Captain Jack, on assuming an attitude peculiar to himself, with his eye fixed intently on the Klamath chief, began in a low, musical voice, half-suppressed, half hesitatingly: “The white chief brought me here. I feel ashamed of my people, because they are poor. I feel like a man in a strange country without a father. My heart was afraid. I have heard your words; they warm my heart. I am not strange now. The blood is all washed from our hands. We are enemies no longer. We have buried the past. We have forgotten that we were enemies. We will not throw away the white chief’s words. We will not hide them in the grass. I have planted a strong stake in the ground. I have tied myself with a strong rope. I will not dig up the stake. I will not break the rope. My heart is the heart of my people. I am their words. I am not speaking for myself. I speak their hearts. My
heart comes up to my mouth. I cannot keep it down with a sharp stick. I am done.”
No doubt that, at the time of making this speech, Captain Jack really meant all he said; and if he failed to make good his promises, there were reasons that may not entitle him or his people to censure for the failure. Certainly no peace-making could have been more sincere, or promised more for the settlement of the Modoc troubles. The remainder of the day was passed in exchanging friendships (ma-mak-sti-nas). Preparations were completed for issuing annuity goods to the Modocs.
Other Indians had been previously served, but this was but the second time that the Modocs had ever received goods from the Government, in conformity with the treaty stipulations of 1864. For five years the goods had been regularly furnished and distributed to the Klamaths and the few Modocs who remained faithful to the compact. If Captain Jack’s band had not received goods, it was not the fault of the Government or its agents, but because they wilfully refused to obey the orders of Government officers, by remaining away from the home they had accepted.
The goods provided were of the best quality, delivered on contract, and with packages unbroken, and in presence of Capt. Goodale, U. S. Army, then in command of Fort Klamath; and they were distributed among his people. Captain Jack and his head men were seated in the midst of a semi-circle, with the other men on each side, the women in front, in half-circular rows; the children still in front of these, on either hand. When all were seated, the packages were broken, and the goods prepared for issue. Captain
Jack and his sub-chiefs received two pairs of blankets each, one pair to each of his head men, and one blanket to every other man, woman, and child, except six very small children, who were given one-half a blanket each. They were all-wool, “eight-pound” Oregon blankets, and overweighed, by actual test, nearly one-half pound per pair. In addition, each man received a woollen shirt and cloth for one pair of pants; each woman and child, one flannel dress pattern, with liberal supply of thread, needles, and buttons. I have been thus particular about the facts concerning this issue, because much sympathy has been manifested for the Modocs on account of the wrongs said to have been practised against them. After the distribution, the Modocs, proud of their new goods, retired to their camps, on the shores of the lake.
The “Peace Tree,” under which the issue was made, was on a sloping hill-side, overlooking the valley, and commanding a view of the camp of Captain Jack. Let us see them, as they trudge homeward, with their rich prizes. They do not go like the Indians with their blankets around them, and feathers streaming in the wind. Since their retreat from the Reservation they have associated with and learned many of the manners and customs of civilized white people. Nevertheless they presented a picturesque appearance,—old and young, loaded down with goods, flour and beef, apparently happy; and I doubt not they were happy.
Their camps, scattered promiscuously along the edge of the water, were constructed of various materials. A few were ordinary tents, others made over
a frame of willow poles, covered with matting, blankets, wagon sheets, and such other material as could be pressed into service. The ponies are scattered over the plain, cropping the winter grass, or tied up waiting for the owner’s return.
The inside of the camps are always “cluttered,”—a Yankee word, which means in confusion and disorder. The women proceed to stow away the new dresses in baskets and sacks, or spread them for bedding; the men to smoke and wait until the feast is made ready from the supplies of flour and beef provided. They have been cheated out of what some eastern people would consider the best part of the beef,—the “head and pluck.” That delectable part of the animal had been captured by the waiting Klamath squaws at the time of the slaughtering. Squaws have the smelling qualities of a war horse, “that scents the battle from afar.” At every slaughter they were sure to arrive in time to secure the aforesaid “head and pluck,” which, with them, means everything except dressed meat. Even the feet are eaten. First throwing them on the fire and burning them awhile, they then cut off the scorched parts to eat. The foot is again conveyed to the fire, until fairly charred; again stripped, and so on, until but little is left, and that little does not resemble an ox’s foot very much.