Wigwam and War-path Or the Royal Chief in Chains Part 27

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 s.p.a.ce, 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 G.o.d 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 b.l.o.o.d.y 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.--G.o.d 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 a.s.suming an att.i.tude 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 gra.s.s. 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 ent.i.tle 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 pa.s.sed 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 b.u.t.tons. 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 sh.o.r.es 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 a.s.sociated 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 gra.s.s, 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 superst.i.tious 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 pa.s.sed 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 a.s.surance 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 canons, 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 n.o.blest 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 cl.u.s.tering 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 G.o.d'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 pa.s.sed the watch-night of 1869.

CHAPTER XXI.

BURYING THE HATCHET--A TURNING-POINT.

On the morning of January 1st, 1870, Captain Jack's band of Modoc Indians was placed in charge of Captain Knapp, under favorable circ.u.mstances.

Supplies of beef and flour were secured and issued to them in sufficient quant.i.ties. Indeed, they were better fed than other Indians belonging to the agency. They had brought with them fish and roots, which, in addition to rations issued as above referred to, was altogether sufficient; and, having obtained from Agent Knapp the necessary implements, they began work in good earnest, by cutting saw logs, making rails, and hewing house logs, preparing to make a permanent settlement at Modoc Point. The arrangements had been fully explained to the Klamaths, Wal-pah-pas, Snake Indians and Modocs, at the peace-making under the great witness tree, and fully agreed to by all parties.

It was further agreed and understood, with the consent of the Link-river Klamath Indians, who partially occupied the land so taken for the Modoc home, that the Modocs were to share equally with them in the use of the timber on the side of the mountains nearest to the new settlement.

The land was designated lying adjacent, and the Modocs were to select the particular tract that each might desire for a home, with the understanding that they were to be the owners thereof, and that, when allotments of land in severalty should be made, by order of the Government, as stipulated in the treaty of 1864, the selection then made should be ratified and confirmed to the occupant. With this understanding, Jack and his people began improvements for a new home, and, I believe, with a full, settled determination to make it permanent.

No semi-savages ever went to work more cheerfully than did these people.

Whatever may have been their faults, or what of crime attached to them since, this fact should be remembered,--that they did then acknowledge the obligations of the treaty. Mark the succession of events, and you will have some conception of the motives and reasons why the late unfortunate Peace Commissioners, with the lamented Gen. Canby, continued its labors, and protracted its efforts, to secure peace with the Modocs, even when hope seemed forlorn, and the public press were hurling denunciations against the "Peace policy," and the Commissioners especially.

Gen. Canby knew all the circ.u.mstances, as did Dr. Thomas and myself, and with a firm resolve to be just, we maintained silence, recollecting a memorable saying, "Let them alone; they know not what they do."

The Modocs worked with a will, and had made several hundred rails, and hewn logs for houses, when avarice, stimulated by envy, brought about quarrels between the Link-river Indians and Modocs; the former taunting the latter, calling them hallo-e-me, tilli-c.u.m (strangers); claiming the timber, though admitting that they had agreed that the Modocs might cut it, nevertheless, saying, "It is our timber; you may use it, but it is ours. You make the rails, but we want some of them."

Captain Jack's people recalled the understanding on the day of peace-making. The quarrel grew warm, and Agent Knapp was appealed to, by Captain Jack, to settle the difficulties. This was one of the turning-points of a history that is reeking with blood.

Capt. Knapp was an army officer who had been a.s.signed to duty as Indian agent. That he was a brave soldier, and had made a good record, is beyond question. In his official dealings with the Indians he was honest, I doubt not. He is the only agent that has ever had charge of Captain Jack's band since the fall of 1864.

Captain Jack and his friends have published to the world that they were starved and cheated by Government agents while on Klamath Reservation in 1870.

I believe the a.s.sertion wholly unfounded. Agent Knapp came to the work having no heart in it; no knowledge of the Indian character; no faith in them or their manhood; no ambition to elevate them. It is not to be wondered at that he took but little pains with them beyond seeing that rations were issued,--which I believe was done _promptly_.

The position was unsought and undesirable, and one he wished to vacate.

Had Capt. Knapp been every way qualified for this duty; had his experience given him knowledge of Indian character; had he sought the position, or been selected for it on account of his fitness for this kind of labor, and had his heart been in it; had he been fired with an ambition to do good, by elevating a poor, unfortunate race,--he would have exercised more patience when appealed to by Captain Jack in February, 1870, for redress; he would have prevented all these b.l.o.o.d.y chapters in Indian history.

Had Agent Knapp promptly interfered, tempering his action with justice, by punishing Link-river Jack for annoying the Modocs, then the Modoc rebellion would have been prevented.

When Captain Jack appealed to Agent Knapp, the latter refused to admit Jack within his office, heard his complaints impatiently, and sent him away with orders to "go on with his work;" "that he would make it all right."

Jack returned to his home, and, naturally enough, the quarrel was renewed.

The Link-river Klamaths, having received neither reprimand nor punishment, were emboldened, and became more overbearing than before.