[1]See Appendix.
[1]See Appendix.
He is a gentleman of unimpeachable integrity, though blessed with enemies whose assaults have polished his character like a diamond. Whatever vices these Indians may have exhibited to his successor,—Gen. Palmer,—they were not the results of Mr. Simpson’s management, or example; but rather the natural consequences of association with profligate soldiers and other white men, during the first years of their residence on the Reservation.
Gen. Joel Palmer was recommended as Mr. Simpson’s successor by the Methodist Church. He went to his duty with long experience, and in many respects well fitted for the work.
Scarcely had he assumed the duties of his office, with a new set of employés, before he was made to realize that poor human nature will in most cases control human action. Ingratitude is said, by Indian haters, to be characteristic of those people. Better be honest and say it of mankind.
I have said that he selected a new set of officers. Among them was one chosen on account of his religious habits,—habits, I say, not character,—who had lent a listening ear to the call, “Go preach my Gospel to all nations.” This man answered this urgent call, and Agent Palmer employed him. No sooner had he unfurled the banner of Christianity among these people, than he began in a clandestine way to undermine Agent Palmer. Unfortunately for the agent, this preacher had been recommended by the same church for position. This gave him influence. He made use of it. He proposed to other officers of the agency that if they would assist in ousting Palmer he would retain them in their respective positions.
To consummate this act of religious villany, he circulated reports against the man, whose kindness fed him and his family, that he (Palmer) had men in his employ who were “not, strictly speaking, Christians; that he was not competent to discharge the duties of his office.” The agent found, what nearly every officer has learned sooner or later, that his position was of doubtful tenure, and felt the sting of this man’s treachery so severely that he proposed to resign.
“Brother —— is determined to oust me, and I reckon I will let him have the position. He wants it, and I don’t care to worry my life out fighting for an Indian agency.”
This is the substance of the speech Agent Palmer made to me as superintendent. I said to him, “Do no such thing. Go back to your agency and tell that man to roll his blankets and be off, or you will put him in irons. Then discharge every accomplice he has, and select good, true men instead.”
Brother Palmer replied that “the church recommended Brother ——, and I don’t like to do such a thing.” I prevailed on him to withdraw his resignation; and on his return to Siletz, he discharged Brother ——. But the war was continued against him until Agent Palmer demanded a successor to relieve him; and after a short administration he retired without having christianized the Siletz Indians.
I have mentioned this episode for the reason that I desire full justice done a man who meant well, with a sincere hope that those having the appointing power may be made to reflect a moment before makingnominations for office in deference to the demands of any church, and without regard to the fitness of the appointee.
I have due respect for church members, and recognize the necessity of having men of moral character among the wards of this Government.
Gen. Palmer, with his long experience, was, in many respects, qualified for his position; but he was a poor judge of character. I may be censured for making these comments, but they are just, nevertheless; as was the opinion I gave of the aforesaid Brother ——, when his name was proposed as a missionary to the Siletz Indians, by the presiding elder of the district.
I answered him, “That man’s face says he would undermine his father, to forward his own interests.”
The elder said in reply, “Brother Meacham, you must be mistaken; he is a good, Christian man, and will be a great help to Brother Palmer.” In courtesy to the presiding elder, I consented, with the remark, “Try him; but he will make a thorny bed for Brother Palmer.”
Here is the history. It is not written to bring ridicule on the church nominating him.
Siletz agency has been established fourteen years, during which time five agents have represented the Government. Some of them have been good men for the position.
Although these Indians are not up to the standard of moral character, or church requirements, a great change has been wrought, and credit should be given to whom it is due.
Uncouth these Indians on Siletz may be, but lettruth speak for them, and you will hear of how they came to this new home captives, and in chains, under guard of bayonets, borne on shoulders of men wearing the uniform of the U. S. A.
You will hear how these men were stationed among them to guard them, and compel obedience to the mandates of a Government that permitted the grossest outrages on their rights, and made no effort to redress their wrongs.
You would hear, too, of a people living in careless indolence on Umpyua and Rogue rivers, in southern Oregon, when disturbed by the advent of white men, who came with prejudices against them, who disregarded their rights, denied them the privilege of living on the land God had given them, who failed to protect them from the outrages committed by vicious white men; of the indiscriminate warfare that was carried on against them for resenting such insults; of their native land left in ruins, where the wail of weeping pale-faces over slain friends mingled with their own lamentations on taking leave of the homes of their earliest life.
Truth would tell of the many crimes committed by and against them, since their residence at Siletz; of how they have been punished for their own misdeeds, and have seen those who sinned against them go unpunished.
