CAPTAIN JACK A DIPLOMAT—SHOOT ME IF YOU DARE.
On the following day the council tent was erected in a comparatively smooth plot of land, in the Lava Beds, care being taken to select a site as far as possible from rocks that might answer for an ambuscade.
This place was less than one mile from our camp, and a little more than a mile from the Modocs. Meanwhile the signal corps had established communication between the two army camps. The signal station at our camp was half way up the bluff, and commanded a view of the council tent, and of the trail leading to it from the Modoc stronghold, as it did of the entire Lava Beds.
Col. Mason’s command being on the opposite side of Captain Jack’s head-quarters, from our camp, the three were almost in a line. Communication was also established between the army camps, with boats going from one to the other, and, in doing so, passing in full view of the Modocs.
The Modocs were permitted to visit the head-quarters during the day, and to mix and mingle with the officers and men. The object of this liberty was to convince them of the friendly intentions of the army, and also of its power, as they everywhere saw the arms and munitions of war. They were also permitted to examine the shell mortars and the shells themselves.
On one occasion Bogus Charley and Hooker Jim observed the signal telegraph working, and inquired the meaning of it. They were told by Gen. Gilliam that he was talking to the other camp; that he knew what was going on over there; they were also informed that Col. Mason would move up nearer to their camp in a few days, and that he, Gen. Gilliam, would move his camp on to the little flat very near Captain Jack’s. “But don’t you shoot my men. I won’t shoot your men, but I am going over there to see if everything is all right.” Gen. Gilliam also informed them that, “in a few days, one hundred Warm Spring braves would be there.”
These things excited the Modocs very much. Bogus Charley questioned General Gilliam, “What for you talk over my home? I no like that. What for the Warm Springs come here?” Receiving no satisfactory reply, they went to Fairchild, who was in camp, and expressed much dissatisfaction on account of the signal telegraph, and the coming of the Warm Spring Indians.
On the 5th of April Captain Jack sent Boston Charley, with a request for old man Meacham to meet him at the council tent, and to bring John Fairchild along. This message was laid before the board. It was thought, both by Gen. Canby and Dr. Thomas, to be fraught with danger. I did not, and I assumed the responsibility of going this time; inviting Mr. Fairchild, and taking Riddle and his wife as interpreters, I went.
Portrait.Wi-ne-mah (Tobey).
Judge Roseborough arrived in camp, and came on after we had reached the council tent.
Captain Jack was on the ground, accompanied byhis wives and seven or eight men. On this occasion he talked freely, saying, substantially, that he felt afraid of Gen. Canby, on account of his military dress; and, also, of Dr. Thomas, because he was a Sunday doctor; but “now I can talk. I am not afraid. I know you and Fairchild. I know your hearts.” He reviewed the circumstances that led to the war, nearly in the order they have been referred to in this volume, and differing in no material point, except that he blamed Superintendent Odeneal for not coming in person to see him while on Lost river, saying, “that he would not have resisted him. Take away the soldier, and the war will stop. Give me a home on Lost river. I can take care of my people. I do not ask anybody to help me. We can make a living for ourselves. Let us have the same chance that other men have. We do not want to ask an agent where we can go. We aremen; we are not women.”
I replied, that, “since blood has been spilled on Lost river, you cannot live there in peace; the blood would always come up between you and the white men. The army cannot be withdrawn until all the troubles are settled.”
After sitting in silence a few moments, he replied, “I hear your words. I give up my home on Lost river. Give me this lava bed for a home. I can live here; take away your soldiers, and we can settle everything. Nobody will ever want these rocks; give me a home here.”
Assured that no peace could be had while he remained in the rocks, unless he gave up the men who committed the murders on Lost river for trial, hemet me with real Indian logic: “Who will try them,—white men or Indians?”
“White men, of course,” I replied, although I knew that this man had an inherent idea of the right of trial by a jury of his peers, and that he would come back with another question not easy to be answered by a citizenwho believed in equal justice to all men.
“Then will you give up the men who killed the Indian women and children on Lost river, to be tried by the Modocs?”
I said, “No, because the Modoc law is dead; the white man’s law rules the country now; only one law lives at a time.”
He had not yet exhausted all his mental resources. Hear him say: “Will you try the men who fired on my people, on the east side of Lost river, by your own law?”
This inquiry was worthy of a direct answer, and it would seem that no honest man need hesitate to say “Yes.”I did notsay yes, because I knew that the prejudice was so strong against the Modocs that it could not be done. I could only repeat that “the white man’s law rules the country,—the Indian law is dead.”
“Oh, yes, I see; the white man’s laws are good for the white man, but they are made so as to leave the Indian out. No, my friend, I cannot give up the young men to be hung. I know they did wrong,—their blood was bad when they saw the women and children dead.Theydid not begin; the white man began first; I know they are bad; I can’t help that; I have no strong laws, and strong houses; some of your young men are bad, too;youhave strong laws and strong houses (jails); why don’t you make yourmen do right? No, I cannot give up my young men; take away the soldiers, and all the trouble will stop.”
