I Visit the Indian Camp--Our big Talk--Some of their Grievances--The
Kindness of an Indian in Providing Me a Horse.
The Indians were greatly pleased to see me. It is well understood
by all who are acquainted with Indian character, that they are
undemonstrative as a rule, except when angry, especially the warriors.
Many of them said I was a strong man and had good legs. They admired my
companion, saying they knew him and knew he was a good hunter.
The most that I desired for a few days was to rest and eat. Sessions
soon got filled up, but it seemed to me that I never would be able to
satisfy my stomach for having punished it so with the sickly mountain
sheep. There was plenty to eat at the trader's quarters. The agent was
kind, giving us all the potatoes and milk we wanted; these being about
the only articles the trader was lacking. The dog was in about the
same fix as myself, he tried to eat everything on the reservation, but
finally got satisfied by getting at a barrel of tallow, one day, and
eating, as we all estimated, about ten pounds. Reader, remember this
was a large dog.
Basor, the trader, would not cook for me. He said a man that ate as
much as I did would have to do his own cooking. So one day while alone,
I made up my mind to conquer my hunger. I cooked a good square meal for
three of us, waited a little while for the others then sat down and ate
the whole of it. I did not feel hungry again for several days. After
getting this difficulty over, I told the Indians I would visit their
camp and have a talk with them. A time was appointed, and Tabby, the
chief, sent a man and horse for me. The camp was some eight miles from
the station. When I reached their camp, there were about fifty of the
principal men of the tribe present. "Captain Joe," of Thistle valley,
was there also. I always considered him like some of our political
white men, not very reliable.
I was informed by Joe that I could talk. I spoke to them about half an
hour, telling them that, notwithstanding all the trouble and war, the
good Mormons were still their friends; that Brigham had always desired
peace and was sorry that any of his people wanted to fight the Indians.
After saying what I thought was safe, for I knew the delicacy of the
subject, as some of the Indians had been killed by such as professed
to be Mormons, and I was careful not to push the subject too far in my
first attempt, I desired to hear Tabby talk.
I knew he was much respected by his people, also that he was not
inclined to war, but had accepted the situation and let things run,
neither taking an active part in killing and stealing, nor making any
great effort to stop the war. He was very sore about the killing of
his half brother while a prisoner. I, myself, considered this somewhat
treacherous on the part of those who did it.
Capt. Joe seemed to think he must do all the talking for the Indians.
No one else spoke. Joe urged me to say more. I told him I wanted to
hear Tabby. The old fellow laid down, as much as to say, "I will not
take part in this." The act nettled me considerably, and I told Joe I
would not talk unless Tabby did. Tabby grunted out that he was an old
man, and chief; that Joe was a little captain and young, and was good
enough to talk to me. This made me mad. I got up and told Tabby that I
was more of a man than he or any of his men ever were; that they had
been born and raised in Uintah, and none of them had ever been brave or
strong enough to cross the snow mountains, but had laid there shut up
winter after winter like women; that I had done what none of them could
do, and had done it to keep my word with them; that they had agreed if
I would be their friend and tell "Washington" their grievances that
they would listen to me and make peace.
When I got through, Tabby got up and said, "You talk big for a boy. I
know you have strong legs and a good belly, for I have seen you eat.
But I want to know where your grey hairs are, that give wisdom. You
had better wait a few years before you talk." I really felt small
under this sarcasm. He further said, "You have spoke about the Indians
stealing from the Mormons. I can answer that by saying some of the
Mormon Bishops helped the agents to steal what 'Washington' sends us.
While some of Brigham's Bishops steal, I do not. Neither does Tom and
many others; but we have staid at home and worked and hunted. It is the
bad Indians that will not listen to me, that steal." He then named some
twelve or fourteen present whom he said stole from the Mormons and made
the trouble.
He continued, "I have told them it is wrong; now you may talk to them
and make them good if you can. I am not bad and do not steal, so you do
not need to talk to me."
