Life Among the Piutes: Their Wrongs and Claims

by Sarah Winnemucca Hopkins

  We camped here. All the troops were out of rations. We were waiting for the return of the commissary from Baker City, when we met at Burnt River Meadows. Sanford divided his rations with all, after which the command took up the Indian trail and moved on rapidly on Wednesday and Thursday. On Thursday morning we met with Mr. Parrish. We had stopped to rest the cattle at Little Creek. He came right up to me and held out both his hands, saying,—

  “Oh, Sarah, little did I think when I left you all, it would come to this! Oh, it is too bad! I can’t believe it!”

  The tears were running down his cheeks, and Mattie and I could not stop our tears. This is the only time and the last that I have seen him since he left us. He rode with us a while, but at last said good-by to us, and went back to Granite City. We went on and camped for the night. About four o’clock a citizen rode up. It was Reinhard’s blacksmith, A. L. Johnson. He sold some horses here, which once belonged to my people. They were bought by Mr. Parrish while he was with us. After he sold them he stayed with the troops a long time. On Friday we went to the vicinity of Ironsides Mountain. Here we camped at the crossing of Canyon City and Malheur City Wagon Road. That night General Howard asked me if I would go to the agency to ascertain if some of the flying Indians had not put in an appearance there, about twenty miles down the canyon. So very early next morning, sister and I started with eight Indian scouts and Lieutenant Wilkinson. We got to the agency about eleven o’clock; not a sign of anybody had been there since June. We stayed there all night, and next morning we went back the other way,— that is, on the east side of the mountain called Castle Rock, and back to our place of starting. Oh, what a hard ride we had that day! To my sorrow we found the troops had left the same day. We had gone the day before and thought no one was left behind, and I said to Lieutenant Wilkinson,—

  “I am so tired! Can Mattie and I stop a little and rest?”

  “Oh, Sarah, I am afraid something might happen to you.”

  I said I did not think I could go any farther. “Well, then, Sarah, I would not stay long, will you?”

  We had not been there but a little while when three men rode up. One of them said, “Come, boys, here are the girls, and the lieutenant is not with them.”

  At this I said to sister, “Quick, get on your horse,” and off we went without stopping. They called out to each other, saying, “Catch them, boys, let us have a good time.”

  Over the rocks and down the hill we went without stopping, and got to the agency at six o’clock. As soon as I rode up the General knew something was the matter. I told him all, and the men were discharged right there and then. This was the second visit of the troops to the Malheur Agency, July 27. We found still a little flour, and the gardens comparatively undisturbed. It was very hard to see the poor, weary and hungry troops; and the next day Captain Miller with his company of the 4th Artillery reached us by the shortest road, from Bucher City, with plenty of rations. At this time the General told me to send one of the women to her people and tell them to come in and be peaceful. If they would lay down their arms and be good, they could have their reservation back to live upon all their lives, and then they could be well fed by the government. This is what General Howard told me to say to the woman. I did as I was told, and I said more than he did. I said, “Tell them I, their mother, say come back to their homes again. I will stand by them and see that they are not sent away to the Indian Territory.” With this word the woman went away.

