CHAPTER XVII
In the autumn of 1871, Major Powell concluded to go east, by way of Fort Defiance, and desired me to accompany him. As this appeared to be an opening for the much-desired peace talk with the Navajo Indians, I readily accepted the invitation.
We started for Fort Defiance in October. Three men who were strangers to me, accompanied us, and Brothers Ammon M. Tenney, Ashton Nebeker, Nathan Terry and Elijah Potter; also Frank, a Kibab Indian.
We packed lumber on mules over the Kibab, or Buckskin Mountain, to the crossing of the Colorado, now known as Lee's Ferry. With this we constructed a small boat, in which we conveyed our luggage across. Our animals crossed over by swimming.
We traveled at night most of the way, to preserve our animals from the Indians. We visited all the Moqui towns, seven in number, and had much interesting talk with the people. Professor Powell took much interest in their festivals, dances, religious ceremonies and manner of living.
Arriving at Fort Defiance, Major Powell rendered me much assistance in bringing about peace with the Navajos. About six thousand of them were gathered there to receive their annuities.
All the chiefs of the nation were requested to meet in council. All the principal chiefs but one, and all the subchiefs but two were there. Captain Bennett, Indian agent, his interpreter, and Brother Ammon M. Tenney were also there.
Major Powell led the way by introducing me to the council as a representative of the people who lived on the west side of the Colorado River, called "Mormons." He stated that he had lived and traveled with these people, and, by acquaintance, had formed a very favorable opinion of them. He said that they were an industrious people, who paid their quota in taxes in common with other citizens of the United States, from which the Navajos were paid their annuities.
At the close of his introductory remarks, I arose and spoke about an hour. I stated that the object of my visit was to have a talk with them, and endeavor to bring about a better understanding between them and my people the "Mormons," and establish peace and friendship.
I explained to them some of the evils of the war which had commenced by killing two men and driving off their stock; that while they had taken from us many horses and mules, they had lost twenty or thirty of their men. That our young men had wanted to come over into their country and kill and drive them, but had been told to stay at home until all other means for obtaining peace had been tried and had failed.
I told them I had been acquainted, more or less, with the Indians on their side of the great river for many years, and I found that the Moquis were obliged to watch their stock, or the Navajos would steal it; and the Navajos were under the same necessity. Neither party could trust their sheep out of sight, through fear that they would never see them again. They dare not send their flocks out into the mountains where grass was abundant, and the result was, that they ate poor meat, and many times not enough of that.
Continuing, I said: "If you will reflect on your affairs, you will see that this is very bad policy, and that it would be much better to be at peace with your neighbors and with all men. I see much grass and many watering places on each side of the river. If we would live at peace with each other, we could take advantage of all the land, grass and water, and become rich or have all we need. Our horses and sheep would be fat. We could sleep in peace, awake in the morning and find our property safe. You cannot but see that this would be the better way.
"I hope you will listen to this talk. What shall I tell my people, the 'Mormons,' when I return home? That we may expect to live in peace, live as friends, and trade with one another? Or shall we look for you to come prowling around our weak settlements, like wolves at night? I hope we may live in peace in time to come. I have now gray hairs on my head, and from my boyhood I have been on the frontiers, doing all I could to preserve peace between white men and Indians.
"I despise this killing, this shedding of blood. I hope you will stop this, and come and visit, and trade with our people. We would like to hear what you have got to say before we go home."
As I took my seat, I noticed the tears start in the eyes of Barbenceta, the Spanish name of the principal chief of the Navajos.
He slowly approached, and put his arms around me, saying, "My friend and brother, I will do all I can to bring about what you have advised. We will not give all our answer now. Many of the Navajos are here. We will talk to them tonight, and will see you on your way home."
The principal chiefs spent much of the night talking with their people. Captain Bennett, the agent, and a U. S. army officer, said that I could not have talked better to bring about peace with the Navajos. He manifested much good feeling, and furnished us liberally with supplies for our journey home.
This council was held on the 2nd of November, 1871, The blessings of the Lord were over us in our efforts for peace.
This was probably the first time that the chiefs of the Navajo nation ever heard a gospel discourse adapted to their circumstances; as well as the first time they had heard, from the lips of a white man, a speech that carried with it the spirit and power of a heartfelt friendship. The hearts of many of them were open to reciprocate it.
We spent three days at Fort Defiance, endeavoring to create a good influence, and in getting our supplies ready. Brother A. M. Tenney, being able to converse in Spanish, accomplished much good.
On our way home we called at a Moqui town. There we met the principal chief of the Navajos, those chiefs who were not at Fort Defiance, and some minor chiefs who did not consider themselves as belonging to the United States agency at Fort Defiance.
We met in a room belonging to the principal man of the village. The Navajos, through their chief, told us that they had not come to talk any different from what was said at Fort Defiance, but to confirm what was said there. They never had heard better talk. They had a great desire to have what was said, carried out.
They said, "We have some bad men among us, but, if some do wrong, the wise ones must not act foolishly, like children, but let it be settled according to the spirit of your talk at Fort Defiance.
"Here is Hastele (one of the principal chiefs); I wish you to take a good look at him, so you will not be mistaken in the man. He never lies or steals. He is a truthful man; we wish all difficult matters settled before him. He lives on the frontier, nearest to the river; you can find him by inquiry."
The peace treaty talk here closed by the Navajos saying, "We hope we may be able to eat at one table, warm by one fire, smoke one pipe, and sleep under one blanket."
One of them gave me a note from the United States agent, stating that the bearer wished me to try and recover some sheep that were stolen from him, and were in one of the Moqui towns; and that two attempts had been made to recover them, which had failed.
We lay down to sleep about midnight, and were on our way at early dawn to the town, a few miles distant, where the Navajos said we should find the sheep.
Arriving at the residence of the man having the sheep, I found him to be a former acquaintance of mine. He appeared in a surly mood. We talked to him for some time, but could get no answer.
I then said, "You are the first man I traded with twelve or thirteen years ago. You told me then that before your father died, he took you in his arms, and told you that you would live to see white men come from the west—good men, men of peace; and that it would be but a short time after they came until you could sleep in peace, eat in peace, and have peace in all things. You told me that you believed we were the men your father meant, and I hope you will not prevent peace coming into your country for the sake of a few sheep."
"Well," said he, "I will not; I will give up the sheep."
They were counted out, and the Navajo offered us one or two to eat on our way home. We told him we could get along without taking any of his sheep; he had but few, and would want them.
CHAPTER XVIII
We were told by the Moquis that when the Navajos were at war with the United States, they were taken advantage of in their scattered condition by the Moquis, who hunted out the worst of the thieves among them, and killed them off. For this purpose the Moquis were furnished with guns and ammunition.
One man told me that he had hunted up and killed eight Navajos single handed.
I was also informed that the Moquis decoyed thirty—five of them into one of their villages, by promising them protection, and then disarmed them, and threw them off a high rock between two of their towns. I went to the place indicated and found a number of skeletons and some remains of blankets. This was done during the winter previous to our visit.
The Navajos have evidently been the plunderers of the Moquis for generations, and the latter have retaliated whenever they have had an opportunity. Peace between these tribes would be a great blessing to both.
This trip and its influences appears to have been a turning-point—the commencement of a great practical change for the better in the lives of these tribes. The Lord's time for a change had evidently come.
Wishing to do all I could to give strength to a peaceful policy, I invited Tuba, a man of good report among his people, to take with him his wife, Pulaskanimki, to go home with me; get acquainted with the spirit and policy of our people, and become a truthful representative of them among his people.
I promised to pay him for what labor he might perform, and bring him home the next autumn.
After counseling with their friends, he and his wife accepted my invitation.
When we arrived on the cliffs before crossing the Colorado, the Piutes living in the Navajo country, came to me and said as they had taken a part with the Navajos in raiding on our people, they desired to have a good peace talk. They were about thirty in number.
After an interesting council, we commenced to descend the difficult cliff to the crossing of the river. While doing so, Brother Nathan Terry said he had a dream the night before, and that it had been on his mind all day, and he believed it meant something. In the dream he saw the company riding along the trail, when he heard the report of a gun. He looked around and saw one of the company fall to the ground, and he thought he went and put the person on his horse, and they continued their journey.
After descending the cliff, I was some distance in the rear of the company, when suddenly, what appeared like a flash of lightning came over me. It was with great difficulty that I could breathe. Not being able to help myself, I partly fell to the ground.
I lay there some time, when one of the Kanab Indians who was with us came along, saw my situation, and hurried on to camp.
Brother Terry came back to me after dark. He administered to me in the name of the Lord, when the death-like grip that seemed to have fastened on my lungs let go its hold, and I could again breathe naturally.
On coming to the bank of the river the following day, Tuba, the Oriba, looked rather sorrowful, and told me that his people once lived on the other side of this river, and their fathers had told them they never would go west of the river again to live. Said he, "I am now going on a visit to see my friends. I have worshiped the Father of us all in the way you believe to be right; now I wish you would do as the Hopees [their name for themselves] think is right before we cross."
I assented. He then took his medicine bag from under his shirt, and offered me a little of its contents. I offered my left hand to take it; he requested me to take it in my right. He then knelt with his face to the east, and asked the Great Father of all to preserve us in crossing the river. He said that he and his wife had left many friends at home, and if they never lived to return, their friends would weep much. He prayed for pity upon his friends, the "Mormons," that none of them might drown in crossing; and that all the animals we had with us might be spared, for we needed them all, and to preserve unto us all our food and clothing, that we need not suffer hunger nor cold on our journey.
He then arose to his feet. We scattered the ingredients from the medicine bag into the air, on to the land and into the water of the river.
To me, the whole ceremony seemed humble and reverential. I felt that the Father has regard to such petitions. The scattering of the ingredients from the medicine bag I understood to be intended as a propitiary sacrifice.
After this ceremony we drove our animals into the river, and they all swam safely to the opposite shore. In a short time ourselves and effects were safely over. Tuba then thanked the Great Father that He had heard and answered our prayer.
Arriving at Kanab, we found all well. Everybody appeared to feel thankful for the success of our mission and the prospects of peace. The Kanab Indians also congratulated us on our success.
Some of the Piutes from the east side of the river accompanied us home. They spent much of the night in talking over events that had taken place during the previous three years. They said they had not visited each other much during that time.
Choog, the Kibab chief of the Piutes, after learning all the particulars from the Indians who went with us, came to me and said: "Now the Indians east of the river have all made peace, the evil spirits will have no place to stop over there. They have followed you here. The destroyer will enter into the wind, fire and water, and do you all the mischief he can. Wherever he can get a chance to work he will go."
At the close of his remarks I smiled. Noticing it, he said with considerable warmth, "You are a wise, good man, and know more than I do; but I know that what I have told you will come to pass."
The third night after this conversation with the Kibab chief, the night of the 14th of December, a house in Kanab, in which resided the family of Brother Levi Stewart, took fire, from some unknown cause. The room in which the fire originated had but one entrance, and in it were stored some combustible materials. The houses were of logs, built in fort form, and the people and their effects were much crowded together.
At the time the fire broke out, people were generally asleep, and six of the family of Brother Stewart were asleep in the room where the fire originated.
Before they could be rescued, a can of oil took fire, and the room was in a moment enveloped in an intense flame, which burst out from the only entrance. The shrieks of those in the fire, and the odor of their roasting bodies; the lurid glare of the fire in the darkness of night; the intense anxiety and sorrow depicted on the countenances of the father and husband, brothers, sisters and neighbors, made up a scene that can never be forgotten by those who witnessed it.
There were several other fires and accidents in the settlements of Southern Utah, soon after the fire in Kanab, which indicated that the Indian chief was prompted by the spirit of prophecy.
Some people call the Indians superstitious. I admit the fact, but do not think that they are more so than many who call themselves civilized. There are few people who have not received superstitious traditions from their fathers. The more intelligent part of the Indians believe in one Great Father of all; also in evil influences, and in revelation and prophecy; and in many of their religious rites and ideas, I think they are quite as consistent as the Christian sects of the day.
CHAPTER XIX
A few days after I arrived home from Fort Defiance, I went on a visit to St. George, and other settlements. I took Tuba and his wife with me, that they might have an opportunity of seeing some of our farming and manufacturing industries.
After looking through the factory at Washington, where some three hundred spindles were in motion, Tuba said it spoiled him for being an Oriba. He could never think of spinning yarn again with his fingers, to make blankets.
His wife, after looking at the flouring mill, thought it was a pity that the Hopees (meaning the Oriba women) were obliged to work so hard to get a little meal to make their bread, when it could be made so easily.
Tuba and his wife gleaned cotton in the fields one week, on the Santa Clara, where the cotton had been gathered by our people, and President Young gave him a suit of clothes.
When we returned to Kanab, we found eighty Navajos who had come in there to trade. Most of them were on foot, and had brought blankets to trade. Some of their women accompanied them, which is their custom when going on a peaceable expedition.
Comiarrah, one of their leading men, introduced his wife to me. She took hold of my hand and said, "We have come a long way to trade with your people. We are poor and have brought all we could on our backs. We have not much, and we want to do the best we can with it. We came home to our country three years ago, and found it naked and destitute of anything to live on. We once had many sheep and horses, but lost them all in the war. We were taken prisoners and carried to a poor, desert country, where we suffered much with hunger and cold. Now we have the privilege of living in our own country. We want to get a start of horses and sheep, and would like you to tell your people to give us as good trade as they can."
They traded for fifty horses in Kanab, then went to St. George and other settlements, and traded all the blankets they had for horses, and went back to their own country quite satisfied.
In September, 1872, I went to take Tuba home, as I had promised I would do. Brothers I. C. Haight, George Adair and Joseph Mangum accompanied us. We went by the old Ute crossing, and left some supplies for Professor Powell's party, at a point which had before been designated.
On the east side of the river, we crossed some dangerous places, deep canyons and steep rocks. Some of our animals fell and bruised their legs; one was so badly injured that we were compelled to leave it. Another fell from a cliff into a canyon and was killed instantly.
We made a line long enough to reach the animal by tying together lariats and rope. A place was found where a man could descend to the pack, and the things were hauled up in parcels.
After five days' traveling, visiting some of the Navajo ranches, and talking with the people, we arrived at Tuba's house in the Oriba village.
After feasting a day or two on peaches and green corn, we started for the Navajo agency. We remained there over the Sabbath, and attended a meeting conducted by a Methodist minister, employed by the government to preach to the Navajos.
We were granted the privilege of speaking in the afternoon.
I spoke on the coming forth of the Book of Mormon, and about the ancient inhabitants of the American continent.
On our way home we visited some of the principal Navajo ranches. Some Navajos came to us to trade for horses. We camped one night with a party at the rock where young Geo. A. Smith was killed.
One of them said he was there when young Smith was killed, and that some of the Navajos tried to get up a dance over his scalp, but the majority of the party were opposed to it, and the dance did not take place. Most of them contended that the "Mormons" were a good people. The party that thought it right to kill the "Mormon" said, if the man who killed him would go and overtake his friends, and they would give him a present, they would acknowledge the "Mormons" to be a good people. He said the Navajo went on after us, and returned with a gun that we gave him.
The fact that an Indian overtook us, and that we gave him a gun, and recognized the revolver of George A. Smith on his person, has been mentioned in the account of young Brother Smith's death.
We were told that the murderer soon died a miserable death, and the Navajos believed it was because he had killed a "Mormon."
The Navajos continued to come to our settlements to trade, and went about in small parties, or singly, as suited them. They placed all confidence in us as their friends.
In 1871-72, I explored many places between Lee's Ferry and Uinta Valley; assisted in locating a settlement on the Pahreah, in starting a ranch in House Rock Valley, and in building a small boat at Lee's Ferry.
