Saga of Chief Joseph

by Helen Addison Howard

  Like all other officials who came in contact with him, the commissioner was duly impressed with Joseph and the justice of his cause. Hayt wrote a testimonial in his annual report to that effect:

  I traveled with him in Kansas and the Indian Territory for nearly a week and found him to be one of the most gentlemanly and well-behaved Indians that I ever met. He is bright and intelligent, and is anxious for the welfare of his people. . . . The Nez Perces are very much superior to the Osages and Pawnees in the Indian Territory; they are even brighter than the Poncas, and care should be taken to place them where they will thrive.13

  Joseph reported that he liked the land on the Ponca Reservation, although it had no mountains or rivers and the water was warm, and he feared all his people would die since the Indians already in possession of the country were constantly dying.

  At this time Joseph got permission to go to Washington to plead his own case before the Great Chief Father, President Hayes, and on down the line of bureaucrats to Congress. He took along his friend, Yellow Bull, and an interpreter. Can you wonder that his head was in a whirl over the innumerable chiefs the white men had, who were all allowed “to talk so many different ways, and promise so many different things?” The chief’s impression of the white man’s government might be summed up in the sentence: “It makes my heart sick when I remember all the good words and all the broken promises.”14

  While in Washington Joseph gave an interview on his life, published in the North American Review for April, 1879, under the title of “An Indian’s Views of Indian Affairs”—a rare and valuable document.

  His intelligent mind was fully cognizant of the red man’s problem, and he expressed his views to Bishop Hare who reported the interview. The chief said:

  I know that my race must change. We cannot hold our own with the white men as we are. We only ask an even chance to live as other men live. We ask to be recognized as men. We ask that the same law shall work alike on all men. If the Indian breaks the law, punish him by the law. If the white man breaks the law, punish him also.15

  And that, you may recognize, as the principles on which our country was founded; the justification for our Revolutionary War; and one of the underlying causes of our terrible Civil War. But Joseph had yet to learn that our American nation has two sets of ideals—one a set of ideals which are rammed into the heads of schoolchildren, and the other a working set of practical purposes that are twisted and warped by politicians to fit the circumstance and the occasion.

  Joseph went on to voice the cry of our forefathers in 1775, the cry of all oppressed men throughout the world, in an impassioned speech lyrical in its rhythm:

  Let me be a free man—free to travel, free to stop, free to work, free to trade where I choose, free to choose my own teachers, free to follow the religion of my fathers, free to think and talk and act for myself—and I will obey every law, or submit to the penalty.16

  In closing he expressed his own idea of a Utopia that white man and red might share alike:

  Whenever the White man treats the Indian as they treat each other, then we shall have no more wars. We shall be all alike—brothers of one father and one mother, with one sky above us and one country around us, and one government for all. Then the Great Spirit Chief who rules above will smile upon this land, and send rain to wash out the bloody spots made by brothers’ hands upon the face of the earth. For this time the Indian race is waiting and praying. I hope that no more groans of wounded men and women will ever go to the ear of the Great Spirit Chief above, and that all people may be one people.

  In-mut-too-yah-lat-lat has spoken for his people.17

  In discussing the Indian problem with Miles, Joseph summed it up with shrewd logic:

  The greatest want of the Indian is a system of law by which controversies between Indians, and between Indians and white men, can be settled without appealing to physical force. [He went on to deduce that] the want of law is the great source of disorder among Indians. They understand the operation of laws, and, if there were any statutes, the Indians would be perfectly content to place themselves in the hands of a proper tribunal, and would not take the righting of their wrongs into their own hands, or retaliate, as they now do, without the law.18

  And what was the outcome of all this impassioned oratory? Why, simply that the Nez Perces were removed to the Ponca Reservation in June of 1879, and given a reserve containing 90,735 acres!

