SENATORIAL BRAINS BEATEN BY SAVAGE MUSCLE——PLEASANT
WAY OF PAYING PENALTIES.
The story I have related is but one of the many that belong to this
region, and for the truth of which, witnesses still live, both whites and
Indians; another reason I introduce it here is to show my readers who may
think otherwise, that Indians——savage as they are at times, often made
savage by their religion——have _hearts_. Again and again shall I refer in
this work to the red man’s emotional nature, and to his religion. I cannot
do so too often, as the reader will admit before he turns the last leaf.
This agency is located west of the coast range of mountains, and bordering
on the Pacific Ocean. The valleys are small, irregular in shape, fertile
and productive, with prairies interspersed with forests of fir;
picturesque almost beyond description. At some points the mountains reach
out into the ocean, forming high headlands whereon are built light-houses,
to guard mariners against the dangers of the coast. Long white sandy
beaches stretch away for miles, and are then cut off by craggy bluffs.
At the southern boundary of Siletz——two miles from the line——may be found
a beautiful bay, navigable inland for thirty miles. The banks are varied
in altitude; undulating hills, with rich alluvial bottom lands
intervening. The greatest width of bay is perhaps four miles, and
occasionally cut into channels by beautiful islands narrowing inland to
receive the small river Ya-quina. Midway between the mouth of the river
and the ocean entrance to the bay, extensive oyster-beds exist.
This “Chesapeake” of the Pacific was once a part of Siletz reservation.
The discovery of the oyster-beds, and also of the numerous forests of
timber accessible to navigation, attracted the attention of the white men;
and the old, old story was again rehearsed,——“_The white men wanted
them._”
That it was wanted by the white men was _sufficient_, and no ambitious
candidate for Legislature or Congressional honors _dare_ oppose the
violation of a solemn compact between the United States Government and the
Indians, who had accepted this country in compensation for their homes in
Umpyua and Rogue river valley. It was _cut off_, and given to commerce and
agriculture in 1866.
That an equivalent was ever made to the Indian does not appear from any
records to which I have had access. It is, however, asserted, that a small
sum was invested in stock cattle, for the benefit of Siletz Indians. There
are two approaches to Siletz from the valley of Willamette; the principal,
via Ya-quina river and bay; the other, over the mountain by trail. My
first visit was by the former. In September, 1869, in company with Hon.
Geo. H. Williams, then U. S. Senator, now Attorney General of the United
States, Judge Odeneal, since my successor in office, and other citizens,
we reached the head of navigation late on the evening of the 12th. We
remained over night at “Elk Horn Hotel.” The following morning, in the
absence of steamer, we took passage in small row-boats, propelled by
Indians.
The adventures of the day were few, only one of which I shall refer to
now. Our U. S. Senator, who had done much for reconstruction in the
Senate, challenged one of our Indians for a trial of muscle at the oars.
The challenge was accepted, and senatorial broadcloth was laid aside, and
brain and muscle put to the test. After a short race the prow of our boat
ran into the bank on the side where brains was at work. For once at least,
muscle proved more than a match for brains, and, besides, an Indian had
won a victory over a great tyee. Now although our senator had proven
himself a match for other great senators in dignified debate, he was
compelled to listen to the cheers of our party in honor of a red man’s
triumph over him. I doubt if those who of late defeated him, when a
candidate for the highest seat in our halls of justice, felt half the
gratification that “To-toot-na-Jack” did that morning when the tyee
dropped the oar, exhausted and disgusted with his failure to hold even
hand with a red brother, who was _not a senator_.
After a row of twenty miles, we landed within a half hour’s ride of
Siletz. The agent, Mr. Simpson, met our party with saddle-horses.
While en route a horse-race was proposed; the dignified gentleman turning
jockey for the nonce. In fact, the entire party engaged in a run. The road
passed over low hills, covered with timber and tall ferns. While the
Congressional and Indian Departments were going at a fearful speed, a
representative of the latter went over his horse’s head, and soon felt
the weight of the United States Senate crushing the Indian Department
almost to death.
The parties referred to will recognize the picture.
This was not the first time, or the last either, that the Senate of the
United States has “been down on the Indian Department.”
Without serious damage, both were again mounted, and soon were fording
Siletz river,——a deep, narrow stream, whose bed was full of holes,
slight——“irregularities,” as defaulters would say.
We crossed in safety, except that one horse carried his rider into water
too deep for wading. It matters not who the rider was, or whether he
belonged to Congress or the Indian Department.
