The story I have related is but one of the many that belong to this region, and for the truth of which, witnesses still live, both whites and Indians; another reason I introduce it here is to show my readers who may think otherwise, that Indians—savage as they are at times, often made savage by their religion—have hearts. Again and again shall I refer in this work to the red man’s emotional nature, and to his religion. I cannot do so too often, as the reader will admit before he turns the last leaf.

This agency is located west of the coast range of mountains, and bordering on the Pacific Ocean. The valleys are small, irregular in shape, fertile and productive, with prairies interspersed with forests of fir; picturesque almost beyond description. At some points the mountains reach out into the ocean, forming high headlands whereon are built light-houses, to guard mariners against the dangers of the coast. Long white sandy beaches stretch away for miles, and are then cut off by craggy bluffs.

At the southern boundary of Siletz—two miles from the line—may be found a beautiful bay, navigable inland for thirty miles. The banks are varied in altitude; undulating hills, with rich alluvial bottom lands intervening. The greatest width of bay is perhaps four miles, and occasionally cut into channels by beautiful islands narrowing inland to receive the small river Ya-quina. Midway between the mouth of the river and the ocean entrance to the bay, extensive oyster-beds exist.

This “Chesapeake” of the Pacific was once a part of Siletz reservation. The discovery of the oyster-beds, and also of the numerous forests of timber accessible to navigation, attracted the attention of the white men; and the old, old story was again rehearsed,—“The white men wanted them.”

That it was wanted by the white men was sufficient, and no ambitious candidate for Legislature or Congressional honors dare oppose the violation of a solemn compact between the United States Government and the Indians, who had accepted this country in compensation for their homes in Umpyua and Rogue river valley. It was cut off, and given to commerce and agriculture in 1866.

That an equivalent was ever made to the Indian does not appear from any records to which I have had access. It is, however, asserted, that a small sum was invested in stock cattle, for the benefit of Siletz Indians. There are two approaches to Siletz from the valley of Willamette; the principal, via Ya-quina river and bay; the other, over the mountain by trail. My first visit was by the former. In September, 1869, in company with Hon. Geo. H. Williams, then U. S. Senator, now Attorney General of the United States, Judge Odeneal, since my successor in office, and other citizens, we reached the head of navigation late on the evening of the 12th. We remained over night at “Elk Horn Hotel.” The following morning, in the absence of steamer, we took passage in small row-boats, propelled by Indians.

The adventures of the day were few, only one of which I shall refer to now. Our U. S. Senator, who had done much for reconstruction in the Senate, challenged one of our Indians for a trial of muscle at the oars. The challenge was accepted, and senatorial broadcloth was laid aside, and brain and muscle put to the test. After a short race the prow of our boat ran into the bank on the side where brains was at work. For once at least, muscle proved more than a match for brains, and, besides, an Indian had won a victory over a great tyee. Now although our senator had proven himself a match for other great senators in dignified debate, he was compelled to listen to the cheers of our party in honor of a red man’s triumph over him. I doubt if those who of late defeated him, when a candidate for the highest seat in our halls of justice, felt half the gratification that “To-toot-na-Jack” did that morning when the tyee dropped the oar, exhausted and disgusted with his failure to hold even hand with a red brother, who was not a senator.

After a row of twenty miles, we landed within a half hour’s ride of Siletz. The agent, Mr. Simpson, met our party with saddle-horses.

While en route a horse-race was proposed; the dignified gentleman turning jockey for the nonce. In fact, the entire party engaged in a run. The road passed over low hills, covered with timber and tall ferns. While the Congressional and Indian Departments were going at a fearful speed, a representative of the latter went over his horse’s head, and soon felt the weight of the United States Senate crushing the Indian Department almost to death.

The parties referred to will recognize the picture.

This was not the first time, or the last either, that the Senate of the United States has “been down on the Indian Department.”

Without serious damage, both were again mounted, and soon were fording Siletz river,—a deep, narrow stream, whose bed was full of holes, slight—“irregularities,” as defaulters would say.