  They made valiant attempts to become civilized and to adapt themselves to their new country. In time, with government assistance, they acquired a small herd of cattle and horses, raised their own vegetables and considerable grain. In February, 1880, a day school was opened, conducted by James Reuben, a Christianized Nez Perce who journeyed from the Idaho reservation to help his people in exile. Two others who came with him soon took ill and returned to Lapwai. In May of 1883 the school was closed, and, securing the permission of the War Department, Reuben took twenty-nine Nez Perces, the majority widows and orphans of the war, back to Idaho.

  Their homecoming is thus described by an eyewitness, Kate McBeth:

  After him [James Reuben] rode the weariest, dustiest, most forlorn band of women with blankets and belongings behind each woman on her horse. Two men besides James were with them. But the ponies! The poor ponies, after such a journey of perhaps three hundred miles! But they and the captives had been well drilled. A half circle was formed by them facing the agent’s office. Their friends ranged themselves behind. James Reuben, from his saddle, with the oratory for which he was noted, made the opening speech, gracefully guiding his horse’s head this way and that, as he addressed the now well formed half-circle. He pathetically described their sorrows in that far-off land, the hardships of the journey home, and the many they had left sleeping among strangers. The agent responded. James Reuben dismounted, drawing his horse’s bridle over his left arm, leaving his right hand free to extend to his friends. Each captive did the same. Hundreds of friends gathered around, took them by the hand, and oh! such weeping and wailing in remembrance of the graves in that distant land! Doubtless there was great joy in their hearts, but just then, the sorrow exceeded.19

  The captives remaining in Indian Territory did not find the Ponca country any healthier than Joseph had feared, for Agent Jordan reported in 1881 that the tribe numbered 328, and there had been few births. They had no houses and were insufficiently sheltered in tepees from the heavy rains. Because of the lack of a church they were compelled “to meet under an arbor covered with branches and leaves.” Agent Jordan continues:

  They keep the Sabbath-day holy, abstaining from all kinds of work, and the service at the arbor is attended by every member of the tribe, whether a communicant or not. . . . Poor as they are they have contributed $45 with which to buy the lumber, etc., necessary to build a house for their pastor. . . .

  Love of country and home, as in all brave people, is very largely developed in this tribe, and they long for the valleys, the mountains, the streams, and the clear springs of water of their old home. They are cleanly to a fault, and most them have adopted the dress, and as far as possible the habits, of the white man. They keep their stock in good order, and are a hard-working, painstaking people. I hope by the time winter comes on, to have them all in comfortable houses.20

  Certainly the criminals in our penitentiaries were given far more humane treatment! At least, the Indians had one consolation—they had a sympathetic agent.

  26

  Return from Exile

  It took four long years yet of “recommendations” on the part of agents, and pleadings on the part of white friends, before an apathetic Congress could start its august machinery into motion to remedy the situation. The Indian Rights Association “and other Eastern philanthropists were active on behalf of the Nez Perces and the Presbyterian church took up their cause.” In May, 1884, Congress received fourteen petitions “from groups of citizens from Kansas to Connecticut, ranging from mass meetings to private individuals, all demanding the return
of Joseph’s Nez Perces to Idaho.”1

  Finally in the spring of 1885 a remnant of the five bands—268 souls—were returned to the Northwest over the Union Pacific and Oregon Short Line. They were met at Pocatello by Captain Frank Baldwin, who was acting judge advocate of the Columbia Military Department. Here the Nez Perces were divided into two parties, one group of 118 persons going under military escort to the Lapwai Reservation in North Idaho. Due to local prejudice there, Joseph and the remaining 150 of his people proceeded to the Colville Reservation at Nespelem, Washington, where the chief located his home on the banks of the river.

  In the Report of the Commissioner of Indian Affairs, 1885, the reason given for sending the majority of the Nez Perces to Colville was “on account of indictments said to be pending in Idaho against Chief Joseph and some of his immediate followers, for murders committed by them before their removal to Indian Territory in 1878, and numerous threats were made that, in the event of their return to Idaho, extreme measures would be taken by the citizens to avenge wrongs alleged to have been perpetrated by these people over eight years ago.” Yet, two of the three guilty young men—all were members of White Bird’s band—had themselves paid the supreme penalty, and the third, young Swan Necklace (John Minthon) had sought refuge among the Sioux. Their chief had died an exile in Canada in 1882!

