CONCERNING “LO” AND HIS FAMILY.
It is said to be next to impossible to astonish an Indian, but on one
occasion, while residing in Virginia City, I astonished, frightened, and
disgusted a whole flock of the unsophisticated “children of the desert,”
and with a mere handful of shrimps.
A crowd of Piutes, numbering over a dozen, male and female, great and
small, had come to anchor, squat upon the ground, just off the sidewalk,
in front of a fruit-stand (a favorite place of resort with them), and
were in the midst of what to them was a great feast. Upon an old shawl,
spread in the centre of their circle, was a great heap of half-rotten
apples, damaged cherries, soured strawberries, and other offal from the
fruit-store in front of which they were squatted. Among the male Indians
was Smoke Creek Sam, the Piute detective, who, with head thrown back,
was each moment dropping into his mouth great wads of strawberries,
squeezed together, stems and all, of the size of an ordinary
codfish-ball.
Some of the little Indian boys and girls were smeared to the eyes with a
leathery mess, half strawberries and half dirt, which they scooped up
from the common heap, and held to their mouths in both hands.
Even the most comely among the squaws had a brown dab of rotten apple on
the end of her nose, which that organ had brought away as a trophy
during some one of the frequent visits of her industrious mouth to the
deep interior of a slushy pippin.
One hideous old woman had raked a quantity of decayed cherries into her
lap, and sat “and munched, and munched, and munched.”
Under the vigorous attack of so many diligent hands and capacious and
willing mouths, the mound of vegetable garbage was soon swept away.
As I then lacked amusement, I stepped to a market next door, and
procured a handful of shrimps. With these I approached the now surfeited
group of savages, and began eating, by way of experiment on their
nerves.
At first they looked curiously on, and some of the juveniles rose to
their feet to have a better view of the new and horrible-looking
esculent. At a respectful distance they stood and gazed, as they saw me
pull in two and devour the many-legged little monsters, each “little
Injun” with lips curled up, teeth set, and nose wrinkled.
The bucks shrugged their shoulders as they saw each fresh “bug” pulled
out and eaten, and some of the squaws drew down the corners of their
mouths and spat upon the ground with decided emphasis.
The whole party, as though fascinated by a sight so fearful, sat and
closely watched each shrimp as it was shucked out and swallowed, the
general disgust each moment increasing.
Finally, I held out toward a “brave” of some ten “snows” the few
crustaceous specimens remaining in my hand. This incipient warrior was
arrayed as to his head, in some Comstock dandy’s cast-off “stovepipe”
hat, and as to his nether extensions, in a pair of adult unmentionables
of bake-oven capacity in the rear.
As my hand approached, his moon eyes rapidly grew moonier, and he began
craw fishing, though determined, if possible, to retreat in good order,
and with his face to the foe.
At this critical moment I pitched at the budding chieftain the empty
shell of a shrimp I had just finished. By chance it alighted upon a lock
of hair hanging over his forehead, and there remained for a moment,
hanging by the claws, and dangling before his eyes.
The boy gave a yelp, made one grab at the ugly thing, then turned a
complete back somersault over the old cherry-muncher. He landed running,
but, his “plug” hat being down over his eyes, he soon brought up on
all-fours, with his head between the legs of a passing Chinese
wood-peddler, who was so frightened at the unexpected assault in the
rear, that he, in turn, came near turning a somersault over the back of
the donkey he was driving.
The other youngsters, seeing what had happened, scattered in all
directions like a brood of startled quail, while the squaws—lusty old
gals, all of them!—hastily snatched up the pappooses, which, in their
wicker cradles, were lying across their laps, or standing against
awning-posts or empty barrels, and deftly slinging them upon their
backs, drew the straps across their foreheads, and started up the street
at a rolling gallop, the noise of which resembled that of the stampede
of a flock of fat wethers when in full wool.
The old hag mentioned as the “cherry-muncher”—probably fearing that a
shrimp would be thrown into her straggling locks—hanging with both hands
to the dead branch of a cedar, poled herself along in the rear of the
stampeders with astonishing agility.
