CHAPTER XXXIX.

CONCERNING “LO” AND HIS FAMILY.

It is said to be next to impossible to astonish an Indian, but on one occasion, while residing in Virginia City, I astonished, frightened, and disgusted a whole flock of the unsophisticated “children of the desert,” and with a mere handful of shrimps.

A crowd of Piutes, numbering over a dozen, male and female, great and small, had come to anchor, squat upon the ground, just off the sidewalk, in front of a fruit-stand (a favorite place of resort with them), and were in the midst of what to them was a great feast. Upon an old shawl, spread in the centre of their circle, was a great heap of half-rotten apples, damaged cherries, soured strawberries, and other offal from the fruit-store in front of which they were squatted. Among the male Indians was Smoke Creek Sam, the Piute detective, who, with head thrown back, was each moment dropping into his mouth great wads of strawberries, squeezed together, stems and all, of the size of an ordinary codfish-ball.

Some of the little Indian boys and girls were smeared to the eyes with a leathery mess, half strawberries and half dirt, which they scooped up from the common heap, and held to their mouths in both hands.

Even the most comely among the squaws had a brown dab of rotten apple on the end of her nose, which that organ had brought away as a trophy during some one of the frequent visits of her industrious mouth to the deep interior of a slushy pippin.

One hideous old woman had raked a quantity of decayed cherries into her lap, and sat “and munched, and munched, and munched.”

Under the vigorous attack of so many diligent hands and capacious and willing mouths, the mound of vegetable garbage was soon swept away.

As I then lacked amusement, I stepped to a market next door, and procured a handful of shrimps. With these I approached the now surfeited group of savages, and began eating, by way of experiment on their nerves.

At first they looked curiously on, and some of the juveniles rose to their feet to have a better view of the new and horrible-looking esculent. At a respectful distance they stood and gazed, as they saw me pull in two and devour the many-legged little monsters, each “little Injun” with lips curled up, teeth set, and nose wrinkled.

The bucks shrugged their shoulders as they saw each fresh “bug” pulled out and eaten, and some of the squaws drew down the corners of their mouths and spat upon the ground with decided emphasis.

The whole party, as though fascinated by a sight so fearful, sat and closely watched each shrimp as it was shucked out and swallowed, the general disgust each moment increasing.

Finally, I held out toward a “brave” of some ten “snows” the few crustaceous specimens remaining in my hand. This incipient warrior was arrayed as to his head, in some Comstock dandy’s cast-off “stovepipe” hat, and as to his nether extensions, in a pair of adult unmentionables of bake-oven capacity in the rear.

As my hand approached, his moon eyes rapidly grew moonier, and he began craw fishing, though determined, if possible, to retreat in good order, and with his face to the foe.

At this critical moment I pitched at the budding chieftain the empty shell of a shrimp I had just finished. By chance it alighted upon a lock of hair hanging over his forehead, and there remained for a moment, hanging by the claws, and dangling before his eyes.

The boy gave a yelp, made one grab at the ugly thing, then turned a complete back somersault over the old cherry-muncher. He landed running, but, his “plug” hat being down over his eyes, he soon brought up on all-fours, with his head between the legs of a passing Chinese wood-peddler, who was so frightened at the unexpected assault in the rear, that he, in turn, came near turning a somersault over the back of the donkey he was driving.

The other youngsters, seeing what had happened, scattered in all directions like a brood of startled quail, while the squaws—lusty old gals, all of them!—hastily snatched up the pappooses, which, in their wicker cradles, were lying across their laps, or standing against awning-posts or empty barrels, and deftly slinging them upon their backs, drew the straps across their foreheads, and started up the street at a rolling gallop, the noise of which resembled that of the stampede of a flock of fat wethers when in full wool.

The old hag mentioned as the “cherry-muncher”—probably fearing that a shrimp would be thrown into her straggling locks—hanging with both hands to the dead branch of a cedar, poled herself along in the rear of the stampeders with astonishing agility.

At the distance of thirty yards she halted to get her wind, and seeing that she was not being pursued, faced about. Still grasping her rude staff in both hands, and resting her wrinkled and venerable lump of nose on its top, she stared back at me from under her mop of grizzled hair, like an old witch frightened away from some unholy feast.

Some of the bucks sullenly marched away, casting backward glances from malevolent eyes which plainly showed their opinion of practical jokes, but Smoke Creek Sam stood his ground. He, too, had been outraged and disgusted, but as he had not yet found opportunity to beg a handful of smoking tobacco, he concealed his feelings and deferred his retreat. Extracting the pith of a particularly large and healthy shrimp, I approached Sam with it.

“You no bring um here!” cried he, waving me back with his hand. “No bring um, me say!”

“Just try this one, Sam,” said I.

“No!” said Sam, decidedly; “glash-hop, purty good; klicket, me eat um; scorpium-bug, heap no good. Scorpium make Injun man high up sick!”

[Illustration: SHRIMPS.]

I now saw it all, and was not so much surprised at the astonishment and disgust shown by the whole crowd of redskins. Knowing nothing about shrimps, all supposed that I was eating scorpions, a poisonous reptile very abundant in Nevada, and very closely resembling the shrimp. Seeing me, as they supposed, deliberately devouring scorpions, all thought that the Evil One himself was before them.

