BLUE EYES AND BLACK ONES, WHICH WIN?——TOBEY RIDDLE.
The Modoc town was composed of thirteen lodges, built after the model of
Klamath’s Indian houses. A circular, oblong excavation, twenty or thirty
feet in length and twelve wide, is first made. Then posts, two feet apart,
are set in the centre and at each end. On these posts are placed timbers
running lengthwise of the structure. Poles, or split logs, fifteen feet in
length, are placed, with the lower end resting on the ground, while the
upper end is fastened to the tops of the posts. Matting, made of “tule
grass,” is spread over the slanting timbers, and then the earth thrown
out, in making the excavation, is piled upon the matting to a depth of
twelve inches. No windows are made, and there is but one entrance which
opens between the timbers mentioned as resting on posts at the top of the
lodge. This long, narrow opening is approached from the outside by steps
made in the earthen covering. From the inside hangs a ladder made of
rawhide ropes. The windows, door, and chimneys are one and the same. The
first glance at these houses suggests war, and a second confirms the idea
that these people are always ready for an attack.
On our arrival at the town it appeared to be deserted, excepting the few
Indians who returned with us. They having dismounted, one of them rushed
up the rude stairway outside the largest lodge, and disappeared. This was
the home of the “Chief.” Our party dismounted and prepared to follow our
guide. A watchman on the house-top said, “One man come! no more!” I had
partly ascended the steps when the peremptory order came. It sounded
ominous, and recalled “Bloody Point,” and “Ben Wright.” It was too late to
turn back in the presence of savages.
When I reached the door, at the top of the lodge, and through the opening
met the eyes of fifty painted warriors, I felt as if I was in the wrong
place; but I dare not then show any signs of fear, or retrace my steps. I
may not find words to express my thoughts and feelings as I descended the
rawhide ladder, half expecting a shower of arrows, or bullets;
half-wondering how they would feel. _I did not know then,——I have learned
since._ On descending, I was met with a cold reception, that froze my
blood; a feeling I cannot describe. Captain Jack looked in my face with a
sullen glitter in his eye, that no white man could imitate. He refused to
shake hands, to speak, or smoke, and in fact it was evident that I was not
only an unwelcome visitor, but was looked upon as an enemy.
Coolly lighting my pipe, I began trying to make the best of a bad job;
meanwhile enduring the stare from all eyes,——and a stare of that kind that
none can understand who has never felt the same; an expression cold and
scornful, but burning with hatred, was on every countenance. I have beheld
but one other scene that was more indescribable, and that was the “Lava
Bed” tragedy on April 11th, 1873. A terrible kind of loneliness came over
me, and for a while I thought the chances _about even_ whether I would
get out again or not.
Finally “Scarfaced Charley” broke the stillness by asking, “What you want?
What for you come? Jack he not send for you! He got no business with you!
He no don’t want to talk! He in his country! What for you come here? You
not him ty-ee! He don’t know you! Hal-lu-i-me-til-li-cum,——(you stranger)!
Captain Jack want to see you, him come your home! He no want you come
here! You go away! Let him ’lone! He no want talk you! You go away!”
This is substantially the first Modoc speech I ever heard. The result,
however, was to break the ice, to open the way for conversation. I stated
then that I was a new chief, sent by the President, to care for all the
Indians, Modocs included, and that I was _their_ ty-ee. I had some new
things to talk about. Whether they were my friends or not, I was their
friend. I had come to see my boys, and I wanted a hearing. I was not
afraid to talk, not afraid to hear Captain Jack talk; I was a big chief,
and did not ask my own boys when to talk. When I had ended my first speech
to the Modocs, Captain Jack replied:——
“I have nothing to say that you would like to hear. All your people are
_liars_ and _swindlers_. I do not believe half that is told me. I am not
afraid to hear you talk.” I then proposed to have my friends, who were
waiting outside, come in. This was agreed to, and Captain Jack produced a
parcel of papers, that had been given to him by various persons, including
letters from “Steele,” also from Esq. Potter, and John Fairchild. These
were submitted to me, and treated with consideration, thereby securing a
certain kind of respectful hearing, on the part of Captain Jack, to the
proposition for him to provide a camp for our company.