I repeated again: “The soldiers cannot be taken away while you stay in the Lava Beds.” Laying his hand on my arm, he said, “Tell me, my friend, what I am to do,—I do not want to fight.” I said to him, “The only way now for peace is to come out of the rocks, and we will hunt up a new home for you; then all this trouble will cease. No peace can be made while you stay in the Lava Beds; we can find you another place, and the President will give you each a home.” He replied, “I don’t know any other country. God gave me this country; he put my people here first. I was born here,—my father was born here; I want to live here; I do not want to leave the ground where I was born.”
On being again assured that he “must come out of the rocks and leave the country, acknowledge the authority of the Government, and then we could live in peace,” his reply was characteristic of the man and his race:—
“You ask me to come out, and put myself in your power. I cannot do it,—I am afraid; no, I am not afraid, but my people are. When you was at Fairchild’s ranch you sent me word that no more preparation for war would be made by you, and that I must not go on preparing for war until this thing was settled. I have done nothing; I have seen your men passing through the country; I could have killed them; I did not; my men have stayed in the rocks all the time; they have not killed anybody; they have not killed any cattle. I have kept my promise,—have you kept yours? Your soldiers stole my horses, youdid not give them up; you say ‘you want peace,’ why do you come with so many soldiers to make peace? I see your men coming every day with big guns; doesthatlook like making peace?”
Then, rising to his feet, he pointed to the farther shore of the lake: “Do you see that dark spot there?do you see it?Forty-six of my people met Ben Wright there when I was a little boy. He told them he wanted to make peace. It was a rainy day; my people wore moccasins then; their feet were wet.He smoked the pipe with them.They believed him; they set down to dry their feet; they unstrung their bows, and laid them down by their sides; when, suddenly, Ben Wright drawing a pistol with each hand, began shooting my people. Do you know how many escaped?Do you know?” With his eye fixed fiercely on mine, he waited a minute, and then, raising one hand, with his fingers extended, he answered silently. Continuing, he said: “One man of the five—Te-he-Jack—is now in that camp there,” pointing to the stronghold.
I pointed to “Bloody Point,” andasked him how many escaped there? He answered: “Your people and mine were at war then; they were not making peace.”
On my asserting that “Ben Wright did wrong to kill people under a flag of truce,” he said: “Yousay it is wrong; but yourGovernmentdid not say it was wrong. It made him a tyee chief. Big Chief made him an Indian agent.”
This half-savage had truth on his side, as far as the Government was concerned; as to the treachery of Ben Wright, that has been emphatically denied, andjust as positively affirmed, by parties who were cognizant of the affair. It is certain that the Modocs have always claimed that he violated a flag of truce, and that they have never complained of any losses of men in any other way. I have no doubt that this massacre had been referred to often in the Modoc councils by the “Curly-haired Doctor” and his gang of cut-throats, for the purpose of preventing peace-making.
Captain Jack, rising to full stature, broke out in an impassioned speech, that I had not thought him competent to make:—
“I am but one man. I am the voice of my people. Whatever their hearts are, that I talk. I want no more war. I want to be a man. You deny me the right of a white man. My skin is red; my heart is a white man’s heart; but I am aModoc. I am not afraid to die. I will not fall on the rocks. When I die, my enemies will be under me. Your soldiers begun on me when I was asleep on Lost river. They drove us to these rocks, like a wounded deer. Tell your soldier tyee I am over there now; tell him not to hunt for me on Lost river or Shasta Butte. Tell him Iam over there. I want him to take his soldiers away. I do not want to fight. I am a Modoc. I am not afraid to die. I can show him how a Modoc can die.”
I advised him to think well; that our Government was strong, and would not go back; if he would not come out of the rocks the war would go on, and all his people would be destroyed.
Before parting, I proposed for him to go to camp with me, and have dinner and another talk. He said“he was not afraid to go, but his people were afraid for him. He could not go.”
This talk lasted nearly seven hours, and was the only full, free talk had with the Modocs during the existence of the Peace Commission.
I left that council having more respect for the Modoc chief than I had ever felt before. No arrangement was made for subsequent meetings, he going to his camp, to counsel with his people. We returned to ours, to report to the Board of Commissioners the talk, from the notes taken. Judge Roseborough, who had been present a portion of the time, and Mr. Fairchild, agreed with me that Captain Jack himself wanted peace, and was willing to accept the terms offered; but he, being in the hands of bad men, might not be able to bring his people out of the rocks.
Gen. Canby, Dr. Thomas, and Mr. Dyer were of the opinion that, inasmuch as Captain Jack had abandoned his claim to Lost river, which he had always insisted on previously, he might consent to a removal. We did not believe that his people would permit him to make such terms. We were all more anxious than before to save Captain Jack and those who were in favor of peace. Accordingly, it was determined to make the effort, Gen. Canby authorizing me to say, through a messenger, that, if Captain Jack and the peace party would come out, he would place the troops in position to protect him while making the attempt.
Tobey Riddle was despatched to the Modoc camp with the message, fully instructed what to say. On her arrival, Captain Jack refused aprivateconference, saying, “I want my people all to hear.” Theproposition was made, the vote was taken, and but eleven men voted with Jack to accept the terms, the majority giving warning that any attempt to escape would be attended with chances of death to all who dared it. Captain Jack replied to the message: “I am aModoc, and I cannot, and will not, leave my people.” The reason was evident—hedarednot, knowing that his own life and that of his family would pay the penalty.
This vote in Tobey’s presence gave a knowledge as to the number of peace men in the Modoc camp. On her return to our camp, one of the peace men (the wild girl’s man), having secreted himself behind a rock near the trail, as she passed, said to her: “Tell old man Meacham and all the men not to come to the council tent again—they get killed.” Tobey could not stop to hear more, lest she should betray her friend who was giving her the information. She arrived at the Peace Commission tent in camp in great distress; her eyes were swollen, and gave evidence of weeping. She sat on her horse in solemn, sullen silence for some minutes, refusing to speak until her husband arrived. He beckoned me to him, and, with whitened lips, told the story of the intended assassination. The board was assembled, and the warning thus given us was repeated by Riddle, also the reply of Captain Jack to our message. A discussion was had over the warning, Gen. Canby saying that they “might talk such things, but they would not attempt it.” Dr. Thomas was inclined to believe that it was a sensational story, got up for effect. Mr. Dyer and myself accepted the warning, accrediting the authority.
On the day following, a delegation composed of “Bogus,” “Boston,” and “Shacknasty,” arrived, and proposed a meeting at the council tent; saying that Captain Jack and four other Indians were there waiting for us to meet them. I was managing the talks and negotiations for councils, and without evincing distrust of Boston, who was spokesman, said we were not ready to talk that day. While the parley was going on, an orderly handed Gen. Canby a despatch from the signal station, saying, “Five Indians at the council tent, apparently unarmed, and about twenty others, with rifles, are in the rocks a few rods behind them.” This paper was passed from one to another without comment, while the talk with Boston was being concluded. We were all convinced that treachery was intended on that day.
Before the Modocs left our camp, Dr. Thomas unwisely said to Bogus Charley, “What do you want to kill us for? We are your friends.” Bogus, in a very earnest manner, said, “Who told you that?” The doctor evaded. Bogus insisted; growing warmer each time; and finally, through fear, or perhaps he was too honest to evade longer, the doctor replied, “Tobey told it.” Bogus signalled to Shacknasty and Boston, and the three worthies left our camp together; Bogus, however, having questioned Tobey as to the authorship of the warning, before leaving. Riddle and his wife were much alarmed now for their own personal safety. Up to this time they had felt secure. The trio of Modocs had not been gone very long, when a messenger came demanding of Tobey to visit the Modoc camp. She was alarmed, as was Riddle. They sought advice of the commission,—theythought there was great danger.I did not.
A consultation was had with General Canby, who proposed to move immediately against the Modocs were Tobey assaulted. With this assurance she consented to go. In proof of my faith in her return I loaned her my overcoat, and gave her my horse to ride. She parted with her little boy (ten years old) several times before she succeeded in mounting her horse,—clasping him to her breast, she would set him down and start, and then run to him and catch him up again,—each time seeming more affected,—until at last her courage was high enough, and, saying a few words in a low voice to her husband, she rode off on this perilous expedition to meet her own people. Riddle, too, was very uneasy about her safety; with a field-glass in hand he took a station commanding a view of the trail to the Modoc camp. This incident was one of thrilling interest. We could see that Indian woman when she arrived in the Modoc camp, and could see them gather around her. They demanded to know by what authority she had told the story about their intention to kill the commission. She denied that she had; but the denial was not received as against the statement of Bogus. She then claimed that she dreamed it; this was not accepted. The next dodge was, “The spirits told me.” Believers as they are inSpiritualism, they would not receive this statement, and began to make threats of violence; declaring that she should give the name of her informer, or suffer the consequences. Rising to a real heroism, she pointed with one hand, saying, “There are soldiers there,” and with theother, “There are soldiers there; you touch me and they will fire on you, and not a Modoc will escape.” Smiting her breast, she continued: “I am a Modoc woman; all my blood is Modoc; I did not dream it; the spirits did not tell me; one of your men told me. I won’t tell you who it was.Shoot me, if you dare!”
On her return she gave an account of this intensely thrilling scene as related, and it has been subsequently confirmed by other Modocs who were present. Captain Jack and Scar-face Charley interfered in her behalf, and sent an escort to see her safely to our camp. She repeated her warning against going to the peace tent.
WHO HAD BEEN THERE—WHO HAD NOT.
Let us change the scene, and transfer ourselves to the marquee of Gen. Gilliam. Gen. Canby is sitting on a camp-chair, and near him Col. Barnard. On the camp-bedstead sits Gen. Gilliam, and by his side Col. Mason; the chairman of the Peace Commission on a box almost between the parties. The talk is of Modocs, peace, treachery, Ben Wright, battle of 17th January, the stronghold. Gen. Gilliam remarks, addressing Gen. Canby: “Well, general, whenever you are through trying to make peace with those fellows, I think I can take them out of their stronghold with the loss ofhalf-a-dozen men.” Canby sat still, and said nothing. Gilliam continued: “Oh, we may have some casualties in wounded men, of course; but I can take them out whenever you give the order.” Silence followed for a few moments.
Gen. Canby, fixing his cigar in his mouth and his eye on Col. Mason, sat looking the question he did not wish to ask in words.
Col. Mason, seeming to understand the meaning of the look, said: “With due deference to the opinion of Gen. Gilliam, I think if we take them out with theloss of one-third of the entire command, it is doing as well as I expect.”
The portly form of Col. Barnard moved slowly forward and back, thereby saying, “I agree with you,Col. Mason.” Col. John Green came in, and, to an inquiry about how many men it would cost, he replied evasively, saying, “I don’t know; only we got licked on the 17th of January like ——. Beg your pardon, general.” Canby continued smoking his cigar, without fire in it. Here were four men giving opinions. One of them had fought rebels in Tennessee, and was a success there; the other three fought rebels also successfully, and Modocs in the Lava Bedsunsuccessfully. They knew whereof they were talking. The opinions of these men doubtless made a deep impression on the mind of the commanding general, and, knowing him as I did, I can well understand how anxious he was for peace when he had the judgment of soldiers likeGreen, Mason, and Barnard, that, if war followed, about one in three of the boys who idolized himmust die to accomplish peace through blood.
Move over one hundred yards to another marquee; the sounds betoken a discussion there also. Young, brave, ambitious officers are denouncing the Peace Commission, complaining that the army is subjected to disgrace by being held in abeyance by it.
Their words are bitter; and they mean it, too, because fighting is their business. Col. Green, coming in, says, in angry voice, “Stop that! the Peace Commission have a right here as much as we have. They are our friends. God grant them success. I have been inthe Lava Beds once. Don’t abuse the Peace Commission, gentlemen.” The fiery young officers respect the man who talks; they say no more.
Come down a little further. Oh, here is the PeaceCommission tent, and around a stove sits the majestic Dr. Thomas, grave, dignified, thoughtful. Mr. Dyer is there also, quiet and meditative, with his elbows on his knees, and his face is buried in his hands; Meacham occasionally recruiting the sage-brush embers in the stove with fresh supplies of fuel. A rap on the tent-pole. “Come in,” and a fine-looking, middle-aged officer enters. Once glance at his face, and we see plainly that he has come for agrowl.
After the compliments are passed, Col. Tom Wright—for it was he—begins by saying that he wanted to growl at some one, and he had selected our camp as the place most likely to furnish him with a victim. “All right, colonel, pitch in,” says Meacham.
The doctor just then remembered that he had a call to make on Gen. Canby. “Well,” says the gallant colonel, “why don’t you leave here, and give us a chance at those Modocs? We don’t want to lie here all spring and summer, and not have a chance at them. Now you know we don’t like this delay, and we can’t say a word to Gen. Canby about it. I think you ought to leave, and let us clean them out.”
I detailed the conversation had in Gen. Gilliam’s marquee, and also expressed some doubts on the subject.
“Pshaw!” says Col. Wright. “I will bet two thousand dollars that Lieut. Eagan’s company and mine can whip the Modocs infifteen minutesafter we get into position. Yes, I’ll put the money up,—I mean it.”
“Well, my dear colonel, you might just say to Gen. Canby that he can send off the other part of thearmy, about nine hundred men besides your company and Eagan’s. As to our leaving we have a right to be here, and we are under the control of Gen. Canby; and as to moving on the enemy, Gen. Canbyis not ready until the Warm Spring Indians arrive. I am of the opinion that no peace can be made, and that you will have an opportunity to try it on with the Modoc chief.” The colonel bade me “good-night,” saying that he felt better now, since he had his growl out.
It is morning, and our soldier-cook has deserted us, and deserted the army too. It seems to be now pretty well understood that no peace can be made with the Modocs, and several of the boys have deserted. Those who havemetthe Modocs have no desire to meet themagain. Those who have not, are demoralized by the reports that others gave; and since the common soldiers serve for pay, and have not much hope of promotion, they are not so warlike as the brave officers, who have their stars to win on the field of battle. Money won’t hire a cook, hence we must cook for ourselves. Well, all right; Dyer and I have done that kind of thing before this, and we can again.
While we are preparing breakfast a couple of soldiers come about the fire. “I say, capt’n, have you give it up tryin’ to make peace with them Injuns there?”
“Don’t know; why?” we reply.
“Well, ’cause why them boys as has been in there says as how it’s nearly litenin’; them Modocs don’t give a fellow any chance; we don’t want any Modoc, we don’t.”
“Sorry for you, boys; we are doing all we can to save you, but the pressure is too heavy; guess you’ll have to go in and bring them out.”
Squatting down before the fire, one of them, in a low voice, says, “Mr. Commissioner, us boys are all your fre’ns,—we are; wish them fellers that wants them Modocs whipped so bad would come down and do it theirselves; don’t you? Have you tried everything you can to make peace?”
“Yes, my good fellow, we have exhausted every honorable means, and we cannot succeed.”
“Bro. Meacham, where did you learn to make bread? Why, this is splendid. Bro. Dyer, did you make this coffee? It’s delicious.” So spoke our good doctor at breakfast.
“Good-morning, Mr. Meacham,” said Gen. Canby, after breakfast. “Who is cooking for your mess now?”
“Co-pi, ni-ka,—myself.”
“What does Mr. Dyer do?”
“He washes the dishes.”
“Ha, ha! What does the doctor do?”
“Why, he asks the blessing.”
The general laughed heartily, and as the doctor approached, said to him, “Doctor, you must not throw off on Bro. Dyer.”
Explanations were made, and these venerable, dignified men enjoyed that little joke more heartily than I had ever seen either of them, on any other occasion.
UNDER A WOMAN’S HAT—THE LAST APPEAL.
