While matters were thus in suspense a change was made in the office of Superintendent of Indian Affairs for Oregon, T. B. Odeneal, Esq., of Oregon, succeeding to the Superintendency. He was a lawyer of ability, but had a limited knowledge of Indian character, and still less of the merits and demerits of this Modoc question.

When appealed to he laid the matter before his superior in office at Washington City, who was also a new incumbent, and had perhaps a slight knowledge of the Modoc troubles.

In a letter, dated April 11th, 1872, he instructed Superintendent Odeneal to remove the Modocs to Klamath Reservation, or locate them on a new home. In reply, Odeneal suggested that, since Klamath was the home set apart for them in common with other Indians, it was the proper place for them, and suggested they be removed thereto. In compliance with this recommendation, he was instructed, in a letter of September 6th, 1872, to remove the Modocs to the Klamath Reservation; peaceably if you can, forcibly if you must.

Meanwhile the Modocs were kept posted by the white men, who sympathized with them, of the proposed movements.

Captain Jack and his men sought advice of Judges Roseborough and Steele, of Y-re-ka. Both these gentlemen advised them not to resist the authority of the Government, but also promised, as attorneys, to assist them in getting lands, provided they would dissolve tribal relations. I have sought diligently, as a commissioner, for information on this subject, and conclude that nothing further was ever promised by either Roseborough or Steele. The hope thus begotten may have caused the Modocs to treat with less respect the officers of the Government, and made them more insolent toward settlers; but nothing of wilful intent can be charged to Steele or Roseborough.

It is in evidence that Superintendent Odeneal despatched messengers to the Modoc camp on Lost river, November 26th, 1872, to order Captain Jack and his people to go on to the Reservation, with instruction to the messengers that, in the event of the refusal of the Modocs to comply, to arrange for them to meet him (Odeneal) at Linkville, twenty-five miles from the Modoc camp.

They refused compliance with the order, and also refused to meet Superintendent Odeneal at Link river, saying substantially “that they did not want to see him or talk with him; that they did not want any white man to tell them what to do; that their friends and advisers were in Y-re-ka, Cal. They tell us to stay here, and we intend to do it, and will not go on the Reservation (meaning Klamath); that they were tired of talk, and were done talking.” If credit were given to these declarations, it would appear that some parties at Y-re-ka were culpable. Careful investigation discloses nothing more than already recited, so far as Roseborough and Steele were concerned, but would seem to implicate one or two other parties, both of whom are now deceased; but even then no evidence has been brought forth declaring more than sympathy for the Modocs, which might easily be accounted for on the ground of personal interest, dictating friendship toward them as the best safeguard for life and property; but nothing that could be construed as advising resistance to legal authority; and their statement in regard to advisers in Y-re-ka should not be entitled to more credit than Captain Jack’s subsequent assertion that “no white man had ever advised him to stay off the Reservation.” This latter declaration was made during the late trials at Klamath by the “military commission,” at a time when the first proposition made to Superintendent Odeneal’s messengers in regard to Y-re-ka advices would have secured the Modocs then on trial some consideration.

The only thing said or done by any parties in Y-re-ka that has come well authenticated, that could have had any influence with the Modocs in their replies to Odeneal’s message, is the proposition above referred to as coming from Roseborough and Steele, to assist them as attorneys to secure homes when they should have abandoned tribal relations, paid taxes, and made application to become citizens. The high character both these gentlemen possess for loyalty to the Government, and for integrity, would preclude the idea that any wrong was intended.

On receiving Captain Jack’s insolent reply to his message, Superintendent Odeneal made application to the military commander at Fort Klamath for a force to “compel said Indians (Modocs) to go upon the Klamath Reservation;” reciting the following words from the honorable Commissioner of Indian Affairs: “You are hereby directed to remove the Modoc Indians to Klamath Reservation; peaceably if you possibly can, but forcibly if you must,” and saying: “I transfer the whole matter to your department without assuming to dictate the course you shall pursue in executing the order aforesaid; trusting, however, that you may accomplish the object desired without the shedding of blood, if possible to avoid it.”

He received the following reply:—

These movements were intended to be made without the knowledge of the Modocs. Superintendent Odeneal sent messengers to warn the settlers of the proposed forcible experiment. Complaint has justly been made that there were several parties unwarned.

The Modocs had one especial friend in whom they relied for advice and warning. This man’s name was Miller.

They called on him the day previous to Major Jackson’s appearance at the Modoc camp, and he, being ignorant of the movement told them, that “no soldiers were coming.” Some twelve settlers were unwarned, who lost their lives thereby.

Neglect on the part of those having the management of this matter resulted in much blood.

When Major Jackson was en route to the Modoc camp, some twenty-five white men from Linkville and the surrounding country assembled and proposed to accompany the expedition.

It has been said that they went for the purpose of “seeing Major Jackson and his thirty-five men get licked.” At all events they were armed with Henry rifles and revolvers.

Frontier men are fond of sport, and the more it is embellished with danger the more captivating it is to them. I do not say this with disrespect to frontier men, but simply state a fact that is not generally understood.

While it is true that they play with dangerous weapons as carelessly as a city dandy does with a switch cane or ivory opera-glass, they are, nevertheless, as a class, true, honest, enterprising, great brave-hearted men, who would scorn to do a mean thing.