In the winter of 1873-74, I was sent to look out a route for a wagon-road from Lee's Ferry to the San Francisco forest, or the head waters of the Little Colorado. I procured the assistance of a Piute who lived on the east side of the Colorado, and was somewhat acquainted with the country. We readily found the desired route.
In the spring of 1874, a company of about one hundred wagons crossed the Colorado, well fitted out, with instructions to form a settlement on the Little Colorado, or on some of the tributaries of the Gila. I was requested to pilot the first ten wagons as far as Moancoppy, and remain there for further instructions.
For a considerable distance beyond the Moancoppy, the country is barren and uninviting. After they left that place, the first company became discouraged and demoralized, and returned.
In the meantime, I occupied myself in putting in a crop. With some help, I planted twelve acres with corn, beans, potatoes and other vegetables.
The companies that followed the one that had returned from the Little Colorado, partook of the same demoralizing spirit. They could not be prevailed upon to believe that there was a good country with land, timber and water, a little beyond where the first company had turned back. They all returned into Utah, and the great effort to settle the country south of the Colorado was, for the time being, a failure.
The failure was evidently for want of faith in the mission they had been called upon to fill by the Lord, through His servants.
When this company was sent into Arizona, it was the opportune time for the Saints to occupy the country. Soon after, the best locations in the country were taken up by others, and our people have since been compelled to pay out many thousands of dollars to obtain suitable places for their homes.
The Navajos carried on a peaceful trade with our people until the winter of 1874-75, when a circumstance occurred which greatly endangered our peaceful relations with that people.
A party of four young Navajos went to the east fork of the Sevier River, to trade with some Utes in the neighborhood. In Grass Valley they encountered a severe snowstorm, which lasted for three days. They found shelter in a vacant house belonging to one McCarty. He did not belong to the Church, and had that animosity towards Indians, too common with white men, which leads them to slaughter the savages, as they are called, on the most trifling pretences.
The Navajos, becoming hungry during the delay, killed a small animal belonging to Mr. McCarty. In some way he learned of the presence of the party on his ranch, gathered up some men of like spirit with himself, came suddenly upon the Navajos, and, without giving them an opportunity of explaining their circumstances, killed three of them and wounded the fourth.
The wounded man, after enduring excessive hardships, made his way across the river, and arrived among his own people.
Telling the story of his wrongs, it aroused all the bitter spirit of retaliation, so characteristic of the Indians from tradition and custom. The affair taking place in the "Mormon" country, where the Navajos naturally supposed they were among friends, and not distinguishing McCarty as an outsider, the murder was laid to the "Mormons."
The outrage created considerable excitement among both whites and Indians. When President Young heard of it, he requested me to visit the Navajos, and satisfy them that our people were not concerned in it.
Feeling that the affair, without great care, might bring on a war, I started at once for their country to fill my mission.
I left Kanab alone. My son Joseph overtook me about fifteen miles out, with a note from Bishop Levi Stewart, advising my return, as he had learned from the Piutes that the Navajos were much exasperated and threatened to retaliate the first opportunity.
I had been appointed to a mission by the highest authority of God on the earth. My life was of but small moment compared with the lives of the Saints and the interests of the kingdom of God. I determined to trust in the Lord and go on. I directed my son to return to Kanab, and tell Bishop Stewart that I could not make up my mind to return.
Arriving at the settlement of Pahreah, I found Lehi Smithson and another man preparing to start for Mowabby. We remained over night to procure animals for the journey. That night, my son Joseph came to me again with a note from Bishop Stewart, advising my return, and stating that if I went on I would surely be killed by the Navajos.
When we arrived at the Mowabby, we found that the store house of two rooms which had been built there, had been fitted up in the best possible manner for defense. This had been done by three or four miners who had remained there, on account of the excitement, for which there appeared to be considerable reason.
I felt that I had no time to lose. It was important to get an interview with the Navajos before the outbreak.
My horse was jaded, and wishing to go to Moancoppy, ten or twelve miles farther, that night, two brothers by the name of Smith brought in three of their riding horses, offered me one, and they mounted the others to accompany me.
At Moancoppy I hoped to find some Oribas who could give me correct information about the temper of the Navajos. Arriving there, we found only a Piute family and one Oriba woman. From them I learned that the young relatives of the Navajos killed in Grass Valley were much exasperated, but the older men expressed a desire to see me before anything was done or anyone hurt.
This news was encouraging to me. It being now evening, we lay down and slept until morning.
Tuba had been living at Moancoppy, and had left on account of the excitement. Some of his effects were lying around in a way that indicated that he left in a hurry.
I was informed that Mush-ah, a Navajo with whom I was somewhat acquainted, and in whom I had some confidence, was camped at a watering place twelve miles east of Moancoppy. I hoped to be able to see and have a talk with him, and get up a conciliatory feeling without exposing myself too much to the ire of the Indians.
Arriving at the water where we expected to find Mush-ah, we were disappointed. The place was vacated. We met a Navajo messenger, riding fast on his way to Mowabby, to learn of affairs at that place. He appeared much pleased to see me.
After a little talk, he pointed in the distance to a high mesa, and said the Navajos were camped at that point, and wished to see me.
We arrived at the lodges after sun down; in the neighborhood were gathered a large number of horses, sheep and goats.