The commission had on all occasions expressed willingness to meet the Modocs on fair terms, saying to them, “Bring all your men, all armed, if you wish to; station them one hundred yards from the council tent. We will place a company of equal number within one hundred yards on the other side. Then you chiefs and head men can meet our commission at the council tent and talk.” To this and all other offers they objected. The commission and the general also were now convinced that no meeting could be had on fair terms. The authorities at Washington were again informed of this fact. Dr. Thomas was a man of great perseverance, and had great faith in the power of prayer. He spent hours alone in the rocks, near our camp, praying. He would often repeat: “One man with faith is stronger than an hundred with interest only.” Few men have ever lived so constantly in religious practice as did Dr. Thomas. The Modocs, having been foiled in their attempt to entrap the commission, sent for Riddle, saying they “wanted his advice.” Riddle went, under instructions, and talked with them. Nothing new was elicited. Riddle again warned the commission of the danger of meeting the Modocs unless fully armed for defence. He confirmed the opinion already expressed, thatCaptain Jack, was in favor of peace; but that he was in the hands ofbad men, who might compel him to do what was against his judgment. Gen. Canby, always acknowledged as having power to control the commission, nevertheless conceded to it the management of the councils. He never presided, and seldom gave an opinion, unless something was said in which he could not concur; butno action was had, ormessage sent, orother business ever done, without his advice and approval.
On the morning of April 10th I left head-quarters, to visit Boyle’s camp, at the southern end of the lake, leaving Dr. Thomas in charge of the affairs of the Peace Commission, little dreaming that action of so great importance would be had during my absence. After visiting Maj. Boyle’s, I returned by Col. Mason’s camp, and there learned, through the signal telegraph, that a delegation of Modocs was at the commission tent, proposing another meeting. I arrived at the head-quarters late in the evening, and then learned from Dr. Thomas that an agreement had been made to meet five unarmed Indians at the council tent on the following day at noon. I demurred to the arrangement, saying, “that it was unsafe.” The doctor was rejoicing that “God had done a wonderful work in the Modoc camp.” The Modoc messengers, to arrange for this unfortunate council, were not insensible to the fact of the doctor’s religious faith, and they represented to him that “they had changed their hearts; that God had put a new fire in them, and they were ashamed of their bad hearts. They now wanted to make peace. They were willing to surrender. They only wanted the commission toprove their faith in the Modocs by coming out to meet them unarmed.”
This hypocrisy caught the doctor. He believedthem; and, after a consultation with Gen. Canby, the compact was made. The doctor was shocked at my remark, that “God has not been in the Modoc camp this winter. If we go we will not return alive.” Such was my opinion, and I gave it unhesitatingly. The night, though a long one, wore away, and the morning ofGood Friday, April 11th, 1873, found our party at an early breakfast.
While we were yet at the morning meal Boston Charley came in. As the doctor arose from his breakfast this imp of the d——, from the Modoc camp, sat down in the very seat from which the doctor had arisen, and ate his breakfast from thesame plate, drank from thesame cup, the doctor had used.
While Boston was eating he observed me changing boots, putting on old ones. I shall not soon forget the curious twinkle of this demon’s eyes, when he said, “What for you take ’em off new boots? Why for you no wear ’em new boots?” he examined them carefully, inquired the price of them, and again said, “Meacham, why for you no wear ’em new boots?” The villain was anxious for me to wear a pair of twenty-dollar boots instead of my old worn-out ones. I understood what that fellow meant, and I did not give him an opportunity to wear my new boots.
From Indian testimony it is evident that in the Modoc camp an excited council had been held on the morning of the 11th. Captain Jack, Scar-face Charley, and a few others had opposed the assassination, Jack declaringthat it should not be done. Unfortunately, he was in the minority. The majority ruled, and to compel the chief to acquiesce, the murderous crew gathered around him, and, placing a woman’s hat uponhis head, and throwing a shawl over his shoulders, they pushed him down on the rocks, taunting him with cowardice, calling him “a woman, white-face squaw;” saying that his heart was changed; that he went back on his own words (referring to majority rule, which he had instituted); that he was no longer a Modoc, the white man had stolen his heart. Now, in view of the record this man had made as a military captain, his courage or ability can never be doubted, and yet he could not withstand this impeachment of his manhood. Dashing the hat and shawl aside, and springing to his feet, he shouted, “I am a Modoc. I am your chief. It shall be done if it costs every drop of blood in my heart. But hear me, all my people,—this day’s work will cost the life of every Modoc brave; we will not live to see it ended.”
When he had once assented he was bloodthirsty, and with coolness planned for the consummation of this terrible tragedy. He asserted his right to kill Gen. Canby, selecting Ellen’s man as his assistant.
Contention ensued among the braves as to who should be allowed to share in this intended massacre.
Meacham was next disposed of.
Schonchin, being next in rank to Captain Jack, won theprize; glad he did, for he was apoor shotwith a pistol. Hooker Jim was named as his second in thisex parteaffair; sorry for that, for he was a marksman, and had he kept the place assigned him, some one else would have written this narrative.
Dr. Thomas, the “Sunday Doctor,” was the next in order. There were several fellows ambitious for the honor, for so they esteemed it. Boston Charley and Bogus were successful. These two men had acceptedfrom the doctor’s hands, on the day preceding, each a suit of new clothes.
To Shacknasty Jim and Barncho was assigned the duty of despatching Mr. Dyer. Black Jim and Slo-lux were to assassinate Gen. Gilliam. When Riddle’s name was called up, Scar-face Charley, who had declared this “whole thing to be an outrageunworthyof the Modocs,” positively refused to take any part, arose and gave notice that he would defend Riddle and his wife, and that if either were killed he would avenge their death.
Thesepreliminariesbeing arranged, Barncho and Slo-lux were sent out before daylight, with seven or eight rifles, to secrete themselves near the council tent.
The manner of the assault was discussed, and the plan of shooting from ambush was urged but abandoned, because it would have prevented those who were to conduct the pretended council, from sharing in the honors to come from that bloody scene. The details completed, Captain Jack said to his sister Mary, and to Scar-face Charley, “It is all over. I feel ashamed of what I am doing. I did not think I would ever agree to do this thing.”
When this tragedy was planned, another was also agreed upon. Curly-haired Doctor and Curly Jack, and a Cumbatwas, were to decoy Col. Masonfrom his camp, and kill him also.
Bogus Charley had come into our camp the evening previous, and remained until the next morning. He was there to ascertain whether any steps were taken to prevent the consummation of the hellish design. Boston’s visit was for the same purpose. It is almostpast belief that these two men, who had received at the hands of Gen. Canby, Gen. Gilliam, and the Peace Commission, so many presents of clothing and supplies, could have planned and executed so treacherous a deed of blood. Bogus was the especial favorite of Generals Canby and Gilliam; indeed, they recognized him as an interpreter instead of Riddle and wife. He was better treated by them than any other of the Modoc messengers. It is asserted, most positively, thatBogus was the man who first proposed the assassination of Canby and the Peace Commissioners.
The morning wears away and the commissioner seems loath to start out. The Modoc messengers are urgent, and point to the council tent, saying, that “Captain Jack and four men waiting now.” Look at our signal station half way up the mountain side. The men with field-glasses are scanning the Lava Beds. Gen. Canby has given orders that a strict watch be kept on the council tent and the trail leading to it from the Modoc camp. The officers of the signal corps were there when the morning broke. They have been faithful to the orders to watch. The sun is mounting the sky. It is almost half way across the blue arch. Bogus and Boston are impatient; saying that “Captain Jack, him get tired waiting.” Gen. Canby and Dr. Thomas have been in consultation. Riddle is uneasy and restless, and as Canby and Thomas walk slowly to Gen. Gilliam’s head-quarters, he says to Meacham, “Do not go. I think you will all be killed if you do.”—“Then come to Gen. Gilliam’s tent and say so there,” suggests Meacham.
The commissioners approach the tent. Gen. Canbymeets Col. Green and one or two other officers, stopping at the tent door, and continued talking, while the remainder of the commissioners enter. Gen. Gilliam is reclining on his bed, he is sick this morning,very sick. Gen. Canby remarks from the tent door; “Go on, gentlemen, don’t wait for me; I will be in presently.”
Riddle again repeats the warning: “Gentlemen, I have been talking with my wife; she has never told me a lie, or deceived me, and she says if you go to-day you will be killed. We wash our hands of all blame. If you must go,go well armed! I give you my opinion, because I do not want to be blamed hereafter.” Riddle retires and Gen. Canby enters. Riddle’s warning is repeated to him. The general replies: “I have had a field-glass watching the trail all the morning; there are but four men at the council tent. I have given orders for the signal station to keep a strict watch, and, in the event of an attack, the army will move at once against them,”—meaning the Modocs. Dr. Thomas expressed his determination to keep the compact, saying that he is in the hands of God, and proposes to do his duty and leave the result with his Maker. He thinks Riddle and his wife are excited; that they are not reliable. “I differ from you, gentlemen; I think we ought to heed the warning. If we do go, we must go armed; otherwise we will be attacked. I am opposed to going in any other way.”
Mr. Dyer says: “I agree with Mr. Meacham; we ought to go prepared for defence. We ought to heed the warning we have had.” Gen. Canby repeats, “With the precaution we have taken there can be no danger.” Dr. Thomas also saying, “The agreementis to go unarmed; we must be faithful on our part to the compact, and leave it all in the hands of God.”
Previous to starting, Dr. Thomas goes to the sutler’s store and pays for some goods bought for the Modocs the day previous, when this compact was made. From this act it would appear that he has doubts about the result. Indeed, to another gentleman he says that he is notsure that he will return; but “I will do my duty faithfully, and trust God to bring it out all right.” Gen. Canby is holding council with Gen. Gilliam and other officers. He leaves them, coming to his own marquee, says something to his faithful orderly,—Scott,—then to Monahan, his secretary, and then, in full dress he walks to the “Peace Commission tent,” where he is joined by Dr. Thomas andstarts for the council tent. Side by side they walk away.
The doctor is dressed in a suit of light-gray Scotch tweed. The officers and men are standing around their tents, talking of the danger ahead. They differ in opinion, and all declare their readiness to fly to the rescue in the event of treachery. Bogus is with the general and the doctor. He carries a rifle; it is his own. In that rifle is a ball that will crush through the brain of Dr. Thomas in less than two hours. Having seen them start, Bogus hastens to the council tent, scanning the route as he goes, to make sure that no soldiers are secreted among the rocks.
