Life Among the Piutes: Their Wrongs and Claims

by Sarah Winnemucca Hopkins

  “Brother, is our father’s lodge inside the line? We must leave our horses here and go on foot. I can run down the mountain very fast.”

  Brother said, “If you are discovered, how will you get out?”

  “Oh, well, our horses are almost given out anyway; so, dear brother, we must trust to good luck, and it is not so very far. Let us go quick and be back, for I have no time to lose.”

  So we ran all the way down the mountain. Before I went into my father’s lodge, I sent brother in to tell him I was coming. He did so, and I heard him whistle, and I then said to the men, “We will go in.” Oh, how glad my father was to see me! He took me in his arms and said,—

  “Oh, my dear little girl, and what is it? Have you come to save me yet? My little child is in great danger. Oh, our Great Father in the Spirit-land, look down on us and save us!” This was repeated by everyone in the tent.

  Everyone in the lodge whispered, “Oh, Sadie, you have come to save us!”

  I said, “Yes, I have come to save you all if you will do as I wish you to and be quiet about it. Whisper it among yourselves. Get ready tonight, for there is no time to lose, for the soldiers are close by. I have come from them with this word: ‘Leave the hostile Bannocks and come to the troops. You shall be properly fed by the troops.’ Are you all here? I mean all the Malheur Reservation Indians.”

  “Yes, all are here, and Oytes is the chief of them.”

  “Father, you tell the women to make believe they are gathering wood for the night, and while they are doing that they can get away.” And while I was yet talking, I saw the women go out, one by one, with ropes in their hands, until we were left alone,—that is, I was left alone with eight men: my father, and my brother Lee, and my cousins, George Winnemucca, Joe Winnemucca, and James Winnemucca, and the two men that were with me.

  “Now, father, let us go, as it is getting dark.”

  Then father said, “Now, dear son, go and get as many horses as you can get, and drive them down as fast as you can. We shall wait for you at Juniper Lake.”

  My brother Lee jumped up, rope in hand, and went out of the tent, and then my father gave orders to his nephews, and we four started out, leaving father’s lodge all lonely. It was like a dream. I could not get along at all. I almost fell down at every step, my father dragging me along. Oh, how my heart jumped when I heard a noise close by. It was a horse running towards us. We had to lie down close to the ground. It came close to us and stopped. Oh, how my heart beat! I thought whoever it was would hear my heart beat. It stood a little while and some one whistled.

  “Yes,” the whistle said, “where is father?”

  It was dear little Mattie, my sister-in-law. She had waited for her husband in the woods, and he came out. She went with him and he sent her to me with a horse. Oh, how thankful I was to Mattie for the horse! So my father helped me on to the horse. We went on faster and got to where we had left our horses, and found them all right.

  “George,” I said, “take off my saddle and put it on this horse, the horse my brother has sent me, and you take my horse. It is better than ours.”

  The men led the horses down the mountain, while Mattie and I ran down hand-in-hand. We could run down the mountain faster than horses could. When we got down to the Juniper Lake, Lee was there already waiting for us, also the women. Lee also had had the women cook the mountain-sheep meat we had left there for me, for I assure my readers that I did not know what hunger was all that time,—I had forgotten all about eating. I said,—

  “Come, women, take some in your hands and get on your horses, and eat while you are travelling, for we have many miles before us tonight. Tie your children to your backs. If they should sleep so, they will not fall off, for we must travel all night.”

  Lee came up to me and said, “Sarah, I am going back to get Jarry Lang,”—that was our cousin, agent Reinhard’s interpreter. “He is a close prisoner. I will go and see if I can get him.”

  I said, “Lee, if you go, try and get all you can.” I turned round and said “Are you all ready?”

  “Yes.” My father gave the order by saying, “Ride two by two, keep close together. Men, march your children and your wives. Six men keep back, for fear we will be followed.”

  So father and Mattie and my two men and myself led at the head of my people. We marched for some six hours. Mattie and I saw a track, and father called out “Halt!” And the men came forward and lighted a light. It had been a herd of cattle. We marched all night long. Just at daybreak, we got to a place called Summit Springs.

