Life Among the Piutes: Their Wrongs and Claims

by Sarah Winnemucca Hopkins

  On the first of May Mrs. Parrish and I opened the school. She had her organ at the school-house, and played and sang songs, which my people liked very much. The school-house was full, and the windows were thrown open, so that the women could hear too. All the white people were there to sing for them. I was told to tell the children to sing. All of them started to sing as well as they could. Oh, how happy we were! We had three hundred and five boys, twenty-three young men, sixty-nine girls, and nineteen young women. They learned very fast, and were glad to come to school. Oh, I cannot tell or express how happy we were! Mrs. Parrish, the dear, lovely lady, was very kind to the children. We all called her our white lily mother.

  We had not been teaching but about three weeks when very bad news came. Our white father, Parrish, told me to tell all the people to come to the school-house. They all came with sad faces, because I had already told them that our white father was. going away to leave us. Then he told us that he had received a letter from our Big Father in Washington, saying another man was to come in his place,—a better man than he. “I am sorry to leave you,” he said, “because I know I can make a good home for you. The man who is coming here to take care of you all is a good man. He can teach you better things than I, and maybe he will do more than I can. You must do just as he wants you to do. Go right along just as you have done while I was with you. You all know who he is. He used to live in Canyon City, and have a store there.” My people began to say to one another, “We know him, then.” The mail-carrier said, “I know him, for I know he had a store there.” Egan, the sub-chief, said,—

  “Our Father says he is going away. Now I have been thinking that some of you may have said something against our father. You might have done it without thinking that something would come of it. You all know that white men make a mountain of little things, and some of them may have heard something and told it on him.” They all said, “We have had nothing to say against our father. Why should we do so when he has been so good to us?” Oytes got up and said, “We will not let our father go; we will fight for him. Why should we let him go? We have not sent for another father to come here. He has been doing everything for us, and we have made no complaints against him. We will all stand by him. He has taught us how to work, and that’s what we want, and the white lily is teaching our children how to talk with the paper, which I like very much. I want some of the young men to go and tell our father Winnemucca to come here as soon as he can. I know he will think as I do. I say once more, we will not let him go.”

  I told our agent everything that was said by my people. Then he told me to say to them that it was not because he had done anything that was not right, that he must go away. It was because they said he was not a Christian, and all the reservations were to be under the Christian men’s care. “Before I go,” he said, “I am going to plant for you, and help you all I can. I will give Egan and Oytes land for peas; Oytes, just on the other side of the river for him and his men, and Egan at the Warm Spring, which is just half a mile away on the east, and to Jarry Lang, and Sarah Winnemucca, and others, on this side of the river. Come right along, just as before, and we will plant whatever you want for the winter. Your new father will not be here until the first of July.” He asked each one of us what we wanted planted. Egan said, “I want potatoes and a little wheat.” Oytes said the same. My cousins asked me what I wanted. I said, “We have horses enough to need oats and barley.” Mr. Parrish said, “Just as you like.” I said, “I will have wheat, and you oats, and we will have all kinds of vegetables.” Then our white father said to Egan, “There are eight ploughs. Some of your men can help to plough, and we will get everything in.” He also told Egan that he could not keep Jarry any longer as interpreter. My cousin was married to Egan’s niece, and Mr. Parrish gave me back my place as interpreter. All my people went to work just as before. In a very short time everything was put in.

  During that time, Gen. O. O. Howard and his daughter and Captain Sleighton came to visit us. We were all very glad to see him. He came to see if my people would allow him to build a military post at a place called Otis Valley, ten miles from the agency. He wanted to move Camp Harney to that place. The sub-chief, Egan, said to him, “I like all the soldiers very much. We must see first what our brother Winnemucca says. We have sent for him, and we look for him every day. When he comes he can tell you whether you can build there or not.” General Howard said, “All right, you can tell Mr. Parrish, and he will write to me. I am very glad you are getting along so nicely here. I like to see all the Indians get along in this way. Go on just as you are doing; you will soon be like the white people.”

  Egan got up and said to him, “You are our Big Soldier Father. We would like to have you come and see us, and see that no bad men come and take away our land. You will tell your soldiers to keep them off the reservation.” He promised he would see to it, and he staid all night. The school stopped at this time. Our names were put each on our grain-field or garden. My father came and told him all, and we went to see the agent. My father took his hands in his, and said, “My good father, you shall not leave me and my people. Say you will not go.” He answered: “It is not for me to say. I would like to stay, but your Big Father in Washington says that I must go, and that a better man is coming here. You will like him, I know.”

  Father said: “I do not want any one but you. I am going to see the soldier-father tomorrow. I know they will keep you here for me, or I think they can if they wish to.”

  Mr. Parrish said, “They can do nothing against the government.”

  My father sat a long time without saying a word.

  At last Mr. Parrish said:

  “Come with me, Winnemucca, I want to give you some things. Come with me.” So we went to our store-house. After we got there father stood in one corner of the room, like one that was lost.

