“Prof. Foster (colored) and his wife, formerly of Little Rock, have just closed a nine months’ school at the brick school-house in the northeast part of Fayetteville. They were at first employed by our school directors to teach a three months’ school for the colored portion of our district, but they continued to teach six months longer for a very small consideration paid them by the patrons of the school and the American Missionary Association. The examination exercises closed Thursday night with a public exhibition. The school room was neat and clean and gorgeously decorated with festoons and wreaths of evergreens and flowers, and the house filled with an appreciative audience, the best of order prevailed, and your correspondent was delighted with the evidences of improvement in the manner and conduct of all who had been so fortunate as to be under the influence and training of Prof. Foster and his accomplished assistant, Mrs. Foster.”
THE INDIANS.
TESTIMONY OF AN INDIAN AGENT.
[Major Gassman, who was formerly engaged in the ministry at Omaha, Nebraska, but who now is serving as Indian agent in Dakota, recently paid a visit to Hampton, where he gave to the students an interesting account of his experience in Indian work, which was published in the Southern Workman, and from which we make the following extracts.—Ed.]
I went to my post with fear and trembling. I had had no experience, no business experience, or any but in the ministry; but I was sure of one thing, that good, honest, persistent effort would bring good results. I had heard about many of the iniquities and shortcomings of agents. My friends warned me against the position. I knew that the name of Indian agent had become almost a synonym of rascal or cheat. I felt, however, that it was a position a man could fill with honesty and integrity and good results. So I went to work.
I was horrified at the state of things I found. For many years an agency had been established; thousands of dollars had been expended; a great many men had been employed. But I saw that the Indians were discouraged, doing nothing, sulky and averse to effort. I arrived at the agency early in April, and found that the fields had been left for a year untilled and in a filthy condition. I had had early experience as a farmer. I called the Indians together, and told them they must clean their fields. They said they had no teams or ploughs. I asked if they couldn’t at least clean them up? They said yes. I told them to begin and I’d see what I could do for them, but there was no time to lose. They said they would start to-morrow. The next morning I was waked by loud talking. I looked out and saw at least fifty women with hoes, axes and shovels on their shoulders—not a man among them. I took an interpreter and went out to them. They said they had come to clean the fields. I said that was good, but I hadn’t sent for them, but for the men. They laughed at that idea—it was a novelty. I told them the men must come, gave them some good advice on household work for women—on which I am well posted—and sent them home. They went their way, and that was the end of the work. I couldn’t get an Indian man out that time. I was puzzled what to do next. I went out to the fields with the interpreter, and we did find one old man who had gone to work. I told him to go on, and I’d plow what he would clean up, which I did. This encouraged one and another by degrees, with the gift of extra rations, and so at last we got the fields cleaned and planted.
The first year, though, was very trying, owing to my ignorance of the Indian character. I spoke to them as I would to any one else about truth and duty, etc., but met constant, persistent opposition. I was wearied to death with their councils. Fifty to a hundred great stalwart Indians would walk into my office, sit down on the floor, and begin to smoke. Then I would wait with patience till one of them would rise and make their wants known, and I would answer them. But everything I proposed they would oppose, for some reason I did not understand. They would tell me my words were sweet, but that like all other white men, I was a liar. So it went on for a year. It was rather hard to take their plain talk, especially as I am somewhat of a muscular Christian. I gave them, however, as good, plain talk as they sent, and let them understand what I thought of them.
But at the end of a year I thought I might as well give it up. I wrote to my friends that I thought of resigning. Then I called the Indians to a last council. I told them what I felt, why I came, what I had endeavored to do. I spoke feelingly. When I had finished, an old chief, “Struck by the Ree,” got up and said: “We have listened to your words for a year. We have now come to the conclusion that we will both listen and obey. We had been told that you were not a good man. Many of us believed what we heard, but you have convinced us that you are good, and we will obey you.”