Wigwam and War-path Or the Royal Chief in Chains Part 23

No, _I_ didn't, indeed; I--don't press the question--but I di--. No, no, it was not m--, indeed it wasn't; but I won't tell anything about it. As a faithful reporter, I will only add that the happy couple received the congratulations of friends. They are still married, and Cho-kus hasn't bought another wife yet.

The next case called was a young man who had stolen the daughter of a sub-chief. He was arraigned, "plead guilty," and by the court sentenced to wear six feet of log-chain on his leg for nine months, to have his hair cut short, and to chop wood for the chiefs, who were to board and clothe him in the mean time. Care was taken to protect the convict's right, in that he should not work in bad weather or on Sundays, or more than six hours each day. He objected to having his hair cut short, but otherwise seemed indifferent to the sentence.

The chiefs were satisfied, because they saw large piles of wood in prospect. However, long before the expiration of the term of sentence they united in a pet.i.tion for his pardon.

Cases of various kinds came into court and were disposed of, the chief exhibiting more judgment than is sometimes found in more pretentious courts of justice.

They were instructed, in regard to law, that it was supposed to be _common sense and equal justice, and that any law which did not recognize these principles was not a good law_.

This court is still doing business under the direction of a Government agent. The wedding of Cho-kus and Sallie was celebrated with a grand dance. Who shall say these people do not civilize rapidly? The occasion furnished an opportunity for the Indian boys to air their paints, feathers, and fine clothes; also for Indian maidens and women to dress in holiday attire.

Chief Allen David had given orders that this "social hop," commemorating the first marriage in civil life, should be conducted in civil form. The white boys were willing to teach the red ones and their partners the steps of the new dance.

The ballroom was lighted up with great pine wood fires, whose light shone on the green leaves of the sugar pines and on the tan-colored faces of the lookers-on. Singular spectacle!--children of a high civilization leading those of wilder life into the mazes of this giddy pastime; and they were apt scholars, especially the maidens. The music was tame; too tame for a people who are educated to a love of exciting sports.

The chiefs stood looking on, and, when occasion required, enforcing the orders of the floor-managers, who were our teamsters, turned, for the nonce, to dancing masters. I doubt if they would have been half as zealous in a Sabbath school. But since dancing is a part of American civilization, acknowledged as such by good authority, and since Indians have a natural fondness for amus.e.m.e.nts, and cannot be made to abandon such recreation, perhaps it was well that our teamster boys were qualified to teach them in this, though they were not for teaching higher lessons. At our request we were entertained with an Indian play. No phase of civilized life exists that has not its rude counterpart in Indian life. This entertainment of which I am writing was given by _professional_ players, who evinced real talent. All the people took great interest in the preparations, inasmuch as we had honored them by making the request. The theatre was large and commodious, well lighted with huge log fires. The _foot-lights_ were of pitch wood. The _boards_ were sanded years before, and had been often carpeted with velvet green or snowy white. The "_Green-rooms_" were of white tent cloths, fas.h.i.+oned for the purpose by brown hands, and were in close proximity to the scene. The front seats were "reserved" for invited guests. The rest was "standing room." Circling round in dusky rows stood the patient throng. Nor stamps, nor whistles, nor other hideous noises gave evidence of bad-breeding or undue impatience. No police force was necessary _there_ to compel the audience to respect the players or each other's rights.

As the time to begin comes round a silence pervades the a.s.sembly. No huge bill-posters, or "flyers," or other programme had given even an inkling of the play. This was as it should be everywhere, for then no promises were made to be broken, and no fault could be found, whether the play was good or bad. The knowing ones, aware, by signs we did not see, that soon the performance would commence, by motion of hand or eye would say, "Be still."