  Mr. Parrish said, “What kind of clothes do you want?”

  Father said, “I don’t want anything if you are not going to stay with me. I don’t want anything from you, because it will make me feel so badly after you are gone.”

  It is the way we Indians do. We never keep anything belonging to our dearest friends, because it makes us feel so badly, and when any of our family die, everything belonging to them is buried, and their horses are killed. When my poor mother was yet living every time we went near the place where my poor grandfather was buried she would weep. I told father the way white people did if they were to part for a long time was to give each other something to remember each other by, and they would also keep another’s picture, if he was dead. “Father,” I said, “you had better take what he gives you, for he will feel badly if you don’t.” So father took everything he gave him, and the next morning, father, Egan, Oytes, and myself started for Camp Harney, to see the officer there. We arrived at Camp Harney, distant fifty miles, at about five o’clock. We rode up to the commanding officer’s quarters, and I said:—

  “Major Green, my father has come to see you, and to have a talk with you.” “Well, Sarah, tell your father to come at ten o’clock tomorrow. Have you a place to stop at while you are here?” I said, “Yes, I have a lady friend here. Father and I can stop with her.”

  “And where will those two men stop?”

  I said, “I don’t know.” “But, let me see,” he said, “They can stop with my men. I will give them a note to the sergeant.”

  I then told Egan and Oytes to go to the place, and father and I went to Mrs. Kennedy, and she and her husband were very glad to see us. I told her all about our trouble at the Malheur Agency. In the morning, at the appointed time, we went to the office. There were all the officers in waiting for us, to hear what father had to say. They thought we had come to tell something against our agent, for they were the same officers that had the other agent sent away. They were all astonished when my father said to Major Green:—

  “My great soldier-father, I am in great trouble, and want you to help me. You can if you will. I come to you in my trouble, knowing that you a
re our best friends when I and my people are good. Your soldiers have always stood by us. You took us as your prisoners. You know how the white people are always saying Indians are bad and steal cattle. They tell you these things so you can kill us all off. Now they want my reservation. They are sending away my agent. My men and I have not sent for another agent. We all like our good agent Parrish. We don’t want him to leave us. He gives us everything we want. He and his men are all friendly. They are teaching us how to work, and our children are learning how to read, just like your children. What more do we want? There can be no better man than he, and why send him away? Oh, my good soldier-father, talk on paper to our Big Father in Washington, and tell him not to take him away. I tell you I never saw white men like them in all my life. I have a reservation at my birth place called Pyramid Lake. For so many years not one of the agents ever gave me or my people an old rag. I am just from there. My people have nothing to live on there but what little fish they catch, and the best land is taken from them. I saw a great many of my people. They say they will come here to make homes for themselves.”

  He stopped, and then said:—

  “Will you help me, Major Green?”

  “I will send all you have said to your father in Washington. I am sorry Mr. Parrish is to leave.”

  He then asked me all about it. I told him everything I knew and our new agent’s name. Mr. Parrish called him Major Reinhard.

  Major Green told father he would do all he could for him and his people. The next morning we went back. I told Mr. Parrish what my father said to the officer, and he laughed.

  On the twenty-eighth of June, 1876, our new agent, Major Reinhard, arrived. My people were all very sad indeed. Our dear mother, as we called Mrs. Parrish, and all the rest, were gone, except Mr. Sam Parrish, our agent. He was with us yet with one man, the head farmer, Dayman by name. Our agent took Major Reinhard all over the place, showed him how he had got us fixed, showed him where the field of each one was. Our agent had had our names written on boards to show who the fields belonged to. After he had shown him all our gardens, he took him to our store-house, told him all the goods were to be issued right away. He said, “I was going to issue now, because I have not done it this spring. Some of the goods for this year’s issue have not come yet. I have sent for coats and pants and hats, so the men need not wear blankets while they are working.” He said to Major Reinhard, “These Indians are very good to work. They are always ready to do whatever I tell them to do. They are honest and will do what they can.” He also told him how often he issued rations. After he had turned everything over to the new agent, he was going to leave. At the dinner Mr. Parrish said to the new agent: “Sarah has nice fields of wheat, and the next field to hers is Jerry Lang’s; his field has oats.” Mr. Reinhard did not say anything. After dinner; Mr. Parrish, who is dearly loved by my people, went away. That was the last my people saw of him. Two days afterwards, that is the thirtieth of June, Major Reinhard’s men came,—two men called Johnson, brothers. L. Johnson had a family. One came as school-teacher, and the one with a family was blacksmith. They were the poorest-looking white people I ever saw. The two men did not have decent pants, but the next day I saw them with new ones such as Mr. Parrish gave to my people, and a woman came to me and asked me if I had any dress goods. I asked her what kind of dress goods she wanted. She said calico, and I sold her ten yards to make her a dress. Then came the farmer; his family name was Howell; then the clerk, our agent’s nephew, and then the agent’s family. In a few days they were all well clothed, men, women, and children.