Be patient, you half-savage people! Death is rapidly healing your wounds and curing your griefs. Those who survive may, in time, be given homes. The lands have been surveyed for these people, but have not yet been allotted. Nothing could do more to revive them than the consummation of this promise.
Some of them have lived with white men as laborers, and have learned many things qualifying them for this great boon. Surely a magnanimous Government will complete this great act of justice to a helpless people. May God speed the day!
ALSEA AGENCY.
It is located on the coast Reservation south of Yaquina bay. The people are “salt chuck,” or saltwater Indians, and the majority of them were born on the lands they now occupy; hence they are the most quiet and well-behaved Indians in Oregon.
They are easily controlled, and are making progress in civilization. But few in number, and of the character I have named, they have never taken part in any of the many wars that have made Oregon “the battle-ground of the Pacific coast.”
A sub-agency was established over them in 1866. The pay of sub-agent is $1,000 per annum, without subsistence or other allowance. The Alsea people being non-treaty Indians,—that is to say, they have no existing treaty with the Government; no funds being appropriated especially for them,—they are sustained entirely from the “Incidental Funds” for Oregon Superintendency.
The fact that the Alsea Indians have always been easily managed has been to their disadvantage in securing Government aid. Had they been more refractory, they would have been better treated. This sounds strangely, and yet I declare it to be true. Why should Government reward them for being peaceable? They have asked for buildings; the Government gave them huts. They asked for schools and churches; butno school-house stands out in the bleak ocean winds of their home; no church-bell calls them to hear the wonderful story of a Saviour’s love. Notwithstanding the wealth of their successors peals forth in loud strains which echo on foreign shores, no hammer rings out its cheering notes on anvil of theirs.
This little agency demonstrates the fact, that the onlysureway for Indians to secure attention isthrough blood. Our Government follows the example of the father of the Prodigal Son, with this remarkable difference, that it abuses its dutiful children, while it fawns upon and encourages the red-faced reprobates, byrewardingthem for their rebellious deeds.
The department farm at Alsea was made by Government, on Indian land, ostensibly for the Indians’ benefit. It is located on a bleak plain, that stretches away from the ocean surf to the foot of the coast range mountains. It produces potatoes and oats. The mountains are high and rugged, and covered with dense forests of fir and cedar timber; much of the former has been “burnt.” A heavy undergrowth has become almost impenetrable except for wild animals or Indian hunters.
The cedar groves cover streams of water that will in time be of great value, when turned on to machinery with which to convert the cedars into merchandise for foreign markets. The streams are plentifully supplied with fish. No long list of employés answer to the command of an agent at Alsea. In some respects it is the better way, inasmuch as it is to the interest of the agent to teach his wards the more common arts of handiwork. In this way, the improvements have been made by Indian labor, under the direction of anagent; and now, while I write, these people are coming slowly up towards the gate thatshouldopen to them a way to the brotherhood of man.
Efforts are being made to reduce the area of the Reservation, and, should they succeed, these people who have cost the Government so little of blood or treasure, will be compelled to yield; only repeating, “Might versus Right.” I am not opposed to reduction of the limits of the coast Reservation, if these people, who have already given up so much beautiful country, shall be provided with schools, churches, shops, and other means whereby they may be compensated, and, in the mean time, prepared by civilization for the new life that awaits the survivors, that, a few years hence, may be left to represent their people.
The Government owes to these humble Indians all I have suggested, and, in addition, a home marked out and allotted in severalty, made inalienable for one or two generations.
But, however deserving they may be, it is doubtful if they ever enjoy the boon they crave. Few in number, peaceable in disposition, unknown to the world by bloody deeds, the probabilities are that the white man will encroach on their lands, a few miles at a time, until at last, hemmed in by a civilization they cannot enjoy, they will gradually mix and mingle, becoming more licentious and corrupt by association with vicious white men, and in a generation or two will be known only by a few vagabonds, who will wander, gipsy-like, through the country, a poor, miserable fag-end of a race.
Perhaps a few may take humble positions as laborers,and attain to a half-way station between savage and civilized life. Another few will become slaves to King Alcohol, and their chief men, lying around whiskey mills, drunken, debauched, despised, will drop back again to mother earth, mingling with the soil their fathers once owned.
Thus the people of Alsea will pass away. I pity you, humble, red-skinned children of the Pacific surf! You were happy once, and carelessly rode in your canoes over the shining sands of your native beach, or chased the game on the mountain side, little dreaming of the coming of a human tide which would swallow you and your sea-washed home, or carry both away out on the boundless expanse of a civilization whose other shores you could not see had sepulchres ready for your bones. You have spent your lives with your feet beating the paths your fathers made centuries ago; but your children shall follow newer trails, that lead to more dangerous jungles than those trod by your ancestors. Strange demons they will meet, before whom they will fall to rise no more.