Now we hear a female voice, soft and low, singing, and coming from some unseen lodge. It grows more distinct each moment and more plaintive, and finally the singer comes into the circle with a half dance, the music of her voice broken by occasional sobs, makes the circuit of the stage, growing weary and sobbing oftener; she at last drops down in weary, careless abandonment. This maiden was attired in showy dress, of wild Indian costume, ornamented with beads and tinsel. Her cheeks and hair were painted with vermilion. The frock she wore was short, reaching only to the knee. Close-fitting garments of scarlet cloth, richly trimmed with beads, and fringe of deer-skin she wore upon her ankles, with feet encased in dainty moccasins. When she sat down, the picture was that of one tasting the bitter with the sweets of life, in which joy and sorrow in alternate promptings came and went. The sobbing would cease while she gathered flowers that grew within her reach, arranging them in bunches, seemingly absorbed in other thoughts, occasionally giving vent in half-stifled, child-like sobs, or muttering in broken sentences, with parting lips, complaints against her cruel father, giving emphasis with her head to her half-uttered speech.

Following the eyes of our Indian interpreter, whose quick ear had caught the sound of coming steps, we saw a fine-looking young brave enter the ring, crouching and silent as a panther's tread, and, scanning the surroundings, he espies the maiden. We hear a sound so low that we imagine it is but the chirping of a tiny bird; but it catches the maiden's ear, who raises her head and listens, waiting for the sound, and then relapses into half-subdued silence. Meanwhile the young brave gazes, with bright eyes and parted lips, on the maiden. Again he chirps. Now she looks around and catches his eye, but does not scream, or make other noises, until, by pantomimic words, they understand they are alone.

The warrior breaks out in a wild song of love, and, keeping time with his voice, with short, soft, dancing step, he pa.s.ses round the maiden, who plays coquette, and seems to be fully on her ground. He grows more earnest, and raises his voice, quickens his steps, and, pa.s.sing close before her, offers his love, and proposes marriage, speaks her name, and, turning quickly again, pa.s.ses back and forth, each time pleading his case more earnestly, until the maiden, woman-like, feigns resentment, and he, poor fellow, thinks she means what she does not, and slowly and sadly, in apparent despair, retreats to the farther side of the stage. When he came upon the scene, clad in his dress of deer-skins, hunting-s.h.i.+rt and leggings, with moccasins trimmed with beads and scarlet cloth, his long hair ornamented with eagle feathers, and neck encircled with the claws of wild cayotes, his arms with a score of rings, his scarlet blanket girded round his waist, and reaching nearly to the ground,--swinging to his back, his quiver full of painted arrows, whose feathered ends shone above his shoulder; his left hand clasping an Indian bow, while his right held his blanket in rude drapery around him,--he was the very image of the real live young Indian brave. But now, with blanket drawn over his shoulder, covering his arms, while the feathers in his hair and the arrows were held tightly to his head and neck, he seemed the neglected lover he thought himself:

Poor Ke-how-la, you do not appear to know that Ganweta is playing prude with you. Ke-how-la breaks out afresh, in song and dance, and, circling around the maiden, gives vent to his wounded pride, declares that he will wed another, and, as if to retire, he turns from her. Ganweta, as all her s.e.x will do, discovers that she has carried the joke too far, springs up, and, throwing a bunch of flowers over his head, begins to tell, in song, that she dare not listen to his words, because her father demands a price for her that Ke-how-la cannot pay, since he is poor in horses; but that, if left to choice, she would be his wife, and gather roots, and dress deer-skins, and be his slave.

Ke-how-la listens with head half turned, and then replies that he will carry her away until her father's anger shall be pa.s.sed.

Ganweta tells how brave and strong her father is, and that he intends to sell her to another.

Ke-how-la boasts of his skill in archery, and, dropping his blanket from his shoulder and stringing his bow, quickly s.n.a.t.c.hes an arrow from his fawn-skin quiver, and sends it into a target centre, and then another by its side, and still another, until he makes a real bouquet of feathered arrows stand out on the target's face, in proof of his ability to defend her from her father's wrath.

s.n.a.t.c.hing his arrows, and putting them in place among their fellows, save one he holds in his hand, he motions her to come, and, bounding away like an antlered deer, he runs around the circle with Ganweta following like a frightened fawn. They pa.s.s off the scene. The braves sent by the father come on stealthily, scanning the ground to detect any sign that would be evidence that the lovers had been there. Stooping low and pointing with his finger to the tracks left, a warrior gives signal that he has found the trail, and then the party starts in quick pursuit, following round where Ke-how-la and Ganweta had pa.s.sed, who, still fleeing, come in on the opposite side, and, walking slowly backward, he, stepping in her tracks, intending thus to mislead the pursuers, then, anon, throwing his arm around her, would carry her a few steps, and, dropping her on the ground, they would resume the flight.

The pursuers appear baffled; but with cunning ways they find the trail, and resume with quickened steps the chase.

Suddenly Ke-how-la stops and listens. His face declares that he has knowledge of the coming struggle,--that he must fight. Bidding Ganweta haste away, he takes a station near a tree, and awaits the pursuers. They seem to be aware that he is there, and, drawing their bows, prepare to fight. See Ke-how-la expose his blanket, the pursuers letting two arrows fly, one of them striking it, the other the tree. A tw.a.n.g from Ke-how-la's bow, and a howl of pain, and a red-skinned pursuer in agony has an arrow in his heart, and then the arrows fly in quick succession, until the hero sends his antagonists to the happy hunting-ground of their fathers, and with apparent earnestness he scalps his foes.

With his trophies hanging to his belt, he calls, "Ganweta, Kaitch Kona Ganweta!"--Beautiful Ganweta; but he calls in vain. While Ke-how-la was fighting, a brave of another tribe carries off the shrinking maiden, and escapes to his people.

Ke-how-la takes the trail, and follows by the signs Ganweta had left on her involuntary flight, and discovers her surrounded by his enemies. He returns to his own people for a.s.sistance. He finds friends willing to follow him. Ganweta's father is reconciled with him, and gives his consent to his marriage when he shall have brought Ganweta home. A party is formed, and after the war-dance and other savage ceremonies, they go on the warpath. Then we see the warriors fight a sham battle with real war-whoops and scalping ceremonies. The arrows fly, and the wounded fall, and the victors secure the scalps and also the captive maiden, and, with wild sports, return to the lodge of Ganweta's father.

This performance lasted about three hours, and from the beginning to the end the interest increased, winding up with a scalp-dance.

I have never witnessed a play better performed, and certainly never with imitation so close to reality. It demonstrated that talent does not belong to any privileged race; that Indians are endowed with love for amus.e.m.e.nts, and that they possess ability to create and perform.

If it is urged that such plays foster savage habits among the Indians, the excuse must be that they were true to the scenes of their own lives and in conformity with the tastes of the people, as all theatricals are supposed to be.

It had one merit that many plays lack. Its actors were natural, and no unseemly struts and false steps, or rude and uncouth exhibitions of dexterity or unseemly att.i.tudes, that make modest people hide their eyes in very shame, were indulged in by the players.

The Indians of Oregon and of the Pacific coast wear long hair; at least, until they change their mode of life, they have a great aversion to cutting it, and, in fact, it is almost the last personal habit they give up. Before leaving this agency, I proposed to give a new hat to each man who would consent to have his hair cut short. The proposition was not well received at first, because of their old-time religious faith, which in some way connected long hair with religious ceremony. It is safe to a.s.sert, that, whenever an Oregon Indian is seen without long hair, he has abandoned his savage religion. Before leaving, however, I was a.s.sured that I might send out the hat for over one hundred.

The following summer, when making an official visit, I took with me four hundred hats. When the question was brought up, and the hats were in sight, a flurry was visible among the men. The chief, Allen David, led the way, begging for a long cut. A compromise was made, and it was agreed that the hair should be cut just half-way down. With this understanding, the barber's shop was inst.i.tuted, and long black hair enough to make a Boston hair merchant rich was cut off and burned up.

The metamorphosis was very noticeable. Many ludicrous scenes were presented in connection with, and grew out of, this episode. A great step forward had been made, and one, too, that will not "slip back."

When O-che-o came out of the room, after his head had been for the first time in his life under a barber's hands, he presented a comical spectacle.

