Part 26 (1/2)
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, a.s.sisted them, and did not allow their women to be mere help-meets, but princ.i.p.als in mechanical enterprises of the kind named, including also ”getting wood.” Sage brush is the princ.i.p.al 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 rea.s.sured, 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 antic.i.p.ated 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 fas.h.i.+on, 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 pa.s.sed, 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 pa.s.sed; the dark-eyed girl came again, _alone_, bringing with her a wardrobe, consisting of such articles as Indian women manufacture,--sashes and baskets, sh.e.l.ls, beads, and little trinkets.
She was attired with woman's taste, conforming to the fas.h.i.+ons 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 a.s.sumed 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 pa.s.s, and Frank Riddle and his woman Tobey appear in the Modoc council on Lost river, December, 1869.
[Ill.u.s.tration: 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 s.h.i.+rk 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 establis.h.i.+ng 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 antic.i.p.ated, and that the name of Captain Jack would have pa.s.sed 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.