You will find that in almost every instance where the white man and the Indian have met in conference, the latter has been overmatched with diplomatic schemes, plausible and captivating on the surface, while behind and beneath has always lurked a hidden power, that he dared not resist in open council.
You will find that notwithstanding the Indian has made compacts under such circumstances as have alienated his home and the graves of his fathers, he has been almost always true and faithful to his agreements, until justified by his ethics, in abandoning them on account of the breach by the other party to the compact.
You will find that a few bad white men, who have always swung out in the van of advancing immigration, and have without commission or authority represented the white race socially, have offered the Indian the vices, and not the virtues, of Christian civilization; and when the facts are known, you will find that these few bad white men have been the real instruments of blood and treachery, nearly always escaping unpunished, while the brave and enterprising frontiersman has unjustly borne the stigma and censure of mankind; if, surviving the tomahawk and scalping-knife, he has stood up in defence of a home, to which his government invited him.
As I proposed in the outset to confine myself to
facts of personal knowledge, or those well authenticated from other sources, and to write of the Indians of the North-west, and of Oregon especially, I leave it to others to review the history of other portions of the country, and, in pursuance of my own plan, I beg to introduce a witness to sustain the assertion, that civilization has refused the Indian admission on equal terms with other races,—a witness who was born and raised on the frontier line; whose whole life has been spent in Oregon; one whose statement will not be questioned where he is known,—Captain Oliver C. Applegate, who has given me, on paper, a few of the many incidents coming under his own personal observation, which he has in times past related to me around camp-fires in the wild region of the lake country of Oregon.
Swan Lake, Oregon, Sept. 10, 1873.
Hon. A. B. Meacham:—
Dear Friend,... A Klik-a-tat Indian, named Dick Johnson, came to my father’s house in the Willamette valley, and worked for him on his farm, prior to the year 1850. In that year my father removed to the Umpqua valley, and soon after Dick Johnson, with his wife (an Umpqua), and mother and step-father, called the “Old Mummy,” followed up and asked permission to cultivate a small portion of my father’s farm. This they were allowed to do. They cultivated these few acres in good style, and found time to labor for father and other farmers, for which they received good remuneration.
In 1852, Dick Johnson, under the encouragement of my father, Uncle Jesse, and other friends, took up a claim in a beautiful little valley about ten miles from Yoncalla, where my people resided. This place was so environed by hills that it was thought the whites would not molest Dick there. Aided by the old man and his brother-in-law, Klik-a-tat Jim, who came from the upper country to join him, Dick improved his farm in good style, built good houses and out-buildings, and fenced hundreds of acres. He was frugal, enterprising
and industrious, and emulated the better white people in every way possible, and was so successful in his farming enterprises that he outstripped many of his white neighbors. His character was above reproach, and, beside sending his little brother to school, he was always seen with his family at church on the Sabbath day. Unfortunately, there were greedy, avaricious white men living in the vicinity of Dick Johnson, who coveted his well-improved little farm. Eight of them—disguised—went to his place late one afternoon, and found Dick chopping wood in the front yard. They shot him in cold blood, and, as his lifeless body fell across the log on which he was chopping, his step-father ran from the house unarmed, and was shot also. The women, after being beat over the heads with guns and revolvers, finally made their escape to the woods, and took refuge under the roof of a friendly neighbor.