  I was now all alone, as my father left the next day after Mr. Parrish went away. One day Egan and Oytes came to me and said, “We know this man who is going to be our father. He is a bad man. He used to be over at Canyon City. He has sold me many bottles of firewater.” “Yes,” said Oytes, “we know him well.” Just then he came along towards us. He held out his hand to the two sub-chiefs, and said, “How do you do?” He said to me, “Sarah, tell them I want them to come to me tomorrow. I want to have a talk with them. Tell them to tell old Winnemucca to come, too.” I said, “My father is gone.” “Where is he gone?” ”To Pyramid Lake Reservation.” “Will he be back soon?” ”I don’t know, sir.”

  Next morning Egan and Oytes came with their men. “Now, Sarah,” he said, “tell your people that the Big Father in Washington has sent me here. He told me how I must make you all good people. This land which you are living on is government land. If you do well and are willing to work for government, government will give you work. Yes, government will do more than that. It will pay you one dollar per day; both men and women will get the same. Boys who can do a day’s work will get the same. This is what the Big Father in Washington told me to tell you.”

  All the time he was talking, my people hung their heads. Not one looked at him while he talked. He stopped talking. My people passed some jokes, and laughed at him because he was trembling as if he was afraid. Egan said to Oytes, “You had better talk to your father. I don’t want to talk to such a man.” Oytes said, “I am not a boy, I am a man. I am afraid he will die if I talk to him.” I said, “Say something to him.” Then Egan got up and said, “Our father, we cannot read; we don’t understand anything; we don’t want the Big Father in Washington to fool with us. He sends one man to say one thing and another to say something else. The man who just left us told us the land was ours, and what we do on it was ours, and you come and say it is government land and not ours. You may be all right. We love money as well as you. It is a great deal of money to pay; there are a great many of us, and when we work we all work.”

  Our Christian agent got mad and said, “Egan, I don’t care whether any of you stay or not. You can all go away if you do not like the way I do.”

  “Our good father does not understand me. I did not say I would not work.”

  Oytes said, “Don’t say any more; we will all go to work, and then see how much he will pay us.” Then the agent said, “When I tell you to do anything I don’t want any of you to dictate to me, but to go and do it.”

  When I told them what he said, they all jumped up and went away. The next morning men, women, and boys went to work. Some went into the fields to. cut the grain, some to mow hay, and some to cut rails for fences. Some went to cut wood, and some to haul it in. Everybody was busy all the week. Saturday, at half past six o’clock, my people came right from their work to get their pay, men, women, and boys; thirty-eight women, forty-three boys, and nineteen hundred and nine men. We all went to the agent’s office. I went in first and said, “All my people have come to get their pay.” “Well, tell them to come in.” Then he began to write: Blankets, six dollars; coats, six dollars; pants, five dollars, shoes, three dollars; socks, fifty cents; woolen shirts, three dollars, handkerchiefs, fifty cents; looking-glasses, fifty cents; sugar, three pounds for one dollar; tea, one dollar per pound; coffee, two and a half pounds for one dollar; shawls, six dollars; calico, ten yards for one dollar; unbleached muslin, four yards. “The rations they have had are worth about four dollars a week, and then they have two dollars left to get anything they want out of the storehouse.” Some of my men said, “Let us go; why do we fool with such a man?” A good many got up and left. Egan, the sub-chief, got up and said, “Why do you want to play with us? We are men, not children. We want our father to deal with us like men, and tell us just what he wants us to do; but don’t say you are going to pay us money, and then not do it. If you had told us you wanted us to work for nothing, we would have done it just as well if you had said, ‘I will pay you.’ We did not ask you to pay us. It is yourself that said you would see that government paid us, and we would like to have you pay us as you said. You did not say anything about the clothing nor about what we ate while we were working. I don’t care for myself, but my men want their pay, and they will go on with their work just the same. Pay them m money, and then they can go and buy whatever they like, because our Big Father’s goods are too dear. We can go to our soldier-fathers, and
get better blankets for three dollars than yours.”

  He said, “Well, I will give you an order on a store in Canyon City which belongs to your Big Father in Washington, where you can get nice things.”

  Egan got up again and said, “Our good father Sam Parrish sent for those things which are in the store for us, and you want us to pay you for them. You are all wearing the clothes that we fools thought belonged to us, and we don’t want you to pay anything.”

  He tinned round to his men and said, “Go home.” Then our Christian father again forgot himself and said, “If you don’t like the way I do, you can all leave here. I am not going to be fooled with by you. I never allow a white man to talk to me like that.”

  My people all went away to their camps. They sent for me during the night. I went to see what they wanted with Inc. The head men were all together. Then Egan asked me what I thought about our new father.

  I said, “I don’t know. What do you think about him? Do you think what he tells us is true? Are we to lose our home? It looks that way, don’t it?” I said, “I have nothing to say. I am only here to talk for you all.” “What do you think we had better do? Where shall we go? He tells us all to go away. We have no way of getting our living. If he would only give us what we have raised, we could live on that this winter.”