USA > California > Siskiyou County > History of Siskiyou County, California > Part 31
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He dressed in a buckskin suit, complete even to the gloves, and wore his long yellow hair hanging down to his shoulders. Hiner Miller was the name he was known by, for the name of the Mexican ban- dit, Joaquin, was not adopted until his poetic effu- sions began to tickle the fancy of an admiring world. The Long-haired Oregonian, the un-poetic miners called him. They could not appreciate the beauties of a nature flexible enough to vibrate between poetry and bacon; they misunderstood the man whose soul soared in the clouds of imagery while his hand dextrously stirred a pot of beans. 'Tis our misfortune in this world to be misunderstood. On Sundays, when the affairs of the cuisine had been fully attended to, it was his custom to walk up to Deadwood, arrayed in his buckskin suit, gloves and all, and sit all day in the bar-room reading the papers. When the warning finger of the clock spoke eloquently to him of bacon, beans and plum- duff, he would hie him to his poetical retreat in the kitchen down by the creek.
One day Bill Hurst, arrayed in a capacious pair of gloves, seated himself before Miller and began to imi- tate the po t's manner of reading, much to the amusement of the crowd. The object of ridicule paid no attention to this maneuver, but when the time of day and beans associated themselves together in his mind, he went out, remarking, "I'll have to
kill some one in this town yet." After this incident some time, Miller was employed by this same Hurst to cook for him, and one day the time came for " grub," and the cook was gone. His soul had rebelled; he had stirred poetry and mush together as long as his sensitive nature would permit, and he had departed, Hurst's derrick-horse disappearing simultaneously, as it were. Disposing of this valu- able animal he appeared at the town of Millville, in Shasta county, where there was being held a politi- cal meeting. Helping himself to a horse belong- ing to John Bass, the fleeing poet sped into the mountains and once more took up his abode among the guileless natives of the beautiful McLeod. For a short time did he roam among the murmuring pines and linger beside the swiftly rushing stream, whis- pering words of love to the Dark Lily of the Brook or the Wild Rose of the Forest with not a cloud to dim his dream of happiness and love, and then came the awakening. One night the cruel officers of the law appeared at the door of his wigwam, tore him from the clinging embrace of the Wild Rose, and bore him away into captivity. See how he describes it in The Tale of the Tall Alcalde :-
They bore me bound for many a day Through fen and wild, by foaming flood, From my dear mountains far away, Where an adobe prison stood Beside a sultry, sullen town, With iron eyes and stony frown; And in a dark and narrow cell, So hot it almost took my breath, And seem'd but an outpost of hell, They thrust me-as if I had been A monster-in a monster's den.
He languished for some time in the Shasta jail. Let him describe it :-
I cried aloud, I courted death, I called unto a strip of >ky, The only thing beyond my cell That I could see; but no reply Came but the echo of my breith. I paced-how long I cannot tell --
My reason failed, I knew no more, And swooning fell upon the floor. Then months went on, till deep one night,
When long, thin bars of lunar light Lay shimmering along the floor, My senses came to me once more.
Finally he made his escape. How different the reality from the romantic description given in the poem. Listen :--
At last, one midnight, I was free ; * * * * * Short time for shouting or delay, --- The cock is shrill, the east is gray, Pursuit is made, I must away. * * **
* * I dash the iron in his side, Swift as the shooting stars I ride ; I turn, I see, to my dismay, A silent rider, red as they; 1 glance agaiu-it is my bride, My love, my life, rides at my side.
Such is the web of fancy. What is the reality ? A noted thief named Jack Marshall is responsible for the release of Miller and his mysterious flight from the jail. For a time thereafter he lived on the island in Scott valley with a band of notorious characters, among whom were Jack Marshall, Nels Scott, Dave English, and Frank Tompkins.
Time passed on. One day in 1859, a stranger ap- peared in one of the saloons of Deadwood and gave
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the usual whole-souled invitation of "Everybody come up and take something." The cordial invitation was not allowed to grow cold upon his lips before there was a general rush for the bar, and a clinking of glasses followed. John Hendricks was sitting there, and some one asked who the stranger could be. " Why, don't you know him ?" was the reply. " That's Hiner Miller." And so it was. The fugi-
tive poet, divested of his buckskin suit and his wav- ing yellow locks, had returned. When he heard his name spoken, the stranger raised his filled glass high in the air, and brought it down upon the counter with a blow that shivered it to atoms and made the glasses on the counter dance like mani- kins. " Yes," said he, " I'm Hiner Miller. Is there any one here wants anything of Hiner Miller ?" Laying his hand on his pistol, he slowly backed out of the room and was gone.
Let us see what the "Tall Alcalde" has to say about it :-
"'Tis he !" hissed the crafty advocate. He sprang to his feet, and hot with hate He reached his hands, and he called aloud,
""T'is the renegade of the red McCloud !" Then slow the Alcalde rose and spoke, And the lightning flashed from a cloud of hair,
"Hand me, touch me, him who dare! " And his heavy glass on the board of oak He smote with such savage and mighty stroke, It ground to dust in his bony hand, And heavy bottles did clink and tip As if an earthquake were in the land. He towered up, and in his ire Seemed taller than any church's spire. He gazed a moment- and then the while An icy cold and defiant smile Did curve his thin and his livid lip, He turned on his heel and strode through the hall Grand as a god, so grandly tall, And white and cold as a chisel'd stone. He passed him out the adobe door Into the night, and he passed alone, And never was known or heard of more.
There is a little discrepancy here, for he was heard of more. Bill Hurst procured a warrant from Justice Quivey and with Constable Bradley went to the cabin on the creek, whither Miller had gone to collect some money due him from his old employer, Willis Thompkins. This was at daylight. Miller saw them coming and ran up a hill back of the cabin, followed by Bradley and Hurst on horse- back. He fired several times at Hurst who was in the rear, and then, being closely pressed by Bradley fired upon and wounded him, then making his escape up the hill. Several persons trailed him for some distance and lost his track. That night C. H. Pyle, John Hendricks, Wesley Morse, Philip Pencil, and Bill Hurst went to an Indian rancheria a nutii- ber of miles d stant, surrounded it and made a search, without finding the fugitive, who had gone to the Warren place in the valley, where Tompkins paid him two hundred dollars, as they had agreed that day.
Miller then joined Walker's Nicaragua expedition, and filibustered with the "gray-eyed man of des- tiny " until the collapse of that scheme. He then seems to have made a reformation, for he returned to Oregon, read law, ran an express line in the Idaho mines, became a county judge in Oregon, and finally blossomed out as "Joaquin Miller, the long- haired poet of the Sierra," to live for a time the pet ol cultured Boston and staid and dignified London,
and then to fall ingloriously from his high pedestal into the rank and file of ordinary literary toilers, where he now remains.
No one expects a poet to tell the truth, even when he makes a pretense of doing so, and when Miller wrote a book entitled Unwritten History, or Life Among the Modocs, no one acquainted with the facts was disappointed in finding it a bundle of false- hood and misrepresentation. He claims to have built the "lost cabin," when people were hunting it while he was wearing short pants in Ohio. He claims to have married the daughter of a Modoc chief, when he never lived within a hundred miles of the Modocs. The claim was made, and the above title given to his book just to take advantage of the notoriety of the Modoes in order to find a sale for his book ; a piece of unjustifiable literary charlatan- ism. He lived with a McLeod River squaw, who still gains a precarious livelihood in the cabin of another " squaw-man," who seems to have stuck to it longer than the poet. A few years ago he took his half-breed daughter from the mountain wilds to San Francisco to be educated, an act for which he deserves great credit, contrasted, as it is, with the course pursued by many prominent inen, some of military fame, who have families of uncared-for children in the mountains. In this respect, Miller stands head and shoulders above them. In general it may be said of the above book, that he has taken all the leading events of Northern California, most of which happened long before he appeared there, made himself the central figure, distorted the facts, and given them to the world as a truthful account of the dealings of the white men with the Indians.
In regard to the above account of Miller's early career, every statement can be substantiated by twenty reliable citizens, and the old indictment for stealing Bass' horse is still on file in the court-house at Shasta. Due credit must be given him for rising from the low position to which he had fallen. His perseverance and study, aided by an inordinate vanity and desire to be a lion in the eyes of the people, ma le him succeed where thousands have failed. Would that the same vanity could be infused into the souls of many who still bask in the smiles of, and beat with a club, some Dark Rose or Mountain Blossom.
CHAPTER XVIII.
INDIAN DIFFICULTIES.
THE history of In lian difficulties in Siskiyou county will be confined to the Shasta, Klamath River and Mo loc tribes, the wars with the Pit River and Rogue River tribes being carried on beyond the limits of the county, although participated in by many of the citizens of this region.
The Shasta tribe occupiel Shasta and Scott valleys as well as Klamath river adjacent to them. They were closely related to the Rogue River tribe, and until a few years before the settlement of this region were a portion of the same tribe, but had become separated into factions by the death of the head chief. The tribe was broken up into distinct. bands, each having its chief. That in Scott valley
DIVAN ULECK=S.F.
Robot Nixon
ROBERT NIXON, JR.
The parents of Robert Nixon, Jr., were married in the Wesleyan Methodist church, at Castlebar, County Mayo, Ireland, in November, 1829, and soon after emigrated to Canada, living at Quebec, from whence they went to New York, and finally located at Albany. The subject of this sketch was born December 14, 1830. His father was a printer by trade, but filled the position of detective and policeman in Albany and San Francisco for about forty years. He was also the pioneer railroad conductor of the United States, having acted in that capacity on the Albany and Schenectady road when first established. Robert Nixon, Jr., came to California with his father in 1852, landing at San Francisco in May, having traveled on the first train leaving Aspinwall on the Isthmus railroad. He went to Tuolumne county and commenced mining, but after a long and severe illness he returned to San Francisco. He was employed three months as prison guard at San Quentin, his father being captain of the guard. Being fully recovered from his illness he went to Marysville and worked on the California Express, and afterwards on the Herald, until 1854, being one of a joint-stock company that published the Herald for a time, with Gen. James Allen as editor, and O. P. Stidger as manager. He then returned to San Francisco and worked in various printing offices until October, 1855, when he came to Yreka. He worked in the Union office till
February, 1860, and then went to Jacksonville, Oregon, and worked on the Sentinel. In May, 1860, he returned to San Francisco, and became a partner with S. H. Wade in a job office, which was awarded the first premium for job work at the Mechanics' Fair in 1860. In this office Charles de Young published his first paper, the School Circle, having rented the material in connection with Augustus Henry. Mr. Nixon sold out in 1861, and came back to Yreka, where he bought the Journal of W. I. Mayfield, and published the first Republican paper north of Marysville, and the fifth or sixth in the State. He has stood manfully at his post during all the struggles, defeats and triumphs of the Repub- lican party. November 17, 1864, he married Miss Gertrude A. Spencer, a native of Chicago, born May 14, 1845. They have been blessed with seven children, five of whom are still spared to them: Lizzie, Robert J., Gertrude A., Henry G., and Julia May. The names of the departed ones were William and Mary. Mr. Nixon has published the Journal since July, 1861, commencing to issue semi-weekly in June, 1880. He has taken an active part in all public movements, and belongs to the fire depart- ment, of which he served two terms as chief engineer. He was for a number of years district deputy of the Independent Order of Odd Fellows, and is a member of the Ancient Order of United Workmen, and the Turn-Verein. He is a vestry- man of St. Lawrence Episcopal church.
RESIDENCE OF ROBERT NIXON, YREKA, CAL.
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HISTORY OF SISKIYOU COUNTY, CALIFORNIA.
was ruled by Tyee John, son of the old head chief; at Yreka, Old Tolo, always a firm friend of the whites; in Shasta valley, Tyee Jim; on the Klamath, Tyee Bill; on Siskiyou mountain, Tipsu Tyee (the hairy chief); in Rogue River valley, Tyees Sam and Bill. It must be remembered that the true name of these Indians was seldom known to the whites, who called them Sam, John, or Bill, or named them in accordance with some physical peculiarity or some occurrence, as Old Smoothy, Scar-face, Rising Sun, Greasy Boots, etc.
Suffering less by hostilities with the whites than the Modoes, the Shastas have melted away before the advance of the Caucasian race like snow before the warin rays of the sun. Whisky, disease, and the appropriation of their squaws by the whites have almost annihilated them, and to-day all that is left of the once powerful Shasta tribe is a handful that will soon disappear. Even the original name of their tribe is unknown by them. Powers calls them the Shastika, and thinks that the origin of the word Shasta, but we have already shown that Shasta is a corruption of the Russian word Tehastl, so that Mr. Powers is evidently mistaken.
The Modoc, or as properly pronounced, Mo-a-dok, occupied the country along Butte creek, Hot creek, south and east of Klamath lake, and in and about Lost river and Tule lake, which latter place was their great headquarters. This name is said by E. Steele to be a term applied to them by the Shastas, and to mean "hostile " or "enemies," while others say it was derived from Mó-dok-us, a chief under whom they seceded from the Muk-a-luk, or Klam- ath Lake tribe and became a separate and indepen- dent tribe. The latter derivation is favored by Powers.