  12. Joseph at Lapwai in 1895. Photo courtesy of Miss Mary M. Crawford.

  The Indians were in a destitute condition, thinly clad, without cattle, tools, or farming implements, even without sufficient food. Colonel Miles writes that some of the soldiers were moved to pity and shared their rations with the unfortunates.2

  The other bands of Nez Perces at Lapwai most heartily welcomed the returned exiles. Old friends met again, families were reunited, and the absent faces were mourned with loud wails.

  Somewhat different was the reception accorded Joseph’s group by old Chief Skolaskin of the San-poil tribe, who resented the Nez Perces’ presence as an unpardonable intrusion on his inalienable domain. It was necessary for the Indian Agent, Major Gwydir, to call for troops from the fort at Spokane before Skolaskin would consent to Joseph’s peacefully occupying his share of the reservation.3 That Joseph did not come by choice made no difference to Skolaskin.

  So Chief Joseph, warrior and diplomat, settled down to spend most of his days in meditation and brooding, growing old and gray.

  Judge Lippincott4 recalled a meeting with him on the train about September of 1885. At the time he was in white man’s clothes, but wore moccasins and had his hair in two long braids. He was still broad-shouldered and deep-chested despite the years of suffering he had gone through. The chief was then around forty-five, and impressed the judge as being very reserved and democratic in manner, and expressive of countenance rather than as stoical as the proverbial Indian. Although he appeared to be depressed, he was glad to meet everybody and shook hands with anyone who spoke to him. He was generally recognized on the train, but did not converse at length with any of the whites. He had his hands full, as three or four Indian women who accompanied him were ill. So far as the judge could learn they were not related to Joseph, but, of course, were Nez Perces. All were wrapped in blankets, and Joseph exercised tender care and gentleness in looking after them. The judge gave each woman a dollar apiece, at which the chief smiled, and his feminine companions beamed their pleasure.

  Ex-Sergeant Martin L. Brown told in an interview his impressions upon meeting the Nez Perce chieftain:

  I never met Joseph personally until after the war was over. I was on a detail that took nineteen Indian prisoners to Fort Lapwai, Idaho. To return them to Joseph, who was then in the Indian Territory, we had to sail down the Snake and Columbia rivers to Portland, re-ship to San Francisco, then take the Union Pacific to Fort Leavenworth, Kansas, and finally a stage-coach to the Indian Territory. This round-about journey was necessary as the Union Pacific was the only railroad in the west at that time.

  When we delivered the prisoners to Joseph, he shook hands with each one of our detail, and appeared quite friendly. He apparently felt no resentment toward the soldiers. His manner was grave, and he had the air of one used to being respected. All the Indians in the camp showed deference toward him and seemed to like him. Joseph was an honest man, and really believed the government unjustly took his land from him. As for the war, he thought he was doing right by fighting for his ancestral lands and finally for his liberty.5

  In 1889 Joseph went to Portland, Oregon, to sit for a bas-relief plaque of his head by the sculptor, Olin L. Warner. Copies of this plaque now hang in the Portland Art Gallery and the Metropolitan Museum in New York.

  Colonel C. E. S. Wood, Howard’s aide-de-camp during the Nez Perce campaign, was practicing law in Portland in 1892 when Joseph invited his thirteen-year-old son, Erskine, to visit him at Nespelem. This incident illustrates the tolerance of the chief, and the trust placed in him by the boy’s father.

  Erskine left Portland by himself, July 3, 1892, and spent five months alone with Joseph and his band. So greatly did the lad enjoy himself that he returned the next year for another three months. According to Erskine’s diary, he accompanied Joseph and his tribespeople into the mountains on their annual fall hunt after deer, and was present at the Indian dances and feasts, being the only white boy so honored. Under the old chief’s teaching, Erskine learned the Nez Perce customs and arts.

