“Who are you? You speak now like a white man.”
“I am not only a white man, but am also a countryman of yours. I heard you and your partner speaking together in German last night. Say nothing, I am an Indian now, and have been for years.”
The young men were not again disturbed, and in the morning went to Winnemucca and signified their desire to depart. The old chief gave orders for their horses to be brought, and then told them to be sure to travel fast, and not to stop to prospect.
When they had packed up and were about ready to start, Winnemucca gave them a string made of twisted sinews in which were tied a number of knots, telling them that wherever they were stopped by Indians they must show them the string. They were stopped two or three times in the course of the forenoon, but the string operated like magic, as the sight of it instantly changed the countenances of the Indians from the scowl of an enemy to the smile of a friend.
Wherever they were stopped the string was taken from them and one of the knots untied, when it was handed back to them. The Indians would then say, as they left them: “Go straight to Chinatown—travel fast!” In one place, while they were passing through a cañon, they were fired on by a small party of Indians and two or three bullets whistled past them. They halted and called out: “We are from Winnemucca’s camp! We are friends!” Two or three Indians then approached, and being shown the pass they exchanged glances, but took the string and undid a knot. They then shook hands, saying; “Now we all heap good friend.” As they were leaving, one of them faced about, and said, “Don’t tell Winnemucca that we shot at you.” In another place they passed a hut that stood near the road, but seeing no one there, except an old woman, they did not take the trouble to show her the pass. In half an hour they were overtaken by three Indians on horseback, who levelled guns at them and told them to stop. On showing their pass they were asked why they did not show it to the old woman; however, one of the braves took out a knot, when all three turned about and went off laughing.
After they had passed the site of Williams’ Station, the burning of which, and the killing of the men stopping there, brought on all the trouble, they were again stopped by an Indian who undid their last knot and then kept the string. As the Indian turned to ride away, he began singing in a low tone: “Was ist des Deutschen Vaterland?” and the young fellows said: “There is our countryman again!” They were about to turn back and call to him, but looking in the direction whence he came and in which he was again going, they saw the heads of several Indians and ponies among the willows, on the banks of the Carson River, along which they were now traveling.
Old Captain Truckee, in whose honor the Truckee River was named, was a very intelligent man, and was always a great friend to the whites. He had been a good deal with Fremont and other American explorers, in the capacity of guide, and well understood and appreciated the superior conveniences and substantial comforts resulting from the industrious habits of civilized people. He deplored the ignorance and wilfulness of his people in preferring to lead a wandering life—deriving a precarious subsistance from the proceeds of the chase and the spontaneous products of the soil—to settling permanently in their rich valleys and turning their attention to the raising of stock and the cultivation of the soil.
Captain Truckee died in the Palmyra Mountains, in 1860, from the bite of some insect—probably a tarantula. Before his death he gave the most minute directions in regard to his burial. He had in his possession a letter of recommendation from Col. John C. Fremont, speaking of him as being a faithful and efficient guide and a good honest man. He also had other documents of a similar character from other white men, all of which he desired to have placed in his left hand when he was carried to his grave. He had been much about the Catholic Missions in California, and desired to have a cross erected at the head of his grave with his name cut upon it; he also told how deep the grave must be dug, how his head was to be laid, and mentioned particularly that they were to fold his hands on his breast and heap the earth in a mound above his last resting-place.
As the Indians did not know how to do all these things, they asked some whites who were prospecting near at hand to come and bury Truckee as he had desired to be buried. All of his instructions were carried out to the last particular. The Indians all loved the old man, and there was great weeping and wailing at his funeral, which was taken charge of by a white man who had long known the old fellow and who was called by the Indians “the white Winnemucca.”
At the grave, Captain John, a son-in-law of Truckee, pronounced the eulogy. He spoke first in Piute and then in English, and said: