squaw belonged was found, and a man and woman sent after her, with the warning, that if they failed to bring her they must suffer the consequences. They insisted on being paid in advance for their labor. They were not paid, but they brought her in alive, but so weak that she had to be held on the horse, the squaw sitting behind her. It is said the Indian has no gratitude, but this old woman refuted that assertion.
On the arrival of Captain Jack’s party, arrangements were made to proceed at once to Klamath Reservation. On the morning of Dec. 27th we started on our way. At the request of Captain Jack and his representative men, the squad of soldiers were sent forward to the fort; the Indians claiming that their presence made the women and children afraid; and that, having surrendered their arms, they were powerless to do harm, and had no desire to turn back. It may be thought a strange concession to make; but with their arms in our possession, we made it; thus proving our confidence in Indian integrity, by relieving them of the presence of the soldiers. We were safe, and had no fear of the result.
The morning was intensely cold, and the road led over a high mountain covered with snow to the depth of twenty inches. On the 28th we arrived at Modoc Point, Klamath Reservation. We were met by a large delegation of agency Indians. The meeting and peace-making of these people, who had been enemies so long, was one of peculiar interest and full of incident, worthy of being recorded. I pass over the first day, by saying that the Klamaths were much chagrined when we issued an order, at the request of Jack, against gambling.
Had we not done so, much confusion of property and domestic relation would have ensued. These people are inveterate gamblers, and in fits of madness have been known to stake their wives and daughters on the throw of a stick, sometimes a card. The second day we set apart for a meeting of reconciliation. A line was established between the Modoc and Klamath camp, and a place designated for the forthcoming meeting, at the foot of a mountain and beneath a wide-spreading pine tree.
The Klamaths formed on one side of the line, and awaited the arrival of the Modocs, who came reluctantly, apparently half afraid; Captain Jack taking a position fronting Allen David,—the Klamath chief,—and only a few feet distant. There stood these warrior chieftains, unarmed, gazing with Indian stoicism into each other’s faces. No words were spoken for a few moments. The thoughts that passed through each mind may never be known, but, perhaps, were of bloody battles past, or of the possible future.
The silence was broken on our part, saying, “You meet to-day in peace, to bury all the bad past, to make friends. You are of the same blood, of the same heart. You are to live as neighbors. This country belongs to you, all alike. Your interests are one. You can shake hands and be friends.”
A hatchet was laid in the open space, a twig of pine was handed each chieftain,—Allen David and Captain Jack,—as they advanced, each stooping and covering the axe with the pine boughs; planting their feet upon it, they looked into each other’s eyes a moment, and shook hands with a long-continued grasp,
but spoke no word. As each retired to his position outside of the line, the sub-chiefs and head men came forward, two at a time, and followed the example of the chieftains, until all had exchanged the pledge of friendship, and then resumed their respective places. Allen David broke the silence in a speech of great power,—and such a speech as none but an Indian orator can make. I have listened to some of the most popular speakers in America, but I do not remember ever having heard a speech more replete with meaning, or one much more logical, and certainly none exhibiting more of nature’s oratory. It was not of that kind taught inside brick walls, but that which God gives to few, and gives but sparingly. I repeat it as reported by Dr. McKay.
Fixing his eye intently on Captain Jack, and raising himself to his full proportion of six feet in height, he began in measured sentences full of pathos: “I see you. I see your eyes. Your skin is red like my own. I will show you my heart. We have long been enemies. Many of our brave muck-a-lux (people) are dead. The ground is black with their blood. Their bones have been carried by the ‘Cayotes,’ to the mountains, and scattered among the rocks. Our people are melting away like snow. We see the white chief is strong. The law is strong. We cannot be Indians longer. We must take the white man’s law. The law our fathers had is dead. The white chief brought you here. We have made friends. We have washed each other’s hands; they are not bloody now. We are friends. We have buried all the bad blood. We will not dig it up again. The white man sees us. Soch-e-la Ty-ee.—God is looking
at our hearts. The sun is a witness between us; the mountains are looking on us.” Turning to the great tree, with a sublime gesture: “This pine-tree is a witness, O my people! When you see this tree, remember it is a witness that here we made friends with the Mo-a-doc-as. Never cut down that tree. Let the arm be broke that would hurt it; let the hand die that would break a twig from it. So long as snow shall fall on Yai-nax mountain, let it stand. Long as the waters run in the river, let it stand. Long as the white rabbit shall live in the man-si-ne-ta (groves), let it stand. Let our children play round it; let the young people dance under its leaves, and let the old men smoke together in its shade. Let this tree stand there forever, as a witness. I have done.”