California Sketches, Second Series | Page 7

his host, as handful after handful
of the crisp and juicy gryllus vulgaris were crammed into his capacious
mouth, and swallowed. What he saw and smelt, and the absence of
fresh air, began to tell upon the Bishop--he became sick and pale, while
a gentle perspiration, like unto that felt in the beginning of seasickness,
beaded his noble forehead. With slow dignity, but marked emphasis, he
spoke:
"Brother Bristow, I propose that we retire."
They retired, and there is no record that Bishop Soule ever expressed
the least desire to repeat his visit to the interior of a Digger Indian's
abode.
The whites had many difficulties with the Diggers in the early days. In
most cases I think the whites were chiefly to blame. It is very hard for
the strong to be just to the weak. The weakest creature, pressed hard,
will strike back. White women and children were massacred in
retaliation for outrages committed upon the ignorant Indians by white
outlaws. Then there would be a sweeping destruction of Indians by the
excited whites, who in those days made rather light of Indian shooting.
The shooting of a "buck" was about the same thing, whether it was a
male Digger or a deer.
"There is not much fight in a Digger unless he's got the dead-wood on
you, and then he'll make it rough for you. But these Injuns are of no use,
and I'd about as soon shoot one of them as a coyote" (ki-o-te).
The speaker was a very red-faced, sandy-haired man, with blood-shot
blue eyes, whom I met on his return to the Humboldt country after a
visit to San Francisco.
"Did you ever shoot an Indian?" I asked.
"I first went up into the Eel River country in '46," he answered. "They
give us a lot of trouble in them days. They would steal cattle, and our
boys would shoot. But we've never had much difficulty with them since
the big fight we had with them in 1849. A good deal of devilment had
been goin' on all roun', and some had been killed on both sides. The
Injuns killed two women on a ranch in the valley, and then we set in

just to wipe 'em out. Their camp was in a bend of the river, near the
head of the valley, with a deep slough on the right flank. There was
about sixty of us, and Dave was our captain. He was a hard rider, a
dead shot, and not very tender-hearted. The boys sorter liked him, but
kep' a sharp eye on him, knowin' he was so quick and handy with a
pistol. Our plan was to git to their camp and fall on em at daybreak, but
the sun was risin' just as we come in sight of it. A dog barked, and
Dave sung out:
"'Out with your pistols! pitch in, and give 'em the hot lead!'
"In we galloped at full speed, and as the Injuns come out to see what
was up, we let 'em have it. We shot forty bucks--about a dozen got
away by swimmin' the river."
"Were any of the women killed?"
"A few were knocked over. You can't be particular when you are in a
hurry; and a squaw, when her blood is up, will fight equal to a buck."
The fellow spoke with evident pride, feeling that he was detailing a
heroic affair, having no idea that he had done any thing wrong in
merely killing "bucks." I noticed that this sane man was very kind to an
old lady who took the stage for Bloomfield--helping her into the
vehicle, and looking after her baggage. When we parted, I did not care
to take the hand that had held a pistol that morning when the Digger
camp was "wiped out."
The scattered remnants of the Digger tribes were gathered into a
reservation in Round Valley, Mendocino county, north of the Bay of
San Francisco, and were there taught a mild form of agricultural life,
and put under the care of Government agents, contractors, and soldiers,
with about the usual results. One agent, who was also a preacher, took
several hundred of them into the Christian Church. They seemed to
have mastered the leading facts of the gospel, and attained considerable
proficiency in the singing of hymns. Altogether, the result of this effort
at their conversion showed that they were human beings, and as such
could be made recipients of the truth and grace of God, who is the
Father of all the families of the earth. Their spiritual guide told me he
had to make one compromise with them--they would dance. Extremes
meet--the fashionable white Christians of our gay capitals and the
tawny Digger exhibit the same weakness for the fascinating exercise
that