KLAMATH COURT——ELOPEMENT EXTRAORDINARY.
The Reservation furnishes abundance of real romance, mixed with tragedy,
sufficient to make up a volume. The Indians tell, and white men confirm,
the story of an officer of the fort, who loved an Indian’s wife, and how
he sought to win her from home by presents; and, failing in this, came
with armed soldiers, and, with threats of death to the husband, compelled
him to give her up. This officer took this woman to the fort, dressed her
in styles common among white women, and refused to return her to her
husband. When the officer was “ordered away” to some other duty the squaw
went home, bearing in her arms an infant not more than half Indian. Her
husband refused to receive her. She was turned away from his lodge, and
became a vagabond of the worst class. Fortunately for father, mother, and
infant, too, the latter died a few months thereafter.
Another young officer of the United States army, who was stationed at Fort
Klamath, was a party to an elopement in high life,——as all life is _high_
at an altitude of forty-five hundred feet above the sea level; the other
party being the wife of a handsome young Indian living on Klamath
Reservation. However, they had but a few miles to travel, in order to
reach a “_Chicago_” for divorces. All people without law are a law unto
themselves.
The Indian husband appealed for redress, but found no one to listen to his
appeals. His wife returned to him when the regiment to which the officer
belonged was ordered away, bringing with her many fine clothes; her feet
clad in good American gaiters, and with an armful of childhood, in which
the Indian husband claimed no interest. The mother was turned away from
what was once a happy home; and to-day, with her little girl, wanders from
lodge to lodge, seeking shelter where she may. This woman was really
good-looking, and had proved herself an apt scholar in learning the
civilized arts of house-keeping and dress-making; she also learned
something of our language, in which she tells the story of her own shame
and the fatherhood of her child.
I am giving these statements as made to me by white men, who are
responsible, and will answer, when called upon, for their authenticity. In
respect to the families of these United States officers, not through fear
of the men themselves, I withhold their names. In this connection I
remember a conversation with a sub-chief of the Klamaths, who could speak
“Boston” quite well. His name was “Blo.” He said, “Meacham, I talk to you.
S’pose an Injun man, he see a white man’s wife. He like her. He give
presents; he win her heart; he talk to her sometime. He tell her, “Come go
with me.” She come. He take her away. White man come home. He no see his
wife. He see him children cry. He get mad. He take a gun. He hunt ’em. He
find em. He ‘shoot ’em, one Injun man. What you think? You think white
man law hang him?” We were travelling horseback, and “Blo” came up close
to me, leaning from his saddle, and, peering into my eyes, continued,
“What you think?” I looked into his face, and read murder very plainly.
Had he been a white man I might have given him a negative answer. Half
savage as he was, he was seeking for encouragement to commit a bloody deed
in vindication of his honor. I replied that “the law would punish the
Indians for stealing the white man’s wife. But if the white man was wise
he would not kill the Indian, because the laws would take hold of him.” I
felt that I was concealing a part of the truth, but I dared not do
otherwise.
“Blo” was not so easily put off. He replied with a question that
intensified my perplexity, “S’pose white man steal Injun’s wife, s’pose
law catch _him_?” Harder to answer than the first one. If I said “Yes,” he
would have demanded that the law be enforced in his case, that had come
under my own observation; and that, I knew, was impossible, with public
sentiment so strongly against the Indians that white men would have
laughed at the absurdity of calling one of their race to account for so
trifling a thing as breaking up an Indian’s family, and leaving his
children worse than orphans; yet knowing full well that the whole power of
the United States would have been evoked to punish an Indian for a like
offence. If I said “No,” I stultified myself and my Government. I could
only reply, “Suppose a woman run away,——let her go. Get a divorce, and
then another wife.”
“Now-wit-ka, Ni-kanan-itch.” “Yes, I see. Law not all the time same. Made
crooked. Made for white man. Aha, me see ’em now.”
During the seven days’ council, “Little Sallie” came into the office, and
in plain “Boston” said, “I want divorce; my man, Cho-kus, he buy another
woman. I no like him have two wife. I want divorce.”
We had just completed the organization of a court, composed of the head
chief and his eight subordinates. This was the first case on the docket,
and the beginning of a new history with this people,——a new way of
settling difficulties. The agent provided a book for making record of all
proceedings. A sheriff was appointed from among the Indians. Each
sub-chief was entitled to a constable, but, in all matters pertaining to
their respective bands, as between themselves and others, neither
sub-chief nor constable was permitted to take any part in the proceedings
of the court.