The Indians known by the general term of Klam- ath River Indians are those that ocenpy the river between the Shastas and the sea. Although several dialects are spoken along the river, they are divided by Powers into two tribes, the Ka rok and Yu-rok, meaning " Up the river " and "Down the river." The former occupied the stream from below Waitspek to Salmon river and up that stream, while the latter extended from them to the ocean. A portion only of the Ka-rok tribe belonged in that portion of Klamath county now annexed to Siskiyou, those on Salmon river, and hostilities that occurred with them will not be treated of. The Klamath River Indians were the finest specimens of physical man- hood to be found among the natives of California, powerful and fierce, and gave the whites trouble from the time they first placed foot on their hunt- ing-grounds.
Indian difficulties will be treated of in the order of their occurrence, and facts and causes related with as close an adherence to the truth as is possible when information is drawn solely from the testi- mony of the whites. It will be seen, however, that even then the record is by no means creditable to our boasted civilization, and could a history be written from the Indian's stand-point (not such a col- lection of exaggeration and untruth as composes Joaquin Miller's Unwritten History), it would be less ereditable still.
As early as 1835, the Rogue River Indians had trouble with the trappers, but the first blood that
marked the intercourse of the two races in this county, was wantonly shed by Turner and Gay, two Americans, who shot a Shasta Indian near Klamath river, on the fourteenth of September, 1837, as has been related in Chapter VII. The same chapter relates the attack by the Modocs on Fremont's camp on Hot creek, May 9, 1846, and the swift retribution that followed; also the killing of an emigrant the same year by that blood-thirsty tribe; also the story of the killing of a party of whites on the McLeod river, and a fight with Shastas in 1849.
FIGHT WITH SHASTAS IN IS50.
It was in July of 1850, that a party of forty men, of which J. M. C. Jones and El. Bean were members, left the forks of the Salmon and started on the first exploring expedition up the Klamath. The party of Rufus Johnson had, a few weeks before, gone up as far as Happy Camp, become involved in difficulty with the Klamath Indians, lost all their animals, and returned to Salmon river. When the new company reached that point, they found the Indians inclined to be hostile. At one time a long line of warriors was drawn up, with bows in their hands, about one hundred yards from the trail, along which the whites marched in silence, apparently taking no notice of the savages, but hold- ing their weapons ready for instant use. No trouble occurred, and they passed on unmolested, their num- bers probably inspiring the Indians with a degree of respect.
Their Klamath guide left them near Sciad, having reached the boundaries of the territory dominated by the Shastas, and one of the latter tribe soon came into camp and was secured in his stead. In all their intercourse with the savages they made use of the Chinook jargon, but imperfectly understood by both parties. One night they camped on Horse creek, and in the morning two of the men started on a hunting expedition, intending to rejoin their companions at the noon encampment. Noon came, and with it one of the men to the new camp near Oak Bar. He stated that in following a deer he hal become separated from his companion. The company resumed its journey, and that night reached Beaver creek and stopped for the night. The missing man still failed to put in an appearance, and grave fears for his safety began to possess the minds of all. A squaw came down to the opposite side of the stream, and began yelling to the Indian guide, who replied in an exciting tone. He kept on talking and breking slowly towards the edge of the camp, and then suddenly sprang into the brush and was gone. The men were now convinced that the absent hunter was dead, and that the squaw had imparted the intelligence to the fugitive guide. The missing man was Peter Gerwiek, from near Toledo, Ohio, whose fate was probably never known by his relatives.
Early in the morning the animals were turned out to graze, and Jones, who was lying down and watch- ing them climb the side of a hill that led to a grassy table-land, observed a peculiar action on the part of a fine, large mule that led him to spring up with the exclamation, "Boys, there are either deer or Indians up there." Grasping their guns, he and one other rushed up the hill, and saw fifteen or
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HISTORY OF SISKIYOU COUNTY, CALIFORNIA.
twenty Indians driving off the animals. They instantly fired upon them, and the whole camp came charging up the hill, and the Indians fled without their expected spoil. One mule was shot dead with an arrow, and him the men left, taking the other animals back to camp. After breakfast they visited the unfortunate mule, and found that the Indians had secured a fine steak from his carcass.
