shrugged at the inevitability -- and insignificance -- of that one.
“It has to be addressed. As does the trafficking in women.”
He knew Knapp would wonder what was expected of men so far outside the reach of civilization.
“Even the officers are at it: They pick up Indian women, do what they will with them, then drop them. After that, even their husbands won’t touch them. I won’t have it. I won’t have an agent that stomachs it.”
Knapp could disregard him. Meacham might lay down the law to his agent, but he couldn’t enforce it. It would take an action by the military to do any firing, and that was unlikely. He would have to insist as far as he could that Knapp accept his ideas, but he wasn’t sure any of his army superiors would back him up. No wonder at Knapp’s arch attitude.
“Then there’s the question of what the military is responsible for and what it’s not. You and I both know Washington is a wrestling mat on that one. The Secretary of War says the army should run these places. The Secretary of the Interior says otherwise. It can’t be solved at this level, I know that. But it has to be worked out that we can at least rely on the army’s help. The settlers think the post is there to enforce the settlers’ will on the Indians. The officers think the military will is what counts.” Here, he knew, he drew close to something Knapp might finally find interesting. “I believe you number yourself among those who think that the military should be running these places. Isn’t that the case?”
Knapp tipped his chair upright and viewed Meacham down the length of his aquiline nose. “It is,” he said. “For good reason. The military’s clear when it deals with the Indians. It is, under the proper conditions, willing to feed the Indians rather than fight them; not so the settlers. They’re willing to round them up and slaughter them or ship them off, no questions asked. And I also find good sense lacking on the reservations. For our part, we treat the residents like children instead of grown-ups.”
“Not here, I hope,” Meacham said. “That is not what I will ask of you.”
“Good,” Knapp said, “because that only confuses them. They should know what they can expect from us at all times, the same way any foot-soldier does in the army: firm, swift judgment whenever they do wrong; tolerance only when they allow themselves to be regulated. We shouldn’t disappoint them.”
Meacham felt relieved that the dam of silence seemed finally to have broken. He said, “That should be the order of importance, I suppose: punishment first, tolerance later? And you would use the troops to bring them in.”
“I would use the troops to bring them in,” Knapp repeated. “Good way to ‘civilize’ them.”
“That would be a mistake, my friend, even though the weight of opinion is with you. You’re in prestigious company. Some big people say the same thing. But I’ll put it to you squarely: How is this? In this matter, the army’s not the answer. The Bible and the plough are the only civilizers of the human family.”
There was no point in waiting for Knapp to respond; the line was drawn between them.
“Just so you are clear about it, let me say that so long as I’m superintendent it will be the position here that the military should first of all not represent a problem where reservation behavior is concerned. I don’t want our Indians learning deportment outside the saloon from some drunken soldier passing out whisky. It will secondly be our position that the military should assist us -- they assist us -- in persuading, not forcing, the Indians to come in. When they get here, they will be treated with whatever Christian charity dictates. Use of force would only be a matter of last resort.”
There was no response from Knapp, nor did Meacham expect one.
“By the way, this place looks pretty impressive,” Meacham said, trying to ease up some on his man. “I would put it up there with Umatilla Agency. Those Indians have crossed the great divide already and are leading useful lives.”
“Yes. Lindsay Applegate made this all look pretty ship-shape, didn’t he? Sort of a welcoming gesture to the new order, I would guess. Something along those lines. Meant to make a good impression, I imagine, though I’m not sure when it got this way. Rather recently, I believe, if I can trust the smell of fresh paint. And you wouldn’t want to look inside the barns, not if it was tools you were after -- or animals for doing the farming.”
Knapp tossed the notebook onto the table and rose to look out at the agency for himself. “While we’re on that subject,” he said, “what do you think I should do with regard to the rest of them?”
“‘Them’? Oh, you mean the Applegates?” Meacham replied. “Keep them! You could do worse. With Ivan as commissary and Oliver and…. What’s the other one?”
“Lucien.”
“… and Lucien teaching and generally helping out, with farming and such things. They know the Indians. The Applegates have their flaws -- not the least of which is their belief that they own the place. But you’ll overcome that in time. They at least seem to be able to keep their personal affairs separate from the Indians’. That’s something of an accomplishment in itself at an agency.”
Knapp’s question put Meacham in mind of the agents he had found in his travels. They had made their own personal efforts to bring the blessings of civilization to the tribes -- by doing their utmost to help them increase and multiply. He didn’t bother to mention that; Knapp’s more immediate problems, so far as he could tell, lay in another direction, and at least the Applegates he knew of stayed off the bottle. That much he could rely on: Oliver had even shown up at Salem temperance meetings. Considering Knapp’s evident proclivities, more than ever it seemed important to keep the Applegates, one way or another.
“So,” Meacham said. “As for a cleaning up of the reservation that amounts to more than a coat of paint and some raked-up leaves, there’s a lot to be done. I couldn’t help thinking about it as I watched the Snake women. They haven’t been corrupted. White men haven’t gotten to them yet. But they will, soon. Same way they have gotten to other Indians -- here, and with our friends the Modocs, I understand. We must pull together on this, Knapp. I will expect you to second me. This place is better than many I’ve seen in the state, but still it must be cleaned up.
“I refuse to lure the Indians in here only to have them corrupted. The squaw-men must go, leave the reservation or else marry their women. The gambling must stop -- with the soldiers, but even among the Indians themselves. It’s not just horses and beads that get bet. Their wagering amounts to trafficking in women. Besides, even if that weren’t so, the games defeat thrift. And the shamans. They may be the worst influence of all.”
Knapp turned to face Meacham squarely: “You’re not too ambitious, are you, Superintendent?” he asked. “Do you mind if I just watch this dismantling from a distance? There is a far better chance that I and the army could keep them sealed up here for eternity than there is that you could kick out the whites who have bought themselves these women. Or stop those games. Or take down the shamans ….”
“… who dish out mumbo-jumbo and drown the Indians in superstition.”
“… and drown the Indians in superstition. So what? You aren’t going to stop them.”
“I am, Knapp. And you are going to help me.”
“Don’t count on that, Meacham. I’m no missionary. I’m willing to round them up. Tie