Two or three gray-headed men came out to meet us good-naturedly, but did not appear as friendly as they had formerly. I told them my business. Soon afterwards some young men put in an appearance, whose looks bespoke no good.
There being a good moon, a messenger was soon on his way to inform those at a distance of my arrival.
I inquired for Hastele, who had been shown to me by the principal chief in our final peace talk, three years before, and for whom I was directed to inquire in case of difficulty.
I got no answer, which indicated to me that they did not wish for his assistance. I communicated to the old men the circumstances connected with the killing of the Navajos in Grass Valley, as I understood them. They replied that they were not ready for a talk or council, and said, "When the relatives are all here we will talk."
My spirit was weighed down with gloomy forebodings, and I would gladly have left the place could I have felt justified in doing so. Unless the Lord was with us, what were we to do with all these against us?
CHAPTER XX
The night passed, and a part of the forenoon of the following day, when the Navajos who had been sent for began to gather in.
About noon, they informed me they were ready for talk. A lodge had been emptied of its contents for a council room. It was about twenty feet long by twelve feet wide. It was constructed of logs, with one end set in the ground, and the top ends leaning to the centre of the lodge, and fitted together. The logs were covered with about six inches of dirt.
A fire occupied the centre of the lodge, the smoke escaping through a hole in the roof. There was but one entrance, and that was in the end.
Into this lodge were crowded some twenty-four Navajos, four of whom were councilors of the nation. A few Indians were gathered about the entrance.
The two Smiths and I were at the farther end from the entrance, with apparently not one chance in a hundred of reaching the outside, should it be necessary to make an effort to save our lives.
The council opened by the Navajo spokesman asserting that what I had said about the murder of their relatives was false. He stated that I had advised their people to cross the great river and trade with my people, and in doing so they had lost three good young men, who lay on our land for the wolves to eat. The fourth, he said, came home with a bullet hole through him, and without a blanket, and he had been thirteen days in that situation, cold and hungry.
He also stated that I need not think of going home, but my American friends might if they would start immediately.
I informed the two Smiths of the intention of the Navajos concerning the disposal of myself. I told them they had been obliging to me, and I would not deceive them; the way was open for them to go if they desired to do so.
They replied that they would not go until I went.
Our three revolvers were hanging over my head. It was desirable to have them as well in hand as possible. I took hold of them, at the same time saying to our Piute interpreter, "These are in my way; what shall I do with them?"
As I spoke, I passed them behind me to the Smiths, not wishing to give any cause for suspicion that I had any fears, or expected to use the weapons. I told the Smiths not to make any move until we were obliged to.
The Navajos continued to talk for some time, when I was given to understand that my turn had come.
I told them of my long acquaintance with their people, and of my labors to maintain peace. I hoped they would not think of killing me for a wrong with which neither myself nor my people had anything to do; and that strangers had done the deed.
I discovered that what I had said the day before had some influence with the gray haired men. None but gray haired men belonged to the council, but others were allowed to speak.
The young men evidently feared that the council would oppose their desire for revenge. They evinced great intensity of feeling. The wounded man was brought in, his wounds exposed to the council, and a stirring appeal was made for retaliation by a young warrior. It stirred up the Indian blood from its very depths. He closed by asserting that they could do no less than put me to death.
For a few minutes I felt that if I was ever permitted to see friends and home again, I should appreciate the privilege. I thought I felt one of the Smiths at my back grip his revolver. I said to him quietly, "Hold still! Do not make the first move, and there will be no move made. They never will get ready to do anything."
This assurance came by the whisperings of the Spirit within me.
When the excitement had died away a little, I spoke to the Piute interpreter. He either could not or would not answer me, neither would he answer the Navajos, but sat trembling, apparently with fear.
The Navajos brought in another Piute, and recommended him as a man of much courage, and said he would not falter; but he was soon in the same dilemma as the other.
After some further conversation they appeared a little modified, and, in lieu of blood revenge, they proposed to take cattle and horses for the injury done them. They required me to give them a writing, obligating me to pay one hundred head of cattle for each of the three Navajos killed, and fifty for the wounded one.
This was a close place for me. I could go home by simply putting my name to the obligation. I reflected: Shall I acknowledge by my act, that my people are guilty of a crime of which I know they are innocent; and neutralize all the good results of our labors among this people for fifteen years? Shall I obligate the Church to pay three hundred and fifty head of cattle for a crime committed by others? It is perhaps more than I should be able to earn the rest of my life.
The sacrifice looked to me more than my life was worth. I replied that I would not sign the obligation.
One of them remarked that he thought I would by the time I had been stretched over that bed of coals awhile, pointing to the fire in the middle of the lodge.
I answered that I had never lied to them, and that I would not pay for the wrong that other people had done. "Let the Americans pay for their own mischief, I will not sign a writing to pay you one hoof."
Here the new Piute interpreter would not say anything more.
A Piute chief standing in the door of the lodge spoke to him in an angry tone, and accused him of having a very small heart and little courage.
The chief then asked if I was not scared.
I asked, "What is there to scare me?"
He replied, "The Navajos."
I told him I was not afraid of my friends.
"Friends!" said he, "You have not a friend in the Navajo nation. Navajo blood has been spilled on your land. You have caused a whole nation to mourn. Your friend Ketch-e-ne, that used to give you meat when you were hungry, and blankets when you were cold, has gone to mourn for his murdered sons. You have caused the bread he eats to be like coals of fire in his mouth, and the water he drinks like hot ashes. Are you not afraid?"
"No," I replied, "my heart never knew fear."
The Navajos wished to know what the Piute chief and myself were talking about. The Piute repeated the conversation in their language. They then conversed among themselves; at times they manifested considerable warmth. I was asked if I knew Hastele.
Replying in the affirmative, they asked, "What do you know about him?"
I answered, "I know that Barben-ce-ta and others of your leading men said, at the great peace talk, that he was an honest man, and that all important difficulties between you and our people should be settled before him. I knew this affair should be settled before him, and have known it all the time we have been talking. I came here on a peace mission. If you will send Hastele into our country to learn the truth concerning what I have told you, let as many more come along as you like. I wish you would send the best interpreter you have along with him.
"It is no use to ask me about pay. In the meantime your people can trade among the 'Mormons' in safety. They will be glad to see you if you will come in the day time, as our people come into your country—not to prowl around your lodges to steal and kill. I came to do as I agreed to do at the good talk at Fort Defiance."
I felt that the last I said had the desired effect. Their feelings began to soften.
After some further conversation among themselves, the interpreter said, "They are talking good about you now."
I replied, "I am glad; it is time they talked good. What have they said about me?"
"They say you have a good heart. They think they will wait until they see their greater chiefs, and believe that the matter will be settled before Hastele."
It was then agreed that I should come to Mowabby, in twenty-five days, and they would see if it was not advisable to send some one over, and satisfy themselves of the truth of my statement. Twenty-five notches were cut in a stick, and when they were all gone by cutting off one notch each morning, I was to be at Mowabby.
The history of my intercourse with the Indians on the east side of the Colorado, for fifteen years, had all been talked over. In fact, I had been on trial before them for all my sayings and doings that had come within their knowledge. I was able to answer all their questions, and give good reasons for all my acts.
My mind had been taxed to the utmost all this time. I had been in the farther end of a crowded lodge, with no reasonable probability of getting out of it if I wished to, and without the privilege of inhaling a breath of fresh air.
Some roasted mutton was brought in and presented to me to take the first rib.
The sight of the roasted meat, the sudden change of affairs, together with the recollection of the threats of a very different roast to the one I had on hand, turned my stomach. I said to those around me, "I am sick."
I went to the door of the lodge. It was refreshing to breathe in the open air, and look out into the glorious moonlight. I thought it was midnight; if so, the council had lasted about twelve hours.
A woman's heart seems kindlier than man's among all people. A Navajo woman, seeming to comprehend my situation, came to me and asked me if she could not get me something I would like to eat.
She mentioned several varieties of food she had on hand, none of which I desired. She said she had been at my house in Kanab, and she saw I liked milk, and she would get me some. With a dish in her hand she went about among the goats, stripping them by moonlight.
She brought me about a pint of milk, which I drank, went into the lodge, and lay down and slept until some of the party said it was light enough to see to get our horses.
I asked the Navajos to bring up our horses. I felt it was safer for me to remain in the lodge, than to be out hunting horses, and liable to meet some angry spirits who had been about the council.
The horses were brought, and the Smiths and I were soon in our saddles, and leaving behind us the locality of the trying scenes of the past night.
Again was the promise verified, which was given me by the Spirit many years before, that if I would not thirst for the blood of the Lamanites, I should never die by their hands.
CHAPTER XXI
I here give place to a letter from Mr. Smith to the Pioche Record, which was also re-published in the Deseret News:
"MOWABBY, MOHAVE CO., ARIZONA, February 5, 1875.
"On the 15th of January, we were in the very act of packing the horses preparatory to a start, when and Indian arrived, who proved to be Tuba, the chief of the Moquis Indians, a friendly tribe who live in this part of the country.
"I should have mentioned that this (the ferry) is the residence of John D. Lee, against whom I was deeply prejudiced on account of his presumed connection with the terrible Mountain Meadow massacre, and imputation, however, he utterly denies. I found him, on acquaintance, to be a very agreeable gentleman. Mr. Lee speaks the Indian language well, and through hom we learned the cause of the chief's visit.
"A Navajoe chief who had received favors from Mr. Lee, and was well disposed toward him, had arrived at Tuba's lodge that morning (having ridden all night) to get him to go and tell Mr. Lee that three Navajoe Indians had been killed and one wounded by Mormons, a few days before, in an affray in the neighborhood of Grass Valley, on the north fork of the Sevier River; that the wounded Indian had arrived at his camp the night before, and was now actively engaged in striving to arouse the Navajoes to war; that the young me were clamoring for revenge; and to warn him that he would probably be attacked within four days, and to prepare for defense.
"Here was a dilemma. No possibility of obtaining assistance nearer than one hundred and fifty miles; Mrs. Lee and five children, and a helpless old man named Winburn, disabled by a lame foot, who had no risen from his bed for four months.
"After a brief consultation we sent a letter to Fort Defiance, announcing the condition of affairs, Tuba agreeing to forward it forthwith by one of his Indians, and Mr. Lee and his oldest boy started to Kanab to bring assistance. As soon as he was gone we place the house in the best state of affairs we could, and awaited the issue.