His children did not know him; some of his older friends did not recognize in him the chief of other days.

CHAPTER XVIII.

OMELETS AND ARROWS--BIG STEAM-BOILERS.

An Indian game of ball is not exactly like America's great game of base ball. It resembles, somewhat, the old game of s.h.i.+ndy or bandy. The field is one-fourth of a mile in length, and one-eighth in width. Stakes are planted at either end, and also in the middle. The players pair off until all are chosen who desire to play. Captains are elected who command the players of each side, and take their stations at the middle stakes, arranging their men on either side, each of whom is provided with a club three feet in length, having a short crook at the lower end. The ball is fas.h.i.+oned out of a tough knot of wood, and is about three inches in diameter, and burnt by fire until it is charred slightly, thus making it of black color. This game is called "ko-ho," and is won by the party who succeeds in knocking the ball with the club to the home base at the opposite end of the ground.

A game of "ko-ho" attracts much attention; old and young, deaf, dumb, and blind, all go to witness the sport; the latter, probably, to hear the boisterous shouts that attend the playing. Sometimes it is made the occasion for gambling, and then the excitement becomes intense.

Another game is played, with two pieces of wood six inches long and about one inch in diameter, securely connected by a thong of rawhide, about four inches apart; the game, as in "ko-ho," being to toss this plaything with straight clubs to a home base; the parties struggling as in the other game. Foot-ball is not uncommon, and great contests are had over this game also.

Civilized American gambling cards are common, and are played in games that have no existence among white people; though Indians are expert in all common games, and become, like their white brother, infatuated, and gamble with desperation. Gambling seems to be a pa.s.sion among them. It is not uncommon to see the younger men of tribes that are uncivilized, seated on the ground, and, with a blanket spread over their limbs, all pointing toward a common centre, gambling with small sticks of wood, the parties alternately mixing their hands under the blanket, changing the sticks from one hand to the other while they sing a low melody; and, when withdrawing the hands, the other Indians point to the hand they suppose to be the holder of the sticks, thus indicating the one selected as the winning hand. When the bets are all made the holder opens both hands, and thus declares the result. The favorite sport of the Indians is horse-racing; but, like other people, they gamble on almost everything. Among them are natural professional gamblers. This pa.s.sion is a fruitful source of poverty; and many complaints are made by young, green ones, against _red_-legged sharps.

An Indian woman filed a complaint against "Long John," an Indian gambler, charging him with having swindled her son, a boy of eighteen or twenty years of age, out of a number of horses that belonged to the family. She a.s.serted that they were poor; that the loss was too much to bear in silence, and that, since her son was a boy, not a man, "Long John" ought to return the horses. This famous gambler was ordered to appear. The case was investigated. "Long John" pleaded guilty as charged in the indictment, but offered the old Indian law as an excuse. He finally proposed to return the horses, on condition that the boy would abandon the habit. The boy promised; the property was returned; and the old woman went away happy in the possession of her restored fortune; for it was to her what business and home are to wealthy people. Under the new law gambling is prohibited by a fine; but the Indians find ways to avoid the law, and gambling is now, and will continue to be, common among them.

These people have a beautiful country, with a cold climate, being at an alt.i.tude of four thousand feet above the sea level. Snows of two to four feet deep are not uncommon. The rivers and lakes are well supplied with fish, the mountains with game, the land with berries and wild roots.

Big Klamath marsh is situated twenty miles north of the Great Klamath lake. It is six miles wide and twenty long, and receives its water from the south side of the Blue mountains. This marsh is covered with a growth of pond-lilies, that furnish immense supplies of wo-cus (seed of lily). It is a great rendezvous for several tribes who come to gather wo-cus. The main stem of this plant first blossoms on the top of the water, and, as the seasons advance, the flower matures and rises above the surface one or two feet, and forms a large pod, of four inches in length and three in diameter. The Indians go out among the lilies in canoes, and gather the bowls or pods while green, spread them out in the sun, and when cured they are beaten with sticks until the seeds fall out. These are put in sacks and carried home, cached (buried in cellars) until required for use. Then the seeds are thrown into a shallow basket, with live coals of fire, and roasted, after which it is ground by hand on flat rocks.

It is a nutritious food, and, when properly prepared, not unpalatable. The Klamaths use it in soups, and often prepare it by mixing like flour into cakes, which they bake in the ashes. This article of wo-cus is abundant, available, and altogether sufficient to furnish subsistence for all the Indians in Oregon. To this wo-cus field the natives have for generations past gone for supplies, and in the mean time to exchange slaves, gamble, and hold great councils. Many stirring scenes have been enacted at this place that would furnish foundation for romantic story or b.l.o.o.d.y tragedy.

The lakes of Klamath are great resorts for the feathery tribes, which come with the spring and sojourn through the summer. The people luxuriate on the eggs of these wild fowls. They go out into the tall tule (gra.s.s) in canoes, and collect them in large quant.i.ties. _"The egg season" lasts until the hatching season is over_, the Indians cooking unhatched birds, and eating them with as much avidity and as little thought of indecency as New England people cook and eat clams, oysters, or herrings.

The young fowls are captured in nets. The arrangement is quite cunning, and, although primitive in construction, evinces some inventive genius. A circular net is made three feet in diameter, and to the outer edge are attached eight or ten small rods of half-inch diameter, and about fifteen inches in length; three inches from the lower end, which is sharpened to a point, the net is attached. The upper end of the rods are bevelled on one side, and inserted into a rude socket, in the end of a shaft ten feet long.

Armed with this trap, the hunter crawls on the ground until he is within safe distance of the mother-bird and her little flock, when, suddenly springing up, the old birds, geese or ducks, as the case may be, fly away, while the little ones flee toward the water. The Indian launches the shaft with the net attached in such a way that the net spreads to its utmost size, the sharpened points of the rods pierce the ground, and, the upper end having left the socket on the shaft, stand in circular row, holding the net and contents to the ground.

The Klamath mode of taking fish is peculiar to the Indians of this lake country. A canoe-shaped basket is made, with covering of willow-work at each end, leaving a s.p.a.ce of four feet in the middle top of the basket.

This basket is carried out into the tules that adjoin the lakes, and sunk to the depth of two or three feet. The fishermen chew dried fish eggs and spit them in the water over the basket, until it is covered with the eggs, and then retire a short distance, waiting until the whitefish come in large numbers over the basket, when the fishermen cautiously approach the covered ends, and raise it suddenly, until the upper edge is above the water, and thus entrap hundreds of fish, that are about eight inches in length. These are transferred to the hands of the squaws, and by them are strung on ropes or sticks and placed over fires until cured, without salt, after which they are stored for winter use. This fish is very oily and nutritious, and makes a valuable food. Indeed, this country is more than ordinarily fruitful, and abounds in resources suited to Indian life.

The lakes are well supplied with various kinds of trout. They are taken in many ways; mostly, however, with hook and line. I remember, on one occasion, going to a small slough making out of the lake among the tules.

Being prepared with American equipment of lines and flies, I was sanguine of success; but I was doomed to disappointment so far as catching trout with fly-hooks was concerned. I finally succeeded in capturing a pocketful of large black army-crickets. The first venture with this bait was rewarded by a fine trout of six pounds' weight. In one hour and a half I had twenty-four fish, whose aggregate weight was one hundred and four pounds. They were mostly golden trout, a species peculiar to Klamath lake.

They are similar to other trout, except in the rich golden color of their bodies, and in the shape of their fins. Silver trout are sometimes caught also, they taking their name from their silver sides and the color of their flesh. Lake trout, another species, are very dark; they are sharp biters, and very game when hooked. Salmon trout, as the name indicates, resemble salmon in every way; so much so that none but an expert could distinguish the two.

Still another kind of the trout family are also in abundance, called dog trout. They live on the younger fish of their own species; do not run in schools, but solitary and alone, devouring the small ones. I have caught them with the tails of little fish sticking in their mouths. Brook trout may be found in the smaller streams; they are identical with those of New England.