Battle in the Lava Beds.
On Sunday, January 12, 1873, a strong reconnoitering force was sent out
under Colonel Perry of the regulars and Captain O. C. Applegate of the
volunteers. On the bluff overlooking the lava beds they found the
Indians and found them full of fight. A picket was surprised and a gun
captured, but they were unable to say whether any of them had been
wounded in the skirmish. The Indians, however, came out in force and a
brisk skirmish was kept up for some time when the troops, having
accomplished the object of their mission, retired.
All the reinforcements having now arrived it was determined to attack
the savages on the following Friday. The plans of General Wheaton were
submitted to the volunteer officers and fully approved. General Frank
Wheaton was an officer of experience and unquestioned ability. He was a
veteran of the Civil war, and commanded 20,000 troops at the battle of
the Wilderness, besides having the confidence and esteem of officers and
men. Every contingency was guarded against, at least as far as it was
possible to foresee it. The troops organized for the attack were
Bernard's and Perry's troops of cavalry, and Green's and Mason's
infantry, numbering 250 men; Captain Applegate's and Captain Kelley's
volunteers, numbering 225 men, Donald McKay's Indian scouts numbering
fifty and the California volunteers under John Fairchilds and Presley
Dorris.
By general field order, Bernard was to move down from Land's ranch on
Wednesday, January 1 16th, and occupy a position not less than two miles
from the stronghold. At the same time Colonel Perry was to push across
the trail to the bluff with his dismounted troop, while General Wheaton
with the infantry and volunteers, ambulances, three howitzers, reserve
ammunition, etc., was to go around by Little Klamath Lake and join the
command of Colonel Perry under cover of darkness. This was regarded
advisable as it was feared that the Indians, discovering our numbers,
would leave the lava beds and scatter. Every soldier and volunteer had
been ordered to prepare four days' rations, cooked. There was no
question in our minds as to whipping the Indians, but we wanted to
surround and capture them.
On the morning of the 16th all was astir and as day began to break the
troops were all drawn up in line. I had determined to cross the trail
with Perry and was sitting on my horse when I heard a man hallo "O," and
as I turned my head heard the report of his gun. The fellow, a recruit
in Mason's battalion of regulars, had deliberately shot off his great
toe to keep from going into the fight. He pulled the trigger of his gun
and halloed, before the gun was discharged. I mention this to show the
difference in men. Here was a poor weak devil who would rather maim
himself for life than to face danger where he might be killed, but it is
safe to say that nine-tenths of the rest would have gone even after the
loss of the toe.
We arrived in sight of the rim of the bluff about 2 o'clock and saw the
Indian pickets. Colonel Perry threw out a skirmish line and the advance
was ordered. Before getting within rifle range the pickets disappeared
and we took possession. I now got my first view of the lava beds, as
they stretched black and forbidding nearly a thousand feet below. A fog
rested over the lake, but we could soon see through the rifts along the
lake shore the Indians on horseback coming out to attack us. They
appeared like phantom horsemen, and our Indian guide told us they were
coming out to attack us, as there were "only a few and they are afoot."
A few had reached the bluff and had begun a scattering fire, when we
heard several shots that appeared to come directly from the stronghold.
The Indian guide told us he thought they were killing some Indians that
did not want to fight. As he had relatives among them the poor fellow
showed the distress he felt. A few minutes later we heard several more
shots, and I told Colonel Perry I heard Bernard's bugle. A few minutes
later the clear notes of the bugle rang out clear and distinct, though
it was fully five miles away. Yet in that clear, cold, dry atmosphere
every note sounded as clear and distinct as though but a mile away.
Bernard's column had followed the lake, and under cover of the fog
enveloping the shore, had approached much nearer than his orders
contemplated. He was at once savagely attacked and all evening the
rattle of the guns sounded like many bunches of fire crackers.
Repeatedly we heard him sound the charge and we all fretted that we
could not descend and join in the battle. Perry's men were desperately
afraid that "the Apache boys," as Bernard's men were called, would clean
out the Indians and leave them nothing to do on the morrow. But our
orders forbade and we contented ourselves with listening to the fight
from a distance without being able to take a hand. Toward night the fog
cleared away and we had an unobstructed view of the stronghold.
I have often been asked to describe the lava beds. That is beyond the
power of language. In a letter to the Army and Navy journal, written at
the suggestion of General Wheaton, I compared the Indians in the lava
beds to "ants in a sponge." In the language of another it is a "black
ocean tumbled into a thousand fantastic shapes, a wild chaos of ruin,
desolation, barrenness--a wilderness of billowy upheavals, of furious
whirlpools, of miniature mountains rent asunder, of gnarled and knotted,
wrinkled and twisted masses of blackness, and all these weird shapes,
all this turbulent panorama, all this far-stretching waste of blackness,
with its thrilling suggestiveness of life, of action, of boiling,
surging, furious motion was petrified--all stricken dead and cold in
the instant of its maddest rioting fettered, paralyzed and left to
glower at heaven in impotent rage for evermore."
Towards night the rattle of the guns gradually died away and the yell of
the savages was hushed for the day. Leaving a strong guard on the bluff
we joined General Wheaton a few hundred yards in the rear, anxiously
awaited the coming of another day, little dreaming what that day was to
bring forth. There was little sleep that night. The frozen ground with a
pair of blankets is not a bed of roses, and is little conducive to sleep
and rest. Most of the night was spent around the fires until 2 o'clock
when all were ordered to "fall in." The order of march and battle was as
follows: The command of Fairchilds and Dorris occupied the extreme left
along the lake shore; Mason's infantry battalion, with mountain
howitzers packed, joined Fairchild's right; Captain Kelley's command
occupied the center with his left resting on Mason's right; Captain
Applegate connected with Kelley's right and Perry's left, who occupied
the extreme left wing; while Donald McKay's Indians formed a skirmish
line in advance. The whole line stretched out a mile or more. As the
line filed out of camp, their arms glittering in the bright moonlight,
they formed a beautiful and inspiring sight. The command, "Forward on
the line" was now given and we moved forward at a brisk walk. I galloped
down the line and watched it as it descended the steep bluff. Low down
and stretching over the lava beds lay a dense fog, and as the head of
the line disappeared it looked as if it were going into the sea. As I
sat there General Wheaton came up and insisted that I should leave my
horse. On my consenting reluctantly, he detailed a soldier who took the
animal back to camp.
As we reached the bottom of the bluff the entire line was deployed in
the form of a half wheel, the intention being to surround the savages by
connecting with Bernard's left and capture the entire band. Daylight now
began to peep through the fog and night, and "forward on the line" was
given and taken up by subalterns and repeated until it died away in the
distance. There were no skirmishers now. McKay and his Indians fell back
and remained in the rear for the rest of the day. Slowly the line moved
forward, stumbling along over rocks, but keeping in perfect order of
battle. Soon several shots were heard on the extreme right. It was
daylight, and someone called that the Indians were escaping around
Perry's right. Up to this time I had been with General Wheaton in the
rear, but ran out to the line in time to see the Indians in our front
leaping from rock to rock about five hundred yards away. The fog had
lifted and a clear day was promised. I jumped upon a lava wave and
waited for them to stop to get a shot. Instantly a bullet sang over my
head, but thinking they were shooting at me from that distance paid no
attention, but continued watching the leaping red devils. In about the
time that is required to throw in a cartridge and take aim, another
bullet went by, but it hissed this time and raised the hair on one side
of my head. Still thinking that they were shooting at me from a long
distance, I dropped on my knee with rifle to shoulder. Instantly the red
devil, with sage brush tied round his head raised up about ninety yards
from me and again fired. I only caught a glimpse of him as he made a few
zig zag leaps among the rocks and disappeared. I fired at random but
failed to wing my game. That taught a rash, presumptuous young fool a
lesson, and he contented himself for the balance of the day imitating
the men in the line, and keeping well under cover.
"Forward on the line" was ever the command and by 12 o'clock we had
driven the Indians through the rocks several miles. Presently word came
down the line that the volunteers could not be found. I started up the
line when General Wheaton called to me to come back. Returning he
directed me to give that order to Donald McKay. It was fortunate for me
that I was called back, otherwise I should have gone in behind the
"juniper fort," a strong fort built around a stunted juniper tree, and
standing on a high point of lava. I gave the order to McKay who was
riding a small pony, and he had proceeded but a short distance when the
Indians opened on him from the fort and killed his pony. Some one
remarked that "the volunteers are firing on McKay," as the shooting was
considerably in the rear and to the right. We all ran up on a point when
half a dozen bullets came singing around us. For once in my life I was
glad as I distinctly saw Col. John Green dodge. He was an old soldier
and had probably been in more battles than any man in the army and to
see him dodge from bullets was salve to my pride.
