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,——and they——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 might _accrue, 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.
The _Indians_ of Grand Round _own_ the _mills_. 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 civilization than 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 the _merchants_, 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 mill
furnished 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]
[3] See Appendix.
The enrolment referred to was completed. The surveying was done by Col. D.
P. Thompson, United States Deputy Surveyor.
While he was engaged in doing this work, the Indians assisted materially,
and followed him in crowds, each anxious to see where the lines would run,
whether they would conform to their preconceived hopes or not.
The thoughts of these men——for they were men——must have been very
comforting at the prospect of promises being at last fulfilled. Many years
had passed, _waiting, waiting_, waiting for the time to come when they
should have homes “like white men.” They well understood the arrangement
in regard to the amount of land that was to be given to each. I have not
the “Willamette Treaty” before me, but, from memory, state, that each
_grown person_ was to have twenty acres, with ten acres additional for
each minor child.
Col. Thompson, the surveyor, relates, that while engaged in surveying near
the house of a “Wapto” Indian, said Indian came to him with a very serious
face, and requested the suspension of the work. The colonel, being a
humorous man, and patient withal, entertained the petition, but demanded
to know the reason why the survey should stop.
“Wapto” said, in jargon, “Indian Neeseka-nan-itch-mi-ka, is-cum, twenty
acres; Nika cluchman is-cum, twenty acres; Ni-ka ten-us-cluchman is-cum,
ten acres; Nika ten-us-man is-cum, ten acres; Ma-mook, sixty acres; Al-ka.
You see I get twenty acres, my squaw get twenty acres, my daughter get ten
acres, my son get ten acres, making sixty acres in all. Spose Mesika Capit
mamook icta elihe, Kau-yua nika is cum, seventy acres. Suppose you stop
surveying, and wait awhile, I can get seventy acres, may be eighty acres.
Cum-tux,——understand?”
The colonel took the hint, when the Indian pointed to the small lodge,
fitted up expressly, as the custom among these people is, for important
occasions of the kind intimated above.
Whether he changed his course in surveying, he did not say, but went on to
relate, that a few days after the above conversation, the same Indian came
to him and said, “Nika-is-cum, Ten-is-man”——“I have another
boy.”——“Klat-a-wa-ma-mook-elihe”——“Go on with the survey.”——“Nika is-cum,
seventy acres”——“I get seventy acres.” He seemed much elated with the new
boy, and the additional ten acres of land.
The surveying was completed, but “red tape” was in the way of allotment,
much to the satisfaction of some of the people, who were hoping for as
good fortune as “Wapto,” in the same way; others, who were hopeless of
such luck, were anxious for the lands to be set apart at once, because
each new-comer made the chances less in securing good homes, by being
crowded of to make room for the additions that such events demanded.
The allotment has finally been made. The people are overjoyed, and they
start off on this new order of life with commendable zeal. I have no doubt
of their ability to maintain themselves, when they shall have been
admitted to the new relationships in life. While they have been long in
bondage, treated as dependents, and begrudged the valley wherein they have
been placed by the Government, they have, nevertheless, attained to a
status of manhood that entitles them to consideration. They fully
appreciate such evidences of recognition, and should be consulted in
regard to the expenditure of their funds, the appointment of agents and
employés, the selection of church ministries and school teachers.
During one of my official visits they assembled to the number of nearly
one hundred, and paraded on horseback, for a grand demonstration. They
were well dressed, and well mounted on good horses. After performing
various evolutions, they drew up in front of the agency office in a half
circle. The leader then made a speech, a portion of which I copy here,
from the memoranda made at that time. It was in American language, and
began, “Mr. Meacham: You our chief. We look on you as our father. We show
you how we get along. We think we white men now. We no Injuns now. We all
Republicans. We know ’bout the big war. We no Democrats. One man he live
with me——he Democrat——us boys all laugh. He get shamed; he good ‘publican
now. These all our horses, we work for ’em. S’pose you want us work road,
all right; s’pose you tell us pay the tax, all right. Sometime we vote
just like a white man. All right. S’pose the President want soldier, we
are white men; we know all about everything; we can fight. We are not
boys; we know about law. That’s all right.
“We want to hear you talk. You talk all the same; you talk to white men.
Some of these people don’t understand, we tell them; you go ahead, talk
all the time;” meaning I should make a speech without waiting to have it
interpreted.
I felt then that I was their servant. The Government was paying me for my
time, and whatever of ability I might have. I was not there to make a
hurried call, and go away without doing them good.
My remarks were, substantially, that I was glad to see them appear so much
like white men; that the Government would give them lands, and would do
right by them. A few years ago, a great many black people were slaves; now
everybody is free. Every man is counted by his sense and conduct, _not_ by
his color. You men are almost white in your habits. You are doing well;
you have made a good start. After the land is allotted, you will each have
a home, and in four years the treaty will be dead; then you can come up
with the white man. You will pay taxes and vote.
Dave said: “There is something else we want you to talk about. Some of us
Injuns are Catholic; some of us are not. The Catholics don’t want to go to
the other meetings. They don’t talk all the same. We want to understand
about this religion.”
The agency was, at that time, under the supervision of the Methodist
Church. A Catholic priest had been laboring with these people for many
years, and had baptized a large number of them.
The assignment of agencies was made without proper knowledge of the
religious antecedents of the people. Many of them had been, from time to
time, under the teaching of other churches, especially the Methodist
Episcopal Church. They had also formed their ideas from association with
the farmers, for whom they had worked at various times. I realized then,
as I have often done, the very embarrassing circumstances that surrounded
the subject.
If I have ever doubted the feasibility of the church policy, it was
because no well-defined regulations were ever made. Regarding these
matters it is a doubtful question which of the churches named had priority
of right to minister to the people of Grand Round Agency. Though the
Catholics had been many years among them, the Methodists had, at an
earlier date, taught them in matters pertaining to religion.
I fully realized the importance of Dave’s request, and so deferred action
until the Catholic father could be summoned. Father Waller, one of the
early founders of Methodist missions in Oregon, was present. When the
former arrived, the subject was again brought up. In the mean time,
however, a new question arose, and an incident occurred worthy of a place
in this connection.
The habits of these people are their lives really, and when an old custom
is abolished, the substitute may be clumsily introduced, and not well
understood. I refer to the marriage law. The old way was to buy the girl,
or make presents to the parents until they gave consent for the marriage.
The new order of things forbade this way of performing this sacred rite.
The hero of this episode——Leander——was a fine, handsome young fellow, who
belonged to Siletz Agency, and from his agent had learned something of the
working of the law. Siletz and Grand Round Agencies are within one day’s
ride.
The heroine——Lucy——lived on the latter, with her parents, who were
“Umpyuas.”
Leander had obtained a pass——permission——from his agent, stating the
object of the visit, and had been well drilled in regard to his rights
under the “new law.” He had proposed, and, so far as the girl’s consent
was concerned, been accepted. But the parents of Lucy could not be so
easily conciliated.
It is true they had assented to the new law, but were reluctant to see
Lucy marry a man, and go away to another agency to live. I think, however,
the absence of presents had something to do with their reluctance. Leander
had promised his agent that he would stand by the new law,——make no
presents to the parents.
The “old folks” founded their objection on other grounds when submitting
the case for settlement. Leander requested a private interview with me. He
then stated that he was willing to pacify the old folks by making a
present or two, if he thought Mr. Simpson would not find out about it. He
declared he never would return to Siletz without Lucy; said he thought she
was a good young cluchman; he loved her better than any on Siletz. “She
is stout; she can work; she can keep house like a white woman. She is no
squaw. I want her mighty bad. You s’pose you can fix it all right? I don’t
want them old folks mad at me. They say if she goes away now she get no
land. Can’t she get land at Siletz? They don’t care for her. They want
some ictas (presents); they want me to wait until you give the land;
that’s what they want.”
I promised to arrange the matter for him somehow, although I could see the
difficulties that embarrassed the marriage, as indicated by Leander’s
talk.
Had the allotment of lands been made, no objections would have been had on
that score. The father and mother called upon me, wishing advice. Grand
Round was, at this time, without a general agent, and was running in
charge of a special agent,——Mr. S. D. Rhinehart; hence the duties of an
agent were devolved upon the superintendents, and one of the important
duties is to hear the complaints, and adjust all matters of difference.
The “old folks” were much excited over this affair of their daughter Lucy,
who had, as her white sisters sometimes do, given evidence of her interest
in the question, by declaring she would marry Leander, and possibly said
something equivalent to the “there now” of a spoiled girl.
They were much affected. The father’s chief objection, I think, was to
prospective loss of ten acres of land; the mother’s, the companionship and
services of her daughter, added to a mother’s anxiety for the welfare of
her child. She shed some real tears, woman-like.
The father said, when he would wake up in the morning and call “Lucy,”
she could not hear him, and that he would be compelled to go for his horse
when he wanted to ride. Lucy had always done that kind of work for him.
The conference was protracted, for I recognized in this affair a precedent
that might be of great importance to the Indians of Grand Round Agency
hereafter. I foresee, in the future, some stony-hearted Indian hater,
scowling while he reads this mention of sentiment and feeling on the part
of Indians. Scowl on, you cold-blooded, one-sided, pale-face, protected in
your life, your rights, and even your affections, by a great, strong
Government!
Finally, all the parties interested were taken into the council. The
mother put some pertinent questions to Leander.
“Do you ever drink whiskey? Do you gamble? Will you whip Lucy when you are
mad? Will you let her come to see me when she wants to?”
Leander’s answers were satisfactory, and, I think, sincere. He promised,
as many a white boy has to his sweetheart’s mother, what he would not have
done to a mother-in-law. That relationship changes the courage, and
loosens the tongue of many a man.
Lucy was not slow to speak her mind on the subject. “Leander,
Clat-a-wa-o-koke-Sun-Siletz. E-li-he, hi-ka-tum-tum, ni-ak-clut-a-wa.
(Leander goes to Siletz, my heart will go with him, to-day.)
Ni-ka-wake-clut-or-wa-niker, min-a-lous.” (“If I don’t go, I will die.”)
This settled the question.
Being the first marriage under the new law, it was decided to make it a
precedent that would have proper influence on subsequent weddings. The
ladies resident at the agency, were informed of the affair, and requested
to assist the bride in making preparations for the ceremony.
Leander was well dressed, but he required some drilling. Dr. Hall, the
resident-physician, assumed the task, and calling two or three boys and
girls to the office, the ceremony was rehearsed until Leander said,
“That’s good. I understand how to get married.”
The people came together to witness the marriage. The men remounted their
horses, and formed in a half circle in front of the office, women and
children within the arc, all standing. The porch in front of the office
was the altar. Father Waller, with his long white hair floating in the
wind, stood with Bible in hand. A few moments of stillness, and then the
office door opened, and Leander stepped out with Lucy’s hand in his.
The doctor had arranged for bridesmaids and groomsmen. As they filed out
into the sunlight, every eye was fixed on the happy couple. The attendants
were placed in proper position, and then the voice of Father Waller broke
the silence in an extempore marriage service. Leander and Lucy were
pronounced man and wife, and, the white people leading off, the whole
company passed before the married pair and offered congratulations.
Great was the joy, and comical the scene. One of the customs of civilized
life was omitted, that of kissing the bride. Father Waller could not,
consistently, set the example, the doctor would not, and, since no white
man led the way, the Indian boys remained in ignorance of their
privilege.
The horsemen dismounted and paid the honor due, each following the exact
model, and if one white man had kissed the bride, every Indian man on the
agency would have done likewise.
One young man asked the bridegroom in Indian,
“Con-chu-me-si-ka-ka-tum-tum?” (“How is your heart now?”)
“Now-wit-ka-close-tum-tum-tum-ni-ka.” (“My heart is happy now.”) I have
witnessed such affairs among white people, and I think that I have not
seen any happier couple than Leander and Lucy.
The dance, in confirmation of the event, was well attended. It being out
of Father Waller’s walk in life, and my own also, we did not participate
in the amusement. But we looked on a few moments, and were surprised to
see the women and girls dressed in style, somewhat grotesque, ’tis true,
but all in fashion; indeed, in several fashions.
Some of them wore enormous hoops, others long trails, all of them
bright-hued ribbons in their hair. Some with chignons, frizzles, rats, and
all the other paraphernalia of ladies’ head-gear. The men were clad in
ordinary white man’s garb, except that antiquated coats and vests were
more the rule than the exception. Black shining boots and white collars
were there. A few had gloves,——some buckskin, some woollen; others wore
huge rings; but, taken all in all, the ball would have compared favorably
with others more pretentious in point of style, and even elegance.
These people were apt scholars in this feature of civilization. The music
on the occasion was furnished by Indian men, with violins. Few people are
more mirthful, or enter with more zest into sports, when circumstances are
favorable, than do Indians.
The day following the wedding, a general council, or meeting, was held.
Father Waller of the Methodist, and Father Croystel of the Catholic
Church, being present, the subject of religion was taken up and discussed.
The facts elicited were, that many of the Indians, perhaps a majority,
were in favor of the Catholic Church. The remainder were in favor of the
Methodist, a few only appearing indifferent.
Neither of the fathers took part in the “talks.” My own opinion, expressed
then and since, on other occasions, was, that the greatest liberty of
conscience should be allowed in religious practice. That the people should
honor all religions that were Christian. No bitter feelings were
exhibited. I attended, at other times, the Catholic Church exercises,
conducted by Rev. Father Croystel. The Indians came in large numbers, some
of them on horses, but the majority in wagons; whole families, cleanly
clad and well behaved.
Those who belonged to the Catholic Church were devout, and assisted the
father in the ceremonies and responses. The invitation was extended to any
and all denominations to preach; on one occasion a minister came by
invitation, and preached in the office. The attendance was not large, but
the employés of the agency monopolized all the available benches. They
seemed to think that the Indians had no rights. The preacher began his
discourse, and, after dilating on the word of God, with a prosy effort to
explain some abstruse proposition in theology, for half an hour, my
patience became exhausted, and I arose and made the suggestion that,
since the meeting was for the benefit of the Indians, something should be
said which they might understand. More seats were provided, and the
preacher started anew, and when a sentence was uttered that was within the
comprehension of those for whom the preaching was intended, it was
translated. This meeting, however, did not do them very much good, because
it was not conducted in a way that was understood by the Indians.
The man who was trying to do good had undoubtedly answered when some one
else had been called of God to preach the gospel. He would, perhaps, have
made a passable mechanic, but he had no qualifications for preaching to
Indians. He was not human enough. He was too well educated. He knew too
much. Had he been _less learned_, or possessed more _common sense_, he
might have been competent to teach great grown-up children, as these
Indian people are, in the Christian religion.
A short colloquy overheard between two of the red children he had been
preaching to would have set him to thinking. The talk was in the Indian
language, but, translated, would have run in about the following style:——
“Do you understand what all that talk was about?”——“No; do you? Well, he
was talking wicked half the time, and good half the time. He was telling
about a man getting lost a long time ago. Got lost and didn’t find himself
for forty years. That’s a big story, but maybe it is so. I don’t know.
Never heard of it before.”
I need not say to the reader, that this minister had been preaching about
Moses. Perhaps he was not to be censured. He may have done the best he
could. He did not know how to reach an Indian’s heart.
The schools at this agency were not flourishing. The reason was that the
mode was impracticable. Schools were taught with about as much sense and
judgment as the preaching just referred to.
After several years of stupid experimenting, at an expense of many
thousands of dollars, there was not among these Indians half a dozen of
them who could read and understand a common newspaper notice. The fault
was not with the pupils; it was the system.
The Indians of this agency are farther advanced than those of any others
in Oregon, in everything that goes to make up a civilized people. They
have, since the allotment of lands, made rapid progress, and bid fair to
become rivals of other people in the pursuit of wealth, and other
characteristics that make a people prosperous. Some of them are already
the equals of their white neighbors in integrity of character and business
tact. They have abandoned their old laws and customs, and have been
working under civil laws. They elect officers and hold courts, somewhat
after the manner of a mock Legislature; in other words, they are
practising and rehearsing, in anticipation of the time when they shall
become citizens.
Like all other races, they learn the vices much quicker than the virtues
of their superiors. It cannot be denied that they follow bad examples
sometimes, especially intemperance; but when considered fairly, taking
note of the influences that have been thrown around them; the many
different agents, and kinds of policies under which they have lived; the
fact that they were wild Indians sixteen years ago; that they have been
kept in constant fear of being removed; hope deferred so often and so
long; that they were remnants of many small tribes; that their numbers
have decreased so rapidly,——then they stand out in a new light, and
challenge commendation.
Lift your heads, Indians of Grand Round! you are no longer slaves; you are
free.
This agency, with the people who are there now, and who have been there as
Government officers and employés, would furnish material for volumes of
real live romance; racy stories, sad tales, great privations, disease,
death and suffering make up the history of such places. No character
required to make a thrilling drama, a bloody tragedy, or comic
personality, would be wanting. Better live only in tradition, or fireside
story, than in printed page. The latter would embarrass men who have
passed through some of the chairs of office, and poor fellows, too, who
have sponged a living off of “Uncle Sam,” and cheated the people of
thousands of dollars, and months of labor, that they were paid for doing.
Let the history die untold, since it could not restore justice to either
Government or people. Some of those who have administered on Grand Round
Agency have left the Indians in much better condition than they found
them, and will live forever in the memory of those they served so
faithfully.
Before leaving this agency I would state one feature of Indian life that
exists everywhere, but it is less prominent on this than other agencies.
I refer to the _poor_ and the _old_. Perhaps the last Christian virtue
that finds lodgment in Indian hearts is regard or reverence for age,
especially old women. They are drudges everywhere, and when too old to
labor are sometimes neglected.
Poor, miserable-looking old women, blind, lame, and halt, charity would
shed more tears at your death than your children would. While this
deplorable indifference for them exists to a fearful extent, there are
notable exceptions, particularly among the Grand Round Indians. In every
council they were found standing up and pleading for something to be done
for the old and poor. These old creatures nearly always hobble to the
meetings, and although they seem fair specimens of the Darwinian theory,
they, nevertheless, have feelings and gratitude even for small favors. A
grasp of the hand seems to impart a ray of sunshine to their benighted
faces.
A few years more, and all the old ones will be gone, and their successors
will take the vacant places with prospects of more humane treatment than
they have hitherto received.
Heaven pity the _poor_ and old, for man has little for them that casts
even a glimmer of hope, save on their waiting tombs!