the rude stairway outside the largest lodge, and disappeared. This was the home of the “Chief.” Our party dismounted and prepared to follow our guide. A watchman on the house-top said, “One man come! no more!” I had partly ascended the steps when the peremptory order came. It sounded ominous, and recalled “Bloody Point,” and “Ben Wright.” It was too late to turn back in the presence of savages.
When I reached the door, at the top of the lodge, and through the opening met the eyes of fifty painted warriors, I felt as if I was in the wrong place; but I dare not then show any signs of fear, or retrace my steps. I may not find words to express my thoughts and feelings as I descended the rawhide ladder, half expecting a shower of arrows, or bullets; half-wondering how they would feel. I did not know then,—I have learned since. On descending, I was met with a cold reception, that froze my blood; a feeling I cannot describe. Captain Jack looked in my face with a sullen glitter in his eye, that no white man could imitate. He refused to shake hands, to speak, or smoke, and in fact it was evident that I was not only an unwelcome visitor, but was looked upon as an enemy.
Coolly lighting my pipe, I began trying to make the best of a bad job; meanwhile enduring the stare from all eyes,—and a stare of that kind that none can understand who has never felt the same; an expression cold and scornful, but burning with hatred, was on every countenance. I have beheld but one other scene that was more indescribable, and that was the “Lava Bed” tragedy on April 11th, 1873. A terrible kind of loneliness came over me, and for a while I
thought the chances about even whether I would get out again or not.
Finally “Scarfaced Charley” broke the stillness by asking, “What you want? What for you come? Jack he not send for you! He got no business with you! He no don’t want to talk! He in his country! What for you come here? You not him ty-ee! He don’t know you! Hal-lu-i-me-til-li-cum,—(you stranger)! Captain Jack want to see you, him come your home! He no want you come here! You go away! Let him ’lone! He no want talk you! You go away!”
This is substantially the first Modoc speech I ever heard. The result, however, was to break the ice, to open the way for conversation. I stated then that I was a new chief, sent by the President, to care for all the Indians, Modocs included, and that I was their ty-ee. I had some new things to talk about. Whether they were my friends or not, I was their friend. I had come to see my boys, and I wanted a hearing. I was not afraid to talk, not afraid to hear Captain Jack talk; I was a big chief, and did not ask my own boys when to talk. When I had ended my first speech to the Modocs, Captain Jack replied:—
“I have nothing to say that you would like to hear. All your people are liars and swindlers. I do not believe half that is told me. I am not afraid to hear you talk.” I then proposed to have my friends, who were waiting outside, come in. This was agreed to, and Captain Jack produced a parcel of papers, that had been given to him by various persons, including letters from “Steele,” also from Esq. Potter, and John Fairchild. These were submitted to me, and
treated with consideration, thereby securing a certain kind of respectful hearing, on the part of Captain Jack, to the proposition for him to provide a camp for our company.
Having thus started negotiations, Jack proffered the use of his lodge, saying that he had no muck-a-muck (meaning provision) that we could eat; that his stores afforded only roots and dried fish, that he had no flour, no coffee, no sugar, no whiskey, and did not think a white chief could get along without these things, etc. He, however, ordered a camp prepared for us, which was done by making small holes in the ground, two or three feet apart, with “camas sticks,”—a sharp-pointed instrument, of either iron, bone, or hard wood, and about three feet long, with a handle at the upper end, generally in the shape of a cross, and is used very much as a gardener does a spade, by Indian women in digging roots. Into these holes were inserted willows, eight feet in length, forming a circle twenty feet in diameter, lapping past at one point,—thus making an entrance, very much like the opening of a circus pavilion,—the whole surrounded with mattings, the upper part drawn in, thus contracting the yielding tops of the willow poles until the camp was made to resemble a huge bowl, with bottom out, in an inverted position. This kind of work is usually done by Indian women; but, to the credit of the young men of the Modoc tribe be it said, that they, in this instance at least, assisted them, and did not allow their women to be mere help-meets, but principals in mechanical enterprises of the kind named, including also “getting wood.” Sage brush is the principal fuel in this region of country; and since so much of the
Great Basin lying between the Rocky mountains on the east, and Sierra Nevada, and Cascade mountains on the west, is covered with this kind of growth, and since comparatively few of my readers may have ever seen it for themselves, I may remark here, by way of explanation, that this “sage brush” is a soft, flexible shrub, the woody part being porous, and filled with a gummy substance; the bark is of a grayish color, soft and ragged, and easily stripped off; the leaf is small, of such a color, shape and taste as very much resembles the domestic plant, from which it takes its name; the body is short, crooked and forked, seldom exceeds four inches in diameter or four feet in height; burns readily, either green or dry, making a very hot fire, though of short life, yielding abundant ashes and beds of coals.