First Meetings, Part Three
I did not forget what had happened. There was a house near where we camped. My grandfather went down to the house with some of his men, and pretty soon…
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From Life Among the Piutes, Their Wrongs and Claims by Sarah Winnemucca Hopkins, 1883.
I did not forget what had happened. There was a house near where we camped. My grandfather went down to the house with some of his men, and pretty soon we saw them coming back. They were carrying large boxes, and we were all looking at them. My mother said there were, two white men coming with them.
"Oh, mother, what shall I do? Hide me!"
I just danced round like a wild one, which I was. I was behind my mother. When they were coming nearer, I heard my grandpa say, —
"Make a place for them to sit down."
Just then, I peeped round my mother to see them. I gave one scream, and said,—
"Oh, mother, the owls!"
I only saw their big white eyes, and I thought their faces were all hair. My mother said,—
"I wish you would send your brothers away, for my child will die."
I imagined I could see their big white eyes all night long. They were the first ones I had ever seen in my life.
We went on the next day, and passed some more of our white brothers' houses, as we called their wagons at that time. We camped on the Sanvada mountains and spent the night. My grandfather said everything that was good about the white people to me. At last we were camped tipon the summit, and it snowed very hard all night, and in the morning my grandfather told his people to hurry and get their horses, and travel on, for fear we might get snowed into the mountains. That night we overtook some emigrants who were camped there to rest their oxen. This time I watched my grandfather to see what he would do. He said, "I am going to show them my rag friend again."
As he rode up to one of their tents, three white men came out to him; then they took him to a large tent. Quite a number of white men came out to him. I saw him take out the paper he called his rag friend and give it to one of the men who stood looking at it; then he looked up and came toward him and held out his hand to my grandfather, and then the rest of the white men did the same all round. Then the little children and the women did the same, and I saw the little ones running to their tents and back again with something in their hands, and they were giving it to each man. The next morning I could not eat, and said to my mother,—
"Let us go back to father—let us not go with grandpa, for he is bad." My poor mother said, " We can't go alone; we would all be killed if we go, for we have no rag friend as father has. And dear, you must be good, and grandpa will love you just as well as ever. You must do what he tells you to do."
Oh, how badly I did feel! I held my two hands over my face, and was crying as if my heart would break.
"My dear, don't cry; here comes grandpa."
I heard him say, —
"Well, well, is my sweetheart never going to stop crying? Come, dear, I have something for my baby; Come and see what it is."
So I went to him with my head down, not because I was afraid he would whip me,—no—no, for Indians do not whip their children. Oh, how happy I was when he told me he would give me something very beautiful. It was a little cup, and it made me very glad, indeed; and he told me it was to drink water out of, not to wear. He said,—
"I am going to tell you what I did with a beautiful gift I received from my white brothers. It was of the same. kind, only it was flat and round, and it was as bright as your cup is now.'*
He said to his wife, "Give me my bright hat;" and she did so.
"You see I used to wear it on my head, because my white brother did not tell me what it was for." Then he began to laugh, and he laughed so long! then he stopped and said, "it was not to wear, but to eat out of, and I have made myself a fool by wearing it as a hat. Oh, how my brothers did laugh at me because I wore it at our first fight with Mexicans in Mexico. Now, dearest children, I do not want you to think my brothers laughed at me to make fun of me; no—no—it was because I wore the tin plate for a hat, that's all."
He also said they had much prettier things than this to eat out of. He went on and told us never to take anything belonging to them or lying outside of his white brothers houses. "They hang their clothes out of doors after washing them; but they are not thrown away, and for fear some of you might think so and take them, I tell you about it. Therefore, never take anything unless they give it to you; then they will love you."
So I kept thinking over what he said to me about the good white people, and saying to myself, "I will make friends with them when we come into California."