A few moments since, Meacham and Fairchild were in earnest conversation. Meacham says, “John, what do you think? is it safe to go?”—“Wait here a minute, and let me have another talk with Bogus; I think I can tell,” says Fairchild. After a few minuteshe returns, whittling a stick. Slowly shaking his head, he says, “I can’t make out from Bogus what to think. I don’t like the looks of things; still he talks all right; may be it’s all on the square.” Meacham replies, “I must goif the general and the doctor do.” Fairchild goes again to Bogus; but the general and doctor are starting. Bogus is impatient, and cuts short the talk. Meacham is hurrying to the tent. He seats himself on a roll of blankets, and with a pencil writes,—let us look over his shoulder and see what:
Lava Beds, April 11th, 1873.My dear Wife:—You may be a widow to-night; you shall not be a coward’s wife. I go to save my honor. John A. Fairchild will forward my valise and valuables. The chances are all against us. I have done my best to prevent this meeting. I am in no wise to blame.Yours to the end,ALFRED.P. S.—I give Fairchild six hundred and fifty dollars, currency, for you.A. B. M.
Lava Beds, April 11th, 1873.
My dear Wife:—
You may be a widow to-night; you shall not be a coward’s wife. I go to save my honor. John A. Fairchild will forward my valise and valuables. The chances are all against us. I have done my best to prevent this meeting. I am in no wise to blame.
Yours to the end,ALFRED.
P. S.—I give Fairchild six hundred and fifty dollars, currency, for you.
A. B. M.
“Here, John, send these to my wife, Salem, Oregon, if I don’t get back.”
Mr. Dyer approaches, and says, “Mr. Fairchild, send this parcel to Mrs. Dyer.”—“Mr. Dyer, why do you go, feeling as you do? I would not if I were in your place. I must go, since I am the chairman of the commission, or be disgraced.” Mr. Dyer replies, “If you go, I am going. I will not stay, if all the rest go.”
By the tent door the Indian woman is weeping,while holding a horse by a rope. Standing beside her is a white man, and also a boy ten years old. They are talking in Modoc, and we may not know what they are saying. That little group is Frank Riddle and his wife Tobey, and their little boy Jeff. Their warning has been disregarded. They are loth to give up their efforts to save the commissioners and Canby.
“Tobey, give me my horse; we must go now.”
“Meacham, you no go; you get kill. You no get your horse. The Modocs mad now; they kill all you men.” She winds the rope around her waist, and throws herself upon the ground, and, in the wildest excitement, shrieks in broken sobs, “Meacham, you no go;you no go! You get kill! you get kill!”
Can the man resist this appeal to save his friends and himself? His lips quiver and his face is white; he is struggling with his pride. His color changes. Thank God, he is going to make another effort to prevent the doom that threatens! He calls to Canby and Thomas. They await his approach. Laying a hand on the shoulder of each, he says, “Gentlemen, my cool, deliberate opinion is that, if we go to the council tent to-day, we will be carried home to-night on the stretchers; all cut to pieces. I tell you, I dare not ignore Tobey’s warning. I believe her, and I am not willing to go.”
The general answers first: “Mr. Meacham, you are unduly cautious. There are butfiveIndians at the council tent, and they dare not attack us.”
“General, the Modocsdare do anything. I know them better than you do, and I know they are desperate. Braver men and worse men never livedon this continent than we are to meet at that tent yonder.”
The general replies, “I have left orders for a watch to be kept, and, if they attack us, the army will move at once against them. We have agreed to meet them, and we must do it.”
Dr. Thomas remarks, “I have agreed to meet them, and Inever break my word. I am in the hands of God. If He requires my life, I am ready for the sacrifice.”
Meacham is still unwilling to go, and says, “If we must go, let us be well armed.”
“Brother Meacham, the agreement is to gounarmed, and we must do as we have agreed.”
“But the Modocs will all be doubly armed. They won’t keep their part of the compact; they never have, and they won’t now.Let John Fairchild go with us, him and me with a revolver each, and I will not interpose any more objections to going. Do this, and I pledge you my life that we bring our party out all right. I know Fairchild. I know he is a dead shot, and he and I can whip a dozen Indians in open ground with revolvers.”
“Brother Meacham, you and Fairchild are fighting men.We are going to make peace, not war.Let us go as we agreed, and trust in God.”
“But, doctor,God does not drop revolvers down just when and where you need them.”
“My dear brother, you are getting to be very irreligious.Put your trust in God. Pray more, and don’t think so much about fighting.”
“Doctor, I am just as much of a peace man as you are, and I am as good a friend as the Indians everhad on this coast, and I know inwhom to put my trust in the hour of peril; but I know these Modocs, and I know that they won’t keep their word, and I want to be ready for trouble if it comes. I don’t want to go unarmed.”
“The compact is to go unarmed, and I am not willing to jeopardize our lives by breaking the compact.”
“Well, since we must go, and I am to manage the talk, I will grant to them any demand they make, rather than give them an excuse; that is, if they are armed,—as I know they will be,—and more than five Indians will be there, too.”
Gen. Canby replied, “Mr. Meacham, I have had more or less connection with the Indian service for thirty years, and Ihave never made a promise that could not be carried out. I am not willing now to promise anything that we don’t intend to perform.”