  Oh, I saw the most fearful thing during that summer’s campaign. Poor Egan, who was not for war, was most shamefully murdered by the Umatilla Indians. He was cut in pieces by them, and his head taken to the officers, and Dr. Fitzgerald boiled it to get the skull to keep. A man by the name of Rattlesnake Jack scalped an old Indian who was lost, because he was almost blind, and his wife was blind too. He was leading his wife the best he could through the woods. At last they came to the road. They had gone but a little way when the man rode up to them, and the poor woman could only hear her husband’s groans as the man was cutting him to pieces. At last his groans died away. She felt so thankful that she could not see! She said every minute she cried out to her Spirit Father that he might kill her right away, and not let her person be outraged, for she would rather die a hundred deaths than be outraged by a white man. At last she heard his footsteps coming towards her, “and I knelt down,” she said, “and held my head down for the blow, for my heart was already dead within me. Instead of giving me a blow on my head he put his foot on the back of my neck, and brought my head down to the ground. I felt him take hold of my hair and the top of my head, and felt his knife cutting off my scalp. Then the blood ran down my hands and face, for I had my two hands over my face. He kicked at me, and stamped my head to the ground, and then I heard him go away. Oh, if he had only killed me, but he left me to starve and to die a slow death. I was left in this way for a long time, and lay just where I was left. It must have been some days, for my mouth and throat were dry, and I was dying. To my great joy I heard some noise—I thought so, but was not quite sure—but I heard it again more plainly. It sounded like a wagon coming. Yes, it was a wagon. Oh, I was so glad, it was the white people, and that they would kill me. ‘Oh, come quick and kill me!’—then I heard them talking very softly. It was a white woman and her children. Oh, if she would be like the wife of our agent, Parrish’s brother, who used to come and give me sugar and coffee because I was blind (that was our white lily). I heard them come nearer and nearer until they drove up close to where I was lying. I tried to get up but could not. I tried to speak but I could not. I wanted to say, ‘Kill me quick.’ I heard the woman make a noise as if she was crying. Someone came and raised me up. Of course I did not know whether it was a woman or a man. They tried to make me stand up but I could not. ‘Oh, my good Spirit Father, speak to their hearts that they may kill me. I want to go where my husband has gone. For many years he has taken care of me. I don’t want to live.’ This was my thought when someone came and put a cup to my lips. I quickly swallowed some, thinking it might be poison, but it was only water. The first swallow almost killed me. Then they gave me more, then a little while after more, then they took me up and put me in the wagon and took me away. It was a long time before they stopped, and then I was taken out of the wagon. Then food was given into my hands which I did not care to eat, but the good woman kept putting something into my mouth. Afterward she went away, and when she came again I held out my hands to feel of her dress, and for the first time I cried out, saying, ‘Oh, my sister, who are you? Sarah Winnemucca? Have you come to save my life? Oh, dear sister, I don’t want to live—don’t try to save me.’ I said all these things thinking it was you. When she did not answer me, then I knew it was not you. Whoever that woman was she took good care of me for a long time. She would often wash my head, and when I got well again I thought of my poor husband. Oh, I can hear him now!”

  This is what the poor blind woman told me after the war was over, and she is still living at the Yakima Reservation, where I saw her last. Her husband had always taken such beautiful care of her.

  On the night that Egan was murdered I saw it all in my sleep. I had a vision, and I was screaming in my sleep when Mattie waked me and asked what was the matter. I told her that Egan was murdered, and I saw it all, saw his head cut off, and saw him cut in pieces. This is true. Many of my family have seen things in their dreams that were really happening.

  On the 27th of July Mattie and I left General O. O. Howard and went with General Forsythe. We left Malheur Agency, and we left my baby, as they called it, with the rest of the prisoners. General Forsythe and myself were ordered to go throughout the whole country and pick up small parties of hostiles. General Howard said all captives would be held as prisoners of war, subject to the orders of the department commander. So we marched from the Malheur Agency to Stein’s Mountains. We marched along the north fork of Malheur, at noon crossed the big Malheur River, travelled along its banks about five miles and camped. No sign of my people. We took
up our march again the next day, went about thirty miles, and on the next day about forty miles, for there was no water any nearer. Some of the poor soldiers had to leave their horses, which gave out, and walked in the hot, burning sun. My heart used to ache for the poor soldiers. The next day we camped at the very place where my brother Lee met me and threw a blanket over me to hide me from the Bannocks, at Juniper Lake, Stein’s Mountains. On the fifth day we camped east of Stein’s Mountains. A good many of the soldiers went on foot. After leaving this camp, we had to go across a desert of forty-five miles without water. I told General Forsythe how far we should have to go without water, but I said, “About six miles ahead of us is a man who has a farm, that has a great many horses and cattle on it. If he is there maybe you can buy some horses for your men, or maybe he will let you have a wagon.”

  The General gave orders to his men that they must change about with their horses.

  I also told him, “If there is nobody living there Mattie and I will go on ahead about twenty miles. There used to be a spring there, and if it is not dried up maybe there would be enough for the men to drink, but not for the horses. We would put up a white flag at the spring and go on. It will be at the left. If the spring is dry we will not put up any flag.”

  We got up to the man’s place and he was not at home, but thanks be to God, the good man, when he came, gave General Forsythe two wagons and barrels to take water in, so we were all right.

