with a very serious face, and requested the suspension of the work. The colonel, being a humorous man, and patient withal, entertained the petition, but demanded to know the reason why the survey should stop.
“Wapto” said, in jargon, “Indian Neeseka-nan-itch-mi-ka, is-cum, twenty acres; Nika cluchman is-cum, twenty acres; Ni-ka ten-us-cluchman is-cum, ten acres; Nika ten-us-man is-cum, ten acres; Ma-mook, sixty acres; Al-ka. You see I get twenty acres, my squaw get twenty acres, my daughter get ten acres, my son get ten acres, making sixty acres in all. Spose Mesika Capit mamook icta elihe, Kau-yua nika is cum, seventy acres. Suppose you stop surveying, and wait awhile, I can get seventy acres, may be eighty acres. Cum-tux,—understand?”
The colonel took the hint, when the Indian pointed to the small lodge, fitted up expressly, as the custom among these people is, for important occasions of the kind intimated above.
Whether he changed his course in surveying, he did not say, but went on to relate, that a few days after the above conversation, the same Indian came to him and said, “Nika-is-cum, Ten-is-man”—“I have another boy.”—“Klat-a-wa-ma-mook-elihe”—“Go on with the survey.”—“Nika is-cum, seventy acres”—“I get seventy acres.” He seemed much elated with the new boy, and the additional ten acres of land.
The surveying was completed, but “red tape” was in the way of allotment, much to the satisfaction of some of the people, who were hoping for as good fortuneas “Wapto,” in the same way; others, who were hopeless of such luck, were anxious for the lands to be set apart at once, because each new-comer made the chances less in securing good homes, by being crowded of to make room for the additions that such events demanded.
The allotment has finally been made. The people are overjoyed, and they start off on this new order of life with commendable zeal. I have no doubt of their ability to maintain themselves, when they shall have been admitted to the new relationships in life. While they have been long in bondage, treated as dependents, and begrudged the valley wherein they have been placed by the Government, they have, nevertheless, attained to a status of manhood that entitles them to consideration. They fully appreciate such evidences of recognition, and should be consulted in regard to the expenditure of their funds, the appointment of agents and employés, the selection of church ministries and school teachers.
During one of my official visits they assembled to the number of nearly one hundred, and paraded on horseback, for a grand demonstration. They were well dressed, and well mounted on good horses. After performing various evolutions, they drew up in front of the agency office in a half circle. The leader then made a speech, a portion of which I copy here, from the memoranda made at that time. It was in American language, and began, “Mr. Meacham: You our chief. We look on you as our father. We show you how we get along. We think we white men now. We no Injuns now. We all Republicans. We know ’bout the big war. We no Democrats.One man he live with me—he Democrat—us boys all laugh. He get shamed; he good ‘publican now. These all our horses, we work for ’em. S’pose you want us work road, all right; s’pose you tell us pay the tax, all right. Sometime we vote just like a white man. All right. S’pose the President want soldier, we are white men; we know all about everything; we can fight. We are not boys; we know about law. That’s all right.
“We want to hear you talk. You talk all the same; you talk to white men. Some of these people don’t understand, we tell them; you go ahead, talk all the time;” meaning I should make a speech without waiting to have it interpreted.
I felt then that I was their servant. The Government was paying me for my time, and whatever of ability I might have. I was not there to make a hurried call, and go away without doing them good.
My remarks were, substantially, that I was glad to see them appear so much like white men; that the Government would give them lands, and would do right by them. A few years ago, a great many black people were slaves; now everybody is free. Every man is counted by his sense and conduct,notby his color. You men are almost white in your habits. You are doing well; you have made a good start. After the land is allotted, you will each have a home, and in four years the treaty will be dead; then you can come up with the white man. You will pay taxes and vote.
Dave said: “There is something else we want you to talk about. Some of us Injuns are Catholic; some of us are not. The Catholics don’t want to go to theother meetings. They don’t talk all the same. We want to understand about this religion.”
The agency was, at that time, under the supervision of the Methodist Church. A Catholic priest had been laboring with these people for many years, and had baptized a large number of them.
The assignment of agencies was made without proper knowledge of the religious antecedents of the people. Many of them had been, from time to time, under the teaching of other churches, especially the Methodist Episcopal Church. They had also formed their ideas from association with the farmers, for whom they had worked at various times. I realized then, as I have often done, the very embarrassing circumstances that surrounded the subject.
If I have ever doubted the feasibility of the church policy, it was because no well-defined regulations were ever made. Regarding these matters it is a doubtful question which of the churches named had priority of right to minister to the people of Grand Round Agency. Though the Catholics had been many years among them, the Methodists had, at an earlier date, taught them in matters pertaining to religion.
I fully realized the importance of Dave’s request, and so deferred action until the Catholic father could be summoned. Father Waller, one of the early founders of Methodist missions in Oregon, was present. When the former arrived, the subject was again brought up. In the mean time, however, a new question arose, and an incident occurred worthy of a place in this connection.