Your fathers watched the shadows of Alsea mountain moving slowly up its western front, making huge pictures on its sides, and gazed without fear on the sun dropping under the sea, wondering how it found its way under the great ocean and high mountains, to come again with so much regularity; or perhaps they believed, as others do, that the Great Spirit sent a new “fire-ball” each day, and nightly quenched it in the sea. You now see the shadows climb the mountain, fitting emblem of the white man’s presence in your land, and read in the setting sun the history of your race. Better that you had never heard thesweet sounds of civilized life than that you, with feet untrained, should follow its allurements to your destruction.
You, that once gave to the beautiful mountain streams smile for smile, are now haggard and worn, giving only grim presages of your doom.
Others of your race have avenged their ill-fortunes with the tomahawk, and, in compliance with their religion, have rejected offers of a better life than they knew. But you—you have yielded without war, and, like helpless orphans thrown on the cold world, have accepted the mites given grudgingly by your masters, who treat with contempt and ridicule your cherished faith, who misconstrue your peaceful lives into cowardice. They have fixed their eyes on your home. They will make Alsea river transform the forest on its banks into houses, towns, and cities. They will make the valley where you now follow the government plough, to yield rich harvests of grain, and they will convert the ocean beach into a fountain of golden treasure. A few years more, and the noise of machinery will wake you early from your slumbers. The roar of ocean’s breakers will mingle with the hum of busy life in which you may have no part. The white man’s eyes will dance with gladness at the sight of your mountains dismantled of their forests, and the glimmer of coming sails to bear away the lofty pines. Yours will weep at the sacrilege done to your hunting grounds; theirs will gaze on the wide Pacific, and see there the channels that will bring compensation to them for the spoils of your home. Yours will recognize it only as the resting-place for the bones of your people. The white man says,“Your fate is fixed,—your doom is sealed.” Few hearts beat with sympathy for you; you are unknown and unnoticed. You must pass away, unless, indeed, the white race shall, from the full surfeit of vengeance upon you and yours, at last return to you a measure of justice.
He who dares appeal in your behalf is derided by his fellows. A proud, boastful people, who claim that human actions should be directed by high motives and pure principles, treat with contempt every effort made to save you from destruction. Strong may be the heart of the Indian Chief to resist the encroachments on his people’s rights, but stronger still the arm of a Government that boasts rebellion against oppression as its foundation stone.
PHIL SHERIDAN’S OLD HOME—WHAT A CABIN COST.GRAND ROUND INDIAN AGENCY.
I Made my first official visit to this agency in the latter part of September, 1869. Captain Charles La Follette was then acting agent.
The road from Salem was over a beautiful country, settled by white men, who had transformed this once wild region into a paradise. The first view of the agency proper was from a high ridge several miles distant. On the right and left were clustered the houses of the several tribes, each one having been assigned a location. Their houses were built of logs or boards, and rudely put together. Every board had cost these poor people an acre of land; every log counted for so much money given in compensation for their birthrights to the soil of the matchless valley of the Willamette.
As we stood on the dividing ridge separating this agency from the great valley I have mentioned, looking toward the west, we beheld, nearest on the left, old Fort Yamhill, with its snowy cottages, built for the accommodation of the officers of the army in the days when the gallant Sheridan was a lieutenant, and walked its parade-grounds with a simple sword dangling by his side and bars on his shoulder, holding beneath his military cap a brain power waiting for the sound of clanking chains and thundering cannon to call him hence to deeds of valor that shouldcompel the laurel wreath of fame to seek his brow, little thinking then, while guarding savages, that, away off in the future, his charger would impatiently call him from repose, and bear him into the face of a victorious enemy with so much gallantry that he would turn an apparent defeat into a glorious victory.
Immediately on our right were the huts of the people for whose especial intimidation the costly palaces and beautiful cottages had been built. The huts or houses were built on the hillside sloping toward the valley. They presented the appearance of a small, dilapidated inland town that had been “cut off” by a railroad; but they were peopled with Indians who were trying to imitate their masters.
Farther away on the left was another little group of houses, occupied by the chief of the Santiams and his people. The sight of this man’s home recalled a part of his own history, suggestive of romance, wild, it is true, but real, nevertheless.
Many years ago, this chief was a young warrior, and his people were at peace with the white race, and were not then “wards of the Government,” but were living on their native hills, in the vicinity of Mount Jefferson, standing sentinel over the snowy peaks of the Cascade mountains, on whose sides were sitting, like great urns, clear, cold lakes, sending forth little streamlets, murmuring and whispering, and sometimes leaping, like boys going home from play, joining other merry, laughing streamlets, rushing madly along through forests of firs and sugar-pines, whose dropping cones startled the wild game from their repose.