  During the summers, he records, Joseph’s people spent much of their time in horse racing, accompanied by the inevitable gambling which that sport always prompts. The boy’s description of the domestic life of Joseph’s people at Nespelem is interesting:

  The Indian camp is usually in two or more long rows of tepees. Sometimes two or three families occupy one lodge. When they are hunting and drying meat for their winter supply, several lodges are put together, making one big lodge about thirty feet long, in which are two or three fires instead of one. They say that it dries the meat better.6

  After the hunt Joseph divided the meat equally among his people.

  The following excerpt shows the lasting influence of the tewats, or medicine men, on the chief, despite his increasing contacts with white civilization:

  I was sitting with Joseph in the tepee once, when a lizard crawled in. I discovered it, and showed it to Joseph. He was very solemn, and I asked him what was the matter. “A medicine-man sent it here to do me harm. You have very good eyes to discover the tricks of the medicine-men.” I was going to throw it into the fire, but he stopped me, saying: “If you burn it, it will make the medicine-men angry. You must kill it some other way.”7

  Erskine’s boy companion was Niky Mowitz, whose father had been killed in the Nez Perce War. Niky was the nephew of Joseph and had been adopted by the chief. This speaks eloquently for Joseph’s inherently humane nature and for his grief over the loss of his own four sons.

  27

  The Trail to the Setting Sun

  Twelve years passed before Joseph again left his beloved Northwest. When he did so in April of 1897 he made a voluntary visit to New York City for the dedication of Grant’s tomb as a guest of Buffalo Bill, and rode beside the former scout in the parade. While visiting the metropolis Joseph stayed at the old Astor House and dressed, by request we may well presume, in the full Indian regalia of buckskin, which caused quite a furore among the fashionable guests. They must have been rather disillusioned, though, by the great chief’s gentlemanly manners and his sly sense of humor. He gave an exhibition of the latter when a young woman, wearing a hat decorated with an artificial aviary and garden, asked him, “Did you ever scalp anybody?”

  Joseph cogitated on the matter for a while, then turned to the interpreter and replied quietly, pointing to the young lady’s hat, “Tell her that I have nothing in my collection as fine as that.”

  Of course, he was besieged by Easterners who were thrilled to get sight of or talk to a genuine, “honest-to-gosh” red Indian chief out of the wild and woolly West, who had actually led his tribespeople on
the warpath against the American army. And the obliging chief graciously submitted to various interviews. In one of these he gave his impressions of Gotham, and if he were something of a curiosity to New Yorkers, they and their ways were no less queer to him. He said:

  This East is strange to me. I do not understand it at all. The green of the trees and the grass is not here. The quiet of the woods is missing. It is all dirt and noise and hurry and the people are strange. I notice many things as I walk, and they puzzle me. The white men have put up buildings which one cannot see the top of. They tell me people stay there and labor during the day. I have had white men who know the ways of their fellows tell me many strange things. I can understand a little English myself, but I cannot speak any. The white men are very wonderful and skilful, to do some of these things. They send the cars along on a rope [trolley-cars] and the buildings up into the sky. They have railroads in the air [the elevated trains], and they go up and down the buildings [elevators] without moving themselves. I have heard much of these wonders in Washington, and one or two of them I saw in Portland once. But here in New York it is all wonders, and I do not understand how the people live. It is good for me to see these things before I die, and so I must see them now, for I do not ever expect to leave my people for so long again.1

  On this trip Joseph was accompanied by a subchief, an interpreter, and a young Sioux. G. O. Shields, who was acquainted with the chief, relates another incident of the visit. It seems that he invited Joseph and the other Indians to a dinner at the Camp Fire Club, to be held on a Saturday night. On the Monday preceding he told the chief that he would call for his party on Saturday afternoon, and take them to the hotel where the dinner would be given. Mr. Shields continues: