A. B. Meacham

STOPPING THE SURVEY—WHY.

Without waiting for red tape, we proceeded to erect a new saw-mill. The Indians performed much of the necessary labor. With one white man to direct them, they prepared all the timber, built a dam, and cut a race, several hundred yards in length, and within ninety days from “breaking ground” the new saw-mill was making lumber.

The Indians formed into working parties and delivered logs as fast as the mill could saw them. Mr. Manrow, a practical sawyer, was placed in charge of the mill, and, with Indian help only, he manufactured four to eight thousand feet of lumber per day. He subsequently remarked that “they were as good help as he wanted.”

The understanding before commencing work on the mill was to the effect that it was to belong to the Indians on Grand Round Agency, when completed. Those who furnished logs were to own the lumber after sale of sufficient quantity to pay the “sawyer,” the whole to be under control of the acting agent.

Misunderstandings seem to have arisen between the agent and Indians, growing out of the sale of lumber manufactured by the mill. The only misunderstanding that could have arisen, was that wherein the Indians claim that “the Government would pay the expense of running it,”—the saw-mill,—and they—the Indians—should have the lumber to dispose of as they thought best, claiming the right to sell it to the whites outside of the Reservation.

It was so agreed and understood as above stated, that the Government agent was to manage the business, pay the sawyer, and meet such other expenses as might accrue, out of the sale of lumber, and the remainder to belong to parties furnishing logs, with the privilege of selling to persons wherever a market could be found. If any other plan has been adopted, it is in violation of the agreement made with the Indians at the council that considered the question of building the mills. A full report of that council was forwarded to the Commissioner at Washington (see page 162), was filed in the office of Superintendent of Indian Affairs, Salem, Oregon, and was, or should have been, recorded on the books at Grand Round Agency.

The Indians of Grand Round own the mills. The funds invested in their erection did not belong to agent or Government. It was the Indians’ money, and was so expended by their knowledge and request. The sweat of these people was dropped in the long race, cut for the mills. Every stick of timber in them was prepared, partly at least, by Indian labor. They had accepted this little valley at the bidding of a powerful Government, who had promised them mills (see treaty of 1866), and had constructed inferior machinery, at enormous expense, that had never been worth one-half the greenbacks they had cost.

These people have advanced more rapidly in civilization than any other Indian people on “the coast.” They had learned a great amount of useful knowledge while working for the white men, to make a living for their families, when the Government had failed to furnish subsistence for them. They were now ready to take care of their interests, when men paid to instruct them had performed their duty.

If these Indians are ever to manage for themselves, why not begin with easy lessons, while they have, or are supposed to have, an agent, whose duty it was to stand between them and the stronger race with whom they are to mingle and associate?

I repeat that these Indian men own the mills, and are entitled to the proceeds, and that it is, and was, an agent’s duty to transact such parts of the business as the Indians could not themselves. What if it did require labor and care to prevent confusion? The agent was paid for his time, his business talent, and, if he was unwilling or incompetent, he was not in a proper position.

The agent says, “I have allowed them one-half the lumber made, when they wished to use it for building purposes, retaining the other half for the department, until such time as it can be used in improvement, or otherwise disposed of for their common benefit.” If the department required lumber, let the Indians be the merchants, and receive the pay. To dispose of it for their benefit was to compel those who were willing to labor to support those who were not. Working parties were organized among them by agent La Follette, and they were to enjoy the privilege, of furnishing saw-logs in turn; thus encouraging enterprise among them. Klamath Indian mill furnished several thousand dollars’ worth of lumber for the Military Department at Fort Klamath, and for outside people too, and the proceeds were paid to the Indians who did the work, or it was invested in stock cattle for them. In the name of justice I protest, as a friend of the Indians, against the confiscation, by our Government, of labor and lumber belonging to the Indians of Grand Round Agency.

Reference has been made to the allotment of land to these people. The letter following will give the reader some idea of the manner in which it was done, and the various questions that were to be considered in connection with this important episode in the lives of these people.[3]

[3] See Appendix.

The enrolment referred to was completed. The surveying was done by Col. D. P. Thompson, United States Deputy Surveyor.

While he was engaged in doing this work, the Indians assisted materially, and followed him in crowds, each anxious to see where the lines would run, whether they would conform to their preconceived hopes or not.

The thoughts of these men—for they were men—must have been very comforting at the prospect of promises being at last fulfilled. Many years had passed, waiting, waiting, waiting for the time to come when they should have homes “like white men.” They well understood the arrangement in regard to the amount of land that was to be given to each. I have not the “Willamette Treaty” before me, but, from memory, state, that each grown person was to have twenty acres, with ten acres additional for each minor child.

Col. Thompson, the surveyor, relates, that while engaged in surveying near the house of a “Wapto” Indian, said Indian came to him with a very serious face, and requested the suspension of the work. The colonel, being a humorous man, and patient withal, entertained the petition, but demanded to know the reason why the survey should stop.

“Wapto” said, in jargon, “Indian Neeseka-nan-itch-mi-ka, is-cum, twenty acres; Nika cluchman is-cum, twenty acres; Ni-ka ten-us-cluchman is-cum, ten acres; Nika ten-us-man is-cum, ten acres; Ma-mook, sixty acres; Al-ka. You see I get twenty acres, my squaw get twenty acres, my daughter get ten acres, my son get ten acres, making sixty acres in all. Spose Mesika Capit mamook icta elihe, Kau-yua nika is cum, seventy acres. Suppose you stop surveying, and wait awhile, I can get seventy acres, may be eighty acres. Cum-tux,—understand?”

The colonel took the hint, when the Indian pointed to the small lodge, fitted up expressly, as the custom among these people is, for important occasions of the kind intimated above.

Whether he changed his course in surveying, he did not say, but went on to relate, that a few days after the above conversation, the same Indian came to him and said, “Nika-is-cum, Ten-is-man”—“I have another boy.”—“Klat-a-wa-ma-mook-elihe”—“Go on with the survey.”—“Nika is-cum, seventy acres”—“I get seventy acres.” He seemed much elated with the new boy, and the additional ten acres of land.

The surveying was completed, but “red tape” was in the way of allotment, much to the satisfaction of some of the people, who were hoping for as good fortune as “Wapto,” in the same way; others, who were hopeless of such luck, were anxious for the lands to be set apart at once, because each new-comer made the chances less in securing good homes, by being crowded of to make room for the additions that such events demanded.

The allotment has finally been made. The people are overjoyed, and they start off on this new order of life with commendable zeal. I have no doubt of their ability to maintain themselves, when they shall have been admitted to the new relationships in life. While they have been long in bondage, treated as dependents, and begrudged the valley wherein they have been placed by the Government, they have, nevertheless, attained to a status of manhood that entitles them to consideration. They fully appreciate such evidences of recognition, and should be consulted in regard to the expenditure of their funds, the appointment of agents and employÉs, the selection of church ministries and school teachers.

During one of my official visits they assembled to the number of nearly one hundred, and paraded on horseback, for a grand demonstration. They were well dressed, and well mounted on good horses. After performing various evolutions, they drew up in front of the agency office in a half circle. The leader then made a speech, a portion of which I copy here, from the memoranda made at that time. It was in American language, and began, “Mr. Meacham: You our chief. We look on you as our father. We show you how we get along. We think we white men now. We no Injuns now. We all Republicans. We know ’bout the big war. We no Democrats. One man he live with me—he Democrat—us boys all laugh. He get shamed; he good ‘publican now. These all our horses, we work for ’em. S’pose you want us work road, all right; s’pose you tell us pay the tax, all right. Sometime we vote just like a white man. All right. S’pose the President want soldier, we are white men; we know all about everything; we can fight. We are not boys; we know about law. That’s all right.

“We want to hear you talk. You talk all the same; you talk to white men. Some of these people don’t understand, we tell them; you go ahead, talk all the time;” meaning I should make a speech without waiting to have it interpreted.

I felt then that I was their servant. The Government was paying me for my time, and whatever of ability I might have. I was not there to make a hurried call, and go away without doing them good.

My remarks were, substantially, that I was glad to see them appear so much like white men; that the Government would give them lands, and would do right by them. A few years ago, a great many black people were slaves; now everybody is free. Every man is counted by his sense and conduct, not by his color. You men are almost white in your habits. You are doing well; you have made a good start. After the land is allotted, you will each have a home, and in four years the treaty will be dead; then you can come up with the white man. You will pay taxes and vote.

Dave said: “There is something else we want you to talk about. Some of us Injuns are Catholic; some of us are not. The Catholics don’t want to go to the other meetings. They don’t talk all the same. We want to understand about this religion.”