The Piutes are the early birds in Virginia City. Almost as soon as it is sufficiently light for them to see, the squaws are down from their huts on the slopes of the surrounding mountains. The Piute squaw is the scavenger of the town. When she rolls into the place in the morning, she comes with her gunny-sack over her shoulder, and into this stows all that in her eyes is valuable. She gathers up every little wisp of hay that falls in her way, even to the last straw, as she wants it for the half-starved family pony, staked out in the hills near the camp; looks into dry-goods boxes in search of straw, also for the pony; dives into barrels in front of the markets, for half-rotten fruit, wilted turnips, carrots, and other vegetables good for the family, and as the markets open and the business of the day begins, she manages to secure all the heads and tails of salmon and other fish that are cut up. All this time she has one eye open for fuel—the hills being stripped to the last rotten stick, by the Chinamen, who have even dug all the tree-stumps out by the roots. Bits of boxes, wooden hoops, staves, all that is wood she stuffs into her sack, along with the rest of her plunder.

If the sack is full and a good haul of wood falls in her way, she makes it up into a bundle and places it on her head, and finally, loaded down like a donkey, the frugal housewife climbs the mountain to where her hut is perched, when she makes glad the heart of her lord and master and little ones, with the good things she has brought home to them. Others hang about the kitchens of the town, and collect loads of broken victuals, as there no swine are kept by families, and they have no use for the scraps that are carried from the table.

The male Piute is not always idle, but he cannot always find a job. The Chinamen swarm the town in search of about the only kinds of work poor “Lo” is able to do. But no man with a fat government contract ever felt himself better fixed, than does one of these ex-warriors when he has fairly settled down at a job of wood-sawing, for which he is to receive one dollar per cord in coin, and board while he is doing the work. This is just the kind of bargain he likes to make with a newcomer, or some other unsophisticated citizen. The kitchen upon which he has thus established a lien is never out of his mind. He is on hand at dawn of day, and from the mountain height on which sits his eyrie, brings the appetite of a tiger. Until he has had his breakfast, his face is ever toward the dwelling of his employer, and ever and anon he is seen to pause with his saw in the midst of a half-finished stick, as he snuffs the odors wafted from the kitchen.

Breakfast over, he begins watching and snuffing for his dinner; dinner over, his mind dwells upon the coming supper. Between meals, he frequently becomes so exhausted that he cannot force his saw through the smallest stick, unless braced up by an occasional cup of coffee, slice of bread, and joint of cold meat.

When the noble red-man boards himself, however, he works like a steam-engine, and loses not a moment until the last stick is done, and he can extend his palm for his coin.

We hear much about the disappearance of the Indian before the march of civilization, and in some quarters predictions are freely hazarded that in a short time he will become extinct—will pass away with the dodo. Whatever may be the case with other tribes, the Piute has no notion of passing away. He is among the most prolific of _autochthones_. To “increase and multiply” appears to be the first care of the average adult Piute. It looks somewhat as if he were bound to occupy the land in case his productiveness shall continue. The Piutes are a remarkably healthy people. They are seldom sick, and few deaths occur among them. The few who die seem to die of old age. There appear to be about one hundred births among them to one death. Hardly a squaw that is over sixteen and under sixty years of age can be seen, but she has a pappoose slung on her back, and some of them surpass the wife of the martyred John Rogers in evidences of prolificness. The women do not appear to be much addicted to twins, but the little ones come marching along quite rapidly in single file.

The Piutes are certainly multiplying more rapidly than any other people in the State of Nevada. Even astonishingly old women among them bear children.

“What shall be done with these people?” will one day be a question in Nevada that must be answered in some way. The women are virtuous, and the men temperate, and so long as they thus remain, there seems to be no likelihood of their dying off.

Among the Piutes to work is considered no disgrace, and the biggest “brave” is not ashamed to be seen handling an ax or saw—no, nor to be found carrying his child, a thing that would ruin him in almost any other tribe. Their greatest vice is gambling among themselves.

All is now well with these children of the desert, as they are not yet so numerous but that the cast-off clothing of the whites suffices for all, great and small, and the cold victuals given away in all the towns is more than enough to feed them; but a time will come when this will not be the case. Then some place must be found, and some provision made for this people.

A well-known old Piute couple in Virginia City were “Adam” and “Eve.” Old Adam was supposed to have been about one hundred years of age at the time of his death, and Eve also was very old.

At the death of the aged couple there was a strange fatality. Old Adam was bitten by a ferocious dog, and after lingering some weeks, during which time he was cared for by the Sisters of Charity, he departed for the happy hunting-grounds. A year later old Eve was attacked and terribly mangled by a savage dog, the sinews being drawn out of one of her ankles by the teeth of the brute. She, too lingered some weeks, watched over and cared for by the Sisters, when she went to join old Adam where the grass is always green and bright waters ever flow.

The old couple seem to have embraced the Christian religion in the early days, at some one of the Catholic Missions in California. Old Adam was very fond of being in and about the Catholic Church in Virginia City, and was never happier than when noticed by Father Manogue, the pastor, with whom the ancient red-man was fond of conversing, in his childish way, upon religious subjects. Whenever grand-children and great-grand children were born to him, “Old Adam” never failed to bring them to Father Manogue, in order that they might be duly baptized. Thus is the name of Patrick and Michael now heard in the Piute tribe.

About the streets of Virginia is frequently to be seen stalking a thin-visaged, solemn-looking squaw who attracts much attention from her great height and her tremendous strides in walking. The gaunt apparition in female attire is, however, no squaw, but a “buck,” a man of the Piute tribe condemned to wear the dress of a woman all the days of his life, for cowardice exhibited at the battle of Pyramid lake. He is shunned by both the men and women among his people, and therefore, like Baxter’s hog, goes in a “drove” by himself. The last time I saw him he had on a new calico dress, of the meal-bag pattern in the skirt, and had a new gingham handkerchief upon his head; still he was not proud. Nothing good, bad, or indifferent is said to him by the Indians, but the white boys about town scoff at him and his face wears a calm, resigned, chronic “sour.”

Many of the Piutes are anxious to have their children learn to read and write, and, in 1875, three little Indians boys were in attendance at the public school in Silver City, the principal of the school taking them in at the solicitation of the father and by way of experiment. In a few weeks they were able to read tolerably well in the first reader. They began with the alphabet and were very proud of the progress they were able to make. Unlike the majority of white parents, the father of the little redskins thinks it worth while to visit the school occasionally, to see how things are going. When the stern old brave visits the school he marches into the institution of learning with a turkey feather in his hair, his face painted in bright zigzag lines of black, white and red, and a long double-barrelled shotgun on his shoulder. This has a business look which is doubtless appreciated by the teacher.

As an object of distraction to the school the “lamb that little Mary had” would not amount to a row of pins—would be a mere digitless cipher—by the side of that Indian father in all the full-blown pride of shotgun, war-paint, and turkey feathers.

The Piutes have some notion of picking up English songs and tunes. I one day saw a dusky maiden of perhaps sixteen summers vocalizing in front of a fruit-store, who evidently felt that she was a long way in advance of the majority of her tribe. The song she sang was: “I feel, I feel like a to-morrow morning star, Soo Fly! don’t bodda my! Soo Fly!” Her object appeared to charm a few wilted apples from the keeper of the store, but he being a native of melodious Italy was not much affected, and even scowled upon the singer, as though he felt it a duty to discourage and nip in the bud all talent manifesting itself in such a quarter.

[Illustration: AN INDIAN ENCAMPMENT.]

At one time a savior arose for the Piute people. This was Sam Brown, the civilizer, an Oregon Indian who had wandered to Virginia City and who was able to read and write. Sam Brown was a natural born philantropist—he cared not for himself so long as he could ameliorate the condition of the aborigine. He desired to see the Indian tribes educated and civilized, and to this work he was devoted, body and soul. He went forth among the Piutes residing in the neighborhood of Virginia and Gold Hill, and made known to them his plans—told them of the school-house he would build for the education of their children and how he should finally have them all residing in houses and working at trades like white men.

All the Indians were well pleased with what Sam told them; they said it was “good talk.” Sam looked about him for a man fit to be made chief of all the Piutes living about the two towns, and finally selected himself as being the person most worthy to receive that high and honorable position. Soon after that he one day marshalled all of his people in procession, and with the American flag proudly floating at the head of the motley throng of men, women, and children, gaily marched them about the streets of Virginia City. They were the raggedest lot of recruits ever seen. To observe the dignified bearing of the old warriors and the grave expression of each countenance, was ludicrous beyond measure. They thought they were being adopted into the American nation, and therefore considered it a duty to conduct themselves in a grave and becoming manner on such a momentous occasion.

The use of a balcony on the principal street in the city was obtained, and from this, Sam Brown and several Piutes, also one or two white men, addressed the common herd below.

This completed the inauguration of Sam Brown as chief, and he was now ready to begin the work of civilizing his subjects. The first thing in order with Sam was the building of a school-house. He owned a lot somewhere in the suburbs of the town, and on this he determined to rear a proper structure, Sam had worked as a carpenter in Oregon, and felt equal to the task of building the school-house himself, if he but had tools and lumber. However, to the man who is a born reformer and philanthropist, whose soul thirsts continually to improve and benefit his species, no obstacle is so great but that by dint of untiring patience and perseverance it will finally overcome.

Sam stole a chest of carpenters’ tools and had made considerable progress in the gradual removal of a lumber-yard, when unsympathetic eyes took cognizance of his philanthropic labors, and, failing to appreciate the purity of his motives, threw him into a prison, the fate, alas! of many great reformers in all ages. Samuel Brown, the civilizer, now abides in the Nevada State Prison, where he has time to consider the vanity of all philanthropic endeavors, and to mourn the obtuseness of the average human intellect in respect to the motives that inspire the soul of the reformer to do noble deeds and undertake arduous labors.

To this day the proposed school-house has not been built and to this day the Piutes remain uncivilized.

[Illustration]