  About two o’clock, my sister’s horse gave out. It could not walk at all, so we took the saddle off and left him. Sister would have to walk and then I would walk a while. In this way the march was kept up all day, till we camped at a place called “Old Camp C. F. Smith.” All that time there were no fresh signs of my people, and the citizens living along the road reported that no Indians had been seen by them for ten or twelve days. We had travelled from the Malheur Agency one hundred and forty-four miles. The first night we camped there sister Mattie and I saw a signal-fire of distress and loneliness, and for help also. All the officers came to me and asked me the meaning of it. I told them it was the signal-fire of one Indian. They asked me how I knew. I said, “I am an Indian woman and understand all kinds of signal-fires.”

  “Well, what do you think? Shall all the companies go over there and send out scouting-parties to find out the fact that the signal-fires were built by only one Indian?” I said. “Just as you think best.”

  They went off by themselves and had a long talk. By-and-by General Forsythe came to me and said, “Sarah, are you in earnest in telling me there is only one Indian there?”

  I said, “General Forsythe, if what I have told you is not true, I have never told a truth in all my life, and I want you to go over there and hunt the mountain over and over, and if you find more than one Indian there you can say Sarah has deceived you.”

  He said, “Well, Sarah, I will send some citizen-scouts tomorrow.”

  The scouts were sent the next clay, and they were gone two days, and came back and reported the signal-fire made by one Indian on foot. They said they could not find him.

  Some citizen who came said there were some of my people at his house, so the General sent me up there to get them to go after the one Indian. I got four of them to come and see the General. He told them to go and get the man; he would give them ten dollars each if they brought him. They were willing to go if he would give them horses. They went, and on the second day they brought him. I knew him. He was one of the best Indian men Mr. Parrish had to work for him.

  Fresh horses were got here from citizens, and everybody was ready to go on. Later I said to Mattie, “I think I had better go and see father and my brothers at Camp McDermitt. You can stay with General Forsythe and come on with him tomorrow. If you say so, I will go tonight and get there some time during the night. Will you let me, Mattie?” She said, “Why, dear sister, you can go, I am not afraid; and another thing, my brother will be here in a little while, and, therefore I will not be alone.” We had sent for her brother to come to us.

  It was seventy miles to Camp McDermitt. I said to the General,—

  “I want to go to Camp McDermitt, to see my father and brothers, and Mattie will stay with you. I will meet you at Antelope Springs.”

  General Forsythe said, “Can Mattie talk English well enough to talk to me?”

  I said, “Yes.”

  “Well, you will want someone to go with you, to see that no harm comes to you.”

  I said, “No, General, I can go alone. It will be night.”

  “No, Sarah, I must send someone with you. I will send Lieutenant Pitcher and two soldiers.” I said, “Very well, but I had as soon go alone as not.”

  So everything was made ready for my going. About four o’clock, nine of my people came. Among them was Mattie’s brother. We were both made happy by it. At six o’clock we were ready for our journey. I kissed my sister and away I went. Oh, what riding we did all night long. We did not stop to rest all night long, nor did the lieutenant stop our horses from trotting from the time we started, and about four o’clock the next morning he stopped and said to the men, “Fix my saddle.” I said, “Lieutenant, can I go on?” He said, “Yes.” Oh, what a relief it was to gallop my horse! At last I stopped and looked back, but could not see them coming. I would not wait for them, and got to Camp McDermitt just at daybreak. I saw a great many encampments there,—yes, as many as six hundred camps. I rode up to one camp and said, “Here, you are sleeping too much; get up.”

  One of the women jumped up and said, “Who is it? What is it?”

  “Where is my brother’s camp? Where is Natchez?” “Ah, here, next to us.”

  I rode up to the camp. “Halloo! Get up. The enemy is at hand!”

  My brother jumped up and said, “Oh, my sister!” He helped me off my horse and said to his wife, “Jump up, wife, and make a fire, sister is so cold.” I had nothing on but my dress. A blanket was put around me. Fire was soon made, and I sat down to warm myself.

  Brother stood up and said, “My children, I hope none of you have forgotten your duty to your Spirit-Father in your sleep. I hope you have passed the beautiful night in peaceful sleep, and are all ready to do his work during the day. I am sorry to say there is no report yet from the young men, saying that we are all safe; no one to say there is no enemy here; none of them have come and said, ‘I have done my duty.’ I am afraid, my young men, you are not doing your duty; for I have here in my camp a warrior who has just arrived. Come, one and all, and see for yourselves.”

