The tract known as Warner's Ranch lies in the northern part of San Diego County, about forty miles from the Cahuilla Valley. It contains two grants, the San José del Valle and the Valle de San José; the first containing between 26,000 and 27,000 acres, confirmed to J. J. Warner, patented January 16th, 1880; the second, containing between 17,000 and 18,000 acres, confirmed to one Portilla, patented January 10th, 1880. The whole property is now in the possession of Governor Downey, of Los Angeles. There are said to be several conflicting claims yet unsettled. The ranch is now used as a sheep and stock ranch, and is of great value. It is a beautiful region, well watered and wooded. There are within its boundaries five Indian villages, of San Luisenos and Diegmons—Aqua Caliente, Puerta de la Cruz, Puerta de San José, San José, and Mataguay. The last four are very small, but Aqua Caliente has long been the most flourishing and influential village in the country. It was formerly set apart as a reservation, but the executive order was cancelled January 17th, 1880, immediately after the patenting of the San José del Valle Ranch, within the boundaries of which it was then claimed that the village lay, although to the best information we could get the first three surveys of that ranch did not take the village in. The aged captain of the Aqua Caliente Indians still preserves a paper giving a memorandum of the setting off of this reservation of about 1,120 acres for this people. It was by executive order, 1875. He also treasures several other equally worthless papers—a certificate from a San Diego judge that the Indians are entitled to their lands; a memorandum of a promise from General Kearney, who assured them that in consideration of their friendliness and assistance to him they should retain their homes without molestation, "although the whole State should fill with white men." It is not to be wondered at that these Aqua Caliente Indians find it difficult to-day to put any faith in white men's promises.
It will be seen from the above brief statement of the situation that they have an exceedingly strong claim on the Government for protection in their right to their lands. Since the restoration of their village and fields "to the public domain," the patenting of the ranches and their sale to Governor Downey, the Indians have been in constant anxiety and terror. Governor Downey has been considerate and humane in his course toward them, and toward all the Indians on his estate. And his superintendent also is friendly in his treatment of them, permitting them all the liberty he can consistently with his duty to the ranch. He finds their labor invaluable at sheep-shearing time, and is able throughout the year to give them occasional employment. But the Indians know very well that according to the usual course of things in San Diego County they are liable any day to be ejected by process of law; and it is astonishing that under the circumstances they have so persevered in their industries of one sort and another. They have a good number of fields under cultivation. They also make saddle mats and hats out of fibrous plants; the women make baskets and lace. It is said to be the most industrious village in the county; the old captain dealing severely with any Indian found idle. They have also a small revenue from the hot springs, from which the village takes its name. These bubble up in a succession of curious stone basins in the heart of the village. They are much resorted to in summer by rheumatic and other patients, who rent the Indians' little adobe houses and pay them a small tax for the use of the waters. The Indians themselves at these times move into bush huts in a valley or cañon some two miles above the village, where their chief cultivated fields lie. They were very earnest to know from us if we would advise their planting more of this ground. They said they would have planted it all except that they were afraid of being driven away. This upper valley and these planting fields were said to be on Government land; but on examination of the surveyor's plats in the Los Angeles land office, we could find no field notes to indicate their location. These Indians have in use another valley called Lost Valley, some fifteen miles from their village high up in the mountains, and reached only by one very steep trail. Here they keep their stock, being no longer able to pasture it below. They were touchingly anxious to have us write down the numbers of cattle, horses, sheep, each man had, and report to Washington, that the President might see how they were all trying to work. There are probably from one hundred and twenty-five to one hundred and fifty head of cattle owned in the village, about fifty horses, and one hundred sheep.
There is here a Government school, taught by a young German lady of excellent education and much enthusiasm in her work. At great cost and risk she has carried her piano up into these wilds, and finds it an invaluable assistance in training and influencing her pupils. It was a scene not to be forgotten, when after their exercises in reading, arithmetic, &c., in all of which they showed a really wonderful proficiency, the children crowded into the teacher's little room and sang their songs to the piano accompaniment, played by her with spirit and feeling. "My country, 'tis of thee, sweet land of liberty," was the song they seemed to like best; all unaware how little applicable to their own situation were its strains of exultant joy and freedom. In this one tiny room adjoining the school-room this young lady lives, sleeps, prepares her own food, frequently having a "cooking class" of Indian women, whom she is teaching to make soups, bread, &c., and to do fine washing. It is impossible to put too much appreciative sympathy on these women teachers in Indian schools in Southern California. Their situation and their work are unique in isolation and difficulty.
The other Indian villages on Warner's Ranch do not demand separate description, consisting of not more than half a dozen houses each, and numbering only from fifteen to thirty Indians. Each village, however, has its own captain, and its cultivated fields, orchards, &c., to which the Indians are profoundly attached, and from which it would be very hard to induce them to move, spite of their poverty, and the difficulty of making a living, as they are now placed.
During our stay at Warner's Ranch, the captain of the San José village had an experience which will illustrate the helplessness of these Indian farmers in Southern California. He had on a piece of Government land, a short distance from his village, a fenced wheat-field of some fifty acres; it was his chief dependence for his year's support. Going away one day, he left his aged father in charge at home; the old man wandered away, and during his absence one of the roving sheep-herders, of whom the country is full, broke down the fence, turned in his flock, and when Domingo came home at night the whole field was eaten close to the ground. Hearing of our being at the superintendent's house, Domingo came over to ask if we could help him in the matter. The quiet, matter-of-course way in which he told the story was more impressive than any loudness of complaint would have been. He said very simply, "What can I do for food this winter?" Mr. Kinney rode over to the village, saw the field, and after some trouble found the herder, who, much frightened, said he did it by his master's orders. This master, an Italian, lived some twenty miles away; the nearest justice of the peace, sixteen miles. On seeing the justice we found that nothing could be done in the way of securing damages from the sheep-owner until two white men, residents of the county, should inspect the premises and estimate the damages. Domingo rode sixteen miles in the night in a fierce storm of sleet and rain, with letters from us to white men on the ranch, asking them to do this. He was back again at daylight with a note from one of them, saying that he could not induce a man to go with him. Finally, the justice, at our request, hired two men at days' wages to go and inspect the Indian's field. They estimated the damages at about one-tenth of the real amount, and thus we were obliged to leave the matter. We afterwards received a letter from the Italian stating that he had settled with Domingo, but not mentioning the sum paid. It was plain that except for our taking hold of the affair the Indian would never have recovered a cent. This is by no means an exceptional instance.
Exhibit E.
THE SAN YSIDRO INDIANS.
In the San Ysidro Cañon, about eight miles from Warner's Ranch, has been living from time immemorial a band of San Luiseno Indians, numbering from fifty to seventy-five, and called by the name of their cañon. We first saw the captain of these Indians in Los Angeles, in the office of the United States Court Commissioner, Mr. H. T. Lee, of whose kindness and humane sympathy in dealing with all Indian matters which come under his notice it is not out of place here to make grateful mention. This Captain Pablo, with two of his head men, had walked a three days' journey to Los Angeles to see if he could get any help in the matter of lands which had been wrested from his people. His story was a pitiful one. Some six years ago a white man named Chatham Helm had come in at the head of their cañon, three miles above the site of their village, taken up a homestead claim there, cutting off the greater part of their water supply, and taking some of their cultivated fields, and leaving them restricted room for their stock. Since that time they had been growing poorer and poorer, but had managed to live by cultivating lands below the village near the mouth of the cañon, where there was another small stream. But now a new squatter had appeared below them, and filed on all the remaining lands, including the site of the village itself. The man Helm, above them, had patented his lands, built a good house, and was keeping considerable stock. The Indians could have no water except what he permitted to come down the cañon. Three years ago one of their number had been shot dead by Helm, who was set free on the usual plea of self-defence. Since then the Indians had been in continual terror. The new squatter had threatened them with the same fate if they came near his enclosures. Between these two squatters the Indian village was completely hemmed in and cut off, and starvation stared them in the face. In fact, in the course of the last winter one little girl had actually died for want of food. Their countenances corroborated the tale. They were gaunt with hunger and full of despair. It would exceed the limits of this paper to give a full report of the interview with these Indians. It will not soon be forgotten by any one taking part in it,—the solemn tones in which the Indians replied to the interpreter's questions, the intent and imploring gaze with which they studied all our faces and listened to all the words unintelligible to them in which we spoke with one another.
It was finally decided to forward to the Interior Department the affidavits of these Indians, setting forth the manner in which they had been robbed of their lands, and requesting that Cloos's entry be held for cancellation, and that Helm's patent be reopened. It was found, on looking the matter up in Washington, that several years ago this cañon had been withdrawn from market with a view to having it set off as a reservation for the Indians living in it, but the matter had slipped everybody's mind. On visiting the San Ysidro Cañon ourselves a few weeks later, we found that Cloos, taking time by the forelock, had sold out his homestead claim, his house, and what he was pleased to call his "improvements," for $600 to a poor old widow, Mrs. Pamela Hagar by name. We found Mrs. Hagar, with her son, on the ground, preparing to go into the bee business. She appeared very little surprised at hearing that the claim she had bought was a questionable one, remarking: "Well, I mistrusted something was wrong; Cloos seemed in such a hurry to get his money." This woman appeared nearly as helpless as the Indians themselves. The deed she had taken from Cloos was not acknowledged; she had not got it recorded; her name was misspelled in it; and the enumeration of the sections, &c., in it did not agree with the list in the land office certificate. She begged us to ask the Government to refund to her the sum she had paid to Cloos, and signed by her mark a paper saying she would accept it. It is a small sum, and as the poor old woman made the transaction in good faith, knowing nothing about the Indians' presence on the place, it would seem not unreasonable that she should be paid. The next morning Cloos himself appeared on the scene, very angry and resentful. He said he had "a perfect right to file on that land;" that "Indians were not citizens" and "had no right to public lands," and that "the stockmen of San Diego County were not going to stand the Indians' killing their stock much longer;" that "the Government ought to put the Indians all together somewhere and take care of them," and that "there'd be a big fight with Indians in San Diego County before long, we might rest assured of that;" and much more of the same sort, which would not be worth repeating, except that it is a good illustration of the animus of the greater portion of Southern California ranchmen towards Indians. A few days after this we were gladdened by the news from Washington that Cloos's filing was held for cancellation, and that the Attorney-General had ordered proceedings to be begun in San Francisco for the vacating of Chatham Helm's patent. A few instances of such promptitude as this would change the whole status of the South California Indians, giving courage to them, and, what is still more important, making it clear to the perception of white men that the Indians' rights are no longer to be disregarded as they have been.
Exhibit F.