I held several meetings and cultivated on every opportunity the
personal friendship of the Indians, especially the raiders, talking
kindly to them and gaining their confidence and good-will. At length,
one night, the bad Indians were induced to talk. They related
many things about their raids; each in turn told something of his
experience, entering into details. How they felt, and giving the causes
of their ill-feelings. Each taking his turn in talking, said that
hunger often caused them to go on raids to get cattle to eat, always
making the statement that the agents stole what "Washington" sent them;
that Mormons helped the agents to steal; that the Sanpete Mormons had
stolen their country and fenced it up. The lands that their fathers
had given them had been taken for wheat fields. When they asked the
Mormons for some of the bread raised on their lands, and beef fed on
their grass, the Mormons insulted them, calling them dogs and other
bad names. They said when the Mormons stole big fields and got rich,
other Mormons, who were poor, had to buy the land from them, they were
not allowed to steal it from the first owners, the same as the first
Mormons stole it from the Indians.
I have often wondered how these statements will be answered. They are
still open. I never could answer them like many other propositions I
have had to meet while laboring among the Indians. I have had to give
it up acknowledging that they had been wronged. All I could do was to
get their hearts set right and then teach them magnanimity.
Some may jeer at this idea, but I have found more nobility of character
among the Indians than what is common among many whites, even Mormons
included.
In explanation of their accusing some of the Mormon Bishops of helping
to rob them, it had been told to them how the agents managed to get
certain ones to sign false vouchers for flour and beef Whether this
was true or not the Indians fully believed that it was. I found
evidences afterwards that at least looked like their accusations were
well founded. All who are acquainted with Indian character know that a
trader who deals liberally with the natives can hold a great influence
over them. The Utes were great traders at that time, having a great
many skins and furs to barter. They urged me to come and trade with
them. This could only be done by buying out the trader and getting the
appointment. So I bought out the trader, conditionally, with the hopes
of getting the post tradership. In this I failed.
The friendship of the agent was only politic for the time being. His
endeavors to keep me out of the situation were successful. Mine to
bring about a permanent peace and get the Indians better provided for
were also successful, probably much more so than if I had been allowed
the trader's position.
After visiting with the Indians and gaining considerable influence over
them, getting them to promise peace, provided the Mormons would be
friendly again, I commenced preparing for my return home. The Indians
wanted me to go back and talk to the Mormons and see positively what
they said and how they felt, especially in Sanpete valley, where the
war had been the worst. They wanted to be assured that the Mormons
would not kill them, provided they came in to visit and trade as in
former times. I agreed to find out and return again and see them, and
bring a few more things they wanted.
There were two men, John Sessions and David Boyce, at the agency
that wished to come in with me. We brought in five hundred pounds of
buckskins. This, with our provisions and bedding, made about seven
hundred pounds. On this trip the snow had settled and we moved along
all right. The dog hauled most of the time two hundred pounds. We
thought this a big load, but I afterwards learned what a load was for a
large dog.
In justice to my Indian friends, and one in particular, I will relate
one incident. Just before leaving, an Indian, Toquana, came to me and
asked me if I did not want a horse. I told him that I had finished
trading and had nothing to buy a horse with, and that I did not
particularly need one as we would run the sled out on wheels until we
struck snow, then we could haul it very well.
His reply was, "I do not want to sell you a horse. You are a friend,
and are doing hard work for our good. I want you to live and keep
strong; I do not want you to wear out. I know your legs are good, and
I want you to keep them good to go over the deep snow where a horse
cannot go. I have got a good, gentle horse that knows how to work; he
is strong, can go through snow up to his breast. You take him, let him
pull your sled just as long as he possibly can, then maybe you can
find some place on the hill side where the snow is not deep; turn him
out and if he lives I will get him, and it will be all right; if he
dies, he will die mine, and I will know he died to help my friend, and
that will be all right. I do not want anything at all, no presents or
anything. I want to do this because I feel like doing it."
I took his horse, worked him about eighty miles and then turned him on
good grass where there was but little snow.