  My poor papa was the first one who came up. He ran up and took me in his arms and said, “Oh, my poor child! I thought I never would see you, for the papers said you were killed by the Bannocks. We have all mourned for you, my child. Oh, when I heard you, my darling, who saved my life for a little while longer, had gone first, I thought my heart would break!”

  I put my face down on his bosom.

  He said, “Look up, dear; let me see if it is really my child.”

  I looked up. The tears were running down his cheeks. I looked round, and I saw tears in everyone’s eyes. I told them everything: who was killed, what their names were, and how many prisoners we had, about our baby, and the four women, and the poor blind woman, who was scalped, and about poor Egan, who was cut to pieces. I told them about Oytes, too; and they all said they hoped when the soldiers caught Oytes, they would hang him. “If they don’t, we shall kill him ourselves,” they said, “for he is to blame for all.”

  It was Oytes who first carried some of my people over to the Bannocks.

  I told them the soldiers did not kill Egan, but the Umatilla Indians, who made General O. O. Howard believe they were friendly to the whites, and at the same time they were helping the Bannocks, because they are more civilized and know the value of money. They would go out nights for them, and lay out plans for them, and made them believe they were their best friends, and then U-ma-pine, who was acting as chief, and the Umatillas, that were with the Bannocks, got word that the white people off
ered a reward of one thousand dollars to anyone who would bring Egan, alive or dead. This is why U-ma-pine, the Umatilla Indian, killed poor Egan, and I said, “He is with us.”

  “What, with you?”

  “I mean with the troops, and there are three more besides him.”

  After I was through talking, Leggins, my cousin’s, husband, got up and said,—

  “My brothers, I think we ought to go and kill him. We have never done them any harm, and have always been kind to them when they came on our reservation. We have given them presents, yes, more than they ever gave us. Oh, my brother Winnemucca, and you, my dear Natchez, you are great friends to our soldier-fathers. You and your sister can demand of them to give him up to us.”

  Here I jumped up and said, “I have not told you all. At the time they took Egan, they also took a great many women prisoners, and most of them are young girls.” I sat down. My brother Natchez got up and said,—

  “My children, this is a very sad thing indeed, and if we should go and kill this U-ma-pine, I am afraid we will never get back our women and girls. I want you all to listen well to what I am going to say of what I think it is best for us to do. We will go and have a talk with them right before General Forsythe’s whole command, and say to them, ‘Friends, we have come to talk to you. Now tell us what our sub-chief, Egan, has done to you that you should kill him, and have him cooked in the way you did. Was he good to eat? Oh, my dear friends, some of you will suffer the same as Egan did at your hands. If we had made war with you, and had taken prisoners in battle, we would not say anything; but you helped the thing along, and for four years you have come on the Malheur Reservation, and told Egan and Oytes to make war against the whites. You have called them fools for staying on the reservation to starve; and another thing you have helped the Bannocks to fight the soldiers. You are nothing but cowards; nothing but barking coyotes; you are neither persons nor men. We were never your enemies, for we have let you come to our country and always welcomed you. We have never been to your country. Now we cease to be friends, and after the soldiers quit fighting with the Bannocks and with Oytes’ men, we will make war with you for the wrong you have done us, if you do not return our women and girls whom you have taken as prisoners. As soon as the war with the Bannocks is over, we want you Umatillas to bring us our women and children. We will then show you what fighting is. My friends, it must be a beautiful sensation to cut a man or a woman to pieces, and then skin their heads and fasten them on a pole, and dance round them as if you were indeed very happy. Do you know there is not money enough in the world to make me go and fight a people who have not done me any harm? You have done this year after year against your own people. Are you never going to stop? You and the Snake-headed Indians, who are called the Wascoe Indians, and the Columbia River Indians and the Nez Pérces, are about alike: you are always ready to take up your arms against your own people. And what do you gain by it? You neither get praised by the so-called government, nor do you get anything more than we do. No: you are as poor as we are, we, who have never taken our own brother’s scalp and fastened it on a pole and danced round it to show our white brothers how brave we are.