Novel scenes indeed!——Indians holding court after the fashion of white
men. The chief made a short speech on taking the middle seat on “The
Bench.” He removed his hat, saying “that he knew but little about the new
law, but he would endeavor to make it run straight, and not run around his
own people,” referring to those of his band. The sub-chiefs took their
places on either side, and we gave instructions to the sheriff to open
court, ordering a white man to show him through, saying, “Oh-yes! Oh-yes!
The Klamath Court is now open.”——“Now-witka, Now-witka, Muck-u-lux,
Klamath, Mam-ook, Bos-ti-na Law, O-ko-ke, Sun,” rang out the Indian
sheriff.
“Little Sallie” was the first to appear before the bar of justice, and,
without an attorney, she filed a complaint against her husband, the
substance of which was to the effect, that “Cho-kus”——her master——had made
arrangements to buy another wife, paying two horses; and that these horses
belonged to her individually, and she was not willing to furnish horses to
buy another woman, because it would leave but one horse in the family, and
that Cho-kus and the new wife would claim that one, and she would be
compelled to go on foot. If Cho-kus had plenty of horses she might not
object; but she thought that she could dig roots, and gather “wokus”——wild
rice——enough for the family, and Cho-kus did not need another “nohow.”
But, if he persisted, then she wanted a Boston divorce, otherwise she did
not.
Cho-kus was required to show cause why “Sallie” should not be made free.
He appeared in person, and expressed willingness for the separation, but
asked to know who would be awarded the baby,——a little fellow twelve
months old. The court decided that “Sallie” should have possession of the
child. Cho-kus took it from its mother’s arms, and, holding it in his own,
looked very earnestly and silently into its face for a moment. His speech
ran in something like the following words: “Now half this baby’s heart is
mine, half its heart belongs to ‘Sallie.’” Then slowly drawing the little
finger of one hand from its forehead down its face and body, he went on to
say, “I want this child’s heart, and ‘Sallie’ wants it; if we cut into it
it will die; I can’t give up my part of it.” Sallie attempted to snatch it
away, saying, “I won’t give up my part of the baby.” This brought the
husband to terms. He said he would give up taking another wife. Sallie
agreed, and the court proposed that, instead of being divorced, they
should be married over by “Boston law.” They consented. The ceremony was
deferred in order to make preparation for the approaching nuptials, under
the auspices of the new law.
The white ladies of the agency, some of whom were unmarried, proposed to
adorn the bride, while the employés furnished enough Sunday clothes to
dress the husband in good style. Employés and Indians were notified of the
important affair, and the court adjourned to the big camp-fire, in order
to perform the marriage ceremony in the presence of all the people. The
presiding judge _pro tem._ ordered the parties to appear.
The groom, dressed in a borrowed suit, was the first to stand up. Sallie
hesitated; the husband insisted. The bride was reluctant, saying she
wanted to know how long the new law would hold “Cho-kus.”——“Is it a strong
law? Won’t he buy another wife some time?” When all the questions were
answered to her satisfaction, she passed her child over to another woman,
and stood beside her _lover_. Yes, her lover; for he then discovered that
he really loved her, just as many a white-faced man has in similar cases,
when he realized the danger of losing her.
The official reporter, on this occasion, did not furnish an account of the
bride’s dress, but for the satisfaction, it may be, to my young lady
readers, I will say that the toilet was elaborately gotten up a-la-mode,
consisting of immense tilting hoops, bright-hued goods for dress, paint in
profusion on her cheeks, necklace of beads, and shells, and tresses of
dark hair, “_all her own_,” ornamented with cheap jewelry. This being the
first marriage under the new law, the chief remarked that be wished them
“tied very strong, so they could not get away from each other.”
We extemporized the ceremony as follows: “Cho-kus, do you agree to live
forever with Sallie, and not buy another squaw? To do the hunting and
fishing, cut wood and haul it up, like white man? Never to get drunk, or
talk bad to other women, and to be a good, faithful husband?” When the
ceremony was interpreted, he answered, “Now-wit-ka ni-hi;” yes, I do.
Sallie said, “Hold on,——I want him married to me so he won’t whip me any
more.” We adopted the supplement suggested, and Cho-kus again said,
“Now-wit-ka.” The bride said, “All right,” and promised to be a good wife,
to take care of the lodge and the baby, to dress the deer-skins, and dry
the roots.
Cho-kus also suggested a supplement, which was, that Sallie must not “_go
to the fort_” any more without _him_. She assented, with a proviso that he
would not go to see “old Mose-en-kos-ket’s” daughter any more.