On reaching the prairie a sight presented itself, that gives emphatic
denial to the oft-repeated declaration, that Indians cannot be civilized.
Spread out before us was a scene that words cannot portray. The agency
building occupied a plateau, twenty feet above the level of the valley.
They were half hidden by the remnants of a high stockade that had been
erected when the Indians were first brought on to the agency fresh from
the Rogue-river war. At that time a small garrison was thought necessary
to prevent rebellion among the Indians, and to secure the safety of the
officers of the Indian Department.
It was, doubtless, good judgment, under the circumstances. Here were the
remnants of fourteen different tribes and bands, who had been at war with
white men and each other, and who, though subjugated, had not been
thoroughly “_reconstructed_.”
They were located in the valley, within sight of the agency, and were
living in little huts and shanties that had been built by the Government.
Each tribe had been allotted houses separated from the others but a few
hundred yards at farthest. They drew their supplies from the same
storehouse, used the same teams and tools, and were in constant contact.
They had come here at the command of the United States Government, in
chains, bearing with them the trophies of war; some of them being
fair-haired scalp-locks, and others were off red men’s heads. Think for a
moment of enemies meeting and wearing these evidences of former enmity;
shaking hands while each was in possession of the scalp-locks of father or
brother of the others!
But, at the time of the visit referred to, no sentinel walked his rounds.
No bayonet flashed in the sunshine on the watch-tower of the stockade at
Siletz. The granaries and barns were unbarred; even Agent Simpson’s own
quarters were unlocked day and night. Fire-arms and tools were unguarded;
Indians came and went at will, except that Agent Simpson had so taught
them that they never entered without a preliminary knock. The Indian men
came not with heads covered, but in respectful observance of ceremony.
The kitchen work and house-keeping were done by Indian women, under the
direction of a white matron. The agent’s table afforded the best of
viands. Tell the world that Indians cannot be civilized! Here were the
survivors of many battles, who, but a few short years since, had been
brought under guard, some of them loaded with chains, and with blood on
their hands, who were living as I have described.
Sometimes, it is true, the remembrance of former feuds would arouse the
sleeping fires of hatred and desire for revenge amongst themselves, and
fights would ensue. But no white man has ever been injured by these people
while on the Reservation, since their location at Siletz.
This statement is made in justice to the Indians themselves, and in honor
of those who had control of them, both of whom merit the compliment.
Amongst these people were Indian _desperadoes_, who had exulted in the
bloody deeds they had committed. One especially, braver than the rest,
named Euchre Bill, boasted that he had _eaten the heart of one white man_.
This he did in presence of Agent Simpson, during an effort of the latter
to quell a broil. The agent, always equal to emergencies, replied, by
knocking the fellow down, handcuffing him, and shutting him up in the
guard-house, and feeding him on bread and water for several days, after
which time he was released, with the warning that, the next time he
repeated the hellish boast, he would “not need handcuffs, nor bread and
water.” Bill understood the hint. The agent remarked to us that “Bill was
one of his main dependants in preserving order.”
During our visit we went with the agent to see Euchre Bill. He was hewing
logs. On our approach he dropped the axe, and saluted the agent with
“Good-morning, Mr. Simpson,” at the same time extending his hand. When
informed of the personality of our party, Bill waved his hat, and made a
slight bow, repeating the name of each in turn.
We looked in on the school then in progress; we found twenty-five children
in attendance. They gave proof of their ability to use the English
language, and understand its power to express ideas; the lessons were all
in primary books. Their recitations were remarkable. Outside of books they
had been instructed in practical knowledge, and answered readily in
concert to the questions, Who is President of the United States? What city
is the capital? Who is Governor of Oregon? Where is the capital located?
Who is Superintendent of Indian Affairs? What year is this? How many
months in a year? When did the count of years begin? Who was Jesus Christ?
And many other questions were asked and readily answered. The boys were
named George Washington, Dan Webster, Abe Lincoln, James Nesmith, Grant,
Sherman, Sheridan,——each answering to a big name. “Dan Webster” delivered
in passable style an extract from his great prototype’s reply to Hayne.
The school also joined the teacher in singing several Sunday-school hymns,
and popular songs. Short speeches were made by visitors and teachers. We
were much encouraged by what we saw, and left _that_ school-house with the
belief that Indian children can learn as readily as others when an
opportunity is given them. I have not changed my conviction since; much of
its prosperity was due to the teacher, William Shipley, who was fitted for
the work and gave his time to it. We also called at some of the little
settlements. The agency farm was tilled in common; notwithstanding we saw
many small gardens around the Indian houses, growing vegetables, and in
one or more “_tame flowers_.” At one place several men were at work on a
new house, some of them shingling, others clinking cracks. One man was
hewing out, with a common axe, a soft kind of stone for a fire-place.
We entered the house of “Too-toot-na Jack,” the champion oarsman. He
welcomed his vanquished rival in the boat-race above referred to, and his
friend, and offered one an arm-chair, and stools to the remainder. His
wife came in, and Jack said, “This is my woman, Too-toot-na Jinney. She is
no fool either. She has a cooking-stove in the kitchen.” Jinney was much
older than her husband; but that was not unusual. She was a thrifty
housewife, and was a financier,——had saved nearly one thousand silver
half-dollars; and what she lacked in personal charms, on account of
tattooed chin and gray hairs, she made up, like many a fairer woman, in
the size of the buckskin purse wherein she kept her coin. Jack seemed
fully to appreciate the good qualities of his “woman;” not because he had
access to her fortune, but because _she_ was old and _he_ was young, and
the chances were that _he_ would be at _her_ funeral.
That hope has made many a better fellow than Too-toot-na behave with
becoming reverence for his wife. But “many a slip ’twixt cup and lip”
applies to all kinds of people. Jack never realized on _his investment_.
_He_ went _first_, and Jinney is now a rich widow, and has no doubt
marriage offers in abundance.
We were present on “court day,” the agent holding it for the adjustment of
all kinds of difficulties among his people. In such cases he appoints
juries from among the bystanders, always taking care to select such as had
no tribal affinities with the parties to the suit. He had a sheriff in
every tribe, and on occasions where their own friends were interested he
summoned others to act. He _himself_ was the _court and high sheriff_, and
always _sat_ with a large hickory cane, called “Old Moderator.”
My readers may smile at this kind of a gavel; but it was a practical and
useful thing to have in such courts,——much more potential than Blackstone
or any other kind of commentaries, unless, indeed, it be the last revised
edition of Samuel Colt.
The records of that court were sometimes made on untanned parchment; by
which I mean, my poor, unsophisticated reader, that these Indian citizens
would sometimes forget very willingly to observe the decorum due before
that august tribunal, and fall to making a record for themselves and on
one another with fists, clubs, whips, knives, pistols, and other lively
weapons, until the good Judge Simpson completed that record by a vigorous
application of the aforesaid hickory club, and some of the citizens had
editions for personal adornment.
The walls of the court-room had transcript fragments done in carmine,——or,
to be better understood, in “claret.” Court day had been announced to the
visitors while at breakfast. The senator had been a successful lawyer
before entering the political arena; the judge was then in the enjoyment
of a lucrative practice; the superintendent had done something in the law
line in county courts before justices of the peace.
The court-room was crowded, the doorways and windows were occupied, and
black shining eyes were glistening through every crack, all anxious to see
and hear. These people, of Siletz especially, were apt imitators, and
more readily fell in with the vices and frivolities of civilization than
with its virtues and proprieties.
The assembly was composed of the greatest variety of character, color,
costume, and countenance ever found in any court-room. Women were there,
learning law. Perhaps, they had, woman-like, intuitively snuffed the purer
air of freedom that is soon to sweep over our beautiful country and blast
the hopes of demagogues who now _rule_, without _representing_, the better
portion of the people.
Old chiefs were there to learn wisdom, to take with them to the
hunting-grounds above. Don’t chide them, reader. They never had an even
chance in this life; let them have it in the next, if possible.
The boys were there, and why not? They were looking forward to a time when
an Indian will be as good as a negro, if they behave as well. They had an
eye to political and pecuniary affairs. In fact, the people were all there
except camp-watchers and sick ones.
When our party were seated, the “Moderator” touched the floor, and soon
all was silent.
These Indians are fond of “law,” and since the old law and new——that is to
say, Indian and white men’s——were somewhat mixed up, it was a difficult
matter to execute justice uniformly. Agent Simpson, being a practical man,
had not sought to enforce the white men’s law any further than the Indian
comprehended it.
The Indian lawyers were on hand ready for business. The first case called
was for assault and battery. The court and the visitors had been partial
witness of the little fight, which occurred the day previous to the trial,
on the “Plaza,” in front of the agent’s head-quarters. The contestants
were clutchmen (women); _the cause of war_, the only thing that women ever
fight about,——_a man_.