  I said, “Father, we will stop here and wait for Lee, as we promised we would.” So we unsaddled our horses, and I lay down to have a little sleep, having had no sleep for two nights. No sooner did I lie down and fall asleep, than my father called me and said,—

  “Eat something.” (They had cooked some of the sheep meat.) “You cannot sleep until your brother comes.”

  I tell you I did eat, for indeed I was really starved. When I got through, I asked if the men were out watching. Just as father said “Yes,” came a warning alarm. Everybody jumped for their horses. Mattie and I ran and got our horses, jumped on their bare backs, and went to meet the man who brought the warning. I said, “What is the matter?”

  “We are followed by the Bannocks.” His horse was almost falling from under him.

  I said, “Jump on behind me.” He did so. We galloped up to the camp. “Oh, father, we are followed.”

  “Yes,” said the man behind me, “we are followed. Egan and his whole band is overtaken and are taken back.

  “I looked back and saw Lee running, and they firing at him. I think he is killed. Oytes is at the head of this. I heard him say to the Bannocks, ‘Go quickly, bring Sarah’s head and her father’s too. I will show Sarah who I am. Away with you, men, and overtake them.’” This is the news that came to us the morning of the 15th of June.

  My father said, “If my son is killed, I will go back to them and be killed too. If we are to be killed off for what the white people have done to them, of course we cannot help ourselves.”

  I said, “Father, it is no time to talk nonsense now. Be quick, let us go; for my part, my life is very dear to me, though I would lose it in trying to save yours, dear father.”

  My stepmother was crying, so was poor little Mattie, Lee’s wife.

  “Come, father, give me your orders, as I am going back to the troops. What shall I tell General Howard, as I am going to where he is this very day, if the horse can carry me?”

  “Tell him to send his soldiers to protect me and my people.”

  With this message I left my father on the morning of the 15th of June. Poor little Mattie cried out to me, “Oh, dear sister, let me go with you. If my poor husband is killed, why need I stay?” I said, “Come on!” Away we started over the hills and valleys. We had to go about seventy-five miles through the country. No water. We sang and prayed to our Great Father in the Spirit-land, as my people call God. About one o’clock we got to the crossing of a creek called Muddy Creek. We got off our horses and had a drink of water, and tied our horses till they got cooled off while we gathered some white currants to eat, for that is all we found. Now we watered our horses and found a narrow place to jump them across, and off again towards our soldiers as fast as our horses could carry us. We got to the crossing of Owyhee River at three o’clock; stopped twenty minutes to eat some hard bread and coffee while they saddled fresh horses for us. We jumped on our horses again, and I tell you we made our time count going fifteen miles to the Sheep Ranch. We whipped our horses every step of the way till we were met by the officers. Captain Bernard helped us off. I saw one of the officers look at his watch; it was just 5.30 p.m. I told the General everything,—how I got my people away, how we were discovered and followed by the Bannocks. Oytes, one of the Snake River Piutes, a leading chief, had overtaken Egan, a sub-chief, and his band, and driven them back. “Maybe my brother Lee was killed. My father is on his way here, and wants you to send him some soldi
ers for protection.” When I said this, the officers looked at each other, and so did the soldiers and also the volunteer scouts, just as much as to say,—“You are lying to us.”

  I saw Lieut. Pitcher wink at Lieut. Wood. The General asked me how many Indians I thought there were in all. I told him that my brother Lee thought there were about seven hundred in all,—men, women, and children. Then the General called the Captain of Volunteers, Mr. Robbins, and ordered him to take all his men and go and bring Chief Winnemucca to the troops. I called Piute Joe, who had killed Buffalo Horn, and told him in a few words which way to go to meet my father.

  This was the hardest work I ever did for the government in all my life,—the whole round trip, from 10 o’clock June 13 up to June 15, arriving back at 5.30 p.m., having been in the saddle night and day; distance, about two hundred and twenty-three miles. Yes, I went for the government when the officers could not get an Indian man or a white man to go for love or money. I, only an Indian woman, went and saved my father and his people.

  “Let us then be up and doing,

  With a heart for any fate;

  Still achieving, still pursuing,

  Learn to labor and to wait.”

  The next morning was Sunday. The General called me, and said, “I want you to go with me as my interpreter and guide.”