We crossed in safety, except that one horse carried his rider into water too deep for wading. It matters not who the rider was, or whether he belonged to Congress or the Indian Department.

On reaching the prairie a sight presented itself, that gives emphatic denial to the oft-repeated declaration, that Indians cannot be civilized.

Spread out before us was a scene that words cannot portray. The agency building occupied a plateau, twenty feet above the level of the valley. They were half hidden by the remnants of a high stockade that had been erected when the Indians were first brought on to the agency fresh from the Rogue-river war. At that time a small garrison was thought necessary to prevent rebellion among the Indians, and to secure the safety of the officers of the Indian Department.

It was, doubtless, good judgment, under the circumstances. Here were the remnants of fourteen different tribes and bands, who had been at war with white men and each other, and who, though subjugated, had not been thoroughly “reconstructed.”

They were located in the valley, within sight of the agency, and were living in little huts and shanties that had been built by the Government.

Each tribe had been allotted houses separated from the others but a few hundred yards at farthest. They drew their supplies from the same storehouse, used the same teams and tools, and were in constant contact. They had come here at the command of the United States Government, in chains, bearing with them the trophies of war; some of them being fair-haired scalp-locks, and others were off red men’s heads. Think for a moment of enemies meeting and wearing these evidences of former enmity; shaking hands while each was in possession of the scalp-locks of father or brother of the others!

But, at the time of the visit referred to, no sentinel walked his rounds. No bayonet flashed in the sunshine on the watch-tower of the stockade at Siletz. The granaries and barns were unbarred; even Agent Simpson’s own quarters were unlocked day and night. Fire-arms and tools were unguarded; Indians came and went at will, except that Agent Simpson had so taught them that they never entered without a preliminary knock. The Indian men came not with heads covered, but in respectful observance of ceremony.

The kitchen work and house-keeping were done by Indian women, under the direction of a white matron. The agent’s table afforded the best of viands. Tell the world that Indians cannot be civilized! Here were the survivors of many battles, who, but a few short years since, had been brought under guard, some of them loaded with chains, and with blood on their hands, who were living as I have described.

Sometimes, it is true, the remembrance of former feuds would arouse the sleeping fires of hatred and desire for revenge amongst themselves, and fights would ensue. But no white man has ever been injured by these people while on the Reservation, since their location at Siletz.

This statement is made in justice to the Indians themselves, and in honor of those who had control of them, both of whom merit the compliment. Amongst these people were Indian desperadoes, who had exulted in the bloody deeds they had committed. One especially, braver than the rest, named Euchre Bill, boasted that he had eaten the heart of one white man.

This he did in presence of Agent Simpson, during an effort of the latter to quell a broil. The agent, always equal to emergencies, replied, by knocking the fellow down, handcuffing him, and shutting him up in the guard-house, and feeding him on bread and water for several days, after which time he was released, with the warning that, the next time he repeated the hellish boast, he would “not need handcuffs, nor bread and water.” Bill understood the hint. The agent remarked to us that “Bill was one of his main dependants in preserving order.”

During our visit we went with the agent to see Euchre Bill. He was hewing logs. On our approach he dropped the axe, and saluted the agent with “Good-morning, Mr. Simpson,” at the same time extending his hand. When informed of the personality of our party, Bill waved his hat, and made a slight bow, repeating the name of each in turn.

We looked in on the school then in progress; we found twenty-five children in attendance. They gave proof of their ability to use the English language, and understand its power to express ideas; the lessons were all in primary books. Their recitations were remarkable. Outside of books they had been instructed in practical knowledge, and answered readily in concert to the questions, Who is President of the United States? What city is the capital? Who is Governor of Oregon? Where is the capital located? Who is Superintendent of Indian Affairs? What year is this? How many months in a year? When did the count of years begin? Who was Jesus Christ? And many other questions were asked and readily answered. The boys were named George Washington, Dan Webster, Abe Lincoln, James Nesmith, Grant, Sherman, Sheridan,—each answering to a big name. “Dan Webster” delivered in passable style an extract from his great prototype’s reply to Hayne. The school also joined the teacher in singing several Sunday-school hymns, and popular songs. Short speeches were made by visitors and teachers. We were much encouraged by what we saw, and left that school-house with the belief that Indian children can learn as readily as others when an opportunity is given them. I have not changed my conviction since; much of its prosperity was due to the teacher, William Shipley, who was fitted for the work and gave his time to it. We also called at some of the little settlements. The agency farm was tilled in common; notwithstanding we saw many small gardens around the Indian houses, growing vegetables, and in one or more “tame flowers.” At one place several men were at work on a new house, some of them shingling, others clinking cracks. One man was hewing out, with a common axe, a soft kind of stone for a fire-place.