A few minutes later we heard a yell to the right and rear as Kelley's
and Applegate's men found the fort and charged it on the run. It
transpired that it was Mason's line that had given way and the
volunteers, feeling their way, had found the fort and taken it. But they
lost two men, Frank Trimble and a man named Brown of Kelley's command.
Lieutenant Evan Ream of Kelley's company, was also wounded, but he,
refused to leave the line after his knee had been bandaged. A large
caliber bullet had hit a rock and glancing had struck him on the knee
with the flat side, cutting through his clothing and burying itself in
the flesh. He was knocked down and we all thought for a time he was
killed. He is now a merchant-banker at Klamath Falls. To give the reader
a slight idea of the difficulties under which we labored, I will relate
one incident occurring near where I was standing. A soldier was crawling
up an upheaval, pushing his rifle before him, when he was shot through
the body from underneath.
At about 2 o'clock Col. Perry came down the line and told Gen. Wheaton
that he could go no further. A deep chasm, he said, in his front could
not be crossed. "By gad," replied the General, "Col. Perry, you must
cross it." "I can cross it, General, but it will cost me half my
command. Every man attempting to cross it has been killed, and two
litter bearers going to the relief of a wounded man were killed." Word
now reached us from Fairchilds that Bernard was calling for help. He had
called across an arm of the lake that ran up into the lava beds that he
had more wounded men that he could take care of. Gen. Wheaton was now
thoroughly distressed, saying "when Bernard hallows he is badly hurt."
We then determined to try shelling the Indians with the howitzers and I
started back to find the pack mules. Reader, if you ever tried to appear
as if you were'nt scared, with bullets screaming around you, and with
your back to the enemy, you will know something of my feelings. Those
big fellows, striking in the rocks would glance and scream with an
unearthly noise. My legs wanted to run, but pride held them in check.
And right here I want to say, that bravery is only pride and a good
control over your legs. I finally found the pack mules and started back,
but it wasn't half as hard facing it and we came bravely up to the line.
The guns were planted and opened with shells timed to three hundred
yards. Two burst and a call came from Bernard's men that we were
shelling their rear guard.
Firing with the howitzers ceased as it was clearly a failure, and a
consultation was held. We knew our loss was heavy, Gen. Ross declaring
it "is worse than Hungry Hill." It was finally determined to send a
column to relieve Col. Bernard. Accordingly Fairchild's California
volunteers, Mason's battalion and Perry's dismounted cavalry were
ordered to cut their way around the lake shore and join Bernard.
Fairchild's men passed over the point without loss, but several of
Mason's men were killed in plain sight. The soldiers balked and refused
to advance. Col. Green ran down the line and leaping upon the point
turned his back to the Indians and with a gauntlet in his hand used
language that was scarcely fit for a parlor. Gen. Wheaton also joined
and with a sword taken from a bugler boy, ran down the line urging the
men to move forward. They soon began the advance and passed over the
point and out of sight. Meantime I was moving the volunteers down
towards the lake to take the places in our front vacated by the relief
column. The battle now became desperate, the Indians concentrating all
their forces against the column going round the lake. In this situation
the volunteers pressed forward and soon we could hear the women and
children crying. Applegate's men were almost on top of them and were
getting into camp. We were within 50 yards of the scalp pole over Jack's
cave which was the center of the stronghold. The volunteers were anxious
to charge. I went back to where Gen. Wheaton was standing and explaining
the situation asked permission to charge with all the volunteers. The
fog had raised and Capt. Adams of the signal staff was signaling to
Bernard. I told Gen. Wheaton if he would have Bernard cease firing I
would charge and close the Indians out in twenty minutes, that our men
were on top of them.
The General walked rapidly back and forth, snapping his fingers for a
few moments, and then turning to me exclaimed: "You can go, but not with
my consent. We have lost too many men already--five times more than
Jackson lost at New Orleans. The country will not justify this sacrifice
of human life. You have taken these young men and boys off the farms and
from stores, schools and shops and their lives are worth something to
their families and to their country. You can go but not with my
consent." Then turning to Gen. Ross, who had scarcely spoken a word
during the day, he said: "General, what had we better, do?" "We had
better get out of here, by God," exclaimed the bluff old veteran. "All
right, Capt. Adams, tell Bernard that as soon as the relief column
reaches him to hold his position until dark and then withdraw,"
exclaimed Wheaton in rapid succession. Then turning to me he said:
"Colonel, we will have to depend on the volunteers to protect our
wounded and mule train in getting out of this place." It was soon
arranged that the men were to keep firing until dark and then begin the
retreat. Just after sundown Bernard signaled that the relief column had
reached him, but there is not a question of doubt had not the volunteers
pressed the Indians so hard at a critical time Fairchild's, Mason's and
Perry's command would have been annihilated. Jud Small was badly wounded
in the shoulder and afterwards told me that he was shot by an Indian not
twenty feet away. At one point the men lay in the water and rolled over
and over with only their heads exposed.