’Twas here this young warrior’s home was nestled,beneath the outstretched arms of giant cedars, or sheltered by some quiet nook or cove. Here he had learned the arts of his own people, and passed the winters by, until alone he could chase the fawns or climb the mountain-peak, and gather trophies with which to ornament his neck or fill his quiver.
A pale-face man from distant Missouri had come to this far country to escape the familiar sounds of civilization, where he might imitate the Indian in his freedom and his pleasures. He brought with him his family, and built his cabin near a fountain, to which medicine men would sometimes come or send their patients for recovery.
This white man had a son, with down just cropping on his chin, who, “chip of the old block,” as he was, seemed half Indian already, and, fond of wild sports, soon made the acquaintance of young Santiam. The friendship grew, and the rivalry ofarcherandgunneroften drew them into dispute. Still they were friends.
The archer claimed that he could creep, and noiselessly shoot from cover, without giving alarm, until his quiver should be empty, and thus bring down the chary buck or spotted fawn. The gunner would aver that he could do better execution at greater distance. These trials of skill were often made, and each time the difference ’twixt white and red skin seemed to diminish. The young pale-face would sling his gun and straightway bend his steps toward the camp of Santiam. By signs that he had learned, he took the young chief’s trail, and followed through wooded plains, or up the mountain side, until they would hail each other, and then, by agreement, would separate to meet again at some appointed place, laying a wagerwho would be most successful in the chase of black-tailed deer or mountain sheep.
The hill-sides had put on autumn hues, and the loftier hills were dressed in winter’s garb, and gave warning to the denizens who spent their summers near their peaks, that cold weather would soon drive them to the hills beneath for refuge from the blasts that howl above the roar of mountain lion or jumping torrents.
The keeper of the fleecy clouds had given sign of readiness, and, in fact, had begun to spread the winter’s carpet down, to preserve the tender grasses for the antlered herd, which would return in open spring to train their limbs for daring feats, in defiance of the feathered arrow, or his neighbor, the loud-talking gun.
Santiam, to anticipate their coming, had started in the early morn, while yet the sun was climbing the eastern slope of Jefferson, and, leaving a sign imprinted in the snow, for his friend to read, hurried on, hoping that from ambush he might send his arrow home to the panting heart of the bounding deer. His friend, anticipating the coming of his rival, had already gone by another route to the trysting place; while waiting there for valley-going game, he spied a grizzly bear, and, without knowing the habits of the monster, he took deliberate aim and fired, but failed to bring his bearship to the ground.
These fellows, when undisturbed, are sure to run; but when the leaden ball had pierced this one’s pelt, he exhibited the usual bearish indications of resentment for insult offered. The pale-face hunter stood his ground, and sent another ball, merely to persuadehis enemy to desist. To those accustomed to this kind of fight, I need not say that every shot made the matter worse. These kings of the Cascades yield not to showers of leaden hail or flocks of flying arrows until the life of their enemy or their own gives victory. With lumbering gait and open mouth, he closed upon the hapless hunter, and had borne him to the ground, when Santiam reached the scene. He hesitated not on which side he would volunteer. Snatching from his belt a hatchet, and a well-tried knife, he, too, closed on the grizzly, and drew his attention from his friend, who, in turn, would attack the wounded monster, and thus alternating between two enemies, he grew more furious and regardless of consequences.
Rallying again to renew the desperate struggle, though his life was ebbing fast, he threw his great body on the pale-faced hunter, when Santiam, with well-aimed steel at his heart, closed the battle. His friend had been severely wounded, and lay prostrate on the ground; his torn garments dripping in blood, his own, and that of his dread enemy, mingled. The young chief soon had a blazing fire, and then tying up the wounds of his friend, to stop the flow of blood, he hastened to his home for aid.
Returning with a cluchman of his tribe, he found his friend sinking fast. Making a hasty litter of pine limbs, they bore the wounded hunter to his home. The mother, at the sight of her son so mangled, like a true heroine, overcame her fear, and made preparation for his comfort. The sister, in her quiet way, brought refreshment for her brother, and while the father and his comrade, the “medicine man,” werejoining their skill to provide remedies for the wounded one, young Santiam, acting from the precepts of his people, had hurried back to the battle-ground, and, with his cluchman’s help, soon stripped the pelt from the dead beast, and brought it to the home of his white rival, and then the “medicine man,” with faith based on tradition’s usage, bound up the wounds therewith.
