We looked in on the school then in progress; we found twenty-five children in attendance. They gave proof of their ability to use the English language, and understand its power to express ideas; the lessons were all in primary books. Their recitations were remarkable. Outside of books they had been instructed in practical knowledge, and answered readily in concert to the questions, Who is President of the United States? What city is the capital? Who is Governor of Oregon? Where is the capital located? Who is Superintendent of Indian Affairs? What year is this? How many months in a year? When did the count of years begin? Who was Jesus Christ? And many other questions were asked and readily answered. The boys were named George Washington, Dan Webster, Abe Lincoln, James Nesmith, Grant, Sherman, Sheridan,—each answering to a big name. “Dan Webster” delivered in passable style an extract from his great prototype’s reply to Hayne. The school also joined the teacher in singing several Sunday-school hymns, and popular songs. Short speeches were made by visitors and teachers. We were much encouraged by what we saw, and left that school-house with the belief that Indian children can learn as readily as others when an opportunity is given them. I have not changed my conviction since; much of its prosperity was due to the teacher, William Shipley, who was fitted for the work and gave his time to it. We also called at some of the little settlements. The agency farm was tilled in common; notwithstanding we saw many small gardens around the Indian houses, growing vegetables, and in one or more “tame flowers.” At one place several men were at work on a new
house, some of them shingling, others clinking cracks. One man was hewing out, with a common axe, a soft kind of stone for a fire-place.
We entered the house of “Too-toot-na Jack,” the champion oarsman. He welcomed his vanquished rival in the boat-race above referred to, and his friend, and offered one an arm-chair, and stools to the remainder. His wife came in, and Jack said, “This is my woman, Too-toot-na Jinney. She is no fool either. She has a cooking-stove in the kitchen.” Jinney was much older than her husband; but that was not unusual. She was a thrifty housewife, and was a financier,—had saved nearly one thousand silver half-dollars; and what she lacked in personal charms, on account of tattooed chin and gray hairs, she made up, like many a fairer woman, in the size of the buckskin purse wherein she kept her coin. Jack seemed fully to appreciate the good qualities of his “woman;” not because he had access to her fortune, but because she was old and he was young, and the chances were that he would be at her funeral.
That hope has made many a better fellow than Too-toot-na behave with becoming reverence for his wife. But “many a slip ’twixt cup and lip” applies to all kinds of people. Jack never realized on his investment. He went first, and Jinney is now a rich widow, and has no doubt marriage offers in abundance.
We were present on “court day,” the agent holding it for the adjustment of all kinds of difficulties among his people. In such cases he appoints juries from among the bystanders, always taking care to select such as had no tribal affinities with the parties
to the suit. He had a sheriff in every tribe, and on occasions where their own friends were interested he summoned others to act. He himself was the court and high sheriff, and always sat with a large hickory cane, called “Old Moderator.”
My readers may smile at this kind of a gavel; but it was a practical and useful thing to have in such courts,—much more potential than Blackstone or any other kind of commentaries, unless, indeed, it be the last revised edition of Samuel Colt.
The records of that court were sometimes made on untanned parchment; by which I mean, my poor, unsophisticated reader, that these Indian citizens would sometimes forget very willingly to observe the decorum due before that august tribunal, and fall to making a record for themselves and on one another with fists, clubs, whips, knives, pistols, and other lively weapons, until the good Judge Simpson completed that record by a vigorous application of the aforesaid hickory club, and some of the citizens had editions for personal adornment.
The walls of the court-room had transcript fragments done in carmine,—or, to be better understood, in “claret.” Court day had been announced to the visitors while at breakfast. The senator had been a successful lawyer before entering the political arena; the judge was then in the enjoyment of a lucrative practice; the superintendent had done something in the law line in county courts before justices of the peace.
The court-room was crowded, the doorways and windows were occupied, and black shining eyes were glistening through every crack, all anxious to see and