We entered the house of “Too-toot-na Jack,” the champion oarsman. He welcomed his vanquished rival in the boat-race above referred to, and his friend, and offered one an arm-chair, and stools to the remainder. His wife came in, and Jack said, “This is my woman, Too-toot-na Jinney. She is no fool either. She has a cooking-stove in the kitchen.” Jinney was much older than her husband; but that was not unusual. She was a thrifty housewife, and was a financier,—had saved nearly one thousand silver half-dollars; and what she lacked in personal charms, on account of tattooed chin and gray hairs, she made up, like many a fairer woman, in the size of the buckskin purse wherein she kept her coin. Jack seemed fully to appreciate the good qualities of his “woman;” not because he had access to her fortune, but because she was old and he was young, and the chances were that he would be at her funeral.

That hope has made many a better fellow than Too-toot-na behave with becoming reverence for his wife. But “many a slip ’twixt cup and lip” applies to all kinds of people. Jack never realized on his investment. He went first, and Jinney is now a rich widow, and has no doubt marriage offers in abundance.

We were present on “court day,” the agent holding it for the adjustment of all kinds of difficulties among his people. In such cases he appoints juries from among the bystanders, always taking care to select such as had no tribal affinities with the parties to the suit. He had a sheriff in every tribe, and on occasions where their own friends were interested he summoned others to act. He himself was the court and high sheriff, and always sat with a large hickory cane, called “Old Moderator.”

My readers may smile at this kind of a gavel; but it was a practical and useful thing to have in such courts,—much more potential than Blackstone or any other kind of commentaries, unless, indeed, it be the last revised edition of Samuel Colt.

The records of that court were sometimes made on untanned parchment; by which I mean, my poor, unsophisticated reader, that these Indian citizens would sometimes forget very willingly to observe the decorum due before that august tribunal, and fall to making a record for themselves and on one another with fists, clubs, whips, knives, pistols, and other lively weapons, until the good Judge Simpson completed that record by a vigorous application of the aforesaid hickory club, and some of the citizens had editions for personal adornment.

The walls of the court-room had transcript fragments done in carmine,—or, to be better understood, in “claret.” Court day had been announced to the visitors while at breakfast. The senator had been a successful lawyer before entering the political arena; the judge was then in the enjoyment of a lucrative practice; the superintendent had done something in the law line in county courts before justices of the peace.

The court-room was crowded, the doorways and windows were occupied, and black shining eyes were glistening through every crack, all anxious to see and hear. These people, of Siletz especially, were apt imitators, and more readily fell in with the vices and frivolities of civilization than with its virtues and proprieties.

The assembly was composed of the greatest variety of character, color, costume, and countenance ever found in any court-room. Women were there, learning law. Perhaps, they had, woman-like, intuitively snuffed the purer air of freedom that is soon to sweep over our beautiful country and blast the hopes of demagogues who now rule, without representing, the better portion of the people.

Old chiefs were there to learn wisdom, to take with them to the hunting-grounds above. Don’t chide them, reader. They never had an even chance in this life; let them have it in the next, if possible.

The boys were there, and why not? They were looking forward to a time when an Indian will be as good as a negro, if they behave as well. They had an eye to political and pecuniary affairs. In fact, the people were all there except camp-watchers and sick ones.

When our party were seated, the “Moderator” touched the floor, and soon all was silent.

These Indians are fond of “law,” and since the old law and new—that is to say, Indian and white men’s—were somewhat mixed up, it was a difficult matter to execute justice uniformly. Agent Simpson, being a practical man, had not sought to enforce the white men’s law any further than the Indian comprehended it.