At the distance of thirty yards she halted to get her wind, and seeing
that she was not being pursued, faced about. Still grasping her rude
staff in both hands, and resting her wrinkled and venerable lump of nose
on its top, she stared back at me from under her mop of grizzled hair,
like an old witch frightened away from some unholy feast.
Some of the bucks sullenly marched away, casting backward glances from
malevolent eyes which plainly showed their opinion of practical jokes,
but Smoke Creek Sam stood his ground. He, too, had been outraged and
disgusted, but as he had not yet found opportunity to beg a handful of
smoking tobacco, he concealed his feelings and deferred his retreat.
Extracting the pith of a particularly large and healthy shrimp, I
approached Sam with it.
“You no bring um here!” cried he, waving me back with his hand. “No
bring um, me say!”
“Just try this one, Sam,” said I.
“No!” said Sam, decidedly; “glash-hop, purty good; klicket, me eat um;
scorpium-bug, heap no good. Scorpium make Injun man high up sick!”
[Illustration: SHRIMPS.]
I now saw it all, and was not so much surprised at the astonishment and
disgust shown by the whole crowd of redskins. Knowing nothing about
shrimps, all supposed that I was eating scorpions, a poisonous reptile
very abundant in Nevada, and very closely resembling the shrimp. Seeing
me, as they supposed, deliberately devouring scorpions, all thought that
the Evil One himself was before them.
The Piutes are the early birds in Virginia City. Almost as soon as it is
sufficiently light for them to see, the squaws are down from their huts
on the slopes of the surrounding mountains. The Piute squaw is the
scavenger of the town. When she rolls into the place in the morning, she
comes with her gunny-sack over her shoulder, and into this stows all
that in her eyes is valuable. She gathers up every little wisp of hay
that falls in her way, even to the last straw, as she wants it for the
half-starved family pony, staked out in the hills near the camp; looks
into dry-goods boxes in search of straw, also for the pony; dives into
barrels in front of the markets, for half-rotten fruit, wilted turnips,
carrots, and other vegetables good for the family, and as the markets
open and the business of the day begins, she manages to secure all the
heads and tails of salmon and other fish that are cut up. All this time
she has one eye open for fuel—the hills being stripped to the last
rotten stick, by the Chinamen, who have even dug all the tree-stumps out
by the roots. Bits of boxes, wooden hoops, staves, all that is wood she
stuffs into her sack, along with the rest of her plunder.
If the sack is full and a good haul of wood falls in her way, she makes
it up into a bundle and places it on her head, and finally, loaded down
like a donkey, the frugal housewife climbs the mountain to where her hut
is perched, when she makes glad the heart of her lord and master and
little ones, with the good things she has brought home to them. Others
hang about the kitchens of the town, and collect loads of broken
victuals, as there no swine are kept by families, and they have no use
for the scraps that are carried from the table.
The male Piute is not always idle, but he cannot always find a job. The
Chinamen swarm the town in search of about the only kinds of work poor
“Lo” is able to do. But no man with a fat government contract ever felt
himself better fixed, than does one of these ex-warriors when he has
fairly settled down at a job of wood-sawing, for which he is to receive
one dollar per cord in coin, and board while he is doing the work. This
is just the kind of bargain he likes to make with a newcomer, or some
other unsophisticated citizen. The kitchen upon which he has thus
established a lien is never out of his mind. He is on hand at dawn of
day, and from the mountain height on which sits his eyrie, brings the
appetite of a tiger. Until he has had his breakfast, his face is ever
toward the dwelling of his employer, and ever and anon he is seen to
pause with his saw in the midst of a half-finished stick, as he snuffs
the odors wafted from the kitchen.
Breakfast over, he begins watching and snuffing for his dinner; dinner
over, his mind dwells upon the coming supper. Between meals, he
frequently becomes so exhausted that he cannot force his saw through the
smallest stick, unless braced up by an occasional cup of coffee, slice
of bread, and joint of cold meat.