  I said, “Can I go with Captain Bernard’s company?” He said, “Do so. I want you and Mattie with the headquarters.” I said, “Which is the headquarters?” He said, “We will go to Camp Lyon. The headquarters will be habitually with the right column.” The General’s staff in the field consisted of Major Edwin C. Mason, 21st Infantry, Acting Assistant Inspector General; Captain Lawrence S. Babbitt, Ordnance Department Engineer and Ordnance Officer; Assistant Surgeon General, Perkins A. Fitzgerald, U. S. A., Chief Medical Officer in the field; First Lieut. Ebenezer W. Stone, 21st Infantry, Chief Commissary of Subsistence in the field; First Lieut. Fred. H. G. Ecstein, 21st Infantry, R. I. M., Chief Quartermaster in the field; First Lieut. Melville C. Wilkinson, 3d Infantry, Aide-de-Camp; Second Lieut. Charles E. S. Wood, 21st Infantry, Aide-de-Camp, Assistant Adjutant General in the field. With these officers, Mattie and I started for Camp Lyon, and I was as mad as could be because I wanted to go right after the hostile Bannocks. Mattie and I had to ride in a wagon going to Camp Lyon. We met three or four companies of cavalry half way. Some of the soldiers cried out, “Oh, I see they have Sarah Winnemucca a prisoner.” Mattie and I laughed at this. We got to Camp Lyon about three o’clock. It was Sunday. Captain Lawrence S. Babbitt and Lieut. C. Wilkinson came down from Silver City, Idaho. Later, we had prayers and singing in the evening, as they were all Christians but Captain S. Babbitt and the soldiers by the name of Moffatt and Musenheimer and Goodwin, and Mattie,— four. White men, educated, not Christians; men that are almost born with the Bible in hand. What! not Christians? Yes, that is just what I mean. Poor General! he had some hard words with a citizen who owned a stage, because he wanted thirty-five dollars a day to take us to Reinhard’s crossing of Malheur River. I stood by them when they were talking, and I could hold in no longer.

  “That is the way with you citizens. You call on the soldiers for protection and you all want to make thousands of dollars out of it. I know if my people had a herd of a thousand horses they would let you have them all for nothing.” The General looked at me so funny, and said, “Yes, Sarah, your people have good hearts, better ones than these white dogs have.” The man would not give in, so they had to give him thirty-five dollars and pay all expenses besides.

  So we left Camp Lyon. The second night we slept at Henderson’s Ranch, near Keeney’s ferry, where Lieutenant Ecstein, field quartermaster, joined us, and we went the next clay to Reinhard’s Crossing, just in time to meet Stuart’s column which had already reached that point a few hours before us, and had been kept under arms ready to move. The weather for the poor soldiers and for us had been hot and dry, and the roads very dusty. The country of our route was characterized by the usual alkali and sage brush, much of it bare and mountainous. At the stone house at Reinhard’s Crossing were gathered a number of families from the country around. Here I met an enemy, whom I had met about eleven days before, to whom I had given something to eat when he was almost starved. Then he paid it back to me by telling General Howard that he saw me at the Malheur Agency, and that I was the one that started my people on the war-path. General Howard brought him to me and told me what he had said about me. I told the General where I had met him. It was about forty miles this side of Malheur Agency. He and another man came to my camp almost starved, and I gave them their supper and breakfast. “I know the other man will not say that of me,” I said. I was crying when he was talking. Then he came forward and said, “Oh, Sarah, I did not mean it, forgive me, Sarah.” I said right out, “You brute.” He turned out afterwards to be the best friend I had. We stayed there all night, the 18th of dune. A citizen came in and reported Indians close by. The General asked me what I thought about it. I told him I did not think there were any Indians within ten hundred miles of us. On the morning of the 19th we marched up toward Malheur City about twenty-five miles and camped. General Howard asked me if I would be afraid to go with a dispatch to Camp Harney. Camp Harney had not been heard from for some time. A story having the appearance of truth was brought to us that Captain M’Gregor’s company had had a disastrous engagement, and had lost the most of their horses. The news also reached us that the hostiles had abandoned the Stein mountains and gone to Harney Valley, and it was probable that the left column of Captain Bernard’s company had pushed after them.

