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, that _Captain Jack_, was in favor of peace;
but that he was in the hands of bad 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; but _no action was had_,
or _message sent_, or _other 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 to _prove their faith in the Modocs by coming out to meet them
unarmed_.”
This hypocrisy caught the doctor. He believed them; 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
of _Good 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 the _same plate_, drank from the _same 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 declaring
_that 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 upon his 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 the _prize_; glad he
did, for he was a _poor shot_ with a pistol. Hooker Jim was named as his
second in this _ex parte_ affair; 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 accepted from 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 outrage _unworthy_ of 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.
These _preliminaries_ being 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. Mason _from 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 almost past 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, that
_Bogus 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. Canby meets 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 agreement is 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 not _sure 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 and _starts 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 minutes he 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 go_ if 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.
“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 but _five_ Indians at the council tent, and they dare not attack us.”
“General, the Modocs _dare do anything. I know them better than you do,
and I know they are desperate. Braver men and worse men never lived on
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 I _never 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 go _unarmed_, 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 ever had on this coast, and I know in _whom 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 I _have 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 not
_bona fide_. Meacham’s efforts to 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 squaw _has_ scared 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 to _two_ races. 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 will turn 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,——_death_ or _disgrace_. 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?