The agency was, at that time, under the supervision of the Methodist Church. A Catholic priest had been laboring with these people for many years, and had baptized a large number of them.

The assignment of agencies was made without proper knowledge of the religious antecedents of the people. Many of them had been, from time to time, under the teaching of other churches, especially the Methodist Episcopal Church. They had also formed their ideas from association with the farmers, for whom they had worked at various times. I realized then, as I have often done, the very embarrassing circumstances that surrounded the subject.

If I have ever doubted the feasibility of the church policy, it was because no well-defined regulations were ever made. Regarding these matters it is a doubtful question which of the churches named had priority of right to minister to the people of Grand Round Agency. Though the Catholics had been many years among them, the Methodists had, at an earlier date, taught them in matters pertaining to religion.

I fully realized the importance of Dave’s request, and so deferred action until the Catholic father could be summoned. Father Waller, one of the early founders of Methodist missions in Oregon, was present. When the former arrived, the subject was again brought up. In the mean time, however, a new question arose, and an incident occurred worthy of a place in this connection.

The habits of these people are their lives really, and when an old custom is abolished, the substitute may be clumsily introduced, and not well understood. I refer to the marriage law. The old way was to buy the girl, or make presents to the parents until they gave consent for the marriage. The new order of things forbade this way of performing this sacred rite.

The hero of this episode—Leander—was a fine, handsome young fellow, who belonged to Siletz Agency, and from his agent had learned something of the working of the law. Siletz and Grand Round Agencies are within one day’s ride.

The heroine—Lucy—lived on the latter, with her parents, who were “Umpyuas.”

Leander had obtained a pass—permission—from his agent, stating the object of the visit, and had been well drilled in regard to his rights under the “new law.” He had proposed, and, so far as the girl’s consent was concerned, been accepted. But the parents of Lucy could not be so easily conciliated.

It is true they had assented to the new law, but were reluctant to see Lucy marry a man, and go away to another agency to live. I think, however, the absence of presents had something to do with their reluctance. Leander had promised his agent that he would stand by the new law,—make no presents to the parents.

The “old folks” founded their objection on other grounds when submitting the case for settlement. Leander requested a private interview with me. He then stated that he was willing to pacify the old folks by making a present or two, if he thought Mr. Simpson would not find out about it. He declared he never would return to Siletz without Lucy; said he thought she was a good young cluchman; he loved her better than any on Siletz. “She is stout; she can work; she can keep house like a white woman. She is no squaw. I want her mighty bad. You s’pose you can fix it all right? I don’t want them old folks mad at me. They say if she goes away now she get no land. Can’t she get land at Siletz? They don’t care for her. They want some ictas (presents); they want me to wait until you give the land; that’s what they want.”

I promised to arrange the matter for him somehow, although I could see the difficulties that embarrassed the marriage, as indicated by Leander’s talk.

Had the allotment of lands been made, no objections would have been had on that score. The father and mother called upon me, wishing advice. Grand Round was, at this time, without a general agent, and was running in charge of a special agent,—Mr. S. D. Rhinehart; hence the duties of an agent were devolved upon the superintendents, and one of the important duties is to hear the complaints, and adjust all matters of difference.

The “old folks” were much excited over this affair of their daughter Lucy, who had, as her white sisters sometimes do, given evidence of her interest in the question, by declaring she would marry Leander, and possibly said something equivalent to the “there now” of a spoiled girl.

They were much affected. The father’s chief objection, I think, was to prospective loss of ten acres of land; the mother’s, the companionship and services of her daughter, added to a mother’s anxiety for the welfare of her child. She shed some real tears, woman-like.

The father said, when he would wake up in the morning and call “Lucy,” she could not hear him, and that he would be compelled to go for his horse when he wanted to ride. Lucy had always done that kind of work for him.

The conference was protracted, for I recognized in this affair a precedent that might be of great importance to the Indians of Grand Round Agency hereafter. I foresee, in the future, some stony-hearted Indian hater, scowling while he reads this mention of sentiment and feeling on the part of Indians. Scowl on, you cold-blooded, one-sided, pale-face, protected in your life, your rights, and even your affections, by a great, strong Government!

Finally, all the parties interested were taken into the council. The mother put some pertinent questions to Leander.

“Do you ever drink whiskey? Do you gamble? Will you whip Lucy when you are mad? Will you let her come to see me when she wants to?”

Leander’s answers were satisfactory, and, I think, sincere. He promised, as many a white boy has to his sweetheart’s mother, what he would not have done to a mother-in-law. That relationship changes the courage, and loosens the tongue of many a man.