When the noble red-man boards himself, however, he works like a
steam-engine, and loses not a moment until the last stick is done, and
he can extend his palm for his coin.
We hear much about the disappearance of the Indian before the march of
civilization, and in some quarters predictions are freely hazarded that
in a short time he will become extinct—will pass away with the dodo.
Whatever may be the case with other tribes, the Piute has no notion of
passing away. He is among the most prolific of _autochthones_. To
“increase and multiply” appears to be the first care of the average
adult Piute. It looks somewhat as if he were bound to occupy the land in
case his productiveness shall continue. The Piutes are a remarkably
healthy people. They are seldom sick, and few deaths occur among them.
The few who die seem to die of old age. There appear to be about one
hundred births among them to one death. Hardly a squaw that is over
sixteen and under sixty years of age can be seen, but she has a pappoose
slung on her back, and some of them surpass the wife of the martyred
John Rogers in evidences of prolificness. The women do not appear to be
much addicted to twins, but the little ones come marching along quite
rapidly in single file.
The Piutes are certainly multiplying more rapidly than any other people
in the State of Nevada. Even astonishingly old women among them bear
children.
“What shall be done with these people?” will one day be a question in
Nevada that must be answered in some way. The women are virtuous, and
the men temperate, and so long as they thus remain, there seems to be no
likelihood of their dying off.
Among the Piutes to work is considered no disgrace, and the biggest
“brave” is not ashamed to be seen handling an ax or saw—no, nor to be
found carrying his child, a thing that would ruin him in almost any
other tribe. Their greatest vice is gambling among themselves.
All is now well with these children of the desert, as they are not yet
so numerous but that the cast-off clothing of the whites suffices for
all, great and small, and the cold victuals given away in all the towns
is more than enough to feed them; but a time will come when this will
not be the case. Then some place must be found, and some provision made
for this people.
A well-known old Piute couple in Virginia City were “Adam” and “Eve.”
Old Adam was supposed to have been about one hundred years of age at the
time of his death, and Eve also was very old.
At the death of the aged couple there was a strange fatality. Old Adam
was bitten by a ferocious dog, and after lingering some weeks, during
which time he was cared for by the Sisters of Charity, he departed for
the happy hunting-grounds. A year later old Eve was attacked and
terribly mangled by a savage dog, the sinews being drawn out of one of
her ankles by the teeth of the brute. She, too lingered some weeks,
watched over and cared for by the Sisters, when she went to join old
Adam where the grass is always green and bright waters ever flow.
The old couple seem to have embraced the Christian religion in the early
days, at some one of the Catholic Missions in California. Old Adam was
very fond of being in and about the Catholic Church in Virginia City,
and was never happier than when noticed by Father Manogue, the pastor,
with whom the ancient red-man was fond of conversing, in his childish
way, upon religious subjects. Whenever grand-children and great-grand
children were born to him, “Old Adam” never failed to bring them to
Father Manogue, in order that they might be duly baptized. Thus is the
name of Patrick and Michael now heard in the Piute tribe.
About the streets of Virginia is frequently to be seen stalking a
thin-visaged, solemn-looking squaw who attracts much attention from her
great height and her tremendous strides in walking. The gaunt apparition
in female attire is, however, no squaw, but a “buck,” a man of the Piute
tribe condemned to wear the dress of a woman all the days of his life,
for cowardice exhibited at the battle of Pyramid lake. He is shunned by
both the men and women among his people, and therefore, like Baxter’s
hog, goes in a “drove” by himself. The last time I saw him he had on a
new calico dress, of the meal-bag pattern in the skirt, and had a new
gingham handkerchief upon his head; still he was not proud. Nothing
good, bad, or indifferent is said to him by the Indians, but the white
boys about town scoff at him and his face wears a calm, resigned,
chronic “sour.”
Many of the Piutes are anxious to have their children learn to read and
write, and, in 1875, three little Indians boys were in attendance at the
public school in Silver City, the principal of the school taking them in
at the solicitation of the father and by way of experiment. In a few
weeks they were able to read tolerably well in the first reader. They
began with the alphabet and were very proud of the progress they were
able to make. Unlike the majority of white parents, the father of the
little redskins thinks it worth while to visit the school occasionally,
to see how things are going. When the stern old brave visits the school
he marches into the institution of learning with a turkey feather in his
hair, his face painted in bright zigzag lines of black, white and red,
and a long double-barrelled shotgun on his shoulder. This has a business
look which is doubtless appreciated by the teacher.
As an object of distraction to the school the “lamb that little Mary
had” would not amount to a row of pins—would be a mere digitless
cipher—by the side of that Indian father in all the full-blown pride of
shotgun, war-paint, and turkey feathers.
The Piutes have some notion of picking up English songs and tunes. I one
day saw a dusky maiden of perhaps sixteen summers vocalizing in front of
a fruit-store, who evidently felt that she was a long way in advance of
the majority of her tribe. The song she sang was: “I feel, I feel like a
to-morrow morning star, Soo Fly! don’t bodda my! Soo Fly!” Her object
appeared to charm a few wilted apples from the keeper of the store, but
he being a native of melodious Italy was not much affected, and even
scowled upon the singer, as though he felt it a duty to discourage and
nip in the bud all talent manifesting itself in such a quarter.
[Illustration: AN INDIAN ENCAMPMENT.]
At one time a savior arose for the Piute people. This was Sam Brown, the
civilizer, an Oregon Indian who had wandered to Virginia City and who
was able to read and write. Sam Brown was a natural born
philantropist—he cared not for himself so long as he could ameliorate
the condition of the aborigine. He desired to see the Indian tribes
educated and civilized, and to this work he was devoted, body and soul.
He went forth among the Piutes residing in the neighborhood of Virginia
and Gold Hill, and made known to them his plans—told them of the
school-house he would build for the education of their children and how
he should finally have them all residing in houses and working at trades
like white men.
All the Indians were well pleased with what Sam told them; they said it
was “good talk.” Sam looked about him for a man fit to be made chief of
all the Piutes living about the two towns, and finally selected himself
as being the person most worthy to receive that high and honorable
position. Soon after that he one day marshalled all of his people in
procession, and with the American flag proudly floating at the head of
the motley throng of men, women, and children, gaily marched them about
the streets of Virginia City. They were the raggedest lot of recruits
ever seen. To observe the dignified bearing of the old warriors and the
grave expression of each countenance, was ludicrous beyond measure. They
thought they were being adopted into the American nation, and therefore
considered it a duty to conduct themselves in a grave and becoming
manner on such a momentous occasion.
The use of a balcony on the principal street in the city was obtained,
and from this, Sam Brown and several Piutes, also one or two white men,
addressed the common herd below.
This completed the inauguration of Sam Brown as chief, and he was now
ready to begin the work of civilizing his subjects. The first thing in
order with Sam was the building of a school-house. He owned a lot
somewhere in the suburbs of the town, and on this he determined to rear
a proper structure, Sam had worked as a carpenter in Oregon, and felt
equal to the task of building the school-house himself, if he but had
tools and lumber. However, to the man who is a born reformer and
philanthropist, whose soul thirsts continually to improve and benefit
his species, no obstacle is so great but that by dint of untiring
patience and perseverance it will finally overcome.
Sam stole a chest of carpenters’ tools and had made considerable
progress in the gradual removal of a lumber-yard, when unsympathetic
eyes took cognizance of his philanthropic labors, and, failing to
appreciate the purity of his motives, threw him into a prison, the fate,
alas! of many great reformers in all ages. Samuel Brown, the civilizer,
now abides in the Nevada State Prison, where he has time to consider the
vanity of all philanthropic endeavors, and to mourn the obtuseness of
the average human intellect in respect to the motives that inspire the
soul of the reformer to do noble deeds and undertake arduous labors.
To this day the proposed school-house has not been built and to this day
the Piutes remain uncivilized.
[Illustration]