The covenant was now completed, to the satisfaction of bride and
bridegroom, and the Great Spirit was invoked to witness the pledges made;
their hands were joined, and they were pronounced husband and wife. A
waggish white man whispered to Allen David, the chief, that the bride must
be saluted. The chief inquired whether that was the way of the new law,
saying he wanted “a real Boston wedding.” We said to Cho-kus, “Salute your
bride.” He replied he thought the ceremony was over; but, when made to
understand what the salute meant, replied that it was not modest; that no
Indian man ever kissed a woman in public. We urged that it was right under
the new law. He remarked that somebody else must kiss her; he didn’t
intend to. Our waggish friend again whispered in the ear of the chief,
telling him that the officiating clergyman must perform the duty to make
the marriage legal. With solemn face, the chief insisted that the whole
law must be met.
The parties remained standing while this controversy was going on. The
bride was willing to be saluted, but the question was, _who_ was to
perform that part of the closing ceremony. The record don’t mention the
name of the individual, and it is perhaps as well. The bride, however, was
saluted.
No, _I_ didn’t, indeed; I——don’t press the question——but I di——. No, no,
it was not m——, indeed it wasn’t; but I won’t tell anything about it. As a
faithful reporter, I will only add that the happy couple received the
congratulations of friends. They are still married, and Cho-kus hasn’t
bought another wife yet.
The next case called was a young man who had stolen the daughter of a
sub-chief. He was arraigned, “plead guilty,” and by the court sentenced to
wear six feet of log-chain on his leg for nine months, to have his hair
cut short, and to chop wood for the chiefs, who were to board and clothe
him in the mean time. Care was taken to protect the convict’s right, in
that he should not work in bad weather or on Sundays, or more than six
hours each day. He objected to having his hair cut short, but otherwise
seemed indifferent to the sentence.
The chiefs were satisfied, because they saw large piles of wood in
prospect. However, long before the expiration of the term of sentence they
united in a petition for his pardon.
Cases of various kinds came into court and were disposed of, the chief
exhibiting more judgment than is sometimes found in more pretentious
courts of justice.
They were instructed, in regard to law, that it was supposed to be _common
sense and equal justice, and that any law which did not recognize these
principles was not a good law_.
This court is still doing business under the direction of a Government
agent. The wedding of Cho-kus and Sallie was celebrated with a grand
dance. Who shall say these people do not civilize rapidly? The occasion
furnished an opportunity for the Indian boys to air their paints,
feathers, and fine clothes; also for Indian maidens and women to dress in
holiday attire.
Chief Allen David had given orders that this “social hop,” commemorating
the first marriage in civil life, should be conducted in civil form. The
white boys were willing to teach the red ones and their partners the steps
of the new dance.
The ballroom was lighted up with great pine wood fires, whose light shone
on the green leaves of the sugar pines and on the tan-colored faces of the
lookers-on. Singular spectacle!——children of a high civilization leading
those of wilder life into the mazes of this giddy pastime; and they were
apt scholars, especially the maidens. The music was tame; too tame for a
people who are educated to a love of exciting sports.
The chiefs stood looking on, and, when occasion required, enforcing the
orders of the floor-managers, who were our teamsters, turned, for the
nonce, to dancing masters. I doubt if they would have been half as zealous
in a Sabbath school. But since dancing is a part of American civilization,
acknowledged as such by good authority, and since Indians have a natural
fondness for amusements, and cannot be made to abandon such recreation,
perhaps it was well that our teamster boys were qualified to teach them in
this, though they were not for teaching higher lessons. At our request we
were entertained with an Indian play. No phase of civilized life exists
that has not its rude counterpart in Indian life. This entertainment of
which I am writing was given by _professional_ players, who evinced real
talent. All the people took great interest in the preparations, inasmuch
as we had honored them by making the request. The theatre was large and
commodious, well lighted with huge log fires. The _foot-lights_ were of
pitch wood. The _boards_ were sanded years before, and had been often
carpeted with velvet green or snowy white. The “_Green-rooms_” were of
white tent cloths, fashioned for the purpose by brown hands, and were in
close proximity to the scene. The front seats were “reserved” for invited
guests. The rest was “standing room.” Circling round in dusky rows stood
the patient throng. Nor stamps, nor whistles, nor other hideous noises
gave evidence of bad-breeding or undue impatience. No police force was
necessary _there_ to compel the audience to respect the players or each
other’s rights.
As the time to begin comes round a silence pervades the assembly. No huge
bill-posters, or “flyers,” or other programme had given even an inkling of
the play. This was as it should be everywhere, for then no promises were
made to be broken, and no fault could be found, whether the play was good
or bad. The knowing ones, aware, by signs we did not see, that soon the
performance would commence, by motion of hand or eye would say, “Be
still.”
Now we hear a female voice, soft and low, singing, and coming from some
unseen lodge. It grows more distinct each moment and more plaintive, and
finally the singer comes into the circle with a half dance, the music of
her voice broken by occasional sobs, makes the circuit of the stage,
growing weary and sobbing oftener; she at last drops down in weary,
careless abandonment. This maiden was attired in showy dress, of wild
Indian costume, ornamented with beads and tinsel. Her cheeks and hair were
painted with vermilion. The frock she wore was short, reaching only to the
knee. Close-fitting garments of scarlet cloth, richly trimmed with beads,
and fringe of deer-skin she wore upon her ankles, with feet encased in
dainty moccasins. When she sat down, the picture was that of one tasting
the bitter with the sweets of life, in which joy and sorrow in alternate
promptings came and went. The sobbing would cease while she gathered
flowers that grew within her reach, arranging them in bunches, seemingly
absorbed in other thoughts, occasionally giving vent in half-stifled,
child-like sobs, or muttering in broken sentences, with parting lips,
complaints against her cruel father, giving emphasis with her head to her
half-uttered speech.
Following the eyes of our Indian interpreter, whose quick ear had caught
the sound of coming steps, we saw a fine-looking young brave enter the
ring, crouching and silent as a panther’s tread, and, scanning the
surroundings, he espies the maiden. We hear a sound so low that we imagine
it is but the chirping of a tiny bird; but it catches the maiden’s ear,
who raises her head and listens, waiting for the sound, and then relapses
into half-subdued silence. Meanwhile the young brave gazes, with bright
eyes and parted lips, on the maiden. Again he chirps. Now she looks around
and catches his eye, but does not scream, or make other noises, until, by
pantomimic words, they understand they are alone.
The warrior breaks out in a wild song of love, and, keeping time with his
voice, with short, soft, dancing step, he passes round the maiden, who
plays coquette, and seems to be fully on her ground. He grows more
earnest, and raises his voice, quickens his steps, and, passing close
before her, offers his love, and proposes marriage, speaks her name, and,
turning quickly again, passes back and forth, each time pleading his case
more earnestly, until the maiden, woman-like, feigns resentment, and he,
poor fellow, thinks she means what she does not, and slowly and sadly, in
apparent despair, retreats to the farther side of the stage. When he came
upon the scene, clad in his dress of deer-skins, hunting-shirt and
leggings, with moccasins trimmed with beads and scarlet cloth, his long
hair ornamented with eagle feathers, and neck encircled with the claws of
wild cayotes, his arms with a score of rings, his scarlet blanket girded
round his waist, and reaching nearly to the ground,——swinging to his
back, his quiver full of painted arrows, whose feathered ends shone above
his shoulder; his left hand clasping an Indian bow, while his right held
his blanket in rude drapery around him,——he was the very image of the real
live young Indian brave. But now, with blanket drawn over his shoulder,
covering his arms, while the feathers in his hair and the arrows were held
tightly to his head and neck, he seemed the neglected lover he thought
himself:
Poor Ke-how-la, you do not appear to know that Ganweta is playing prude
with you. Ke-how-la breaks out afresh, in song and dance, and, circling
around the maiden, gives vent to his wounded pride, declares that he will
wed another, and, as if to retire, he turns from her. Ganweta, as all her
sex will do, discovers that she has carried the joke too far, springs up,
and, throwing a bunch of flowers over his head, begins to tell, in song,
that she dare not listen to his words, because her father demands a price
for her that Ke-how-la cannot pay, since he is poor in horses; but that,
if left to choice, she would be his wife, and gather roots, and dress
deer-skins, and be his slave.
Ke-how-la listens with head half turned, and then replies that he will
carry her away until her father’s anger shall be passed.
Ganweta tells how brave and strong her father is, and that he intends to
sell her to another.
Ke-how-la boasts of his skill in archery, and, dropping his blanket from
his shoulder and stringing his bow, quickly snatches an arrow from his
fawn-skin quiver, and sends it into a target centre, and then another by
its side, and still another, until he makes a real bouquet of feathered
arrows stand out on the target’s face, in proof of his ability to defend
her from her father’s wrath.