The Indian lawyers were on hand ready for business. The first case called was for assault and battery. The court and the visitors had been partial witness of the little fight, which occurred the day previous to the trial, on the “Plaza,” in front of the agent’s head-quarters. The contestants were clutchmen (women); the cause of war, the only thing that women ever fight about,—a man.

The statement in court was to the effect that one woman had stolen another woman’s husband. The parties were arraigned, the statement made concerning the case, and the matter compromised by sending both parties to the “Sku Kum” House (Guard House).

The next case called was that of a man charged with unlawfully using a horse belonging to some one else. The accused was ordered to pay for the offence about what the real service of the animal was worth; no damages were allowed. The third case was somewhat similar to the first.

One of Joshua’s people—name of a tribe—claimed damage for insulted honor, and destruction of his domestic happiness.

A Rogue-river Indian had, very much after the fashions of civilized life, by presents and petty talk, persuaded the wife of the aforesaid warrior to elope with him. The old history of poor human nature had been repeated. The villain deserted his victim, and she returned to her home. Her husband, with observing eyes discovered more ic-tas (goods) in the woman’s possession than could be accounted for on honorable grounds, and demanded an explanation. She made “a clean breast,” and agreed to go into court with her husband and claim damages, not divorce; for I have before remarked that Indians were eminently practical. The husband demanded satisfaction. The accused, whose name was “Chetco Dandy,” would have accorded him the privilege of a fight; but that was not the satisfaction demanded. The husband had made his ultimatum. Two horses would settle the unpleasantness. Chetco, however, owned but one. The court decided that he should make ten hundred rails, and deliver the horse to the injured husband, with the understanding that the latter was to board him while doing the work.

I can’t resist a query: how long a white man, under such arrangements, would require to make ten hundred rails. The husband was satisfied, his honor was vindicated, and he owned another horse. After the docket was cleared, a council talk was had.

These people had been placed here by the Government, in 1856, numbering then, according to Superintendent Nesmith’s report for 1857, 2,049 souls, representing fourteen bands; and although, in 1869, they numbered little more than half as many, they kept up tribal relations, at least so far as chieftainship was concerned. In the council that day one or two of the chiefs represented tribes in bands of ten or twenty persons; and one poor follow, the last of his people, stood alone without constituency. He was a chief, nevertheless.

I cannot report here the reflection that such a circumstance suggests,—only that he, with the usual solemn face of an Indian in council, seemed the personification of loneliness.

The speeches made by these people evinced more sense than their appearance indicated. They were dependent on the Government, and felt their helplessness. When the usual speeches had been made preliminary to business talk, I said to them that I was gratified at the advancement they had made, considering the circumstances, and that I was willing for them to express their wishes in regard to the expenditure of money in their interest.

They were loth to speak on this matter, because they had never been consulted, and a recognition of their manhood was more than they had expected. After some deliberation, during which they, like bashful boys, asked one another, each nudging his neighbor to speak first, old Joshua at last arose, half hesitatingly, and said, “Maby, I don’t understand you. Do you mean that we may say what we want bought for us? Nobody ever said that before, and it seems strange to me.”

I had consulted the agent before making this experiment, and he had doubted the propriety; not because he was unwilling to recognize their manhood in the premises, but he feared they would betray weakness for useless articles, and thereby bring derision on his efforts to civilize them. Perhaps it might establish a precedent that would be troublesome sometimes.

He exhibited great anxiety when Old Joshua rose, lest he would disgrace his people by asking for beads, paint, and powder, and lead, and scarlet cloth. I can see that agent yet, with his deep-set eyes fixed on the speaker, while he rested his chin on his cane. Old Joshua spoke again, and, though he was considered a “terrible brave on the warpath,” and had passed the better portion of his life in that way, now when, for the first time in his life, he was called upon to give opinions on a serious matter, concerning the investment of money for his people, he appeared to be transformed into a man. He was a man. Hear him talk:—

“I am old; I can’t live long. I want my people to put away the old law (meaning the old order of things). I want them to learn how to work like white men. They cannot be Indians any longer. We have had some things bought for us that did us no good,—some blankets that I could poke my finger through; some hoes that broke like a stick. We don’t want these things. We want ploughs, harness, chick-chick (wagons), axes, good hoes, a few blankets for the old people. These we want. We have been promised these things. They have not come.”