The habits of these people are their lives really, and when an old custom is abolished, the substitutemay be clumsily introduced, and not well understood. I refer to the marriage law. The old way was to buy the girl, or make presents to the parents until they gave consent for the marriage. The new order of things forbade this way of performing this sacred rite.
The hero of this episode—Leander—was a fine, handsome young fellow, who belonged to Siletz Agency, and from his agent had learned something of the working of the law. Siletz and Grand Round Agencies are within one day’s ride.
The heroine—Lucy—lived on the latter, with her parents, who were “Umpyuas.”
Leander had obtained a pass—permission—from his agent, stating the object of the visit, and had been well drilled in regard to his rights under the “new law.” He had proposed, and, so far as the girl’s consent was concerned, been accepted. But the parents of Lucy could not be so easily conciliated.
It is true they had assented to the new law, but were reluctant to see Lucy marry a man, and go away to another agency to live. I think, however, the absence of presents had something to do with their reluctance. Leander had promised his agent that he would stand by the new law,—make no presents to the parents.
The “old folks” founded their objection on other grounds when submitting the case for settlement. Leander requested a private interview with me. He then stated that he was willing to pacify the old folks by making a present or two, if he thought Mr. Simpson would not find out about it. He declared he never would return to Siletz without Lucy; said he thought she was a good young cluchman; he loved her betterthan any on Siletz. “She is stout; she can work; she can keep house like a white woman. She is no squaw. I want her mighty bad. You s’pose you can fix it all right? I don’t want them old folks mad at me. They say if she goes away now she get no land. Can’t she get land at Siletz? They don’t care for her. They want some ictas (presents); they want me to wait until you give the land; that’s what they want.”
I promised to arrange the matter for him somehow, although I could see the difficulties that embarrassed the marriage, as indicated by Leander’s talk.
Had the allotment of lands been made, no objections would have been had on that score. The father and mother called upon me, wishing advice. Grand Round was, at this time, without a general agent, and was running in charge of a special agent,—Mr. S. D. Rhinehart; hence the duties of an agent were devolved upon the superintendents, and one of the important duties is to hear the complaints, and adjust all matters of difference.
The “old folks” were much excited over this affair of their daughter Lucy, who had, as her white sisters sometimes do, given evidence of her interest in the question, by declaring she would marry Leander, and possibly said something equivalent to the “there now” of a spoiled girl.
They were much affected. The father’s chief objection, I think, was to prospective loss of ten acres of land; the mother’s, the companionship and services of her daughter, added to a mother’s anxiety for the welfare of her child. She shed some real tears, woman-like.
The father said, when he would wake up in themorning and call “Lucy,” she could not hear him, and that he would be compelled to go for his horse when he wanted to ride. Lucy had always done that kind of work for him.
The conference was protracted, for I recognized in this affair a precedent that might be of great importance to the Indians of Grand Round Agency hereafter. I foresee, in the future, some stony-hearted Indian hater, scowling while he reads this mention of sentiment and feeling on the part of Indians. Scowl on, you cold-blooded, one-sided, pale-face, protected in your life, your rights, and even your affections, by a great, strong Government!
Finally, all the parties interested were taken into the council. The mother put some pertinent questions to Leander.
“Do you ever drink whiskey? Do you gamble? Will you whip Lucy when you are mad? Will you let her come to see me when she wants to?”
Leander’s answers were satisfactory, and, I think, sincere. He promised, as many a white boy has to his sweetheart’s mother, what he would not have done to a mother-in-law. That relationship changes the courage, and loosens the tongue of many a man.
Lucy was not slow to speak her mind on the subject. “Leander, Clat-a-wa-o-koke-Sun-Siletz. E-li-he, hi-ka-tum-tum, ni-ak-clut-a-wa. (Leander goes to Siletz, my heart will go with him, to-day.) Ni-ka-wake-clut-or-wa-niker, min-a-lous.” (“If I don’t go, I will die.”) This settled the question.
Being the first marriage under the new law, it was decided to make it a precedent that would have proper influence on subsequent weddings. The ladies residentat the agency, were informed of the affair, and requested to assist the bride in making preparations for the ceremony.
Leander was well dressed, but he required some drilling. Dr. Hall, the resident-physician, assumed the task, and calling two or three boys and girls to the office, the ceremony was rehearsed until Leander said, “That’s good. I understand how to get married.”
The people came together to witness the marriage. The men remounted their horses, and formed in a half circle in front of the office, women and children within the arc, all standing. The porch in front of the office was the altar. Father Waller, with his long white hair floating in the wind, stood with Bible in hand. A few moments of stillness, and then the office door opened, and Leander stepped out with Lucy’s hand in his.
The doctor had arranged for bridesmaids and groomsmen. As they filed out into the sunlight, every eye was fixed on the happy couple. The attendants were placed in proper position, and then the voice of Father Waller broke the silence in an extempore marriage service. Leander and Lucy were pronounced man and wife, and, the white people leading off, the whole company passed before the married pair and offered congratulations.
Great was the joy, and comical the scene. One of the customs of civilized life was omitted, that of kissing the bride. Father Waller could not, consistently, set the example, the doctor would not, and, since no white man led the way, the Indian boys remained in ignorance of their privilege.