A party of nine then set out in search of Gerwick, led by his hunting companion of the previous day. They found his trail and followed down the creek opposite Oak Bar, nearly to the river, when it sud- denly disappeared. This was the last trace ever found of him, save that a negro in the party the next year at Scott Bar, claimed to have recognized the missing man's pipe in the possession of a Shasta Indian. They returned to camp late that night. They could hear Indians in the mountains, and arranged an ambuscade for them in the morning. Several red shirts were hung on the bushes, five men concealed themselves in a neighboring thicket, and the balance of the company took up the line of march. They had gone but a short distance, when a dozen Indians appeared in camp, and began to appropriate the garments, chuckling over their good fortune. Their pleasure was but brief, for a volley from the thicket sent them on the keen run for the river, into which they all plunged. How much damage was done the men could not tell, but two of the fleeing savages seemed to sink beneath the water, and it was supposed they had received their death- wound. That night the camp was made on the north bank of the Klamath, a mile above the mouth of Shasta river.
The next day, Jones, Bean and three others made a rude log raft, on which to place guns, clothing and tools, and swam the river, bound on a prospecting tour up Shasta river. Having gone some distance up the stream and the day being nearly gone, they struck across the ridge in the direction of camp, finally going down a gully that led into the Klamath nearly opposite the camp. A short distance ahead they descried a little column of smoke, curling upward among the trees. Crawling cautiously up, they discovered fifteen or twenty Indians seated in an open space, around a fire, cooking their supper. A volley was poured into them and they fled, most of them going up the hill, while three took refuge in a thicket a distance down the gully. When they advanced into the camp, the attacking party dis- covered that the cooking supper, whose savory smell had saluted their nostrils, was composed of juicy steaks, cut from the mule shot two days before. Among the abandoned trinkets in the camp, was a German cap, relic, probably, of some unfortunate man, which Enoch Belange seized upon and thrust into his bosom.
Satisfied that if they desired to get back to camp alive they must clear the Indians out of the thicket and impress them all with the idea that the whole camp was after them, they laid their plans accord- ingly. Bean, Belange, and one other made a detour and stationed themselves at the lower end of the thicket, while Jones and the fifth man, a Swede, entered the upper end to drive out the foe. They advanced through the brush, yelling and crashing, endeavoring to make enough noise for the dozen men
they were trying to represent. The three frightened Indians ran out of the thicket in front of the ambushed men, when bang, bang, bang went the guns and two of them were stretched upon the ground. The third went wing and wing down the gully, fol- lowed by Ed. Bean, the unsuccessful marksman, whose bullet had broken his intended victim's bow.
As soon as Jones emerged from the thicket and saw the condition of affairs, he started over the hill, to head off the fugitive when he should reach the river and turn down the stream. On flew the sav- age, soon distancing Bean, until he came to the river. Turning to the left, he continued his flight down the margin of the stream, running the gaunt- let of half a hundred shots from the camp on the opposite bank, whose inmates had been aroused and put on the alert by the firing. These shots served but to accelerate his speed, and he fairly flew over the ground, until he saw something that caused him to stop so quickly that he nearly fell down. This was no less than Jones, standing about twenty yards in front of him, and taking deliberate aim with his rifle. The savage paused, his head and shoulders appearing above a large rock, drew a formidable looking knife, and faced his new enemy. A careful aim, a shot, and he lay dead with a bullet through his chin and neck, the men on the opposite bank cheering and shouting "Good, good, hurrah for the boy!" for Jones was then but nineteen years old.
While this was transpiring on the river bank, another scene was being enacted in the gully. Bel- ange advanced upon the Indian he had shot, who lay upon the ground with a mortal wound. Fit- ting an arrow to his how he waited for his slayer to approach, and with a last effort of his fast failing strength, buried the arrow deep in his enemy's side. Belange fell to the ground, the others gathered around him, pulled ont the arrow and made him as comfortable as possible. An old Indian canoe, made by burning out the heart of a tree, once a good vessel but now in a very dilapidated condition, was fortunately discovered, and in this the wounded man was ferried back to camp, the others swim- ming and pushing the boat. All were satisfied that he had received a mortal wound, and one of the men, the only church member in the party, went to his tent and prayed with the sufferer. He was from Plymouth, Indiana, and had left a little daughter behind him, for whom he now grieved, lamenting his untimely end at the hands of a sav- age in the wilderness. The wound was a long, ugly-looking gash in the side, and it was supposed that the head of the arrow was still buried in it, but a visit to the battle ground by Jones and Bean the next morning resulted in the finding of the arrow with the bloody head still upon it. The . intelligence worked like magic upon the fast sink- ing man, and he began to amend rapidly. It was then discovered that his life had been saved by the cap he had thrust into his bosom at the Indian camp-fire, and which, alone, had prevented the arrow from going, possibly, clear through him.
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