Having thus started negotiations, Jack proffered the use of his lodge,
saying that he had no muck-a-muck (meaning provision) that we could eat;
that his stores afforded only roots and dried fish, that he had no flour,
no coffee, no sugar, no _whiskey_, and did not think a white chief could
get along without these things, etc. He, however, ordered a camp prepared
for us, which was done by making small holes in the ground, two or three
feet apart, with “camas sticks,”——a sharp-pointed instrument, of either
iron, bone, or hard wood, and about three feet long, with a handle at the
upper end, generally in the shape of a cross, and is used very much as a
gardener does a spade, by Indian women in digging roots. Into these holes
were inserted willows, eight feet in length, forming a circle twenty feet
in diameter, lapping past at one point,——thus making an entrance, very
much like the opening of a circus pavilion,——the whole surrounded with
mattings, the upper part drawn in, thus contracting the yielding tops of
the willow poles until the camp was made to resemble a huge bowl, with
bottom out, in an inverted position. This kind of work is usually done by
Indian women; but, to the credit of the young men of the Modoc tribe be it
said, that they, in this instance at least, assisted them, and did not
allow their women to be mere help-meets, but principals in mechanical
enterprises of the kind named, including also “getting wood.” Sage brush
is the principal fuel in this region of country; and since so much of the
Great Basin lying between the Rocky mountains on the east, and Sierra
Nevada, and Cascade mountains on the west, is covered with this kind of
growth, and since comparatively few of my readers may have ever seen it
for themselves, I may remark here, by way of explanation, that this “sage
brush” is a soft, flexible shrub, the woody part being porous, and filled
with a gummy substance; the bark is of a grayish color, soft and ragged,
and easily stripped off; the leaf is small, of such a color, shape and
taste as very much resembles the domestic plant, from which it takes its
name; the body is short, crooked and forked, seldom exceeds four inches in
diameter or four feet in height; burns readily, either green or dry,
making a very hot fire, though of short life, yielding abundant ashes and
beds of coals.
A plentiful supply of this fuel was piled up around our camp. A fresh fish
was taken from the river by the Indians, which, when roasted in the
sage-brush embers, made a not unpalatable meal. We spread our
saddle-blankets down for bedding, placed one of the party “on guard,”
while the remainder slept, or went through the motion of sleeping; for we
would not have cared for the Indians to know that we could not and dare
not sleep. The morrow came, and the wagons having brought our supplies, we
were prepared to offer a feast of coffee and sugar, hard-bread, beef, and
bacon.
_No Modoc would eat_ until our party had partaken. Some folks may think
their good-breeding had taught them to defer to their superiors; but such
was not the case. The reason was expressed in these few words: “Remember
Ben Wright;” which was said in the Modoc language, thus explaining why
they did not partake. When, however, they had witnessed that the
provisions prepared for the feast were eaten by our party, they were
reassured, and another point was gained.
Nothing so quickly dissolves the ice in an Indian breast as a feast. The
council was opened with Frank Riddle and his Modoc woman, Tobey, as
interpreter. I mention this fact, because they have become prominent
characters in the history of the late Modoc war. They had been sent for by
Captain Jack; in fact, he was not willing to proceed without them.
Frank Riddle is a white man, about thirty years of age, a native of
Kentucky. He anticipated Greeley, going West when a very young man, and
engaged in mining at Y-re-ka, Cal. Twelve years ago, on a bright morning
in March, an old Indian rode up to Frank’s cabin, and stopped before the
door. On a small pony behind the old man sat a young Indian girl, of Modoc
blood, twelve years of age.
The man was of royal lineage, being a descendant of Mo-a-doc-us, founder
of the tribe, and was uncle of the now famous Captain Jack. After sitting
in silence, Indian fashion, staring in the cabin door for a few minutes,
he made a motion by a toss of his head, and pouted out his lips toward the
young squaw behind him. This pantomime said to Frank, “Do you want to buy
a squaw?”
Frank was a fine-looking, dark-eyed young fellow, and withal a clever man,
of genial disposition, with native pride of ancestry, still holding to the
memory of his home, and the image of a fair-haired girl who had “swung
school-baskets” with him in the beach woods of Shelby county, Kentucky.
He shook his head. The old man’s face indicated his disappointment. The
girl on the pony slowly turned away, followed by her father.
Four days passed, and this Indian girl and her father again appeared at
Frank’s cabin. In sign language she made known her wish to be his slave,
and that he would buy her from her father. The young Kentuckian,
chivalrous as his people always are, treated her kindly; but, remembering
his fair-haired girl, refused to instal this Indian maiden as mistress of
his home. Ten days passed; the dark-eyed girl came again, _alone_,
bringing with her a wardrobe, consisting of such articles as Indian women
manufacture,——sashes and baskets, shells, beads, and little trinkets.
She was attired with woman’s taste, conforming to the fashions of her
people. Her dark eyes, with long lashes, smooth, round, soft face, of more
than usual pretensions to beauty, lithe figure, and dainty feet in
moccasins, all combined to give a romantic air to the jaunty young maiden;
and, when animated with the promptings of love for the young Kentuckian,
made her an eloquent advocate in her own behalf. The chivalrous fellow
_hesitated_. He _pitied_. He _trembled_ on the brink. The dark eyes before
him pleaded. The blue eyes, far away, dissolved reproachingly from view.
The hopes of youth, and the air-castles that two loving hearts had built
in years agone, began to vanish. They disappeared, and——and in their stead
a rude cabin in romantic wilds, with a warm-hearted, loving, dusky-faced
companion, became a living, actual _reality_.
The day following, the father of this Indian woman was richer by two
horses. The cabin of Frank Riddle put on a brighter air. The mistress
assumed charge of the camp-kettle and the frying-pan. The tin plates were
cast aside, and dishes of finer mould mounted the tables at the command of
a pair of brown hands.