The agent’s face relaxed; his eyes changed to pleased surprise. Other chiefs spoke also, but after the pattern that Joshua had made, except that some of them complained more, and named a former agent, who came poor and went away rich. No Indian suggested an unwise investment. We assured them that they should have the tools and other goods asked for; and that promise was kept, much to the gratification of the Indians and agent.

I have not the abstract at hand, but I think I purchased for them soon after $1,200 worth of tools and twenty sets of harness, and that a few blankets were issued.

But, to resume the council proceedings. These people were clamorous for allotments of land in severalty. Their arguments were logical, they referring to the promises of the Government to give each man a home. The land has been surveyed, and, if not allotted to them, I do not know why it has not been done.

The subject of religion was discussed at some length. The agent, willing to advance “his people,” had given them lessons in the first principles of Christianity. He had taught them the observance of Sunday, had forbidden drinking, gambling, and profanity. He invited ministers to preach to them, and, when necessary, had been their interpreter. There were several languages represented in the council; the major portion of the Indians understood the jargon, or “Chi-nook,” a language composed of less than one hundred words; partly Indian, Spanish, French, and “Boston.” The latter word is in common use among the tribes of Oregon and Washington Territory to represent white men or American.

The Christian churches have enjoyed the privilege of ministry to these people since they were first located on the Reservation.

The Catholic priests, who had baptized some of these people, were very zealous. Occasionally, the Methodist itinerant called and preached to them. The labors of neither were productive of much good, because they did not preach with simplicity, and could not, therefore, preach with power. It would be about as sensible for a Chinaman to preach to Christians, as for the latter to preach to Indians in high-flown words, abstruse doctrines, or abstract dogmas. One case will illustrate.

A very devout man of God visited the agency, with, I doubt not, good intentions. He preached to these people just as he would have done to white men. He talked of Jesus Christ, the Saviour of the world; besought them to flee from the wrath to come; that Jesus Christ was the Saviour of the red men as well as white men; that he had died for the sins of the world; that he rose again the third day and ascended into heaven.

The discourse was interpreted to the Indians by an employÉ on the Reservation. A few days after, a Si-wash, the usual word for Indian, who answered to the name of Push-wash, entered into conversation with the above-named employÉ, by saying, “What you think about that Sunday-man’s talk,—you think him fool?”—“No; he is a good man; he has plenty of sense.”—“What for he swear all time?”—“He did not swear; he talked straight.”

“What for he say Jesus Christ so many times? All the time he talk the same.”

“That was all right; he told the truth; he did not talk wrong.”

“You think me fool? What for a good man die for me? I am not a bad man. I did not tell him to die.”

“The Jews killed him, they did not like him.”

“You say Jews kill good man?”

“Yes, they kill him, and he come to life again on the third day.”

“You think he came to life? I don’t believe they kill him. He not live any more.”

“Yes; everybody will live again some time.”

“You suppose a bad Indian get up, walk ’bout again, all the same a good man?”

“They will all rise, but they won’t all be good.”

“What for the Sunday man tell that? He say Jesus Christ die for bad Indian too? Say he go to heaven all the same as a good Indian, good white man; that aint fair thing. I don’t no like such religion.”

A few days afterwards the man who reported this dialogue passed near the grave of an Indian, and found it covered with stones and logs. He learned afterwards, that Push-wash had explained to other Indians the meaning of the “Sunday-man’s talk,” and they had piled stones and logs on the graves of their enemies, to prevent them rising from the dead.

The reader will thus appreciate the necessity for sending ministers who are qualified to preach to these people; otherwise they may do the savage more harm than good. Farther on in the work I shall discuss more fully this most important of all questions, with special reference to the difficulties in the way of treating with the Indians, in consequence of their numerous and peculiar religious beliefs, which few white men know anything about.