When we came to Sacramento valley (it is a very beautiful valley), my grandfather said to his people that a great many of his white brothers were there, and he knew a great many of them; but we would not go there,—we would go on to Stockton. There he had a very good brother, who had a very big house, made of red stone; it was so high that it would tire any one to go up to some of the rooms. My uncle, my mother's brother, asked him how many rooms were up there? My grandpa said,—
"We have to climb up three times to get to the top." They all laughed, as much as to say my grandpa lied. He said, "You will not laugh when I show you what wonderful things my white brothers can do. I will tell you something more wonderful than that. My brother has a big house that runs on the river, and it whistles and makes a beautiful noise, and it has a bell on it which makes a beautiful noise also." My uncle asked again how big it was.
"Oh, you will see for yourself; we will get there tomorrow night. We will stop there ten days, and you can see for yourselves, and then you will know, my brothers, that what I have told you is true."
After travelling all day we went into camp for the night. We had been there but a little while, and there came a great many men on horseback, and camped near us. I ran to my mother and said I was sleepy, and wanted to go to bed. I did so because I did not want to see them, and I knew grandpa would have them come to see us. I heard him say he was going to see them. I lay down quietly for a little while, and then got up and looked round to see if my brother was going too. There was no one but my mother and little sister. They had all gone to see them.
"Lie down, dear," my mother said.
I did so, but I did not sleep for a long time, for I was thinking about the house that runs on the water. I wondered what it was like. I kept saying to myself, "Oh, I wish it was to-morrow now." I heard mother say, —
"They are coming." Pretty soon I heard grandpa say, "They are not my brothers." Mother Said, "Who are they?"
"They are what my brothers call Mexicans. They are the people we fought; if they knew who I was they would kill me, but they shall not know. I am not going to show them my rag friend, for fear my rag friend will tell of me."
Oh my! oh my! That made me worse than ever. I cried, so that one could have heard my poor heart beat. Oh, how I wished I was back with my father again! All the children were not afraid of the white people—only me.
My brothers would go everywhere with grandpa. I would not have been so afraid of them if I had not been told by my own father and grandmamma that the white people would kill little children and eat them.
Everything was all right, and the next day we went on our journey, and after a whole day's journey we came within 21 mile of the town. The sun was almost down when grandpa stopped and said,—
"Now, one and all, listen as you go on. You will hear, the water-house bell ring."
So we did, and pretty soon we heard the prettiest noise we had ever heard in all our life-time. It became dark before we got to the town, but we could see something like stars away ahead of us. Oh, how I wished I had staiid with my father in our own country. I cried out, saying, —
"Oh, mother, I am so afraid. I cannot go to the white people. They are so much like the owls with their big white eyes. I cannot make friends with them."
I kept crying until we came nearer the town, and camped for the night. My grandpa said to his men,—
"Unsaddle your horses while I go and see my friend."
He came back in a few moments, and said:—
"Turn your horses into the corral, and now we will go to bed without making any fire."
So we did, and I for one was glad. But although very tired I could not sleep, for grandpa kept telling us that at daybreak we would hear the water-house's whistle. The next morning my mother waked me, and I got up and looked round me. I found no one but mother.
“Oh, where is sister, mother?"
"Oh, she has gone with the rest to see the waterhouse."
"Mother, did you hear it whistle?"
"Yes, we all heard it, and it made such a fearful noise!”
The one that whistled has gone on. But another came in just like it, and made just such a noise. Your brother was here awhile ago. He said the water-house had many looking-glasses all round it, and when it came in it was so tired, it breathed so hard, it made us almost deaf."
"Say, mother, let us go and see."
But mother said, —
“No, your brother said there were so many white people that one can hardly get along. We will wait until your grandpa comes, and hear what they all say. A’n’t you hungry, my child?"
I said, " Yes."
"Your brother brought something that tastes like sugar."
It was cake, and I ate so much it made me sick.
I was sick all day and night, and the next day I had the chills. Oh, I was very, very sick; my poor mother thought I would die. I heard her say to grandpa one day,—
"The sugar-bread was poisoned which your white brother gave us to eat, and it has made my poor little girl so sick that I am afraid she will die." My poor mother and brothers and sisters were crying; mother had me in her arms. My grandpa came and took me in his arms and said to me,—
"Open your eyes, dear, and see your grandpa!" I did as he told me, because I had not forgotten what mother had said to me, to do whatever he told me to do, and then he would love me. The reason I had not opened my eyes was because my head ached so badly that it hurt me so I shut them again. My poor mother cried the more, and all our people gathered around us and began to cry. My mother said to grandpa,—
"Can there be anything done for her?"