Riddle, having broken his vows, and forsaken his boyhood idol, set to work
now to make the untamed girl worthy to fill the place in his heart from
which she had driven another. She was apt at learning, and soon only the
semblance of a squaw remained in the dusky cheeks and brown hands. Seven
years pass, and Frank Riddle and his woman Tobey appear in the Modoc
council on Lost river, December, 1869.
[Illustration: TOBEY AND RIDDLE.]
We made the opening speech in that council, setting forth the reasons for
our visit and producing the treaty of 1864. Here Captain Jack began to
manifest the same kind of disposition that has been so prominent in his
subsequent intercourse with government officials,——a careful, cautious
kind of diplomacy, that does not come to a point, but continually seeks to
shirk responsibility.
He denied that he was a party to the treaty of October, 1864, or that he
signed the paper. Doctor McKay, old Chief Schonchin, and sub-Chief Blo of
Klamath were brought forward, and his allegations disproved completely; we
fully and clearly establishing the fact that he was present at that treaty
council, and that he put his hand to the pen, when his mark was made; that
he accepted and shared with the other Indians the goods issued by
Superintendent Huntington in confirmation of the treaty. The amount of
goods issued I cannot state; but I find that Huntington had an
appropriation of $20,000, to meet the expenses of said treaty council,
and, I doubt not, issued $5,000 or $10,000 worth of goods. All agree that
it was a liberal supply of goods, and I believe it to be true.
Captain Jack, seeing that “he was cornered,” began to quibble about what
part of the Reservation he was to go on to. This was met with the
proposition that he could _have any_ unoccupied land. Finding his
objections all fairly met, he finally said, that, if he could live near
his friend, Link-river Jack, he _would go_. We began to “breathe easy,”
feeling that the victory was ours, when the Modoc medicine-man arose, and
simply said, “Me-ki-gam-bla-ke-tu,” (We won’t go there); when, presto!
from exultation every countenance was changed to an expression of anxiety,
and every hand grasped a revolver.
The moment was fraught with peril. The least wavering then, on our part,
would have precipitated a fight, the result of which would have been
doubtful as to how many, and who, of our party would have come out alive.
It is quite certain that, had a fight ensued, what has since startled our
people would have been anticipated, and that the name of Captain Jack
would have passed away with but little notice from among the savage
heroes.
It was there I first heard those terrible words, a part of which have
since become famous, uttered but a moment before the attack on the Peace
Commission, on April 11, 1873——“Ot-we-kau-tux-e,”——meaning, in this
instance, “I am done talking;” or, when used in other connections, “All
ready!” or, “The time has come!” or, “Quit talking.” The vocabularies of
all Indian languages are very small; hence, a word depends, to a great
extent, on its connection, for its meaning and power. It was just at this
point that the woman, Tobey Riddle, who has since proved her sagacity and
her loyalty, arose to her feet, and said in Modoc tongue to her people:
“Mo-lok-a ditch-e ham-konk lok-e sti-nas mo-na gam-bla ot-we,”——(“The
white chief talks right. His heart is good or strong. Go with him now!”)
Frank Riddle joined the woman Tobey in exhorting the Modocs to be quiet,
to be careful, using such words as tend to avert, what we all saw was
liable to happen any instant, a terrible scene of blood.
Dr. McKay, whose long experience had given him much sagacity, arose
quickly to his feet, saying in English, “Be on your guard! Don’t let them
get the drop on us.” Captain Jack started to retire when I intercepted
him, saying, “Don’t leave me now; I am your friend, but I am not afraid of
you. Be careful what you do! We mean peace, but are ready for war. We will
not begin; but if you do, it shall be the end of your people. You agreed
to go with us, and you shall do it. We are ready. Our wagons are here to
carry your old people and children. We came for you, and we are not going
back without you. You must go!”
He asked “what I would do, if he did not.” I told him plainly that we
would _whip him_ until he was willing. He then wanted to know _where_ my
men were that was to whip him. I pointed to my small squad of men. I shall
never forget his reply. “I would be ashamed to fight so few men with all
my boys.” I replied, that it was force enough to kill _some Modocs_,
before we were all dead; that when we were killed more white men would
come.
Not having very strong faith in his _pride_ about fighting so few men, I
informed him that I had soldiers coming to help us, but that we came on to
try _talking first_, and then when that failed we would send for them to
come; finally stating to him that he could make up his mind to _go_ with
us on the morrow, or _fight_, and that in the meanwhile we would be ready
at any time for him to begin, if he wished to. He said then what he
repeated many times to Peace Commissioners on last spring,——that “he would
not fire the first shot,” but if we did, “he was not afraid to die.” It
was finally agreed that he should have until the next morning to make
answer what he would do, and that at that time he should report his
conclusion.