I left Siletz with a favorable opinion of the people, and the prospects before them. Notwithstanding the many impediments in the way of their civilization, the transformation from a wild savage to a semi-civilized life had been wrought in fourteen years.

In this connection I submit the last annual report of Hon. Ben. Simpson,[1] late United States Indian agent at Siletz. I do so, because whatever of progress these people may have made was under his administration as Indian agent, and believing the short history presented by him will be of interest to my readers.

He is a gentleman of unimpeachable integrity, though blessed with enemies whose assaults have polished his character like a diamond. Whatever vices these Indians may have exhibited to his successor,—Gen. Palmer,—they were not the results of Mr. Simpson’s management, or example; but rather the natural consequences of association with profligate soldiers and other white men, during the first years of their residence on the Reservation.

Gen. Joel Palmer was recommended as Mr. Simpson’s successor by the Methodist Church. He went to his duty with long experience, and in many respects well fitted for the work.

Scarcely had he assumed the duties of his office, with a new set of employÉs, before he was made to realize that poor human nature will in most cases control human action. Ingratitude is said, by Indian haters, to be characteristic of those people. Better be honest and say it of mankind.

I have said that he selected a new set of officers. Among them was one chosen on account of his religious habits,—habits, I say, not character,—who had lent a listening ear to the call, “Go preach my Gospel to all nations.” This man answered this urgent call, and Agent Palmer employed him. No sooner had he unfurled the banner of Christianity among these people, than he began in a clandestine way to undermine Agent Palmer. Unfortunately for the agent, this preacher had been recommended by the same church for position. This gave him influence. He made use of it. He proposed to other officers of the agency that if they would assist in ousting Palmer he would retain them in their respective positions.

To consummate this act of religious villany, he circulated reports against the man, whose kindness fed him and his family, that he (Palmer) had men in his employ who were “not, strictly speaking, Christians; that he was not competent to discharge the duties of his office.” The agent found, what nearly every officer has learned sooner or later, that his position was of doubtful tenure, and felt the sting of this man’s treachery so severely that he proposed to resign.

“Brother —— is determined to oust me, and I reckon I will let him have the position. He wants it, and I don’t care to worry my life out fighting for an Indian agency.”

This is the substance of the speech Agent Palmer made to me as superintendent. I said to him, “Do no such thing. Go back to your agency and tell that man to roll his blankets and be off, or you will put him in irons. Then discharge every accomplice he has, and select good, true men instead.”

Brother Palmer replied that “the church recommended Brother ——, and I don’t like to do such a thing.” I prevailed on him to withdraw his resignation; and on his return to Siletz, he discharged Brother ——. But the war was continued against him until Agent Palmer demanded a successor to relieve him; and after a short administration he retired without having christianized the Siletz Indians.

I have mentioned this episode for the reason that I desire full justice done a man who meant well, with a sincere hope that those having the appointing power may be made to reflect a moment before making nominations for office in deference to the demands of any church, and without regard to the fitness of the appointee.

I have due respect for church members, and recognize the necessity of having men of moral character among the wards of this Government.

Gen. Palmer, with his long experience, was, in many respects, qualified for his position; but he was a poor judge of character. I may be censured for making these comments, but they are just, nevertheless; as was the opinion I gave of the aforesaid Brother ——, when his name was proposed as a missionary to the Siletz Indians, by the presiding elder of the district.

I answered him, “That man’s face says he would undermine his father, to forward his own interests.”

The elder said in reply, “Brother Meacham, you must be mistaken; he is a good, Christian man, and will be a great help to Brother Palmer.” In courtesy to the presiding elder, I consented, with the remark, “Try him; but he will make a thorny bed for Brother Palmer.”

Here is the history. It is not written to bring ridicule on the church nominating him.

Siletz agency has been established fourteen years, during which time five agents have represented the Government. Some of them have been good men for the position.

Although these Indians are not up to the standard of moral character, or church requirements, a great change has been wrought, and credit should be given to whom it is due.