Night finally closed in and with the gathering darkness the fog rolled
in from the lake, increasing its intensity. Kelley's company was formed
in the rear with Applegate's company on the flank, and formed parallel
with the lake, along the shores of which we were to make our way, with
the wounded men on litters between. Finally the word was passed along
the lines to move forward. The night had meanwhile settled down to one
of Stygean blackness. Objects a foot away were indistinguishable, and we
had to feel rather than see our way. I fully realized the difficulties
and dangers of our situation, but my anxiety was for the nineteen
wounded men on the litters. I told Col. Bellinger that we must remain
together and behind the litter bearers, that I would rather leave my
body with our dead comrades in the rocks than to leave behind any of our
wounded men. But we had proceeded but a short distance when the lines
crumbled and became mixed up, in fact, an undistinguishable mob. Under
these circumstances, and relying on undisciplined troops, our position
was critical in the extreme. One shot would have precipitated a
stampede. Wheaton, Ross and Miller were somewhere mixed up among the
troops, but Bellinger and I stuck to the litter bearers and kept as many
of the men behind us as possible.
Donald McKay's Indians were in the advance, somewhere, but we knew not
where. In this order, or rather disorder, we stumbled along blindly,
knowing the waters of the lake were on our right. The bottom of the
bluff was finally reached and word passed back that the Modocs had
captured and held the summit. I stopped as many of the men as possible
and asked Col. Bellinger to remain with the litter bearers and I would
go forward and if necessary capture it back. Reaching the front I found
Indians, volunteers and officers all jumbled together without semblance
of order. The Indians were confident the Modocs had killed the guards
left there in the morning and held the top of the bluff. I called for
volunteers, but not an Indian would go. I finally got a few volunteers
and began the ascent of the steep, rocky trail. The climb was tedious in
the extreme, and one can imagine my joy when on nearing the crest there
came the sharp call, "Who comes there?" I was prompt to reply "friends."
Learning that all was well, I retraced my steps to the bottom and gave
out the welcome news that everything was clear.
Then began a scramble to reach the top. It was everybody for himself, as
it was too dark to even attempt to preserve a semblance of order or
discipline. Going to the rear I found Col. Bellinger with the wounded
men. Holding as many men as possible we began the ascent. As the litter
bearers gave out others took their places and the tired men slipped away
in the darkness. As we neared the top, Col. Bellinger and I relieved two
worn out bearers and that was the last we saw of them. In this condition
we staggered into camp at 2 o'clock in the morning, more dead than
alive. To add to the discomfort of the situation others had reached our
store of provisions ahead of us, and we simply had to do without. We had
now been on the march 24 hours. Our boot soles were almost cut away on
the sharp lava, and we were all but barefooted. But I had my horse, and
though I had nothing to eat, I felt greatly relieved. A few hours sleep
on the frozen ground and we were again astir. I was holding my horse to
graze when Gen. Wheaton's orderly came to me and stated that the General
wanted to see me at his tent. Handing him the halter strap I walked down
to the tent and stepped in. The General was sitting on the ground with a
can of coffee before him. He said he had a couple of cups of coffee and
four crackers and wanted to divide with me. It required no persuasion on
his part to induce me to accept.
While we were sipping our coffee we discussed the events of the previous
day. The General was visibly affected and greatly worried. Even then we
did not know the full extent of our losses. The dead were left where
they fell and only our wounded carried out. Would the country justify
the sacrifice of life, not knowing the character of the country over
which we had fought? Speaking of the lava beds, the General remarked: "I
have seen something of war and know something of fortifications. I
commanded 19,000 men at the battle of the Wilderness and saw many of the
great engineering works of the Civil war, but I do not believe that a
hundred thousand men in a hundred thousand years could construct such
fortifications." This will give the reader a faint idea of the lava
beds. Indeed a regiment of men could conceal themselves in its caves and
fissures and ten thousand men could be marched over them without seeing
a man.