  Later in the evening General Howard and Lieutenant Wilkinson came to us again and said, “Well, Sarah, what do you think about going?” I said, “I am always ready to go anywhere you wish me to go.”

  “Do you think you would want an escort?”

  I said, “No, Mattie and I will go alone, for no white man can keep up with us. We can go alone quicker than with soldiers.”

  But Lieutenant Wilkinson said he would go with us, for they could not let us go alone, as there were bad white men who might harm us, and he would take two soldiers besides.

  “Supposing we were to meet the hostiles, and they were to kill me, what would you do?”

  Poor Mattie was the first to speak. “Sister and I will throw ourselves on you and they should kill us first, then you.”

  This made the officers laugh.

  So on the 20th, Sister and I started for Camp Harney with Lieutenant Wilkinson, Aide-de-Camp, Corporal Moffatt and Private Musenheimer. After we had travelled about twenty miles, Sister Mattie’s horse gave out, and Lieutenant Wilkinson took a stage-horse for her. At twelve o’clock we stopped for something to eat, for it was the last place we should see or where we should find anything until we got to Camp Harney, a hundred miles farther. Here I met another enemy of mine who was unlooked for. We three went in when dinner was ready, and the two soldiers had their lunch outside. We sat down, and the woman came in with coffee. She looked at me, and then said,—

  “Well, I never thought I should feed you again. I hope they will not let you off this time.”

  She then turned to Lieutenant Wilkinson, and said, “Why do you take so much trouble in taking her to Camp Harney? Why don’t you take her and tie one part of her to a horse, and the other part of her to another horse, and let them go? I would see the horses pull her to pieces with good grace.”

  All this time Lieutenant Wilkinson tried to stop her. saying, “You don’t know what you are talking about. This is Sarah Winnemucca.”

  She replied. “I don’t care. Rope is too good to hang her with.”

  Lieutenant Wilkinson said to me, “Never mind her. She is crazy.” But I could not eat anything.

  Dear reader, this is the kind of white women that are in the West. They are always ready to condemn me.

  After dinner, Lieutenant Wilkinson brought me another horse.

  “Now,” I said, “it is about sixty miles to the Agency.” We went
past there just a little after dark for fear some of the Bannocks were hiding there somewhere. We rode on as fast as we could, took a great many short cuts which helped us along greatly, and stopped to rest for half an hour. We stood guard while Lieutenant Wilkinson slept a little while, called him up at the appointed time, and went on without stopping again. As we passed the Agency, everything was dark and still, as if every living thing was dead, and there was no living thing left. This is the way it felt as we passed. We travelled on until our Lieutenant gave out. He would get off his horse and walk awhile. We travelled all night long, got to Camp Harney at ten o’clock on the following day. Oh, how tired I was! Mattie and I went to bed without anything to eat. In the evening Major Downey’s wife called on me to see if I wanted anything. She found me very poorly off for dress, and went and got one of her own dresses, for which I was very thankful. The next day was Sunday. Lieutenant Wilkinson was a minister. He was going to preach to the soldiers at ten o’clock, but a courier came riding very fast, and reported Bernard’s engagement. Bernard had attacked the hostiles the morning before, Sunday at nine o’clock A.M., surprised and charged their camp, formed and recharged. The enemy rallied. Bernard asked for reinforcements, pressed every man with the utmost speed to his and the enemy’s position on Silvery Creek, near Camp Curry, forty-five miles from Harney. Bernard reported only one soldier killed at the time the messenger left him. He had four companies of cavalry, his own, Whipple’s, McGregor’s, and Perry’s under Bomus.

  This is the report we brought to General O. O. Howard at eleven o’clock on Sunday night, distance about forty-five miles back on the way we had come Saturday night. I was asked to go back that same night, but I was so tired I could not. So Lieutenant Wilkinson was ordered back. Very early the next morning, Lieutenant Wilkinson and Lieutenant Wood, his Aide-de-Camp, left us with Major Mason and Major Babbitt to stop with the troops. We travelled all day without stopping, got to where sister and I had hidden our rations when on our way to meet the troops. They were hard bread and canned baked beans. On the outside it said, “Boston baked beans.” It was about three o’clock in the afternoon and all the officers were very hungry.