This ended my first official council with the Modocs. Captain Jack
withdrew to his lodge to have a grand “pow-wow,” leaving our party to
determine what was the next thing for us to do. We realized that we were
“in great danger.” No one dissented from the opinion that peril was
menacing our party. Our only hope was to put on a brave front. Retreat at
that hour was impossible, with even chances for escape. We despatched a
messenger, under pretence of hunting our horses,——we dared not send him
boldly on the mission without excuses,——with orders for our military squad
at Linkville, twenty-five miles from Modoc camp, to rendezvous at a point
within hearing of our guns, and that, in the event of alarm, to “charge
the camp,” but in _no other_ event to come until the next morning.
Having despatched the courier, we carefully inspected our arms,
consisting of Henry rifles and navy revolvers. Captain Knapp’s experience
as an officer of the rebellion and McKay’s longer experience as an Indian
fighter, together with the frontier life of the remainder, made our little
party somewhat formidable, though inadequate to what might at any moment
become a fearful trial of strength.
In this connection it should be understood that at that time the Modocs
were very poorly armed with old muskets, and a few rifles and
old-fashioned pistols.
The Indians have great reverence and unlimited faith in their
“medicine-men.” This is peculiar to all Indians, but to none more so than
the Modocs. While our party were invoking Almighty aid and preparing for
the worst that might come, the Modoc medicine-man was invoking the spirits
of departed warriors for aid. While the medicine-man was making medicine,
Captain Jack was holding a council with his braves, discussing the
situation, depending somewhat on the impression to be made from the
medicine camp, and fully trusting therein. I have since learned that the
same man, who subsequently proposed the assassination of the Peace
Commission in the “Lava Bed,” in 1873, made the proposition to kill our
party in 1869, which, to the credit of Captain Jack, he promptly opposed
at that time as he did the other.
Now, if there had been a trial of strength between the good and the bad,
we should not have been worthy to represent Elijah; but the Modocs filled
the position of Ahab, and they made medicine and called loudly on their
gods, but failed therein, as Baal did Ahab. As men will do, our soldier
squad disregarded or overlooked the instruction to await the signal to
“charge camp,” for the charge _was made_ in a style that would have done
great credit at any subsequent period in the late Modoc war. There was
_spirit_ at the bottom of this unexpected movement of the soldiers; not
such spirits as the Modoc medicine-man invoked, but regular “forty-rod
whiskey.”
On leaving Link river, they had secured the “company of a bottle,” and,
the night being cold, they had resorted to its warming influences. The
consequence was that, when they arrived at the appointed place to await
orders, they forgot to stop, and came into the camp on full gallop. The
horses’ feet on the frozen ground, the breaking of sage brush, rattling of
sabres, all combined, made a noise well calculated to produce sudden fear
in the minds of all parties. Our men were all under arms and discussing
the situation.
The medicine-man was going through his incantations, accompanied by the
songs of the old women, whose sounds still linger on my ear, as they came
to our camp, wafted by the breeze from the lake. It was past midnight, and
still the great council was in session, debating the treachery proposed;
it had not been voted on at that time. Subsequent reports declare that
Schonchin’s John had spoken in favor of the measure. Captain Jack was
making a speech against it at the time the soldiers appeared.
For a few moments the scene was one of indescribable confusion; the
medicine-man cut short his prayers; the war council was broken up; and
Indian braves came out of the lodge without waiting for the ceremonies of
even savage courtesy, but “pell-mell” they went into the sage brush, each
one taking with him his arms. A guard was immediately placed, surrounding
the whole camp; Capt. Knapp giving orders to allow no one to pass the
picket lines.
Few eyes closed in sleep that night; daylight disclosed a complete circle
of bayonets, and inside about two hundred men, women, and children; but
the brave Captain Jack was not there; nor was “Schonchin’s John,” or
“Ellen’s Man,” or “Curly Head Doctor;” they had retired to the “Lava Bed.”
We issued an order for all Indians to form in a line; they were reassured
that no one should be harmed; that they should be protected, clothed, and
cared for, but that all the arms must be delivered up. This request
brought out professions and promises of friendship; but the order had been
made and must be obeyed.
The Indians refused compliance, and a file of soldiers was ordered to
seize the arms; for a few moments the excitement was intense; every man of
our party stood ready for “business,” while the arms of the Modocs were
seized, and a guard placed over them. The aspect presented by the Modoc
camp was one that will not soon be forgotten by our party; the old, the
young, the middle-aged, the crippled, and ragged, nearly all making
professions of loyalty, and rejoicing at the turn events had taken.
Provisions were issued for them, and order made for them to gather up the
ponies and prepare for removal. This morning was the first time I heard
“Queen Mary’s” voice; she is a sister of Ki-en-te-poos,——Captain
Jack,——and this fact gave her great power over him. She has been
pronounced “Queen of the Modocs,” on account of her beauty and power; she
was, probably, the most sagacious individual belonging to the band. This
Indian queen has had many opportunities for _improvement_, having been
sold to five or six white men in the last ten years.
While she has induced so many different men to buy her of her brother, she
has made each one, in turn, anxious to return her to her people; but not
until she had squandered all the money she could command. It has been
denied that Captain Jack was ever a party to these several matrimonial
speculations; but more strongly asserted, by those who ought to know, that
“Queen Mary” has been a great source of wealth to him. I am of that
opinion myself, after weighing all the facts in the case.
On the morning in question Mary appeared to plead for her absent brother,
that he might be forgiven, saying that he was no coward, but that he was
scared; that he was not to blame for running, and that she could induce
him to return. It was finally arranged that she should go to the “Lava
Bed” in company with our guide, Gus Horn, and assure her brother that no
harm had befallen the camp, and none would fall on them.
One day was spent in collecting the Indian ponies, taking Indian
provisions from the “caches,” and negotiating with the runaways for their
return, which was not accomplished. The following morning the camp was
broken up, and all the Indians, big and little, old and young,——as we
supposed at the time,——were started to the Reservation. Some were on
ponies, many of them on our wagons, and perhaps a few on foot.
We reached Link river, where fires had been made, beef and flour
prepared, and by nine, P.M., everybody seemed contented, except the
personal friends of the runaways.
Messengers were kept on the road between our camp and the “Lava Beds”
almost constantly for the three days we remained at Link river. Finally
the great chief surrendered, and “came in,” on assurances that “the
Klamaths should not be permitted to make sport of him, and call him a
coward for running from our small force.” This, then, was the ultimatum,
and was accepted, and, as far as possible, kept faithfully on our part.
The sight presented by Captain Jack and his men, when they arrived at Link
river, if it could have been witnessed by those who have taken so great an
interest in him, would have dispelled all ideas of a “Fennimore Cooper
hero.”
I cannot forbear mentioning an incident characteristic of the Modocs.
While waiting for Jack and his remaining braves, I accidentally learned
that an old woman had been left in camp on Lost river, and, asking for the
reason, was told that she was too old to dig roots, or to work, and they
had left her some wood and water, and a “little grub,” enough for her to
die easy on. A pair of new blankets, bread, sugar and meat, were prepared
to send her; also a horse to ride, and volunteers asked for, to bring the
old woman in. Not a volunteer came forward, save a “young buck,” who was
willing, _provided_ he could have the blankets and pony, should he find
her dead, or if she should die on the road. It needed no reflection to
understand that _that_ meant _murder_.
After much difficulty, the family to whom the old squaw belonged was
found, and a man and woman sent after her, with the warning, that if they
failed to bring her they must suffer the consequences. They insisted on
being _paid_ in advance for their labor. They _were not paid_, but they
brought her in alive, but so weak that she had to be held on the horse,
the squaw sitting behind her. It is said the Indian has no gratitude, but
this old woman refuted that assertion.
On the arrival of Captain Jack’s party, arrangements were made to proceed
at once to Klamath Reservation. On the morning of Dec. 27th we started on
our way. At the request of Captain Jack and his representative men, the
squad of soldiers were sent forward to the fort; the Indians claiming that
their presence made the women and children afraid; and that, having
surrendered their arms, they were powerless to do harm, and had no desire
to turn back. It may be thought a strange concession to make; but with
their arms in our possession, we _made it_; thus proving our confidence in
Indian integrity, by relieving them of the presence of the soldiers. We
were safe, and had no fear of the result.
The morning was intensely cold, and the road led over a high mountain
covered with snow to the depth of twenty inches. On the 28th we arrived at
Modoc Point, Klamath Reservation. We were met by a large delegation of
agency Indians. The meeting and peace-making of these people, who had been
enemies so long, was one of peculiar interest and full of incident, worthy
of being recorded. I pass over the first day, by saying that the Klamaths
were much chagrined when we issued an order, at the request of Jack,
against gambling.
Had we not done so, much confusion of property and domestic relation would
have ensued. These people are inveterate gamblers, and in fits of madness
have been known to stake their wives and daughters on the throw of a
stick, sometimes a card. The second day we set apart for a meeting of
reconciliation. A line was established between the Modoc and Klamath camp,
and a place designated for the forthcoming meeting, at the foot of a
mountain and beneath a wide-spreading pine tree.
The Klamaths formed on one side of the line, and awaited the arrival of
the Modocs, who came reluctantly, apparently half afraid; Captain Jack
taking a position fronting Allen David,——the Klamath chief,——and only a
few feet distant. There stood these warrior chieftains, unarmed, gazing
with Indian stoicism into each other’s faces. No words were spoken for a
few moments. The thoughts that passed through each mind may never be
known, but, perhaps, were of bloody battles past, or of the possible
future.
The silence was broken on our part, saying, “You meet to-day in peace, to
bury all the bad past, to make friends. You are of the same blood, of the
same heart. You are to live as neighbors. This country belongs to you, all
alike. Your interests are one. You can shake hands and be friends.”