“Nor I,” breaks in the doctor. “That is why Indians have no confidence in white men. I am not willing to have you make a promise that we don’t intend to keep.”
“Hear me, gentlemen, I only propose doing so in the event that the Modocs have broken the compact by being armed. I don’t believe in false promises any more than you do, only in such an event; and I tell you I would promise anything an Indian demanded before I would give him an excuse to take my life, or yours. I say that is not dishonest, and my conscience would never condemn me for saving my life by such strategy.”
The general and the doctor both insist on making no promise that is notbona fide. Meacham’s effortsto prevent the meeting fails. He turns slowly, and with hesitating steps goes towards the peace tent in the camp. Canby and Thomas start off side by side. Meacham turns again:—
“Once more, gentlemen, I beg you not to go. I have too much to live for now; too many are depending on me; I do not want to die. If you go, I must go to save my name from dishonor.”
“That squaw has got you scared, Meacham. I don’t see why you should be so careful of your scalp; it is not much better than my own.”
“Yes, the squawhasscared Meacham; that’s true.I am afraid; I have reason to be.But we will see before the sun sets who is the worst scared.”
O my God! They refuse to turn back. Their fate is sealed. The action of these few minutes involves so much of human woe; so much blood, so many valuable lives, so much of vast importance totworaces. Oh, how many hearts must bleed from the decision of that hour! We feel sad as they walk away. Is it true that the stately form of the gallant Christian soldier is to fall on the rocks, pierced with Modoc bullets, and that savage hands will in two short hours rudely strip from him the uniform he so proudly wears? Can it be that a Modoc bullet will go crashing through the head that has worn well-earned laurels so long? Must the noble heart that now beats with kindest throbs for even those who are to murder him so soon, beat but two hours more, and then alone on the gray rocks of this wild shore cease its throbbing forever? Can it be that the lofty form of Dr. Thomas will fall to rise no more; that the lips that have so eloquently told of a Saviour’s love willturn white until the blood from his own wounds smothers the sound of his last prayer, while impious hands strip him of his suit of gray, and mock him in his dying moments?
Let us not look at that picture longer, but follow the other commissioner back to the waiting, anxious friends who gather around the door of the Peace Commission tent. He does not step with his usual quick motion; his heart is heavy, and visions of a little home, with weeping wife and children, enter his mind. Funeral pageants pass and mourning emblems hang now over his soul. But he is firm, and his closed lips declare that his mind is made up.
“Fairchild, promise me upon your sacred honor, one thing. Will you promise?”
The gray-eyed man with earnest face answered,—
“I promise you anything in my power, Meacham.”
“Promise me, then, that, if my body is brought in mutilated and cut to pieces, you will bury me here, so that my family shall never be tortured by the sight. Do you promise?”
“O Meacham, you will come back all right.”
“No, no; I won’t. I feel now that I won’t; there is no chance for that. I tell you, John, there is but one alternative,—deathordisgrace. I can die; but my name never has been and never shall be dishonored.”
Fairchild draws his revolver from his side and says, “Here, Meacham, take this; you can bang brimstone out of ’em with it.”
“No, no; John, I won’t take it, although I would rather have it than all your cattle; but if I take that revolver, everybody will swear that I precipitated the fight by going armed in violation of the compact.No, John, I wouldn’t take it if I knew I never could come back without it, and taking it would save me. I won’t do it. My life would not be worth a cent if I did. I wanted you to go, but the general and the doctor objected; so there’s no use in talking; I am going.”
A man passes close to Meacham and drops something in a side pocket of his coat. His hand grasps it, and his face indicates hesitation. The other says, in a low tone, “It’s sure fire;—it’s all right.” ’Tis a small Derringer pistol, and it is not thrown out of the pocket. Dyer caught sight of this little manœuvre, and he goes into his tent and quickly slips a Derringer into his pocket.
The Indian woman is weeping still. She refuses to let go the rope of Meacham’s horse, until the command is repeated, and then she grasps his coat, and pleads again: “You no go; you get kill.”
“Let go, Tobey. Get on your horse. All ready? Mr. Dyer, there is no other way to do.”
Riddle is pale, but cool and collected. He says, “I’m a-goin’ a-foot; I don’t want no horse to bother me.” The Indian woman embraces her boy again and again, and mounts her horse. Meacham, Dyer, Riddle, and his wife are starting.
Fairchild says, “Meacham, you had better take my pistol. I would like to go with you, but I s’pose I can’t.”
“No; I won’t take it. Good-by. Keep your promise.”
“Good-by, Maj. Thomas. Cranston, good-by. Good-by, Col. Wright. Be ready to come for us; we’ll need you.”
“Don’t go off feeling that way. I wouldn’t go if I felt as you do,” says one.
“We will have an eye out for you,” says another.
They are gone, and we will follow. Canby and Thomas are just rising out of a rocky chasm near the council tent. Meacham and his party are going around by the horse trail. Words can never tell the thoughts that pass through their minds on that ride. The soldier who goes to battle takes even chances in the line of his profession; the criminal may march with steady nerve up the steps that lead him to the gallows; but who can ever tell in words the thoughts, feelings, and temptations of these men, going to meet a people under a flag of truce that had been dishonored by their own race within sight of the spot where they are to meet these people, after the earnest warning they had received?