The grand council was opened by Allen David, the chief, saying, “Hear me, all my people—open your ears and listen to all the words that are spoken—I have been to the head of Sprague’s river, to meet the new tyee—I have looked into his eyes—I have seen his tongue—he talks straight. His heart is strong—he is a brave man—he will say strong words. His ears are large—he hears everything. He does not get tired. He does not come drunk with whiskey. What you have heard about him shaking hands with every one is true. His eye is good—he does not miss anything—he saw my heart. He washed my heart with a strong law—he brought some new laws that are like a strong soap. Watch close and do not miss his words—they are strong. We will steal his heart.”
The subjoined report to my superior in office was made on my return to Salem, and since it is an official communication, written years ago, it may be worthy of a place in this connection; supplementing which I propose to write more in detail matters concerning this visit and the series of meetings referred to. I make this statement here, because I do not wish the readers to be confused by the mixing of dates, since
to finish this report in full without explanation would exclude incidents that are of interest in a book, though not justifiable in official reports.
Office Superintendent Indian Affairs,
Salem, Oregon, Jan. 20th, 1870.
Sir:—After the completion of the Snake expedition and previous to starting on the Modoc trip, I held a series of meetings and talks with the Klamaths.
I understand, and have so represented on every occasion, that President Grant meant what he said in his inaugural address: that his policy in regard to Indians would be to prepare them by civilization for citizenship. Acting from this principle, so perfectly in accordance with my own judgment, I stepped out of the track of my predecessors, and said to them that my first business is to settle the financial affairs of the agency; then, to issue such goods as I had provided; and then to deliver a message from Mr. Parker to you; that I am ready to hear any and all complaints; settle any and all difficulties; decide any and all vexed questions; to tell you about the white people’s laws, customs, habits, religion, etc., etc.; in a word, I propose to remove the barrier that a condition has held between the different stations in life. Civilization may be yours—manhood—the American standard of worth. The course is clear and open to you Indian people—for the whole family of man.
I had never stood, until now, before a people just emerging from the chrysalis of savage life, struggling earnestly and manfully to leave behind them the traditions and customs of an ancestry known only
to mankind by the history of bloody acts and deeds of savage heroism.
I would that I could portray these scenes: these dark-eyed men with long hair, women naturally good-looking, but so sadly debauched that virtue makes no pretensions among them; children of every shade,—all gathered around a huge fire of pine logs, in a forest of tall trees, in mid-winter, with the little camp fires here and there; and notwithstanding the ground was covered with snow and thermometer sometimes below zero, these people would sit, or stand, for hours, with eyes, ears, and hearts all open to hear; catching with great eagerness the story of my superior in office, to whom I made all my reports and from whom I received instructions, who, by his own energy, had elevated himself to a level with the great men of the age; and that he, Parker, was of “their own race.”
The Klamath chief, Allen David, arose to reply amid surroundings characteristic of Indian life,—a perfect solemn silence broken only by his voice.