The days went slowly by, until the danger was passed. Santiam went not to the chase, unless for choicest food for his friend, but waited beside the couch of his comrade for his recovery; sometimes joining with the sick man’s sister in watching his slumbers, or, may be, touching hands in ministering to his wants.
She, with missionary spirit, sought to teach Santiam words, and the history, too, of her people, their ways, and higher life than he had known. He was apt at learning, as my reader may discover by his speech, recited in this book, made in council years after. His dark eye kindled as some new knowledge found way to his understanding, and his heart grew warmer at the sound of voice from pale-faced cluchman. If history be true, her eye kindled too, at the coming of the quiet step of the young comrade of her brother, and her heart felt a new, strange fire, that sent its flame to her cheeks in tell-tale roses.
Novice though he was in civilized ways, he was a man, and with quick perception made the discovery that he now cared more for his comrade’s sister than for him; and that even the sister thought of her brother in the third person.
This Missouri man had not yet recognized thegrowing love between his daughter and young Santiam; and the mother, too, without recalling the youthful days of her own wooing,—perhaps she had none, but years before, in obedience to a custom of her own people, had listened to a proposal, and accepted, because she might “do no better,”—did not recognize the signs of coming trouble to her household, in the rustic courtship going on. Why do parents so soon forget their wooing days, and hide the history from their children, when so nearly all that human nature endures of woes, or enjoys of bliss, comes through the agency of the emotions and affections of the heart?
This guileless girl, cut off from association with her own people by action of her father, and in gratitude for the young chief’s kindness to her brother, had, under the prompting of the richest emotions that God had given, opened her heart in friendship first and invited the visitor to share so much; little dreaming that, when once the guest was there, he would become a constant tenant, against whose expulsion she would herself rebel.
The young chief himself did not realize that the finest, warmest feelings of the human heart are supposed by greater men to be confined to the same race or color. Perhaps he thought the Great Spirit had made all alike, not fixed the difference in the hue of the skin. He was a free man; did not know that civilization had raised a barrier between the races. He had, without knowing what he did, found the barrier down, and passed beyond in natural freedom, and, without thought of wrong, had given full freedom to his heart.
The winter passed, and spring had sprinkled thehill-side with flowers. The wilder herds had fled from the huntsman’s horn, and climbed again to pleasure-grounds, where the tender grasses cropped out from retreating snow-fields. The rival hunters had again resumed the chase, and spent whole days in telling stories of the past, or living over the battle of the preceding autumn. Each rehearsal made them better friends, and confidence grew mutual. Santiam, with freedom, spoke to his white brother of the “fire in his heart,”—so these people speak of love,—of the sister whom he loved. Who ever told a fellow that he loved his sister without making friendship tremble for the result?
The pale-face boy of whom I am writing still lives, though grown into gray manhood, to verify this story. When Santiam had told his story, her brother was quiet and thought in silence, while the warrior talked on, of how he would be a “white man” and put away his wild habits, and be his brother. The other promised that he would consult his family, and thus they parted for the night.
The morning found Santiam at the cabin of the “settler,” little dreaming that the friendship they had shown him was so soon to be withdrawn. He saw the ominous word refusal in the cold reception that he met. One pair of eyes alone talked in sympathetic glances. He waited to hear no more.
I would like to accommodate my youthful readers with what would make this romantic story run on until some happy denouement had been found, and then resume my work; but I dare not be false to history. The white man moved away. The Indian remained until, through misunderstanding betweenhis people and the white race, war ensued; the frontier rang out the fearful challenge of battle, and victims of both races were offered up to appease insult and thirst for vengeance. The white hunter and his father united with others in a war of extermination against the Indians, while they left a home defenceless.
Young Santiam refused to war against the white man. He gave protection to the cabin that sheltered his love of other days. The maiden is maiden yet; and, though gray hair crowns her head, she is still faithful to the vows made to her Indian lover in her girlhood. Whether she condemns the usage of society that forbade her marriage, or blesses it because it saved her from a savage life, we know not. She may blame her parents for their short-sighted action in isolating her from those congenial to her heart, by locating on the frontier where she met Santiam; surely, not for prohibiting her marriage to him.
Santiam, at the close of the war, removed with his people to Grand Round Agency, where he has lived since. Hear him talk in the Salem council of 1871, and judge him by his speeches. Faithful to his compacts, he remains on his home. Few of those who meet him when he visits Salem know of this romance of his life, but hundreds give him the hand of friendship.
White clapboard buildings of various sizes and a stockaded fort.Grand Round Agency.
To resume, Grand Round valley, the name of which suggests its size and shape, lay stretched out before us, a beautiful picture from Nature’s gallery, embellished by the touches that Uncle Sam’s greenbacks had given to this agency in building churches, halls,and Indian houses, together with a large farm for general use, and small ones for individuals.
At every change of Government officers, Reservation Indians show the liveliest interest, and have great curiosity to see the new man. My arrival was known to all the people very soon. The Indians of this agency were more advanced in civilization than those of any other in Oregon. They had been located by the Government, fifteen years previously. Many of them were prisoners of war, in chains and under guard, and had been subjugated, through sheer exhaustion; others were under treaty. Their very poverty and the scanty subsistence the Government gave, was to them a blessing. Permitted to labor for persons who lived “outside,” passes were given each for a specified time. Thus their employers became each a civilizer.
At the time of my first official visit, they had abandoned Indian costume, and were dressed in the usual garb of white men; many of them had learned to talk our language. At my request, messengers were sent out, and the people were invited to come in at an early hour the following day. Before the time appointed they began to arrive. A few were on foot, the remainder in wagons, or on horseback; the younger men and women coming in pairs, after the fashion of white people around them, all arrayed in best attire, for it was a gala day to them. I noticed that in some instances the women were riding side-saddles, instead of the old Indian way, astride.
The children were not left at home, neither were they bound in thongs to boards, or swinging in pappoose baskets; but some, at least, were carried on thepummel of the father’s saddle. They were clothed like other children. Strange and encouraging spectacle, to witness Indian men, who were born savages, conforming to usages of civil life. When once an Indian abandons the habits and customs of his fathers, and has tasted the air which his more enlightened brother breathes, be never goes back so long as he associates with good men.
These people, in less than twenty years, under the management of the several agents, had been transformed, from “Darwin’s” wild beasts, almost to civilized manhood, notwithstanding the croaking of soulless men who constantly accuse United States agents of all kinds of misdemeanors and crimes.
When they were first located, they numbered about twenty-one hundred souls. At the time of which I write, they had dwindled away to about half that number.
When the hour for the talk arrived the people filled the council house, and crowded the doors and windows, so that we found it necessary to adjourn to the open air for room and comfort. The agent, La Follette, went through the form of introducing me to his people, calling each one by name.
This ceremony is always conducted with solemnity; each Indian, as he extends the hand, gazing steadfastly into the eye of the person introduced. They seem to read character rapidly, and with correctness equal to, and sometimes excelling, more enlightened people.
First, a short speech by Agent La Follette, followed by the “Salem tyee,”—superintendent. I said that “I was pleased to find them so far advanced in civilization;that I was now the ‘Salem tyee.’ You are my children. I came to show you my heart, to see your hearts, to talk with you about your affairs.”
Jo Hutchins—chief of Santiams—was first to speak. He said: “You see our people are not rich; they are poor. We are glad to shake hands with you and show our hearts. You look like a good man, but I will not give you my heart until I know you better.” Louis Neposa said: “I have been here fifteen years. I have seen all the country from here to the Rocky Mountains. I had a home on Rogue river; I had a house and barn; I gave them up to come here. That house on that hill is mine;” pointing towards the house in question.
Indian speeches are remarkable for pertinency and for forcible expression, many of them abounding in flights of imagination and bursts of oratory. Much of the original beauty is lost in the translation, as few of them speak in the English language when delivering a speech. Interpreters are often illiterate men, and cannot render the subject-matter with the full force and beauty of the original, much less imitate the gesture and voice.
During my residence in the far West, and especially while in Government employ, I have taken notes, and in many instances, kept verbatim reports, the work being done by clerks of the several agencies. I have selected, from several hundred pages, a few speeches, made by these people, for use in making up my book. It will be observed that the sentences are short, and repetitions sometimes occur. In fact, these orators of nature follow nature, and repeat themselves, as our greatest orators do, and their skill in the artof repetition is something marvellous. This is peculiar to all Indian councils, though not always recorded. The following are word for word, especially Wapto Dave and Jo Hutchins’ speeches:—
Black Tom said: “I am a wild Injun. I don’t know much. I have not much sense. I cannot talk well. I feel like a man going through the bushes, when he is going to fight; like he was thinking some man was behind a bush, going to shoot him. I have been fooled many times. I don’t know much. Some tyees talk well when they first come. I have seen their children wearing shirts like those they gave me; may be it was all right. I don’t know much.”
Solomon Riggs—chief of the Umpyuas—said: “I am not a wild man. I have sense. I know some things. I have learned to work. I was born wild, but I am not wild now. I live in a house. I have a wagon and horses that I worked for. They are mine. The Government did not give them to me. That woman is my wife, and that is my baby. He will have some sense. I show you my heart. I want you to give me your heart. I don’t want to be a wild Injun.” See speech of Solomon Riggs in Salem Council.
All the “head men” made short speeches, after which we came to business talk. Superintendent Meacham said: “I see before me the remnants of a great people. Your fathers are buried in a far country. I will show you my heart now. You are not wild men. You are not savages. You are men and women. You have sense and hearts to feel. I did not come here to dig up anything that is buried. I have nothing to say about the men who have gonebefore me. That is past. We drop that. We cannot dig it up now. We have enough to think about. I do not promise what I will do, except I will do right as I see what is right. I may make some mistakes. I want to talk with you about your agent. I think he will do right. He is a good man. I will help him. He will help me. You will help us. You are not fools. You are men. You have a right to be heard. You shall be heard. We are paid to take care of you. Our time belongs to the Indians in Oregon. The Government has bought our sense; that belongs to you. The money in our hands is not ours, it is yours. We cannot pay you the money. The law says we must not; still it is yours. You have been here long enough to have sense. You know what you want. You can tell us. We will hear you.
“If you want what is right we will get it for you. You need not be afraid to speak out. The time has come when a man is judged by his sense, not his skin. In a few years more the treaty will be dead. Then you must be ready to take care of yourselves. You need not fear to speak. Nobody will stop your mouth. We are ready now to hear you talk. We have shown our heart. Now talk like men. I have spoken.”
A silence of some moments followed. The chiefs and head men seemed taken by surprise. They could not comprehend or believe that the declarations made were real; that they were to be allowed to give an opinion in matters pertaining to their own interests. I would not convey the idea that my predecessors had been bad men. They were not; but they had, some of them, and perhaps all of them, looked on theseIndians as wards, or orphan children. They had not recognized the fact that these people had come up, from a low, degraded condition of captive savages, to a status of intelligence that entitled them to consideration. The people themselves had not dared to demand a hearing. They were subjugated, and felt it too; but I know in their hearts they often longed for the boon that was offered to them.
It is due to the citizens who occupy the country adjoining this agency, in whose employ the Indians had spent much time in labor on farm, wood-yards, and various other kinds of business, that they had, by easy lessons, and, with commendable patience, taught these down-trodden people that they had a right to look up. “Honor to whom honor is due.”
Wapto Dave, a chief of a small band of Waptos, was the first to speak. He delivered his speech in my own language: “The boys all wait for me to speak first; because me understand some things. We hear you talk. We don’t know whether you mean it. Maybe you are smart. We have been fooled a heap. We don’t want no lies. We don’t talk lies. S’pose you talk straight. All right. Me tell you some things. All our people very poor; they got no good houses; no good mills. No wagons; got no harness; no ploughs. They get some, they work heap. They buy them. Government no give em. We want these things. Maybe you don’t like my talk. I am done.”
Jo Hutchins—Chief of Santiams—said, “I am watching your eye. I am watching your tongue. I am thinking all the time. Perhaps you are making fools of us. We don’t want to be made fools. I have heard tyees talk like you do now. They go back home andsend us something a white man don’t want. We are not dogs. We have hearts. We may be blind. We do not see the things the treaty promised. Maybe they got lost on the way. The President is a long way off. He can’t hear us. Our words get lost in the wind before they get there. Maybe his ear is small. Maybe your ears are small. They look big. Our ears are large. We hear everything. Some things we don’t like. We have been a long time in the mud. Sometimes we sink down. Some white men help us up. Some white men stand on our heads. We want a school-house built on the ground of the Santiam people. Then our children can have some sense. We want an Indian to work in the blacksmith shop. We don’t like half-breeds. They are not Injuns. They are not white men. Their hearts are divided. We want some harness. We want some ploughs. We want a saw-mill. What is a mill good for that has no dam? That old mill is not good; it won’t saw boards. We want a church. Some of these people are Catholics. Some of them are like Mr. Parish, a Methodist. Some got no religion. Maybe they don’t need religion. Some people think Indians got no sense. We don’t want any blankets. We have had a heap of blankets. Some of them have been like sail-cloth muslin. The old people have got no sense; they want blankets. The treaty said we, every man, have his land. He have a paper for his land. We don’t see the paper. We see the land. We want it divided. When we have land all in one place, some Injun put his horses in the field; another Injun turn them out. Then they go to law. One man says another man got the best ground. They go to law about that. We want theland marked out. Every man builds his own house. We want some apples. Mark out the land, then we plant some trees, by-and-by we have some apples.
“Maybe you don’t like my talk. I talk straight. I am not a coward. I am chief of the Santiams. You hear me now. We see your eyes; look straight. Maybe you are a good man. We will find out. So-chala-tyee,—God sees you. He sees us. All these people hear me talk. Some of them are scared. I am not afraid. Alta-kup-et,—I am done.”