A hatchet was laid in the open space, a twig of pine was handed each
chieftain,——Allen David and Captain Jack,——as they advanced, each stooping
and covering the axe with the pine boughs; planting their feet upon it,
they looked into each other’s eyes a moment, and shook hands with a
long-continued grasp, but spoke no word. As each retired to his position
outside of the line, the sub-chiefs and head men came forward, two at a
time, and followed the example of the chieftains, until all had exchanged
the pledge of friendship, and then resumed their respective places. Allen
David broke the silence in a speech of great power,——and such a speech as
none but an Indian orator can make. I have listened to some of the most
popular speakers in America, but I do not remember ever having heard a
speech more replete with meaning, or one much more logical, and certainly
none exhibiting more of nature’s oratory. It was not of that kind taught
inside brick walls, but that which God gives to few, and gives but
sparingly. I repeat it as reported by Dr. McKay.
Fixing his eye intently on Captain Jack, and raising himself to his full
proportion of six feet in height, he began in measured sentences full of
pathos: “I see you. I see your eyes. Your skin is red like my own. I will
show you my heart. We have long been enemies. Many of our brave muck-a-lux
(people) are dead. The ground is black with their blood. Their bones have
been carried by the ‘Cayotes,’ to the mountains, and scattered among the
rocks. Our people are melting away like snow. We see the white chief is
strong. The law is strong. We cannot be Indians longer. We must take the
white man’s law. The law our fathers had is dead. The white chief brought
you here. We have made friends. We have washed each other’s hands; they
are not bloody now. We are friends. We have buried all the bad blood. We
will not dig it up again. The white man sees us. Soch-e-la Ty-ee.——God is
looking at our hearts. The sun is a witness between us; the mountains are
looking on us.” Turning to the great tree, with a sublime gesture: “This
pine-tree is a witness, O my people! When you see this tree, remember it
is a witness that here we made friends with the Mo-a-doc-as. Never cut
down that tree. Let the arm be broke that would hurt it; let the hand die
that would break a twig from it. So long as snow shall fall on Yai-nax
mountain, let it stand. Long as the waters run in the river, let it stand.
Long as the white rabbit shall live in the man-si-ne-ta (groves), let it
stand. Let our children play round it; let the young people dance under
its leaves, and let the old men smoke together in its shade. Let this tree
stand there forever, as a witness. I have done.”
Captain Jack, on assuming an attitude peculiar to himself, with his eye
fixed intently on the Klamath chief, began in a low, musical voice,
half-suppressed, half hesitatingly: “The white chief brought me here. I
feel ashamed of my people, because they are poor. I feel like a man in a
strange country without a father. My heart was afraid. I have heard your
words; they warm my heart. I am not strange now. The blood is all washed
from our hands. We are enemies no longer. We have buried the past. We have
forgotten that we were enemies. We will not throw away the white chief’s
words. We will not hide them in the grass. I have planted a strong stake
in the ground. I have tied myself with a strong rope. I will not dig up
the stake. I will not break the rope. My heart is the heart of my people.
I am their words. I am not speaking for myself. I speak their hearts. My
heart comes up to my mouth. I cannot keep it down with a sharp stick. I am
done.”
No doubt that, at the time of making this speech, Captain Jack really
meant all he said; and if he failed to make good his promises, there were
reasons that may not entitle him or his people to censure for the failure.
Certainly no peace-making could have been more sincere, or promised more
for the settlement of the Modoc troubles. The remainder of the day was
passed in exchanging friendships (ma-mak-sti-nas). Preparations were
completed for issuing annuity goods to the Modocs.
Other Indians had been previously served, but this was but the second time
that the Modocs had ever received goods from the Government, in conformity
with the treaty stipulations of 1864. For five years the goods had been
regularly furnished and distributed to the Klamaths and the few Modocs who
remained faithful to the compact. If Captain Jack’s band had not received
goods, it was not the fault of the Government or its agents, but because
they wilfully refused to obey the orders of Government officers, by
remaining away from the home they had accepted.
The goods provided were of the best quality, delivered on contract, and
with packages unbroken, and in presence of Capt. Goodale, U. S. Army, then
in command of Fort Klamath; and they were distributed among his people.
Captain Jack and his head men were seated in the midst of a semi-circle,
with the other men on each side, the women in front, in half-circular
rows; the children still in front of these, on either hand. When all were
seated, the packages were broken, and the goods prepared for issue.
Captain Jack and his sub-chiefs received two pairs of blankets each, one
pair to each of his head men, and one blanket to every other man, woman,
and child, except _six very small children, who were given one-half a
blanket each_. They were all-wool, “eight-pound” Oregon blankets, and
overweighed, by actual test, nearly one-half pound per pair. In addition,
each man received a woollen shirt and cloth for one pair of pants; each
woman and child, one flannel dress pattern, with liberal supply of thread,
needles, and buttons. I have been thus particular about the facts
concerning this issue, because much sympathy has been manifested for the
Modocs on account of the wrongs said to have been practised against them.
After the distribution, the Modocs, proud of their new goods, retired to
their camps, on the shores of the lake.