Uncouth these Indians on Siletz may be, but let truth speak for them, and you will hear of how they came to this new home captives, and in chains, under guard of bayonets, borne on shoulders of men wearing the uniform of the U. S. A.

You will hear how these men were stationed among them to guard them, and compel obedience to the mandates of a Government that permitted the grossest outrages on their rights, and made no effort to redress their wrongs.

You would hear, too, of a people living in careless indolence on Umpyua and Rogue rivers, in southern Oregon, when disturbed by the advent of white men, who came with prejudices against them, who disregarded their rights, denied them the privilege of living on the land God had given them, who failed to protect them from the outrages committed by vicious white men; of the indiscriminate warfare that was carried on against them for resenting such insults; of their native land left in ruins, where the wail of weeping pale-faces over slain friends mingled with their own lamentations on taking leave of the homes of their earliest life.

Truth would tell of the many crimes committed by and against them, since their residence at Siletz; of how they have been punished for their own misdeeds, and have seen those who sinned against them go unpunished.

Be patient, you half-savage people! Death is rapidly healing your wounds and curing your griefs. Those who survive may, in time, be given homes. The lands have been surveyed for these people, but have not yet been allotted. Nothing could do more to revive them than the consummation of this promise.

Some of them have lived with white men as laborers, and have learned many things qualifying them for this great boon. Surely a magnanimous Government will complete this great act of justice to a helpless people. May God speed the day!

It is located on the coast Reservation south of Yaquina bay. The people are “salt chuck,” or saltwater Indians, and the majority of them were born on the lands they now occupy; hence they are the most quiet and well-behaved Indians in Oregon.

They are easily controlled, and are making progress in civilization. But few in number, and of the character I have named, they have never taken part in any of the many wars that have made Oregon “the battle-ground of the Pacific coast.”

A sub-agency was established over them in 1866. The pay of sub-agent is $1,000 per annum, without subsistence or other allowance. The Alsea people being non-treaty Indians,—that is to say, they have no existing treaty with the Government; no funds being appropriated especially for them,—they are sustained entirely from the “Incidental Funds” for Oregon Superintendency.

The fact that the Alsea Indians have always been easily managed has been to their disadvantage in securing Government aid. Had they been more refractory, they would have been better treated. This sounds strangely, and yet I declare it to be true. Why should Government reward them for being peaceable? They have asked for buildings; the Government gave them huts. They asked for schools and churches; but no school-house stands out in the bleak ocean winds of their home; no church-bell calls them to hear the wonderful story of a Saviour’s love. Notwithstanding the wealth of their successors peals forth in loud strains which echo on foreign shores, no hammer rings out its cheering notes on anvil of theirs.

This little agency demonstrates the fact, that the only sure way for Indians to secure attention is through blood. Our Government follows the example of the father of the Prodigal Son, with this remarkable difference, that it abuses its dutiful children, while it fawns upon and encourages the red-faced reprobates, by rewarding them for their rebellious deeds.

The department farm at Alsea was made by Government, on Indian land, ostensibly for the Indians’ benefit. It is located on a bleak plain, that stretches away from the ocean surf to the foot of the coast range mountains. It produces potatoes and oats. The mountains are high and rugged, and covered with dense forests of fir and cedar timber; much of the former has been “burnt.” A heavy undergrowth has become almost impenetrable except for wild animals or Indian hunters.

The cedar groves cover streams of water that will in time be of great value, when turned on to machinery with which to convert the cedars into merchandise for foreign markets. The streams are plentifully supplied with fish. No long list of employÉs answer to the command of an agent at Alsea. In some respects it is the better way, inasmuch as it is to the interest of the agent to teach his wards the more common arts of handiwork. In this way, the improvements have been made by Indian labor, under the direction of an agent; and now, while I write, these people are coming slowly up towards the gate that should open to them a way to the brotherhood of man.

Efforts are being made to reduce the area of the Reservation, and, should they succeed, these people who have cost the Government so little of blood or treasure, will be compelled to yield; only repeating, “Might versus Right.” I am not opposed to reduction of the limits of the coast Reservation, if these people, who have already given up so much beautiful country, shall be provided with schools, churches, shops, and other means whereby they may be compensated, and, in the mean time, prepared by civilization for the new life that awaits the survivors, that, a few years hence, may be left to represent their people.

