Pittsburg dispatch. [volume] (Pittsburg [Pa.]) 1880-1923, 1889-06-02
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To translate this may be tedious, but it is
absolutely necessary. In the first place
then the arrow is my name. The five dots
to the left are merely complimentary adjec-
tiYes, as if to say: "My five times brave
and upright and five times faithful brother -
You see these Indians never count more
than five. If they wish to say "six" they
Simply say GIVE and one," and so on.
Twenty-Five is told by saying five times
i've. The arrow was given me as the sign
of my name because had once been danger
Ously shot in the face with an arrow. The
moon, dry and cold, and just SO many days
old, is the date of the letter. And now here
is all the news; and most important it was,
as YOU Will see. The sign of the Modoc is
the reed, or rather the tule; long slim line
represents the tule. This shows the early
history of the Modoc on his Floating ISL
ands" among the reeds and tules Of the
lakes. The awkward figure looking like
a demoralized hour-glass represents the Pitt
bv time round from an immemorial Gus
tom of defending themselves against inVa-
sion by keeping a continual girdle of blind
pits drawn around the edge of their vast
and fertile valley. As these blind pits had
sharpened elk and deer antlers at the bot
tom, to say nothing of deadly pointed spears
set point upward, you may well understand
that they were terrible enough to give a
name to any people. And do you see here
the tule or reed, although badly broken, is
thrust downward entirely through the pit?
You can easily read that the battle was a
bloody one, and that many Modocs were
killed as well as many more of their ene-
mics.
And what does the awkward and helpless
and overturned heart mean? And what is
the round and hopeless little circle for?
Ah mel fl were only permitted to write of
thatl II had only contracted to write of
love, and not entirely of war in this story,
then 1 could tell all. But surely may be
indulged to explain this tender little post
script to this thoughtful and loving letter.
Briefly, then, the year before some half hos
tile and wholly wild Indians had visited nv
camp with a white girl, whom they pro-
posed 20 sell for two horses. The girl could
not talk TO me, or understand word. She
had been captive since a baby. And as
she did not want to come to me, and as 1
would have surely been misunderstood, I
did not buy her, but waited, hoping some
white Snen might come my way and help me
with their presence and advice. And that
was all; had never seen her ANYMORE. But
I had kept up constant inquiry for her, and
had sent word to Lieutenant Cook, now
General Cook, and famous in many wars,
VINO was then In charge OF the nearest MILL
tary post, of the fact about this poor white
girl prisoner. OF course when the massacre
took place the first question in my mind
was as to the fate of the white girl who was
a prisoner among that nomadic band'of
savages.
Did forget to say that she was beauti-
full? Beautiful she was as any dream of
beauty. She was sad and silent, piteousIv
sad. She has stood pulling at the tasseled
tops of some tall grass at the side OF the
trail as the Indians sat on their ponies
bartering. That was all she did, and said