..."On the third day, a Piute Indian, sent by the Navajos arrived. After a long talk, Mrs. Lee acting as interpreter, we gathered that the young men of the tribe were at first determined on war, but that the chiefs were opposed to it, for the present, at least; and that they desired to await the arrival of Jacob Hamblin, who had acted as representative of Brigham Young, in all negotiations of importance with the Indians for the past twenty years, and learn what settlement of the affair he was willing to make.
"This was favorable, as two of the slain Indians were sons of one of the chiefs. He wound up his remarks by inquiring if, in case the Navajoes did come here, we would purchase peace by giving up the old man, Winburn, to torture, in which case they would abstain from further hostilities.
"With difficulty repressing our strong desire to shoot him on the spot, we declined the offer, and charging him with a message to the chiefs of the nation, that as soon as Hamblin arrived we would apprise them of his advent, we let him depart.
"Matters remained in status quo until the 29th inst., when when Messrs. Lee, Hamblin, and Smithson, a son-in-law of the former, and his wife arrived, the advance guard of a party from Kanab, now on the road.
"We communicated to Mr. Hamblin the message from the Navajo chiefs, and, merely pausing to take some refreshments, he started at once for the nearest Moqui village, to send a messenger to them to notify them of his arrival, and request their presence, my brother and I accompanying him.
"We reached there about sundown, and found, to our extreme disappointment, that all the Indians had gone to a big dance at the Oriba villages, sixty miles distant, with the exception of one lame Piute.
"We remained there that night, and the next morning started for the Oriba villages, taking Huck-a-bur, the lame Indian, who is a good interpreter, along with us.
"We had not rode over fifteen miles, when we met the Piute who had acted as the Navajo envoy on the former occasion. He said he was going to see if Hamblin had arrived, and expressed great delight at seeing him, saying that the Indians were extremely anxious to see him, and urging him to go back with him to the camp of the nearest Navajo chief, which he said was not more than fifteen miles distant, and talk the matter over there.
"After consultation, being anxious to lose no time, we consented, and after riding some twenty-five miles, instead of fifteen, we reached the Navajo camp, which consisted of only two lodges. A tall, powerful Indian, on whose head the snows of many winters had rested, welcomed us with impressiveness and an embrace like the hug of a grizzly bear, and invited us to enter.
"The lodge (wick-c-up), which was substantially built of heavy cedar logs about fifteen feet long, was circular in form, like the skin lodges of the Indians of the plains, with an opening near the top to give vent to the smoke, and, being covered with bark and dirt, was very warm and comfortable, which was none the less agreeable to our party, as it had been snowing hard all the afternoon. There were three Navajos and three squaws, one of the latter a very pretty girl, and two Piutes.
"After a friendly smoke, they furnished us a good and substantial supper of broiled and boiled goat's flesh and corn meal mush, the squaws grinding the meal in the old-fashioned way, between two stones.
"Then the talk commenced. Hamblin, be it remembered, though perfectly familiar with the Piute tongue, knows nothing or very little of the Navajo language, so the services of our Huck-a-bur were called into requisition. The chief we came to see, I forgot to mention, was not there, but was only, so they said, distant a few miles. As we were anxious to get back, we got the Navajo to despatch the Piute to him that night, so that he might be there early in the morning, and the business be closed that day.
"After his departure the talk went on. The Navajos present expressed themselves anxious that the affair should be settled without further bloodshed, and said that was the wish of the principal men of the tribe. They said the Navajos had long known Hamblin, and they believed he would do what was right.
"Everything looked promising, and after smoking innumerable cigarettes with our savage friends, we retired to rest on a pile of buffalo skins and Navajo blankets worth a horse apiece, and slept soundly and well.
"The next morning the Indians gave us an excellent breakfast and we passed the morning sauntering about, examining such articles of Indian manufacture as were new to us, and endeavoring to while away the time till the arrival of the chief.
"A little before noon twelve Navajo braves, armed with bows and arrows and rifles, rode up on a gallop, and dismounting, entered the lodge without shaking hands and called in an insolent tone of voice for tobacco. We gave them some, and after smoking awhile, they threw everything out of the lodge, saying there were more Navajos coming, enough to fill the lodge. Sure enough, there soon rode up some more Navajos, making nineteen in all, but still no chief.
"To our inquiry as to his whereabouts, they replied he was gone to Fort Defiance. We took our seats, completely filling the lodge, and all hands smoked in silence for some time. Then the Indian whose lodge we occupied commenced talking, and spoke with only an occasional momentary interruption from the others for about an hour.
"After him five or six others talked in rapid succession and from their earnest tones and impassioned gestures, so different from the usual manner of Indians, we could see they were much excited.
"We could not, of course, understand much of what they said, but could gather enough to know that the temper they were in boded no good to us. One old scoundrel, of brawny frame and hair as white as snow, talked in a stentorian voice, and his frequent use of the gestures of drawing his hand across his throat looked particularly ominous.
"In about an hour more they ceased speaking, and, after a pause, told their interpreter to talk. He arose slowly and walking across the lodge, seated himself by Hamblin. He was a Piute, a slave of the Navajos, and as they have the unpleasant habit of sometimes killing their interpreters when they don't interpret to suit them, and as what he was about to reveal was not calculated to render us very amiable, I could excuse the tremor that shook him in every limb.
"He finally commenced, in a low tone, to speak to the following effect: The Navajos believed that all Hamblin had said the night before was a lie, that they thought he was one of the parties to the killing, and with the exception of three, our host and two others of the old Indians, all had given their voice for death.
"Most of them were of the opinion that it was best not to kill my brother and myself, as we were 'Americans,' but to make us witness the torture of Hamblin, and then send us back on foot. As we were not likely to desert a comrade at such a time, this was but small comfort.
"Hamblin behaved with admirable coolness, not a muscle in his face quivered, not a feature changed, as he communicated to us, in his usual tone of voice, what we then fully believed to be the death warrant of us all.
"When the interpreter ceased, he, in the same even tone and collected manner, commenced his reply. He reminded the Indians of his long acquaintance with their tribe, of the many negotiations he had conducted between his people and theirs, and his many dealings with them in the years gone by, and challenged them to prove that he had ever deceived them—ever spoken with a forked tongue. He drew a map of the country on the ground, and showed them the impossibility of his having been a participant in the affray.
"To their insolent query, 'Imme-cotch na-vaggi?' (Ain't you afraid?), he replied with admirable presence of mind, 'Why should we be afraid of our friends? Are not the Navajos our friends, and we theirs? Else why did we place ourselves in your power?'
"He spoke for a long time, and though frequently and rudely interrupted, his patience and nerve never gave way, and when he ceased, it was apparent that his reasoning had not been without effect in their stubborn bosoms. But the good influence was of short duration.
"A young Indian, whom we afterwards learned was a son of the chief, and brother of two of the slain Indians, addressed the assembled warriors, and we could see that the tide was turning fearfully against us. He wound up his impassioned harangue by springing to his feet, and, pointing to an Indian who had not yet spoken, called to him to come forward. The Indian came and kneeled before him, when with one hand he took back his buckskin hunting shirt, revealing the mark of a recent bullet wound, and with the other pointed to the fire, uttering, or rather hissing, a few emphatic words, which we afterwards learned were a demand for instant death by fire.
"The effect was electrical. The sight of the wounded brave roused their passions to the utmost fury, and as we glanced around the savage circle, our hands involuntarily tightened their grasp on our six-shooters, for it seemed that our hour had come.
"Had we shown a symptom of fear, we were lost; but we sat perfectly quiet, and kept a wary eye on the foe. It was a thrilling scene. The erect, proud, athletic form of the young chief, as he stood pointing his finger to the wound in the kneeling figure before him; the circle of crouching forms; their dusky and painted faces animated by every passion that hatred and ferocity could inspire, and their glittering eyes fixed with one malignant impulse upon us; the whole partially illuminated by the fitful gleam of the firelight (for by this time it was dark), formed a picture not easy to be forgotten.
"The suspense was broken by a Navajo, our host, who once again raised his voice in our behalf, and after a stormy discussion, Hamblin finally compelled him to acknowledge that he had been their friend; that he had never lied to them, and that he was worthy of belief now.
"The strain was over, and we breathed freely once more. We smoked the pipe, or rather the cigarette, of peace, and a roasted goat being shortly produced, we fell to with a will, and gnawed ribs together as amicably as if it had not been just previously their benevolent intention to roast us instead of the goat.
"By this time it was past midnight, the discussion having been prolonged for eleven hours. I never was so tired in my life. Eleven hours in a partially recumbent position, cramped for room, with every nerve strained to its utmost tension, and momentarily expecting a conflict which must be to the death, is tolerably hard work.
"After supper, it was arranged by Hamblin that we should go home in the morning, and await the arrival of the chief, for whom they promised to dispatch a trusty messenger. We slept by turns till morning broke, when we bid our amiable friends good-by, and started for Mowabby, where we arrived about eight o'clock in the evening, to the great joy of Boyd and Pattie, who had given us up as lost.
"This was five days ago, and today the Navajo chief arrived, and, after a long discussion, agreed to settle the matter for a certain number of cattle and horses; but their demands were so exorbitant that I am sure they will never be complied with.
"Mr. Hamblin leaves tomorrow morning for St. George, to lay the matter before Brigham Young, and he is to meet the chiefs here again, with the answer to their demands, in twenty-five days from today.
* * * * *
"We shall, probably, in the course of the trip, visit the village of the Oribas, a people who build three-story houses of stone, and whose greatest term of reproach to one another is he is a lazy man.
* * * * *
"In conclusion, I wish to give my testimony to the bearing of Mr. Hamblin during the trying scene I have endeavored to depict. No braver man ever lived. J. E. S."
The writer of the foregoing letter and his brother acted a different part from what I did, and acted it well.
He describes some things better than I can. As I have before remarked, ever since I began to have a correct insight into Indian character, I have felt anxious to do all the good in my power, and have endeavored to settle difficulties with them without bloodshed.
Much good, I trust, has been done by going into their midst and reasoning with them, when their minds were made up to avenge some wrong. I reason with an Indian as an Indian.
For example, Mr. Smith did not understand the motive of the Piute messenger of the Navajoes, who asked, at Mowabby, if they would give up the lame man to torture if the Navajoes would agree, on that condition, to abstain from further hostilities. The Piute thought that the lame man was of but little use, and hoped by the sacrifice of him to save the others.
From his standpoint, his motive was good. Had Mr. Smith understood the Indian character better, he probably would have had no disposition to kill him.