Lucy was not slow to speak her mind on the subject. “Leander, Clat-a-wa-o-koke-Sun-Siletz. E-li-he, hi-ka-tum-tum, ni-ak-clut-a-wa. (Leander goes to Siletz, my heart will go with him, to-day.) Ni-ka-wake-clut-or-wa-niker, min-a-lous.” (“If I don’t go, I will die.”) This settled the question.

Being the first marriage under the new law, it was decided to make it a precedent that would have proper influence on subsequent weddings. The ladies resident at the agency, were informed of the affair, and requested to assist the bride in making preparations for the ceremony.

Leander was well dressed, but he required some drilling. Dr. Hall, the resident-physician, assumed the task, and calling two or three boys and girls to the office, the ceremony was rehearsed until Leander said, “That’s good. I understand how to get married.”

The people came together to witness the marriage. The men remounted their horses, and formed in a half circle in front of the office, women and children within the arc, all standing. The porch in front of the office was the altar. Father Waller, with his long white hair floating in the wind, stood with Bible in hand. A few moments of stillness, and then the office door opened, and Leander stepped out with Lucy’s hand in his.

The doctor had arranged for bridesmaids and groomsmen. As they filed out into the sunlight, every eye was fixed on the happy couple. The attendants were placed in proper position, and then the voice of Father Waller broke the silence in an extempore marriage service. Leander and Lucy were pronounced man and wife, and, the white people leading off, the whole company passed before the married pair and offered congratulations.

Great was the joy, and comical the scene. One of the customs of civilized life was omitted, that of kissing the bride. Father Waller could not, consistently, set the example, the doctor would not, and, since no white man led the way, the Indian boys remained in ignorance of their privilege.

The horsemen dismounted and paid the honor due, each following the exact model, and if one white man had kissed the bride, every Indian man on the agency would have done likewise.

One young man asked the bridegroom in Indian, “Con-chu-me-si-ka-ka-tum-tum?” (“How is your heart now?”) “Now-wit-ka-close-tum-tum-tum-ni-ka.” (“My heart is happy now.”) I have witnessed such affairs among white people, and I think that I have not seen any happier couple than Leander and Lucy.

The dance, in confirmation of the event, was well attended. It being out of Father Waller’s walk in life, and my own also, we did not participate in the amusement. But we looked on a few moments, and were surprised to see the women and girls dressed in style, somewhat grotesque, ’tis true, but all in fashion; indeed, in several fashions.

Some of them wore enormous hoops, others long trails, all of them bright-hued ribbons in their hair. Some with chignons, frizzles, rats, and all the other paraphernalia of ladies’ head-gear. The men were clad in ordinary white man’s garb, except that antiquated coats and vests were more the rule than the exception. Black shining boots and white collars were there. A few had gloves,—some buckskin, some woollen; others wore huge rings; but, taken all in all, the ball would have compared favorably with others more pretentious in point of style, and even elegance.

These people were apt scholars in this feature of civilization. The music on the occasion was furnished by Indian men, with violins. Few people are more mirthful, or enter with more zest into sports, when circumstances are favorable, than do Indians.

The day following the wedding, a general council, or meeting, was held. Father Waller of the Methodist, and Father Croystel of the Catholic Church, being present, the subject of religion was taken up and discussed. The facts elicited were, that many of the Indians, perhaps a majority, were in favor of the Catholic Church. The remainder were in favor of the Methodist, a few only appearing indifferent.

Neither of the fathers took part in the “talks.” My own opinion, expressed then and since, on other occasions, was, that the greatest liberty of conscience should be allowed in religious practice. That the people should honor all religions that were Christian. No bitter feelings were exhibited. I attended, at other times, the Catholic Church exercises, conducted by Rev. Father Croystel. The Indians came in large numbers, some of them on horses, but the majority in wagons; whole families, cleanly clad and well behaved.

Those who belonged to the Catholic Church were devout, and assisted the father in the ceremonies and responses. The invitation was extended to any and all denominations to preach; on one occasion a minister came by invitation, and preached in the office. The attendance was not large, but the employÉs of the agency monopolized all the available benches. They seemed to think that the Indians had no rights. The preacher began his discourse, and, after dilating on the word of God, with a prosy effort to explain some abstruse proposition in theology, for half an hour, my patience became exhausted, and I arose and made the suggestion that, since the meeting was for the benefit of the Indians, something should be said which they might understand. More seats were provided, and the preacher started anew, and when a sentence was uttered that was within the comprehension of those for whom the preaching was intended, it was translated. This meeting, however, did not do them very much good, because it was not conducted in a way that was understood by the Indians.

The man who was trying to do good had undoubtedly answered when some one else had been called of God to preach the gospel. He would, perhaps, have made a passable mechanic, but he had no qualifications for preaching to Indians. He was not human enough. He was too well educated. He knew too much. Had he been less learned, or possessed more common sense, he might have been competent to teach great grown-up children, as these Indian people are, in the Christian religion.

A short colloquy overheard between two of the red children he had been preaching to would have set him to thinking. The talk was in the Indian language, but, translated, would have run in about the following style:—

“Do you understand what all that talk was about?”—“No; do you? Well, he was talking wicked half the time, and good half the time. He was telling about a man getting lost a long time ago. Got lost and didn’t find himself for forty years. That’s a big story, but maybe it is so. I don’t know. Never heard of it before.”

I need not say to the reader, that this minister had been preaching about Moses. Perhaps he was not to be censured. He may have done the best he could. He did not know how to reach an Indian’s heart.

The schools at this agency were not flourishing. The reason was that the mode was impracticable. Schools were taught with about as much sense and judgment as the preaching just referred to.

After several years of stupid experimenting, at an expense of many thousands of dollars, there was not among these Indians half a dozen of them who could read and understand a common newspaper notice. The fault was not with the pupils; it was the system.

The Indians of this agency are farther advanced than those of any others in Oregon, in everything that goes to make up a civilized people. They have, since the allotment of lands, made rapid progress, and bid fair to become rivals of other people in the pursuit of wealth, and other characteristics that make a people prosperous. Some of them are already the equals of their white neighbors in integrity of character and business tact. They have abandoned their old laws and customs, and have been working under civil laws. They elect officers and hold courts, somewhat after the manner of a mock Legislature; in other words, they are practising and rehearsing, in anticipation of the time when they shall become citizens.

Like all other races, they learn the vices much quicker than the virtues of their superiors. It cannot be denied that they follow bad examples sometimes, especially intemperance; but when considered fairly, taking note of the influences that have been thrown around them; the many different agents, and kinds of policies under which they have lived; the fact that they were wild Indians sixteen years ago; that they have been kept in constant fear of being removed; hope deferred so often and so long; that they were remnants of many small tribes; that their numbers have decreased so rapidly,—then they stand out in a new light, and challenge commendation.

Lift your heads, Indians of Grand Round! you are no longer slaves; you are free.

This agency, with the people who are there now, and who have been there as Government officers and employÉs, would furnish material for volumes of real live romance; racy stories, sad tales, great privations, disease, death and suffering make up the history of such places. No character required to make a thrilling drama, a bloody tragedy, or comic personality, would be wanting. Better live only in tradition, or fireside story, than in printed page. The latter would embarrass men who have passed through some of the chairs of office, and poor fellows, too, who have sponged a living off of “Uncle Sam,” and cheated the people of thousands of dollars, and months of labor, that they were paid for doing. Let the history die untold, since it could not restore justice to either Government or people. Some of those who have administered on Grand Round Agency have left the Indians in much better condition than they found them, and will live forever in the memory of those they served so faithfully.

Before leaving this agency I would state one feature of Indian life that exists everywhere, but it is less prominent on this than other agencies.

I refer to the poor and the old. Perhaps the last Christian virtue that finds lodgment in Indian hearts is regard or reverence for age, especially old women. They are drudges everywhere, and when too old to labor are sometimes neglected.

Poor, miserable-looking old women, blind, lame, and halt, charity would shed more tears at your death than your children would. While this deplorable indifference for them exists to a fearful extent, there are notable exceptions, particularly among the Grand Round Indians. In every council they were found standing up and pleading for something to be done for the old and poor. These old creatures nearly always hobble to the meetings, and although they seem fair specimens of the Darwinian theory, they, nevertheless, have feelings and gratitude even for small favors. A grasp of the hand seems to impart a ray of sunshine to their benighted faces.

A few years more, and all the old ones will be gone, and their successors will take the vacant places with prospects of more humane treatment than they have hitherto received.

Heaven pity the poor and old, for man has little for them that casts even a glimmer of hope, save on their waiting tombs!