The horsemen dismounted and paid the honor due, each following the exact model, and if one white man had kissed the bride, every Indian man on the agency would have done likewise.
One young man asked the bridegroom in Indian, “Con-chu-me-si-ka-ka-tum-tum?” (“How is your heart now?”) “Now-wit-ka-close-tum-tum-tum-ni-ka.” (“My heart is happy now.”) I have witnessed such affairs among white people, and I think that I have not seen any happier couple than Leander and Lucy.
The dance, in confirmation of the event, was well attended. It being out of Father Waller’s walk in life, and my own also, we did not participate in the amusement. But we looked on a few moments, and were surprised to see the women and girls dressed in style, somewhat grotesque, ’tis true, but all in fashion; indeed, in several fashions.
Some of them wore enormous hoops, others long trails, all of them bright-hued ribbons in their hair. Some with chignons, frizzles, rats, and all the other paraphernalia of ladies’ head-gear. The men were clad in ordinary white man’s garb, except that antiquated coats and vests were more the rule than the exception. Black shining boots and white collars were there. A few had gloves,—some buckskin, some woollen; others wore huge rings; but, taken all in all, the ball would have compared favorably with others more pretentious in point of style, and even elegance.
These people were apt scholars in this feature of civilization. The music on the occasion was furnished by Indian men, with violins. Few people aremore mirthful, or enter with more zest into sports, when circumstances are favorable, than do Indians.
The day following the wedding, a general council, or meeting, was held. Father Waller of the Methodist, and Father Croystel of the Catholic Church, being present, the subject of religion was taken up and discussed. The facts elicited were, that many of the Indians, perhaps a majority, were in favor of the Catholic Church. The remainder were in favor of the Methodist, a few only appearing indifferent.
Neither of the fathers took part in the “talks.” My own opinion, expressed then and since, on other occasions, was, that the greatest liberty of conscience should be allowed in religious practice. That the people should honor all religions that were Christian. No bitter feelings were exhibited. I attended, at other times, the Catholic Church exercises, conducted by Rev. Father Croystel. The Indians came in large numbers, some of them on horses, but the majority in wagons; whole families, cleanly clad and well behaved.
Those who belonged to the Catholic Church were devout, and assisted the father in the ceremonies and responses. The invitation was extended to any and all denominations to preach; on one occasion a minister came by invitation, and preached in the office. The attendance was not large, but the employés of the agency monopolized all the available benches. They seemed to think that the Indians had no rights. The preacher began his discourse, and, after dilating on the word of God, with a prosy effort to explain some abstruse proposition in theology, for half an hour, my patience became exhausted, and I arose andmade the suggestion that, since the meeting was for the benefit of the Indians, something should be said which they might understand. More seats were provided, and the preacher started anew, and when a sentence was uttered that was within the comprehension of those for whom the preaching was intended, it was translated. This meeting, however, did not do them very much good, because it was not conducted in a way that was understood by the Indians.
The man who was trying to do good had undoubtedly answered when some one else had been called of God to preach the gospel. He would, perhaps, have made a passable mechanic, but he had no qualifications for preaching to Indians. He was not human enough. He was too well educated. He knew too much. Had he beenless learned, or possessed morecommon sense, he might have been competent to teach great grown-up children, as these Indian people are, in the Christian religion.
A short colloquy overheard between two of the red children he had been preaching to would have set him to thinking. The talk was in the Indian language, but, translated, would have run in about the following style:—
“Do you understand what all that talk was about?”—“No; do you? Well, he was talking wicked half the time, and good half the time. He was telling about a man getting lost a long time ago. Got lost and didn’t find himself for forty years. That’s a big story, but maybe it is so. I don’t know. Never heard of it before.”
I need not say to the reader, that this minister had been preaching about Moses. Perhaps he was not tobe censured. He may have done the best he could. He did not know how to reach an Indian’s heart.
The schools at this agency were not flourishing. The reason was that the mode was impracticable. Schools were taught with about as much sense and judgment as the preaching just referred to.
After several years of stupid experimenting, at an expense of many thousands of dollars, there was not among these Indians half a dozen of them who could read and understand a common newspaper notice. The fault was not with the pupils; it was the system.
The Indians of this agency are farther advanced than those of any others in Oregon, in everything that goes to make up a civilized people. They have, since the allotment of lands, made rapid progress, and bid fair to become rivals of other people in the pursuit of wealth, and other characteristics that make a people prosperous. Some of them are already the equals of their white neighbors in integrity of character and business tact. They have abandoned their old laws and customs, and have been working under civil laws. They elect officers and hold courts, somewhat after the manner of a mock Legislature; in other words, they are practising and rehearsing, in anticipation of the time when they shall become citizens.
Like all other races, they learn the vices much quicker than the virtues of their superiors. It cannot be denied that they follow bad examples sometimes, especially intemperance; but when considered fairly, taking note of the influences that have been thrown around them; the many different agents, and kinds of policies under which they have lived; the fact that they were wild Indians sixteen years ago; that theyhave been kept in constant fear of being removed; hope deferred so often and so long; that they were remnants of many small tribes; that their numbers have decreased so rapidly,—then they stand out in a new light, and challenge commendation.
Lift your heads, Indians of Grand Round! you are no longer slaves; you are free.
This agency, with the people who are there now, and who have been there as Government officers and employés, would furnish material for volumes of real live romance; racy stories, sad tales, great privations, disease, death and suffering make up the history of such places. No character required to make a thrilling drama, a bloody tragedy, or comic personality, would be wanting. Better live only in tradition, or fireside story, than in printed page. The latter would embarrass men who have passed through some of the chairs of office, and poor fellows, too, who have sponged a living off of “Uncle Sam,” and cheated the people of thousands of dollars, and months of labor, that they were paid for doing. Let the history die untold, since it could not restore justice to either Government or people. Some of those who have administered on Grand Round Agency have left the Indians in much better condition than they found them, and will live forever in the memory of those they served so faithfully.
Before leaving this agency I would state one feature of Indian life that exists everywhere, but it is less prominent on this than other agencies.
I refer to thepoorand theold. Perhaps the last Christian virtue that finds lodgment in Indian hearts is regard or reverence for age, especially old women.They are drudges everywhere, and when too old to labor are sometimes neglected.
Poor, miserable-looking old women, blind, lame, and halt, charity would shed more tears at your death than your children would. While this deplorable indifference for them exists to a fearful extent, there are notable exceptions, particularly among the Grand Round Indians. In every council they were found standing up and pleading for something to be done for the old and poor. These old creatures nearly always hobble to the meetings, and although they seem fair specimens of the Darwinian theory, they, nevertheless, have feelings and gratitude even for small favors. A grasp of the hand seems to impart a ray of sunshine to their benighted faces.
A few years more, and all the old ones will be gone, and their successors will take the vacant places with prospects of more humane treatment than they have hitherto received.
Heaven pity thepoorand old, for man has little for them that casts even a glimmer of hope, save on their waiting tombs!
THE AGED PAIR—BIRTHPLACE OF LEGENDS.
The scene changes, and we stand on the deck of a river steamer with its prow pointed eastward.
For hours we have steamed along in the shadows of the Cascade mountains, through deep, dark cañons, with walls so high that the smoke-stack of our little boat seemed like a pipe-stem. “Puny thing” it is. Yet it bears us over boiling eddies and up rapids that shoot between high rocks like immense streams of silver from the great furnace of creation.
We are startled at the sound of the whistle on our deck, and grow anxious when the nearest cañon answers back, and still another takes up the sound, and the echo turns to its original starting-point, and finds its own offspring talking back in fainter voice, until it dies away like the rumbling of some fast-retreating train rushing through the open field or wooded glens.
Soon we are on board the thundering train, whirling away toward the upper cascades, swinging around curves and beneath ledges, and overhanging the rushing floods hundreds of feet below. As we fly swiftly along, the conductor, or some one familiar with this cascade country, points out the battle-grounds where the red men fought white men for their homes. The battle was a fierce one, and lasted several days, when the Indians withdrew.
There are traditions yet among Indians and white settlers; and it is related that in former times the Indians who lived along the banks of the Columbia were employed to assist the white men in transporting goods over the portages (or carrying places), and they were ill-treated by their employers, and their rights disregarded.
The invasion of the country was not the most grievous complaint. They were furnished whiskey, were debauched, and corrupted as a people, until virtue was unknown among their women; the men themselves selling their wives and daughters for the basest purposes. Degraded, polluted, and in despair, they sought to wreak vengeance on their seducers.
If those who debased them were the only victims, no just condemnation could be pronounced against them.
There is a feeling of respect for the man, though a savage he may be, who defends his home, and resents imposition even at the risk of life. But humanity revolts against the butchery of innocent persons, no matter what the color may be, or the cause of provocation of race against race.
A few survivors of the Cascade tribes may be found now on Warm Springs and Yak-a-ma agencies.
The traveller on the Columbia meets, occasionally, a man and his family, still lingering around their old homes, living in bark-covered huts, sometimes employed in laboring for the Steam Navigation Company, who transport the commerce that passes through the mountain at this point. These stragglers are poor, miserably degraded savages, and are not fair specimens of their race.
An old Indian legend connected with the Cascades has been repeated to tourists over and over again. It has been written in verse, in elegant style and forceful expression, by S. A. Clark, Esq., of Salem, Oregon, published in February number of Harper’s Magazine for 1874. The poem is worthy of perusal, and ought to make the author’s fame as a poet.
The substance of the legend is to the effect, that many, many years ago, before the eyes of the pale-faces had gazed on the wonders of the Cascades, the river was bridged by a span of mountains, beneath which it passed to the ocean; that to this bridge the children of Mount Hood on the south, and those of Mount Adams on the north, made yearly pilgrimage, to worship the Great Spirit, and exchange savage courtesies, and to lay in stores of fish for winter use. The Great Spirit blessed them, and they came and went for generations untold.
They tell how the exchange of friendship continued, until at length a beautiful maiden, who had been chosen for a priestess, was wooed and won by a haughty Indian brave of another tribe. On her withdrawal from the office her people became indignant, and demanded her return. This was refused, and when, on their annual visit, they came from the north and from the south, bitter quarrels ensued, until, at last, fierce wars raged, and the rock spanning the river became a battle-ground. Soch-a-la tyee—God—was vexed at the children, and caused the bridge to fall. Thus he separated them, and bade each abide where he had placed them.
The legend still lives fresh in the memory of these Indians, and they respect the command. Few havechanged their residences. The ragged mountains on either side support well the historic tale. High, bald summits stand confronting each other, and it requires no effort of the imagination to see the Great Bridge as it is said once to have stood, and to hear rising on the winds, the weird, wild songs of the people at the time of sacrifice.
At the place where this legend had its origin the “Columbia” is crowded by its banks into so narrow a channel that an Indian might, with his sling, make a stone to trace the curves of the ancient arch. The waters rush so swiftly that the keenest sight can scarcely keep the course of timber drift in view. The river’s bosom is smooth above this rapid flow, and, widening, takes the semblance of a lake, in whose depth may be seen the trees that once were growing green, but now to stone have turned; they never move before the breeze; they sway not, nor yet can yield to the gentle currents, still standing witnesses of the legend’s truth.
Midway between the shores an island stands, fashioned and fitted for a burial-ground of the tribes that had oft, in ages past, made use of it at nature’s invitation, and had borne to this resting-place the warriors whose spirits passed up to the happier lands; while the body resting here might wait for the coming of some Great Prophet, who should bid the bones to rise and become part and parcel of human forms, and mingle with those who remain to build the nightly fires and feed the mouldering bodies of their dead, until the great past should be re-born and live again attended by all the circumstances of savage life.
Small steam boat cruising in gorge amidst towering buttes.The Birthplace of Indian Legends.
Sitting in the pilot-house of the steamer “Tenino,” beside “McNulty,” her captain, hear him tell how these people come, at certain times, to pay honor to their dead; how, in years gone by, from the “Tenino” he could see the old sachems sitting bolt upright in their wooden graves and calmly waiting, watching, with sightless eyes, for the coming hour foretold before they died; how, with fleshless hands, they clutched the rotting handle of the battle-axe of flint or fishing-spears.
Then see his eye kindle while he tells you of relic-hunters from the East, who came on board the “Tenino” with boxes and lines and other devices for relic-hunting, and requested that he would land them on the shores of this lone island. You will feel the fire of that eye warming your heart towards the dead, and living too, when it declares in full sympathy, with the rich Irish voice, “That while he commands the ‘Tenino’no grave-robbersshall ever disturb the old heroes who sit patiently waiting for their resurrection. No sacrilegious foot shall leave his vessel’s deck to perpetrate so foul a deed!”
You will honor him still better when you learn that, in his whole-hearted generosity, he declares that “No man shall ever disturb the repose of the congregated dead, on that little island, while he lives, and escape unpunished.”
Brave, fearless captain, many years have you passed daily in sight, and scanned their sepulchres; self-appointed guardian, you have been true to the impulse of a noble heart; you have exalted our opinion of the race you represent; and for your fidelity to the cause of a common humanity, and especially to the racewhose dark faces seldom light up from recognition by those whose power has been but the destruction of their own, do we thank you.
May many winters come and go before their snows shall bring to you old age; and when, at last, the “Tenino” shall be laid aside, may you still be guardian of this spot, so sacred to many a sad and hopeless heart.
Leaving behind, on our upward journey, the burial-ground of the mountain tribes, in charge of the faithful McNulty, we pass beneath high rock cliffs, sometimes near beautiful valleys, with farm cottages and lowing cattle on hill-side pastures. Through the deep cañons that cut the table mountains in twain, as if made on purpose for tourists’ delight, Mount Hood, the father mountain, comes suddenly in view; the beauty much enhanced when seen through nature’s telescope, made by rifts in solid rocks, with sky-lights reaching to the stars above. Words may not give even a faint outline of the scene. McNulty, though for years he has gazed on this sublime painting,—at morning, when the shadows cover the telescope, but light the mountain up; and at evening, too, when both were shaded,—sees new beauties at every sight; and, not content to worship all alone, he rings his call to the engineer, and the vessel slackens her speed, and “rounds to” in proper place, while the captain calls his guests to the grandest banquet that earth affords, and points out the beauties as each one paints the panorama on his soul.
See, there the old Father Hood stands, with his wreath of snow, which he has worn since the time when man was unknown. Sometimes he hides hishoary head in clouds, unwilling to witness the injustice done the puny children who have played around his feet for generations past. We see his own sons, still in primeval manhood, with heads crowned with fir or laurel, standing at his side and looking up, are ever ready to bear the winter’s burdens that from his shoulders fall.
Again we glide on the smooth surface of the shining river until we hear repeated the captain’s call to witness now how impartial God has been, and to prevent any jealousy that might arise, has made on the other shore, looking northward, twin telescope to the first, and twin mountain, too, for now we see another hoary head, rich in clustered snow-banks that ornament her brow. Mother Adams stands calmly overlooking her daughters, who modestly wear garlands of wild wood-vines, and heavy-topped fragrant cedars. She feels her solitude, and when “Hood” draws his mantle over his majestic shoulders, she, too, puts on a silvery veil of misty wreath, or, in seeming anger, drapes in mourning and weeps; the deluge of her tears giving signs of willingness to make friends again. And then these two old mountains smile and nod, and looking above the clouds that covered the heads of younger ones, they, giants in solitude, become reconciled. The lesser ones then peep through the rising mist, and smile to catch their estranged parents making up.
Leaving these grand scenes, the mountains, smaller, waste away into gentle hills, and we feel that we have passed the portals of a paradise, shut out from ocean storms by great barriers of rocks. The river grows narrow, the banks are perpendicular walls of solidrocks of moderate height. Rounding a turn in the river, suddenly comes to view “The Dalles,” a small city near the river brink, nestling in an amphitheatre, formed by curved walls of rocky bluffs. In times pastThe Dalleswas a starting-point for the mines of Eastern Oregon and Idaho, and was, also, the seat of a United States fort. Its streets have felt the tread of merchant princes, and miners of every grade and color; of the tramping of bands of Indian ponies brought here to be sold or to parade some red man’s wealth; of heavily ladened wheels bearing merchandise.
Busy throngs peopled then its streets, but now they are less merry; business has taken long strides toward surer success and larger life. Long years ago it was a great resort for Indians, who came to feast and gamble, and exchange captive slaves. Many old legends date from this post, and some of them are rich in historic truths; others in romance of human lives, and, others still, of fairy tales and ghostly stories.
A few miles above the city the river passes between almost perpendicular walls of stone, while through the narrow gorge the water leaps from ledge to ledge in quick succession, making huge billows of the rushing current, so rapid that no steamer or canoe has ever upward passed, though both have downward been in perfect safety. At this point the great schools of salmon, on their journey to the lakes and smaller streams, halt to rest, and thus prepare themselves for more severe struggles and more daring feats. Here the red men have, year after year, come to lay in supplies of salmon.
These fisheries are of great value, and, when the Portland, Dalles, and Salt Lake Railroad is completed, will become sources of untold wealth, furnishing Eastern markets with choicest salmon. Before leaving this fishery, I would state, for the information of by readers, that the Indians have some peculiar ideas about salmon. They “run” at regular seasons of the year, and the Indians gather on the banks and make preparations for catching and preserving them; but they do not take thefirstthat come up, because they believe that, since the “Great Spirit” furnishes them, they should be permitted to pass, in his honor, and because thefirstthat come are supposed to be bolder, and will succeed in getting to better spawning-grounds in higher streams.
The females always precede the males, who follow several weeks later. No Indian would make use of the first fish caught, because of the sacrilege. As soon, however, as the “run” fairly begins, the Indians, in their way, give thanks, by dancing and singing. The ceremonies of opening the fishing seasons are serious and solemn in character.
The manner of taking salmon varies. Sometimes they use dip nets, attached to long poles resting in a crotch or fork, or, maybe, pile of rocks, as a fulcrum. Others, with spears made of bone, pointed at each end, attached by a strong cord of sinew at the middle to a shaft made of hard wood, with three prongs in the end, of each of which a socket is made, wherein one end of the bone spear is thrust, the cord attachment being of sufficient length to permit the escape from the socket of the spear.
Thus equipped a fisherman thrusts the three-tinedspear into the water at random, and when a salmon is struck, the spear leaves the shaft; but, still secure, turns athwart the fish, and his escape is impossible. When he is landed the fisherman’s work is done. The fish is turned over to the women and boys, and carried to a convenient camp, where the work of drying them is performed by first beheading and then splitting them in two lengthwise. They are spread on long scaffolds built on poles, and with occasional turning are soon dried by the air and sun. The average weight of salmon at this fishing is about fifteen pounds, though sometimes much greater. Some have been taken weighing sixty-five pounds each, and many of them forty pounds.
Another noticeable fact is that the nearer the ocean they are taken the better. Those which succeed in stemming the many rapids en route to the head-waters are poor and thin, and of little value. They often ascend streams so small that they can be caught with the hand. It is doubtful whether they ever return to the ocean.
DANGEROUS PLACE FOR SINNERS.
Leaving “The Dalles” early one morning in February, 1870, with Dr. W. C. McKay as guide, I set out on my first visit to Warm Springs Agency. Our route was over high grassy plains, undulating, and sometimes broken by deep cañons, occasionally wide enough to furnish extensive farm lands. Tyghe valley is traversed by two rivers that flow eastward from the foot of the Cascade mountains. It was, originally, a very paradise for Indians. It is a paradise still; but not for them. “White men wanted it;” hence our present visit to Warm Springs.
In 1855 the several Indian tribes occupying the country east of the Cascade mountains, as far up as John Day’s, south of the Columbia river, and north of the Blue mountain, met in Treaty Council those who had been selected as the representatives of the Government.
The Indians confederated, settling all their difficulties as between different tribes, and also with the Government. They went into this council to avoid farther hostilities. From Dr. W. C. McKay I learned that a body of troops were present; that the Indians insisted on Tyghe valley as a home; that the Government refused, and that the council continued forseveral days; that, finally, under threats and intimidations, the Indians agreed to accept a home on what is now “Warm Springs Reservation,” the Government agreeing to do certain things by way of furnishing mills, shops, schools, farms, etc.
At this time certain members of the Tenino band were in possession of, and had made improvements of value near, “The Dalles.” Under special agreements in treaty council these improvements were to be paid for by the Government.
Nineteen years have passed, and John Mission and Billy Chinook have not yet received one dollar for the aforesaid improvements. These men were converts to Christianity under the ministration of Father Waller and others, who were sent out by the Methodist Church as missionaries. These Indians are still faithful to the vows then taken.
Here is a good subject for some humane, sentimental boaster of national justice to meditate upon.
Had these men broken their compact with the Government, they would have been punished; and, had they been like other Indians who have figured in history, they would have been at last rewarded; not because the Government is prompt to do them justice, but because they would havecompelledjustice to come to them, though filtered by blood through the bones of innocent settlers and sweetened by tears and groans of widows and orphans.
Strong language this, I admit; but history supports the declaration. For nineteen years have these two humble red-skinned men waited patiently for remuneration; for nineteen years have they waited in vain. Poor fellows, I pity you! Had you a vote to give,your claim might have been paid years ago. Then some ambitious politician, anxious to secure your suffrage, would have importuned the department at Washington to do you justice; and the department, anxious for influence in Congress, would have recommended payment, and some member would have found it to his interest to “log-roll” it through. But you are unfortunate; you cannot vote. You are no trouble; you are peaceable and faithful, and youdarenot now make any noise about your claim. You are dependent on a Government that has so much more important business to look out for, you are unknown.
Rebel once against your masters, and millions would be expended to punish you. A few thousands would make you rich, and would redeem the honor of the other “high contracting power.” But you will not be made glad now in your old age, because you are but “Injuns,” and the good ones of your people “are all under ground.” So say your white brethren, who now own what was once your country. Be patient still. The God, of whom you learned from the lips of the honored dead, will yet compel a nation of conquerors to drink the bitter dregs of repentance, and though you may never handle one dollar of the money due you, your children may. And somewhere in the future your race may come upon the plane where manhood is honored without the question of ancestry being raised.
Climbing a steep bluff, going south from Tygh valley, we look out on an extensive plain, bordered by mountain ranges, facing us from the further side. Forty miles brings us, by slow and ever-increasing easy grades, to the summit of the plain, where the roadleads down a mountain so steep, that two common-sized horses cannot even manage a light carriage without rough-locking the wheels. From the starting-point into the chasm below, a small stream, looking like a bright ribbon that was crumpled and ruffled, may be seen. Down, down we go. Down, still down, until, standing on the bank of Warm Springs river, we behold the ribbon transformed into a rapid rushing current of snow-water, whose very clearness deceives us in respect to its depth. We drive into it at a rocky ford, and we are soon startled with the quick breathing of our team, while the water seems to rise over their backs, and we, standing on the seat, knee deep, encourage our horses to reach the other shore.
For nineteen years has the business of this agency been transacted through this current. We are on the other side, vowing that “Uncle Sam”mustandshallhave this stream bridged. So vowed our predecessors, and so our successors, too, would have vowed had they ever passed that way. A few miles from the crossing and near our road we see steam ascending, as if some subterranean monster was cooking his supper and had upset his kettle on the fires where it is supposed wicked people go. The nearer we came to the caldron the more we were convinced that our conjectures were correct, and stronger was our resolve to keep away from such places. Brimstone in moderate quantities scattered along the banks of this stream adds to our anxiety to reach a meeting-house, where we may feel safe.
This spring gives name to the Reservation, though twelve miles from the agency; to reach which, we climb up, up, up once more to another high sterileplain, devoid of everything like vegetation save sage bush. Mile after mile we travel, until suddenly the team halts on a brink, and we, to ascertain the cause, alight. Looking down, away down below glimmer a dozen lights. Tying all the wheels of our vehicle together and walking behind our team for safety, we go down into this fearful opening in the surface of the earth, and find “Warm Springs Agency” at the bottom of the chasm.
The country comprising this Indian Reservation is desolate in the extreme; the only available farming lands being found in the narrow cañons hemmed in by high bluffs. The soil is alkaline and subject to extreme drought.
The Indian farms are small patches, irregular in shape and size. They were originally enclosed by the Government at great expense.
Remnants of the old fences may be seen, bearing witness of the way in which Government fulfilled its promises: round blocks of wood, on some of which the decaying poles still lie, the blocks being from ten to twenty feet apart; above them other poles were staked, and thus the fences were made.
Calculation on the cost of this fencing would probably exhibit about five dollars per rod. In later years the Indians have rebuilt and improved fences and houses.
The department farm occupies thebestportion of the valley, and is cultivated for the benefit of thedepartment; seldom, if ever, furnishing supplies or seed for Indians. The government buildings are generally good, substantial and comfortable for the employés.