Snatching his arrows, and putting them in place among their fellows, save
one he holds in his hand, he motions her to come, and, bounding away like
an antlered deer, he runs around the circle with Ganweta following like a
frightened fawn. They pass off the scene. The braves sent by the father
come on stealthily, scanning the ground to detect any sign that would be
evidence that the lovers had been there. Stooping low and pointing with
his finger to the tracks left, a warrior gives signal that he has found
the trail, and then the party starts in quick pursuit, following round
where Ke-how-la and Ganweta had passed, who, still fleeing, come in on the
opposite side, and, walking slowly backward, he, stepping in her tracks,
intending thus to mislead the pursuers, then, anon, throwing his arm
around her, would carry her a few steps, and, dropping her on the ground,
they would resume the flight.
The pursuers appear baffled; but with cunning ways they find the trail,
and resume with quickened steps the chase.
Suddenly Ke-how-la stops and listens. His face declares that he has
knowledge of the coming struggle,——that he must fight. Bidding Ganweta
haste away, he takes a station near a tree, and awaits the pursuers. They
seem to be aware that he is there, and, drawing their bows, prepare to
fight. See Ke-how-la expose his blanket, the pursuers letting two arrows
fly, one of them striking it, the other the tree. A twang from Ke-how-la’s
bow, and a howl of pain, and a red-skinned pursuer in agony has an arrow
in his heart, and then the arrows fly in quick succession, until the hero
sends his antagonists to the happy hunting-ground of their fathers, and
with apparent earnestness he scalps his foes.
With his trophies hanging to his belt, he calls, “Ganweta, Kaitch Kona
Ganweta!”——Beautiful Ganweta; but he calls in vain. While Ke-how-la was
fighting, a brave of another tribe carries off the shrinking maiden, and
escapes to his people.
Ke-how-la takes the trail, and follows by the signs Ganweta had left on
her involuntary flight, and discovers her surrounded by his enemies. He
returns to his own people for assistance. He finds friends willing to
follow him. Ganweta’s father is reconciled with him, and gives his consent
to his marriage when he shall have brought Ganweta home. A party is
formed, and after the war-dance and other savage ceremonies, they go on
the warpath. Then we see the warriors fight a sham battle with real
war-whoops and scalping ceremonies. The arrows fly, and the wounded fall,
and the victors secure the scalps and also the captive maiden, and, with
wild sports, return to the lodge of Ganweta’s father.
This performance lasted about three hours, and from the beginning to the
end the interest increased, winding up with a scalp-dance.
I have never witnessed a play better performed, and certainly never with
imitation so close to reality. It demonstrated that talent does not belong
to any privileged race; that Indians are endowed with love for amusements,
and that they possess ability to create and perform.
If it is urged that such plays foster savage habits among the Indians,
the excuse must be that they were true to the scenes of their own lives
and in conformity with the tastes of the people, as all theatricals are
supposed to be.
It had one merit that many plays lack. Its actors were natural, and no
unseemly struts and false steps, or rude and uncouth exhibitions of
dexterity or unseemly attitudes, that make modest people hide their eyes
in very shame, were indulged in by the players.
The Indians of Oregon and of the Pacific coast wear long hair; at least,
until they change their mode of life, they have a great aversion to
cutting it, and, in fact, it is almost the last personal habit they give
up. Before leaving this agency, I proposed to give a new hat to each man
who would consent to have his hair cut short. The proposition was not well
received at first, because of their old-time religious faith, which in
some way connected long hair with religious ceremony. It is safe to
assert, that, whenever an Oregon Indian is seen without long hair, he has
abandoned his savage religion. Before leaving, however, I was assured that
I might send out the hat for over one hundred.
The following summer, when making an official visit, I took with me four
hundred hats. When the question was brought up, and the hats were in
sight, a flurry was visible among the men. The chief, Allen David, led the
way, begging for a long cut. A compromise was made, and it was agreed that
the hair should be cut just half-way down. With this understanding, the
barber’s shop was instituted, and long black hair enough to make a Boston
hair merchant rich was cut off and burned up.
The metamorphosis was very noticeable. Many ludicrous scenes were
presented in connection with, and grew out of, this episode. A great step
forward had been made, and one, too, that will not “slip back.”
When O-che-o came out of the room, after his head had been for the first
time in his life under a barber’s hands, he presented a comical spectacle.
His children did not know him; some of his older friends did not recognize
in him the chief of other days.