"Dear daughter," he said, "I am sorry you have such bad hearts against my white brothers. I have eaten some sugar-bread, and so have you, and all the rest of us, and we did not get sick. Dear daughter, you should have blessed the strange food before you gave it to your child to eat; maybe this is why she is sick."
It is a law among us that all strange food is blessed before eaten, and also clothing of any kind that is given to us by any one, Indians or white people, must be blessed before worn. So all my people came together and prayed over me, but it was all in vain, I do not know how long I was sick, but very long. I was indeed poisoned, not by the bread I had eaten, but by poison oak. My face swelled so that I could not see for a long time, but I could hear everything. At last some one came that had a voice like an angel. I really thought it must be an angel, for I had been taught by my father that an angel comes to watch the sick one and take the soul to the spirit land. I kept thinking it must be so, and I learned words from the angel (as I thought it). I could not see, for my eyes were swollen shut. These were the words, "Poor little girl, it is too bad!" It was said so often by the pretty sweet voice, I would say it over and over when I was suffering so badly, and would cry out, "Poor little girl, it is too bad!" At last I began to get well, and I could hear my grandpa say the same words.
Then I began to see a little, and the first thing I asked my mother, was, "What was the angel saying to me?" Oh, how frightened my poor mother was! She cried out,—
"Oh, father, come here! My little girl is talking to the angels,—she is dying."
My sister and brothers ran to her, crying, and for the first time since I was sick I cried out, "Oh, don't, don't cry! I am getting well,—indeed I am. Stop crying, and give me something to eat. I was only asking you what the angel meant by saying “Poor little girl, it is too bad!"
"Oh," says grandpa, " it is the good white woman; I mean my white sister, who comes here to see you. She has made you well. She put some medicine on your face, and has made you see. A’n't you glad to see?"
"I said, "Can I see her now?"
"Yes, she will come pretty soon; she comes every day to see you."
Then my mother came with something for me to eat, but
I said, "Wait, grandpa, tell me more about the good woman."
He said, " My dear child, she is truly an angel, and she has come every day to see you. You will love her, I know;"
"Dear grandpa,, will she come pretty soon? I want to see her."
Grandpa said, "I will go and get her. You won't be afraid, will you?"
So my grandpa went. I tried my best to eat, but I could not, it was so hard.
My sister said, "They are coming."
I said, "Mother, fix my eyes so I can see the angel. Has it wings, mother?"
Mother said, "You will see for yourself."
Just then they came, and grandpa said, " Here she is." The first thing she did she put her beautiful white hand on my forehead. I looked at her; she was, indeed, a beautiful angel. She said the same words as before. I asked my grandpa what she was saying. Then he told me
what she meant by it. I began to get well very fast, and this sweet angel came every day and brought me something nice to eat; and oh, what pretty dresses she brought me. When she brought the dresses she talked to my grandpa a long time, and she cried, and after she went away he said to my mother, —
"The dresses which my white sister gave my child were her dead child's clothes, so they should be burned." I began to cry, because I did not want them burned. He said to me, —
"Don't cry, my child; you will get nicer ones than these if you learn to love my white sister."
Of course the clothes were burned, and after I got well my grandpa took great delight in taking us all to see his white brothers and sisters, and I knew what he meant when he said "my little girls;" I knew he meant me and sister, and he also would say "my little boys," when he was talking about my brothers.
He would say, pointing to my brother, "my Natchez;" he always said this. So the white people called one of my brothers Natchez, and he has had that name to this day.
* Natchez means boy.
So I came to love the white people. We left Stockton and went on farther to a place called San Joaquin River. It took us only one day to go there. We only crossed that river at that time.
Hopkins, Sarah Winnemucca. Life Among the Piutes, Their Wrongs and Claims, Cupples, Upham & Co., 1883.
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