Here was a man talking to the point. He dodged nothing. He spoke the hearts of the people. They supported him with frequent applause. Other speeches were made, all touching practical points. The abstract of issues following that council exhibit the distribution of hardware, axes, saws, hatchets, mauls, iron wedges; also, harness, ploughs, hoes, scythes, and various farming implements. The reasonable and numerous points involved many questions of importance, which were submitted to the Hon. Commissioner of Indian Affairs, Washington city.[2]
[2]See Appendix.
[2]See Appendix.
STOPPING THE SURVEY—WHY.
Without waiting for red tape, we proceeded to erect a new saw-mill. The Indians performed much of the necessary labor. With one white man to direct them, they prepared all the timber, built a dam, and cut a race, several hundred yards in length, and within ninety days from “breaking ground” the new saw-mill was making lumber.
The Indians formed into working parties and delivered logs as fast as the mill could saw them. Mr. Manrow, a practical sawyer, was placed in charge of the mill, and, with Indian help only, he manufactured four to eight thousand feet of lumber per day. He subsequently remarked that “they were as good help as he wanted.”
The understanding before commencing work on the mill was to the effect that it was to belong to the Indians on Grand Round Agency, when completed. Those who furnished logs were to own the lumber after sale of sufficient quantity to pay the “sawyer,” the whole to be under control of the acting agent.
Misunderstandings seem to have arisen between the agent and Indians, growing out of the sale of lumber manufactured by the mill. The only misunderstanding that could have arisen, was that wherein the Indians claim that “the Government would pay the expense of running it,”—the saw-mill,—andthey—the Indians—should have the lumber to dispose of as they thought best, claiming the right to sell it to the whites outside of the Reservation.
It was so agreed and understood as above stated, that the Government agent was to manage the business, pay the sawyer, and meet such other expenses as mightaccrue, out of the sale of lumber, and the remainder to belong to parties furnishing logs, with the privilege of selling to persons wherever a market could be found. If any other plan has been adopted, it is in violation of the agreement made with the Indians at the council that considered the question of building the mills. A full report of that council was forwarded to the Commissioner at Washington (see page 162), was filed in the office of Superintendent of Indian Affairs, Salem, Oregon, and was, or should have been, recorded on the books at Grand Round Agency.
TheIndiansof Grand Roundownthemills. The funds invested in their erection did not belong to agent or Government. It was the Indians’ money, and was so expended by their knowledge and request. The sweat of these people was dropped in the long race, cut for the mills. Every stick of timber in them was prepared, partly at least, by Indian labor. They had accepted this little valley at the bidding of a powerful Government, who had promised them mills (see treaty of 1866), and had constructed inferior machinery, at enormous expense, that had never been worth one-half the greenbacks they had cost.
These people have advanced more rapidly in civilizationthan any other Indian people on “the coast.” They had learned a great amount of useful knowledge while working for the white men, to make a living for their families, when the Government had failed to furnish subsistence for them. They were now ready to take care of their interests, when men paid to instruct them had performed their duty.
If these Indians are ever to manage for themselves, why not begin with easy lessons, while they have, or are supposed to have, an agent, whose duty it was to stand between them and the stronger race with whom they are to mingle and associate?
I repeat that these Indian men own the mills, and are entitled to the proceeds, and that it is, and was, an agent’s duty to transact such parts of the business as the Indians could not themselves. What if it did require labor and care to prevent confusion? The agent was paid for his time, his business talent, and, if he was unwilling or incompetent, he was not in a proper position.
The agent says, “I have allowed them one-half the lumber made, when they wished to use it for building purposes, retaining the other half for the department, until such time as it can be used in improvement, or otherwise disposed of for their common benefit.” If the department required lumber, let the Indians be themerchants, and receive the pay. To dispose of it for their benefit was to compel those who were willing to labor to support those who were not. Working parties were organized among them by agent La Follette, and they were to enjoy the privilege, of furnishing saw-logs in turn; thus encouraging enterprise among them. Klamath Indian millfurnished several thousand dollars’ worth of lumber for the Military Department at Fort Klamath, and for outside people too, and the proceeds were paid to the Indians who did the work, or it was invested in stock cattle for them. In the name of justice I protest, as a friend of the Indians, against the confiscation, by our Government, of labor and lumber belonging to the Indians of Grand Round Agency.
Reference has been made to the allotment of land to these people. The letter following will give the reader some idea of the manner in which it was done, and the various questions that were to be considered in connection with this important episode in the lives of these people.[3]