The statement in court was to the effect that one woman had stolen another
woman’s husband. The parties were arraigned, the statement made concerning
the case, and the matter compromised by sending both parties to the “Sku
Kum” House (Guard House).
The next case called was that of a man charged with unlawfully using a
horse belonging to some one else. The accused was ordered to pay for the
offence about what the real service of the animal was worth; no damages
were allowed. The third case was somewhat similar to the first.
One of Joshua’s people——name of a tribe——claimed damage for insulted
honor, and destruction of his domestic happiness.
A Rogue-river Indian had, very much after the fashions of civilized life,
by presents and petty talk, persuaded the wife of the aforesaid warrior to
elope with him. The old history of poor human nature had been repeated.
The villain deserted his victim, and she returned to her home. Her
husband, with observing eyes discovered more ic-tas (goods) in the woman’s
possession than could be accounted for on honorable grounds, and demanded
an explanation. She made “a clean breast,” and agreed to go into court
with her husband and claim _damages_, not divorce; for I have before
remarked that Indians were eminently practical. The husband demanded
_satisfaction_. The accused, whose name was “Chetco Dandy,” would have
accorded him the privilege of a fight; but that was not the satisfaction
demanded. The husband had made his ultimatum. _Two horses_ would settle
the unpleasantness. Chetco, however, owned but one. The court decided that
he should make ten hundred rails, and deliver the horse to the injured
husband, with the understanding that the latter was to _board_ him while
doing the work.
I can’t resist a query: how long a white man, under such arrangements,
would require to make ten hundred rails. The husband was satisfied, his
honor was vindicated, and he owned another horse. After the docket was
cleared, a council talk was had.
These people had been placed here by the Government, in 1856, numbering
then, according to Superintendent Nesmith’s report for 1857, 2,049 souls,
representing fourteen bands; and although, in 1869, they numbered little
more than half as many, they kept up tribal relations, at least so far as
chieftainship was concerned. In the council that day one or two of the
chiefs represented tribes in bands of ten or twenty persons; and one poor
follow, the last of his people, stood alone without constituency. He was a
chief, nevertheless.
I cannot report here the reflection that such a circumstance
suggests,——only that he, with the usual solemn face of an Indian in
council, seemed the personification of loneliness.
The speeches made by these people evinced more sense than their appearance
indicated. They were dependent on the Government, and felt their
helplessness. When the usual speeches had been made preliminary to
business talk, I said to them that I was gratified at the advancement they
had made, considering the circumstances, and that I was willing for them
to express their wishes in regard to the expenditure of money in their
interest.
They were loth to speak on this matter, because they had never been
consulted, and a recognition of their manhood was more than they had
expected. After some deliberation, during which they, like bashful boys,
asked one another, each nudging his neighbor to speak first, old Joshua at
last arose, half hesitatingly, and said, “Maby, I don’t understand you. Do
you mean that we may say what we want bought for us? Nobody ever said that
before, and it seems strange to me.”
I had consulted the agent before making this experiment, and he had
doubted the propriety; not because he was unwilling to recognize their
manhood in the premises, but he feared they would betray weakness for
useless articles, and thereby bring derision on his efforts to civilize
them. Perhaps it might establish a precedent that would be troublesome
sometimes.
He exhibited great anxiety when Old Joshua rose, lest he would disgrace
his people by asking for beads, paint, and powder, and lead, and scarlet
cloth. I can see that agent yet, with his deep-set eyes fixed on the
speaker, while he rested his chin on his cane. Old Joshua spoke again,
and, though he was considered a “terrible brave on the warpath,” and had
passed the better portion of his life in that way, now when, for the first
time in his life, he was called upon to give opinions on a serious
matter, concerning the investment of money for his people, he appeared to
be transformed into a _man_. He _was_ a man. Hear him talk:——
“I am old; I can’t live long. I want my people to put away the old law
(meaning the old order of things). I want them to learn how to work like
white men. They cannot be Indians any longer. We have had some things
bought for us that did us no good,——some blankets that I could poke my
finger through; some hoes that broke like a stick. We don’t want these
things. We want _ploughs_, _harness_, chick-chick (_wagons_), _axes_, good
hoes, a few blankets for the old people. These we want. We have been
promised these things. They have not come.”
The agent’s face relaxed; his eyes changed to pleased surprise. Other
chiefs spoke also, but after the pattern that Joshua had made, except that
some of them complained more, and named a former agent, who came poor and
went away rich. No Indian suggested an unwise investment. We assured them
that they should have the tools and other goods asked for; and _that
promise was kept_, much to the gratification of the Indians and agent.
I have not the abstract at hand, but I think I purchased for them soon
after $1,200 worth of tools and twenty sets of harness, and that a few
blankets were issued.
But, to resume the council proceedings. These people were clamorous for
allotments of land in severalty. Their arguments were logical, they
referring to the promises of the Government to give each man a home. The
land has been surveyed, and, if not allotted to them, I do not know why
it has not been done.
The subject of religion was discussed at some length. The agent, willing
to advance “his people,” had given them lessons in the first principles of
Christianity. He had taught them the observance of Sunday, had forbidden
drinking, gambling, and profanity. He invited ministers to preach to them,
and, when necessary, had been their interpreter. There were several
languages represented in the council; the major portion of the Indians
understood the jargon, or “Chi-nook,” a language composed of less than one
hundred words; partly Indian, Spanish, French, and “Boston.” The latter
word is in common use among the tribes of Oregon and Washington Territory
to represent white men or American.
The Christian churches have enjoyed the privilege of ministry to these
people since they were first located on the Reservation.
The Catholic priests, who had baptized some of these people, were very
zealous. Occasionally, the Methodist itinerant called and preached to
them. The labors of neither were productive of much good, because they did
not preach with simplicity, and could not, therefore, preach with power.
It would be about as sensible for a Chinaman to preach to Christians, as
for the latter to preach to Indians in high-flown words, abstruse
doctrines, or abstract dogmas. One case will illustrate.
A very devout man of God visited the agency, with, I doubt not, good
intentions. He preached to these people just as he would have done to
white men. He talked of Jesus Christ, the Saviour of the world; besought
them to flee from the wrath to come; that Jesus Christ was the Saviour of
the red men as well as white men; that he had died for the sins of the
world; that he rose again the third day and ascended into heaven.
The discourse was interpreted to the Indians by an employé on the
Reservation. A few days after, a Si-wash, the usual word for Indian, who
answered to the name of Push-wash, entered into conversation with the
above-named employé, by saying, “What you think about that Sunday-man’s
talk,——you think him fool?”——“No; he is a good man; he has plenty of
sense.”——“What for he swear all time?”——“He did not swear; he talked
straight.”
“What for he say Jesus Christ so many times? All the time he talk the
same.”
“That was all right; he told the truth; he did not talk wrong.”
“You think me fool? What for a good man die for me? I am not a bad man. I
did not tell him to die.”
“The Jews killed him, they did not like him.”
“You say Jews kill good man?”
“Yes, they kill him, and he come to life again on the third day.”
“You think he came to life? I don’t believe they kill him. He not live any
more.”
“Yes; everybody will live again some time.”
“You suppose a bad Indian get up, walk ’bout again, all the same a good
man?”
“They will all rise, but they won’t all be good.”
“What for the Sunday man tell that? He say Jesus Christ die for bad Indian
too? Say he go to heaven all the same as a good Indian, good white man;
that aint fair thing. I don’t no like such religion.”
A few days afterwards the man who reported this dialogue passed near the
grave of an Indian, and found it covered with stones and logs. He learned
afterwards, that Push-wash had explained to other Indians the meaning of
the “Sunday-man’s talk,” and they had piled stones and logs on the graves
of their enemies, to prevent them rising from the dead.
The reader will thus appreciate the necessity for sending ministers who
are qualified to preach to these people; otherwise they may do the savage
more harm than good. Farther on in the work I shall discuss more fully
this most important of all questions, with special reference to the
difficulties in the way of treating with the Indians, in consequence of
their numerous and peculiar religious beliefs, which few white men know
anything about.
I left Siletz with a favorable opinion of the people, and the prospects
before them. Notwithstanding the many impediments in the way of their
civilization, the transformation from a wild savage to a semi-civilized
life had been wrought in fourteen years.
In this connection I submit the last annual report of Hon. Ben.
Simpson,[1] late United States Indian agent at Siletz. I do so, because
whatever of progress these people may have made was under his
administration as Indian agent, and believing the short history presented
by him will be of interest to my readers.
[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 making
nominations 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 let truth 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; but no 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 only _sure_ way for
Indians to secure attention is _through 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, by _rewarding_ them 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 an agent; and now, while I write, these people are coming slowly up
towards the gate that _should_ open 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 the sweet 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.