The Government owes to these humble Indians all I have suggested, and, in addition, a home marked out and allotted in severalty, made inalienable for one or two generations.

But, however deserving they may be, it is doubtful if they ever enjoy the boon they crave. Few in number, peaceable in disposition, unknown to the world by bloody deeds, the probabilities are that the white man will encroach on their lands, a few miles at a time, until at last, hemmed in by a civilization they cannot enjoy, they will gradually mix and mingle, becoming more licentious and corrupt by association with vicious white men, and in a generation or two will be known only by a few vagabonds, who will wander, gipsy-like, through the country, a poor, miserable fag-end of a race.

Perhaps a few may take humble positions as laborers, and attain to a half-way station between savage and civilized life. Another few will become slaves to King Alcohol, and their chief men, lying around whiskey mills, drunken, debauched, despised, will drop back again to mother earth, mingling with the soil their fathers once owned.

Thus the people of Alsea will pass away. I pity you, humble, red-skinned children of the Pacific surf! You were happy once, and carelessly rode in your canoes over the shining sands of your native beach, or chased the game on the mountain side, little dreaming of the coming of a human tide which would swallow you and your sea-washed home, or carry both away out on the boundless expanse of a civilization whose other shores you could not see had sepulchres ready for your bones. You have spent your lives with your feet beating the paths your fathers made centuries ago; but your children shall follow newer trails, that lead to more dangerous jungles than those trod by your ancestors. Strange demons they will meet, before whom they will fall to rise no more.

Your fathers watched the shadows of Alsea mountain moving slowly up its western front, making huge pictures on its sides, and gazed without fear on the sun dropping under the sea, wondering how it found its way under the great ocean and high mountains, to come again with so much regularity; or perhaps they believed, as others do, that the Great Spirit sent a new “fire-ball” each day, and nightly quenched it in the sea. You now see the shadows climb the mountain, fitting emblem of the white man’s presence in your land, and read in the setting sun the history of your race. Better that you had never heard the sweet sounds of civilized life than that you, with feet untrained, should follow its allurements to your destruction.

You, that once gave to the beautiful mountain streams smile for smile, are now haggard and worn, giving only grim presages of your doom.

Others of your race have avenged their ill-fortunes with the tomahawk, and, in compliance with their religion, have rejected offers of a better life than they knew. But you—you have yielded without war, and, like helpless orphans thrown on the cold world, have accepted the mites given grudgingly by your masters, who treat with contempt and ridicule your cherished faith, who misconstrue your peaceful lives into cowardice. They have fixed their eyes on your home. They will make Alsea river transform the forest on its banks into houses, towns, and cities. They will make the valley where you now follow the government plough, to yield rich harvests of grain, and they will convert the ocean beach into a fountain of golden treasure. A few years more, and the noise of machinery will wake you early from your slumbers. The roar of ocean’s breakers will mingle with the hum of busy life in which you may have no part. The white man’s eyes will dance with gladness at the sight of your mountains dismantled of their forests, and the glimmer of coming sails to bear away the lofty pines. Yours will weep at the sacrilege done to your hunting grounds; theirs will gaze on the wide Pacific, and see there the channels that will bring compensation to them for the spoils of your home. Yours will recognize it only as the resting-place for the bones of your people. The white man says, “Your fate is fixed,—your doom is sealed.” Few hearts beat with sympathy for you; you are unknown and unnoticed. You must pass away, unless, indeed, the white race shall, from the full surfeit of vengeance upon you and yours, at last return to you a measure of justice.

He who dares appeal in your behalf is derided by his fellows. A proud, boastful people, who claim that human actions should be directed by high motives and pure principles, treat with contempt every effort made to save you from destruction. Strong may be the heart of the Indian Chief to resist the encroachments on his people’s rights, but stronger still the arm of a Government that boasts rebellion against oppression as its foundation stone.