In the fall of 1880 the government sent orders to the agent to take the
census of all the Indians under him for the United States decennial
census. To do so among the Clallams was the most difficult task, as they
were scattered for a hundred and fifty miles, and the season of the year
made it disagreeable, with a probability of its being dangerous on the
waters of the lower sound in a canoe. I was then almost ready to start
on a tour amongst a part of them and the agent offered to pay my
expenses if I would combine this with my missionary work. He said that
it was almost impossible for him to go; that none of the employees were
acquainted either with the country or the large share of the Indians;
that he should have to pay the expenses of some one; and that it would
be a favor if I could do it. I consented, for it was a favor to me to
have my expenses paid, while I should have an opportunity to visit all
of the Indians; but it was December before I was fairly able to begin
the work and it required four weeks.
In early life I had read a story about taking the census among some of
the ignorant people of the Southern States and the superstitious fear
that they had of it, and I thought that it would not be strange if the
Indians should have the same fear. My previous acquaintance with them
and especially the intimacy I had had with a few from nearly every
settlement who had been brought to the reservation for drinking and had
been with us some time and whose confidence I seemed to have gained, I
found to be of great advantage in the work. Had it not been for these, I
would have found it a very difficult task.
The questions to be asked were many--forty-eight in number, including
their Indian as well as “Boston” names, the meaning of these, the age,
and occupation; whether or not a full blood of the tribe; how long since
they had habitually worn citizen’s dress; whether they had been
vaccinated or not; whether or not they could read and write; the number
of horses, cattle, sheep, swine, dogs, and fire-arms owned; the amount
of land owned or occupied; the number of years they had been
self-supporting, and the per cent. of support obtained from civilized
industries and in other ways.
I began the work at Port Gamble one evening, and after much talk secured
nineteen names, but the next forenoon I only obtained six. The men were
at work in the mill, and the women, afraid, were not to be found. I then
hired an interpreter, a boy who had been in school, and after talking a
while had no more difficulty there. The best argument I could use why it
was required was that some people said they were nothing but worthless
Indians, and that it was useless to try to civilize them; that some of
us thought differently and wished for facts to prove it, and when found,
that they would be published to the world. And this I did in the _Port
Townsend Argus_ and _American Antiquarian_. One man refused to give me
any information because that, years before, a census had been taken and
soon after there had been much sickness, and he was afraid that if his
name were written down he would die. But I easily obtained the
information most needed from others. I was almost through, and was at
Seabeck, the last town before reaching home, when I found the only one
who was at all saucy. He gave me false names and false information
generally, as I soon learned from another Indian present and it was
afterward corrected. The ages of the older ones were all unknown, but
the treaty with the tribe was made twenty-five years previous, and every
man, woman, and child was present who possibly could be, and I could
generally find out about how large they were then. When I asked the age
of one man he said two years, but he said he had two hundred guns. He
was about forty-three years old and had only one gun. To obtain the
information about vaccination was the most difficult, as the
instructions were that they should show me the scars on the arm if they
had been vaccinated, and many of them were ashamed to do this. As far as
I knew, none of them made a false statement. When about half-way through
I met Mr. H. W. Henshaw, who had been sent from Washington to give
general information about the work, and he absolved them from the
requirement of showing the scar. He said that all that was needed was to
satisfy myself on the point. On this coast, a dime is called a bit,
although in reality a bit is half a quarter, and the Indians so
understand it. In finding how nearly a pure Clallam one man was, I was
informed that he was partly Clallam and partly of another tribe. But
when I tried to find out how much of the other tribe I was told: “Not
much; _a bit_, I guess.”
I was instructed to take the names of not only those who were at home,
but of a number who were across the straits on the British side, whose
residence might properly be said to be on this side. In asking about one
man I was told that he had moved away a long time ago, very long, _two
thousand years_, probably, and so was not a member of the tribe.
It struck me that some pictures of myself, with descriptions of them
would have adorned _Harper’s Monthly_ as well as any of Porte Crayon’s
sketches. With an old Indian man and his wife I sat on the beach in Port
Discovery Bay all day waiting for the wind to die down, because it was
unsafe to proceed in a canoe with the snow coming down constantly on one
of the coldest days of the year, with a mat up on one side to keep a
little of the wind off, and a small fire on the other side; and, at
last, we had to give up and return to Port Discovery, as the wind would
not die. I waked up one morning on the steamer _Dispatch_ to have a drop
of water come directly into my eye, for there was a hard rain, and the
steamer overhead (not underneath) was leaky. I got up to find my shirt
so wet that I dared not put it on, while the water in the state-room
above me was half an inch deep and was shoveled out with a dust-pan. I
walked from the west to the east end of Clallam Bay, only two miles, but
while trying to find a log across the Clallam River I wandered about a
long time in the woods and brush, wet with a heavy rain, and when I did
find it it reached just _not_ across the river, but within a few feet of
the bank, and I stood deliberating whether it was safe or not to make
the jump; trying to jump and not quite daring to run the risk of falling
into the river, sticking my toes and fingers into the bank, and the
like, but at last made the crossing safely. It took half a day to travel
those two miles. I ate a Sunday dinner at Elkwa, between
church-services, of some crumbs of sweet cake out of a fifty-pound
flour-sack, so fine that I had to squeeze them up in my hands in order
to get them into my mouth. An apple and a little jelly finished the
repast--the last food I had. At Port Angeles I rode along the beach on
horseback at high tide, and at one time in trying to ford a slough I
found we were swimming in the water. I partly dried out at an Indian
house near by, taking the census at the same time. Again, the steamer
_Dispatch_ rolled in a gale, while the water came over the gunwales, the
food and plates slid off the tables, the milk spilt into gum boots, the
wash-dish of water upset into a bed, and ten minutes after I left her at
Dunginess the wind blew her ashore, dragging her anchors. But there were
also some _special providences_ on the trip. “He who will notice
providences will have providences to notice,” some one has said, and I
was reminded of this several times. I came in a canoe from Clallam Bay
to Elkwa, the most dangerous part of the route, with the water so smooth
that a small skiff would have safely rode the whole distance,
thirty-five miles, to have a heavy storm come the next day, and a heavy
gale, when I again went on the water, but then a steamer was ready to
carry me. The last week, on coming from Jamestown home, in a canoe, I
had pleasant weather and a fair north wind to blow me home the whole
time, only to have it begin to rain an hour after I reached home, the
commencement of a storm which lasted a week. Strange that a week’s north
wind should bring a week’s rain. I have never noticed the fact at any
other time.
But the most noticeable providence of all was as follows: On my way
down, the good, kind people of Seabeck, where I occasionally preached,
made me a present of forty dollars, and it was very acceptable, for my
finances were low. At Port Gamble I spent it all and more, too, for our
winter supplies, as I did not wish to carry the money all around with
me, and, also, so that I might get at Port Townsend those things which I
could not find at Port Gamble. I often did so, and ordered them to be
kept there until my return. About three days later I heard that the
store at Port Gamble was burned with about every thing in it, the loss
being estimated at seventy-five thousand dollars. The thought came into
my mind, Why was that money given to me to be lost so quickly? On my
return I went to Port Gamble to see about the things and to my great
surprise I found that only about two wheelbarrow loads of goods had been
saved, and that mine were among them. They had been packed and placed at
the back door. The fire began in the front part, so they broke open the
back door, and took the first things of which they could lay hold, and
they were mine, and but little else was saved.
When I arrived at Seabeck the kind ladies of the place presented my wife
with a box containing over thirty dollars’ worth of things as a
Christmas present. _Among these was a cloak._ During my absence she had
been trying to make herself one, supposing that she had cloth enough,
but when she began to cut it out to her dismay she found that with all
the twisting, turning, and piecing that she could do, there was not
cloth enough, so she had given it up and made a cloak for our little boy
out of it. She naturally felt badly, as she did not know how she should
then get one. “All these things are against me,” said Jacob, but he
found that they were all for him. Others besides Jacob have found the
same to be true.