The schools are not well attended, and are of but little value to the Indians,—the fault, however, resting principally with the Indian parents, who seem to have but little control over their children, and do not compel attendance.
A large number of the Indians are professedly Christian, and are making progress in civilization. The remainder are followers of “Smoheller,” the great dreamer,—a wild, superstitious bigot,—whose teachings harmonize with the old religions of these people. The Christian Indians are anxious for their young men to learn trades, and become like white men in practices of life.
The others are tenaciously clinging to the old habits of wild Indians,—isolating themselves from the Christian Indians and the agent.
Thus a wide difference is manifest among these people, apparently growing out of their religions. This is the real cause of difference; but why this difference exists is a question that is not difficult to answer.
The Indians who were located near the agency, where they could attend Christian service, were almost all of them Christianized; while those whose houses were remote from the agency, thus left to care for themselves, were followers of “Smoheller.” Had these people been permitted to select Tygh valley, in 1855,allof them might have been civilized; because then all would have had productive farms and been under the immediate eye of the agent.
If, then, they were compelled to accept homes that did not furnish them the means of subsistence and employment, it is the natural conclusion and the legitimateresult of the bad management of the Government when making the treaty under which the Indians accepted this great fraud in lieu of their own beautiful homes.
The climate of Warm Springs differs materially from that of Grand Round, Siletz, or Alsea, being sheltered by the Cascade mountains from the heavy rains of the Willamette valley, but, being much higher, is dryer, and in winter much colder. The mountains act as a great refrigerator; hence snows are common, though seldom to an extent that prevent cattle and horses from living through without being fed.
The people are somewhat different in physique and habit. They are braver, and more warlike, and, in times past, have demonstrated their right to that character. Since they became parties to the treaty of 1855, they have, in the main, been faithful to the compact, the exceptions being those who were led away by the religion of “Smoheller.” Nothing serious has yet grown out of this “new departure.” What may occur hereafter depends entirely on the management of the department.
In the treaty of 1855 the confederated bands of middle Oregon reserved the right to the fishery at “The Dalles,” of which I have written at some length, on a former page. In 1866 a supplemental treaty was made with them by my predecessor,—the late Hon. J. W. P. Huntington,—by which the Indians released all claim to said fishery. The consideration was paltry, but was promptly paid by the Government, and has long since been expended.
The Indians who were parties to the two treaties referred to declare, most emphatically, that they didnot understand the terms of the latter one; that they only consented to relinquish, so far as theexclusive rightto take salmon was considered; but that they supposed and understood that they were still to enjoy the privilege in common with other people. A careful examination of the said treaty discloses the fact that they had entirely alienated all their right and interest thereto.
When the lands covering these fisheries were surveyed and selected as State lands, they were taken up by white men and enclosed with fences, preventing the Indians and others from having access thereto except on payment of a royalty or rental. The Indians, not understanding the right of the parties in possession, opened the enclosure, and really, in violation of law, went to the grounds where they and their fathers had always enjoyed, what was to them almost as dear as life, the privilege of taking salmon.
A compromise was made, the Indian Department paying the claimant the damage done to the growing crops through which the Indians had passed to the fishery. I submitted the question of releasing this land to the department at Washington, and also to the State land officers. The Government, and State land agent, Col. Thos. H. Cann, manifested a willingness to do justice to the wards of the Government.
No further action was ever taken, to my knowledge, by the federal authorities. I suppose that it was overlooked and forgotten. The injustice stands yet a reproach to a forgetful government.
“A bargain is a bargain,” so says the white man; and truly enough it may be held right in a legal view to compel the Indians to submit to whateverthey may agree to. But there was a wrong done them in this instance that ought to have been undone. The plea, that so long as they were permitted to make annual visits to the Columbia river to take fish, would interfere with their civilization, because of the bad influences of vicious white men with whom they came in contact, and urged in justification of the treaty whereby they yielded their rights in the premises, was a severe commentary on American Christian civilization, but may have been just.
It is a fact that cannot be questioned, that the virtue of the natives, until debauched by association withlow whites, is far above that of the latter, and that the Indian suffers most by the contact. Had the commissioners who conducted the treaty of 1855 consented to select Tygh valley for a Reservation, no necessity would have existed for the Indians to obtain fish for subsistence.
Warm Springs Agency I have and ever will declare to be unfit for civilized Indians to occupy. Since they were compelled to take up their abode thereon, not one season in three, on an average, has been propitious for raising farm products. When a people hitherto accustomed to ramble unrestrained, are confined on a reservation that has not the necessary resources to sustain them, they should be permitted the privilege of going outside for subsistence.
Shame on a powerful people who would deny them this privilege; yet it is done. While these Indians on Warm Springs have had many hindering causes why they should not progress, they have nevertheless made decided advancement in the march from savage to civilized life. The fact of their living on unproductivesoil has not been the only impediment in their way. To enable my readers to understand more fully this subject, I will introduce the subjoined letter from the present acting agent on Warm Springs Reservation,—Captain John Smith. Early in February, 1874, I addressed a letter to him, stating my purpose of writing this volume, and requested him to furnish me with such facts as he would be willing to have appear in my book over his own signature.