Placing the wounded in ambulances we now broke camp and started to our
camp at Van Bremer's ranch. After a tiresome march by way of Lower
Klamath Lake, the wounded men undergoing terrible sufferings, we reached
camp at 11 o'clock that night. Here another difficulty confronted us.
Our provision train had not arrived and we were reduced to beef
straight. There was some murmuring among the men, kept up and agitated
by a doctor attached to Kelley's company who told the men that they had
been robbed and swindled by the officers. Hearing of this I hunted him
up. He said that a "soldier did not dare to complain without being
called a s-of-a-b." Twenty or thirty volunteers were standing around. I
explained that the wagons had been two weeks on the road; that they had
made only ten miles in seven days; and that a man, private or officer
who would talk about asking for his discharge, though all were entitled
to the same, was a son of a b-h, and a d--d one at that. He went to Gen.
Ross and complained of my language, but was told that the "Colonel knew
what he was talking about." The disgruntled pill mixer mounted his horse
and left, and that was the last we heard about being discharged. We
continued feasting on beef straight and fattened on the diet, at least I
did.
The day after our return we buried the man I had seen shot through the
stomach, while crawling on his belly. Patrick Maher was buried with
military honors. On the fourth day the troops sent to relieve Col.
Bernard arrived at camp, and the reports all being in we found that 41
men had been killed in the fighting on the 16th and 17th of January. The
death of Patrick Maher made 42, besides a long list of wounded. When we
consider that there were not more than 500 engaged, counting McKay's
Indians, the loss was heavy, and would the Government endorse or censure
the officers, was the question.
As before stated, we were camped at the ranch of Van Bremer Bros. On our
return Col. Bellinger and I had to give up our quarters in an out house
to accommodate the wounded men and after that we slept, when we slept at
all, on the frozen ground with two thicknesses of blanket beneath us.
Under such circumstances it may easily be imagined that our periods of
sleep were of short duration. We would drop asleep and in an hour wake
up shivering. We would get up, cut off some beef and roast it before the
fires that were constantly kept burning, get warm and then lie down
again. I mention this, not because we were undergoing hardships more
trying than others, but to show how all, officers and men, fared. There
was no difference. One day a surgeon came to me and asked if I could
obtain some eggs for the wounded men, so I went to Van Bremer and got
half a dozen eggs and paid 50 cents each for them. He would not take
script but demanded and received the cash, nearly all I had. From that
time until our departure I spent a considerable portion of my time in
studying human villainy with the Van Bremers as a model. But I got even
with them--and then some. Before leaving I asked Gen. Ross for
permission to settle our hay bill in place of the Quartermaster, Mr.
Foudray. Capt. Adams and I then measured the hay used respectively by
the regulars and volunteers, and I feel safe in saying that those eggs
cost the Van Bremer Bros. $50 each.
Of course they raved and ranted, declaring that we were worse than the
Modocs, but when they saw the tents of the regulars and blankets of the
volunteers being pulled down and rolled up they came to me and asked
what it meant. I told them that we had been ordered to the mouth of Lost
River on Tule Lake to protect the Oregon settlers, and that the regulars
were going also, but that Gen. Wheaton was going to leave a detail at
the Fairchilds ranch and that if they did not feel safe with the Modocs
they could move up there. They lost no time in loading a few effects
into a wagon and started with us to the Fairchilds ranch. On the road
they mired down and every man, regular and volunteer, passing them had
something bitter and mean to say to them. The story of the eggs was
known to all, and if ever men paid for a scurvy, mean trick it was the
Van Bremers.
We moved around to Lost River and struck camp, where we remained about
ten days. As Gen. Wheaton felt competent to protect the settlements, and
as the term of enlistment of the volunteers had expired more than a
month before, we proceeded to Linkville and from there to Jacksonville
where the command of Capt. Kelley was disbanded, Applegate's company
having been discharged at Linkville. I then returned to Salem and a few
days later paid a visit to Gen. Canby at Ft. Vancouver in company with
Governor L. F. Grover. The entire situation was gone over, Gen. Canby
expressing entire confidence in the ability of Gen. Wheaton and his
officers. Fortunate, indeed, would it have been had that brave officer
and splendid gentleman been left to develop and carry out his plans, but
unhappily that was not to be, for the churches succeeded in hypnotizing
the grim soldier in the White House, and the result was the "Peace
Commission."