The “Peace Tree,” under which the issue was made, was on a sloping
hill-side, overlooking the valley, and commanding a view of the camp of
Captain Jack. Let us see them, as they trudge homeward, with their rich
prizes. They do not go like the Indians with their blankets around them,
and feathers streaming in the wind. Since their retreat from the
Reservation they have associated with and learned many of the manners and
customs of civilized white people. Nevertheless they presented a
picturesque appearance,——old and young, loaded down with goods, flour and
beef, apparently happy; and I doubt not they were happy.
Their camps, scattered promiscuously along the edge of the water, were
constructed of various materials. A few were ordinary tents, others made
over a frame of willow poles, covered with matting, blankets, wagon
sheets, and such other material as could be pressed into service. The
ponies are scattered over the plain, cropping the winter grass, or tied up
waiting for the owner’s return.
The inside of the camps are always “cluttered,”——a Yankee word, which
means in confusion and disorder. The women proceed to stow away the new
dresses in baskets and sacks, or spread them for bedding; the men to smoke
and wait until the feast is made ready from the supplies of flour and beef
provided. They have been cheated out of what some eastern people would
consider the best part of the beef,——the “head and pluck.” That delectable
part of the animal had been captured by the waiting Klamath squaws at the
time of the slaughtering. Squaws have the smelling qualities of a war
horse, “that scents the battle from afar.” At every slaughter they were
sure to arrive in time to secure the aforesaid “head and pluck,” which,
with them, means everything except dressed meat. Even the feet are eaten.
First throwing them on the fire and burning them awhile, they then cut off
the scorched parts to eat. The foot is again conveyed to the fire, until
fairly charred; again stripped, and so on, until but little is left, and
that little does not resemble an ox’s foot very much.
The head is cooked in better shape. A hole is dug in the ground, in which
a fire is made, and, when burned down, the embers are removed, and the
head of the old Government ox is dropped in just as it left the butcher’s
hands. Hair, horns, and all are covered up with ashes and coals, a fire
made over it and left to cook. After a few hours it is removed, and is
then ready to serve up; or rather it (the head) is placed upon the ground,
and the hungry Indians, each armed with a knife, surround it and proceed
to carve and eat. Portions that may be too raw are then thrown on the
coals and charred; even the bones are eaten. Among the old and poor
people, they carefully preserve their respective ox’s feet, and, when in
want, throw them on the coals, and the meal is prepared in short order.
Uncivilized Indians have no regular hour for meals, but generally each one
consults convenience, seldom eating together except on feast occasions.
Neither have they regular hours for sleeping or rising, each member of a
family or tribe consulting their own pleasure.
While we watch the novel scenes of Indians “getting wood,” water, cooking,
and eating, we see the enterprising young Klamaths——now released from the
order forbidding their hurrying down to the Modoc camps——hasten there,
some to renew old acquaintance, others to tell in soft tones to the
listening ears of Modoc maidens the tale that burdened their hearts, and
to negotiate for new wives; or it may be, through the mediation of a
“deck” of greasy cards, to persuade the Modocs to divide goods with them.
These Klamath boys had received their new clothes a few days previous, and
had soiled them enough to make them comport well with Indian toilets.
While we are engaged making observations, cast the eye westward over the
valley of the Klamath, and see the huge shadows approach like great moving
clouds, until suddenly they start up the sloping hill-side towards us.
Look closely now at the sun resting a moment on the summit of Mount
McGlaughlin. See it settle slowly, as though splitting the crown of the
mountain in twain, until, while you gaze, he drops quickly out of sight.
Little children say he has burned a hole in the mountain, and buried
himself there. But, oh, the shadows have crept over us, and we feel the
chill which ensues. Look above and behind us, and see them climb the rocky
crags until we are all “in the shadow.”
We now see our teamster boys piling high the pitch-pine logs, and soon the
crackling flames begin to paint fresh shadows round us. The dark forms of
long-haired men gather in circles round the fire; for we are to have a
“cultus wa-wa,” (a big free talk). White men and Indians change their base
as smoke or flame compels, and all, in half gloomy silence, wait the
signal to begin. A white man speaks first of his people, their laws,
religion, and habits; tells how law is made; how the white man found his
religion; the history of the Bible; extols his own faith, and labors to
reconcile in untutored minds the difference betwixt good and bad, right
and wrong, and by simple lessons to instil the great precepts of
Christianity.
The red man listens with sober face and thoughtful brow. When opportunity
is made, he puts queries about many things they do not know. This is not
an official council, so all feel free to speak. An old Indian, with his
superstitious habits and ideas clinging to him, like a worn-out blanket in
tatters, clutching the old with one hand, and with the other reaching out
for the new, rises, and with great dignity tells of the religious faith of
his fathers, and makes apology for their ignorance and his own; says, “I
have long heard of this religion of the white man. I have heard about the
‘Holy Spirit’ coming to him. I wonder if it would ever come to my people.
I am old, I cannot live long. May be it has come now. I feel like a new
kind of fire was in my heart. May be you have brought this ‘Holy Spirit.’
