"My country, 'tis of thee!" / Or, the United States of America; past, present and future. A philosophic view of American history and of our present status, to be seen in the Columbian exhibition.

by Willis Fletcher Johnson

Either through better soldiers or less dishonest agents, there has been a change in late years. The Indian has not been on the warpath in a long time, and some of the exciting accounts of Indian raids in the West amount only to this—that a body of men have left their reservation against the advice of their associates, and started on a stealing and murdering tour just far enough ahead of the military force to be able to do a great deal of harm in a short time.

At the same time, however, the idea has been creeping to the surface that the Indian might possibly be regarded as a human being and as amenable to the ordinary laws and customs of civilization.

All of us have heard the old brutal remark, attributed to General Sheridan and several other army officers, that the only good Indian is a dead one. But this is a base and cruel slander. There are a great many good Indians, and every honest Indian agent as well as every military officer who has much to do with the savage tribes knows that in each reservation there are a number of men, rude though they may be, who are of considerable character and large self-control, and whose principal faults may be charged to the negligence of the government, which has regarded the red man as its special ward.

The Indian has brains. No one is quicker to admit this than the army officer who has had occasion to fight the Indian. General Custer was a good soldier and an experienced Indian fighter, but Chief Gall was a better one. The defeat of Custer is usually attributed to Sitting Bull, but that old ruffian simply did out-and-out fighting; the brains of the conflict—all the strategy and all the tactics—were supplied by an Indian named Gall, who still lives, and for whose military ability every officer in our army has a profound respect, not unmixed with fear.

The flowery and elaborate speeches which different representatives of savage tribes have made to the Great Father at Washington, through their interpreters, may seem to have a good deal of nonsense in them, but the Indian Bureau knows that they also contain a great deal of admirable diplomacy. It may be because the Indian has very little to think of and can give his whole mind to the subject under consideration; but whatever the reason, the fact is assured that in pow-wows between representatives of our Indian Bureau and some of the tribes in the Far West the preponderance of brains has not always been on the side of the white man.

Another unexpected development of the Indian question is, that the Indian will work. This may seem a wild statement in view of what a number of travellers and military officers have seen on reservations in the Far West and at railway stations on the slender line which connects the civilization of the West with that of the Rocky mountains and the Pacific slope. But fortunately there are a number of witnesses to substantiate it; for instance, the Apaches are currently supposed to be the most irreclaimable tribe of wild men within our nation’s borders. It will not be hard to recall the difficulties which General Crook experienced in following, defeating and recalling Geronimo’s famous gang of Apaches a few years ago, when they were followed to a mountain fastness in Mexico. Yet when some of the demons who had murdered, ravished and burned everything in their path were finally brought back to the reservation and taught that by tilling the soil they could earn some money, or at least the equivalent of money, they worked harder than any American farmer whose achievements had ever been recorded. These so-called lazy devils supplied a military post with hundreds of tons of hay, every particle of which was cut by hand with such knives as the savages happened to have: they had no other tools with which to work. They also supplied the post with vegetables of various kinds, beside keeping themselves well fed with products of the soil which were results of their own labor. Farms managed by Indians are not at all uncommon in the West. It was the eviction, or the fear of eviction of an old Indian woman from her farm, that led to the murder of Indian Agent Meeker in Colorado. An Indian named Ouray was for a long time one of the most successful and respected farmers in Colorado. Ouray not only managed his own business well, but kept in order all the Indians in his vicinity. His methods were somewhat rude to be sure, but they always were effective, and no army officer of his acquaintance hesitated to trust him as implicitly as he would trust the Secretary of War for the time being. An Indian at present is one of the land barons of the West, and has held his little estate near the centre of a large and flourishing town in spite of all temptations and machinations of rum-sellers, traders, lawyers and other scoundrels that have endeavored to swindle him out of his own.

But it isn’t necessary to go West to find out whether the Indian will work. One needs only to go down to Hampton, Virginia, where the government is supporting a lot of young Indians in the Normal school conducted by General Armstrong. I had heard so much about the unwonted spectacle of Indians, clothed and in their right minds, with clean faces and hands, studying books and using tools and behaving themselves like human beings—that a little while ago I went down to Hampton myself and went through the schools. First, I asked General Armstrong whether the Indian would work.

“Will he work?” said the General, with a merry twinkle of his eye. “Well now, you roam about here yourself all day; I presume you know a red man from a black one when you see him; and you will have the question answered to your entire satisfaction.”

I did, and was convinced. I saw Indians out-of-doors working the soil, and Indians indoors, in the shops, handling tools as skilfully as the average white man. I saw houses inhabited by picked Indian families—young people with children, and the “housekeeping”—one of the most comprehensive words in the world—was so thorough in all visible respects that either family seemed fit to teach domestic economy and neatness in many Northern villages I have seen. I saw four Indians in a class-room, at four separate blackboards, draw, inside of three minutes by the clock, four quite accurate maps of North America, putting the principal lakes and rivers in their proper places. Several prominent Americans (white) were with me at the time, and each admitted, for himself, that he could not have done as well to save his life; yet one was one of those railroad monopolists who want to own the earth, and are supposed to carry at least their own section of it in their mind’s eye.

From General Armstrong himself I got the following brief statement of the Indian situation, and I have been unable to find any one in authority who is able to contradict any part of it.