“I think you have. When you came here first we were all in bad blood. Now
I see Klamaths, Modocs, Snakes, and Ya-hoo-skins, all around me like
brothers. No common man could do this. May be _you are a holy spirit_.
When I was a young man I saw a white man on his knee telling the ‘Holy
Spirit’ to come. May be the Great Spirit sent you with it.”
This old man, whose name was Link-river Joe, had attended a meeting held
by Rev. A. F. Waller, at the Dallas Methodist Mission, twenty years
before, and had still retained some of the impressions made at that time.
Old man Chi-lo-quin said he had often heard that the white man could tell
when the sun would turn black a long time before it happened,——referring
to the eclipse,——and inquired how the white man knew so much. This was
explained until the old fellow said he thought he knew how it was; but I
doubt it. Thus the last night of 1869 wore away with questions and
answers. Finally we mentioned that “to-morrow will be the New Year.” The
question was asked, how we knew it was so. Never have I seen an audience
of five or six hundred persons so eager for information. We proposed to
explain, and, holding up a watch, said to them, that when all the “little
sticks” on its face were in a row together, the old year would die in the
west, and another would be born in the east. The watch was passed around
while the explanation was being made. Allen David requested that, since
all could not see the watch, we should fire a pistol at the exact moment.
After assurance that it would cause no alarm, we held the pistol upward
above our heads, and announced,——“five minutes more and 1869 will be
dead,——four minutes now,——now but three.” The stillness was almost
painful,——“Two minutes more, now but one,”——and five or six hundred red
men were holding breath to catch the signal,——all eyes watching the finger
that was to announce, by a motion, the event; the three hands on the face
of the watch were in range,——the finger crooked,——a blaze of light flashed
over the dusky faces, and a report went reverberating up the rocky cañons,
and before it died away, six hundred voices joined in an almost unearthly
farewell to “1869,” and, quickly facing to the east, another wild shout of
welcome to “1870.”
The crowd slowly dispersed, leaving one white man and an interpreter
sitting by the smouldering fire, talking over the wonders of the white
man’s knowledge and power, accompanied by old Chief Schon-chin, Captain
Jack, Allen David, and O-che-o. Thus was begun the year 1870. I was
surrounded then with elements of power for mischief that were only waiting
for the time when accident or mismanagement would impel one of these
chieftains——Captain Jack——to open a chapter with his finger dipped in the
heart’s blood of one of the noblest of the American army, the lamented
Christian soldier, General Canby, who was then quietly enjoying a respite
from the labors of the rebellion, with the honors of a well-spent life
gathering in a clustering wreath around the great warrior’s brow, settling
down so lightly that he scarcely seemed aware that he wore a coronet made
of heroic deeds and manly actions. He was looking hopefully to a future of
rest in the bosom of his family, and consoling himself that life’s hardest
battles were over, and that when, in a good old age, the roll-call should
be sounded for him, his friends would answer in salutes of honor over his
grave.
While we were shedding little rays of light on the darkened minds of our
hearers, a beardless Indian boy, with face almost white, was sporting with
his fellows, or quietly sleeping in his father’s lodge, soothed to rest by
the rippling waters of Klamath lake. This boy——Boston Charley——was to send
the messenger of death through the heart of the eminent divine——Dr.
Thomas. That night Dr. Thomas was with his friends, watching on bended
knees before a sacred altar, waiting for the death of 1869 and the birth
of a new year, little dreaming that the crimson current of his life was so
soon to mingle with the blood of the other hero in recording the tragic
event of the year 1873.
He, too, had fought the good fight of the cross for thirty long years, and
now felt the honors of his church gathering around his gray locks, and was
looking steadily forward to the hour when his Great Commander should call
him to his reward; hoping quietly and peacefully to gather up his feet in
God’s own appointed time, and, bearing with him his sheaves, present them
as his credentials to a mansion of eternal rest. While old Chief
Schon-chin, with his long gray hair floating in the winds of the new-born
year, was opening his heart to the influx of light, sitting quietly by
the dying council fire, his brother John was brooding over his broken
hopes of careless life or high ambition, sitting moody and gloomy over his
own camp-fire, or dreaming of a coming hour when he might avenge the
insults offered his race. It may be he was living over the scenes of his
stormy life, while the hand that had that day received from my hands
pledges of friendship and Government faith was in three short years to
fire eleven shots at the heart that beat then in kindliest sympathy with
his race.
The last hours of the dying year and the first of the new one had I given
from my life for the advancement of a race, whose very helplessness
enhanced the zeal with which I labored for them. I could not draw aside
the veil that hid the future, and see the gleaming eyes of Schon-chin
John, nor his left hand clutching a dagger while his right discharged
repeated shots at my breast. I did not then see my own body prostrate and
bleeding in the rocks of the Lava Bed, or my own beloved family surrounded
with sympathizing friends, eagerly watching the electric sparks speaking
words of hope and despair alternately; but I did see, somewhere in the
future, my hand running over whited page, telling the world of the way I
passed the watch-night of 1869.