They have among them men who are irresponsible vagabonds, reckless fellows who are driven from the cities and towns on account of their crimes. These latter characters beget strife among the people, and when truth comes to the front and speaks out, it declares that they are the sole cause of any difficulty between good white men and Indians. They are the first to volunteer on occasions like this. As a class they are brave, fearless, desperate, having little regard for human life, caring not how much bad blood they evoke. But the idea that seems to prevail with eastern people, that all frontier men are rough, bad men, is outrageously false in the premises. Better men, braver men, more honorable, more enterprising men cannot be found on this continent than thousands who ride on the swelling breakers of advancing emigration. A moment’s consultation with justice and right would compel the law-makers, book-writers and newspaper reporters, instead of constant, sweeping insinuations against frontier men, to say encouraging words in their behalf, and to offer them every facility to successfully plant the foundations of prosperous society on the verges of American civilization. Honor to whom honor is due.

The party of citizens who went down Lost river on the morning of the 27th of November, 1872, were, with one or two exceptions, good, responsible settlers. Their motives were honorable, their intentions were good; and if serious results came out of the fact of their presence it was not because they as a party were “bloodthirsty desperadoes.”

They went on the opposite side of the river, and took a commanding position on a bluff overlooking the Modoc camp; which was located on the very spot where my party met Captain Jack in 1869.

The Modoc camp was divided by the river, Captain Jack, and fourteen men with their families, occupying the west bank, where the plain slopes gradually down to the water’s edge; the background being covered with a growth of sage brush.

With Captain Jack was “Schonchin John,” so named from being a younger brother of the “Old chief Schonges;” “Scar-face Charley,” so named on account of a scar on his face; “Black Jim,” so named on account of his dark color; “One-eyed Mose,” so called on account of defect in one eye; “Watchman,” who was killed in the first battle; “Humpty Joe,” “Big Ike,” “Old Tails,” “Old Tails’ boy,” “Old Long-face,” and four others.

On the east side of the river was the “Curly-haired Doctor;” “Boston Charley,” named on account of his light color; “Hooker Jim” had lived with old man Hooker; “Slolax,” and ten others, with their families.

Major Jackson, with his force, arrived at Jack’s camp at about daybreak on the morning of the 30th November, 1872. At the same time the citizen party arrived opposite and near the camp of the Curly-haired Doctor.

The Modocs were taken by surprise,—although they had reason to expect the soldiers would come within a few days.

They have since asserted that Odeneal’s messengers had agreed to come again before bringing soldiers; and, if possible, bring Supt. Odeneal with them.

It was a mistake that he did not go in person,—either with the messengers in the first instance or after their return to Linkville.

He might not have accomplished any good, but he would have prevented severe criticism, and much blame that was laid at his door; inasmuch as Jack subsequently asserted “that he would not have resisted, had Odeneal come himself to him and made everything plain.” Again, they had relied on Miller for warning; hence his death.

When Maj. Jackson arrived at the camp, and while he was placing his men in position, an Indian, who was out hunting, made the discovery of Jackson’s presence, and either accidentally, or purposely, discharged his gun. This called the Indians to their feet, and they instantly grasped their arms on seeing themselves so nearly surrounded by soldiers.

Maj. Jackson quietly commanded the Modocs to lay down their arms. Captain Jack complied, and told his men to obey the order of Maj. Jackson.

A parley ensued of half an hour, Captain Jack pleading for Jackson to withdraw his men, while the major was explaining his order, and assuring the Modocs that ample preparation had been made for them at Yai-nax. The whole affair seemed to be settled satisfactorily, and I. D. Applegate, who was with Maj. Jackson, went down to the banks of the river and told One-armed Brown, the regular messenger of the Indian Department, who was with the citizen party on the east side, that “everything was settled.” Brown mounted his horse, and started to make known the good news to Supt. Odeneal, who was awaiting the result at Linkville.

All the Modocs on the west side of the river had laid down their arms, except Scar-face Charley, who was swearing and making threats. Maj. Jackson commanded him, “Put down your gun.” Scar-face refused; the major ordered Lieut. Boutelle to disarm him,—who, on advancing to execute the order, repeated it in emphatic words, not in harmony with savage notions of decorum and decency. “Scarface” was enraged at the vile epithets applied to him, and perhaps remembered just then that he had once seen, from a chapparel thicket, a sight that had haunted him from his childhood, namely, nothing less than armed white men chasing his father with a lasso and catching him. He saw them hang him without a trial, or even any proof that he was guilty of any crime. At all events, he drew his pistol, and, saying that he “would kill one white man,” discharged it at the advancing officer; but so nearly simultaneous with Boutelle’s pistol, that even the latter does not know who fired first. This was the opening gun of the Modoc war; the beginning of what ended on the gallows on the third of November, 1873.

Without stopping now to call up the intervening pictures, let us see how the battle went. Very soon the entire force of soldiers was firing into the Indian camps, and the fourteen Indian men were fighting back with muzzle-loading rifles.

The battle lasted three hours; the Indians, having taken cover of the sage brush, finally withdrew, carrying with them the watchman who was killed, and escaping with all their women and children.

Maj. Jackson lost ten killed and five wounded; and on the reappearance of the Indians, a few hours later, drew off his forces, leaving the Modocs in possession of the battle-field.

While all this was enacting on the west bank of Lost river, let us see how the boys who went down to “take a look” got along as spectators. Mr. Brown, hearing the report of arms, returned just in time to take an active part in a performance that was not in the programme of fun as laid out in the early morning.

The citizens and Modocs on the east side could not stand the pressure,—looking on and seeing a fair fight, within a couple of hundred yards, without taking a part. The Modocs caught up their guns and rushed down to the river, intending to reinforce Captain Jack. The citizens sought to prevent them getting into their canoes; and, somehow, they became very much interested in matters nearer home than Maj. Jackson’s fight.

Who began the battle on the east side is a question of doubt,—both parties denying it; but a lively fight was the result, and the citizens drew off, leaving three or four dead friends on the ground and—and—one dead squaw, with an infant corpse in her arms.

It is not in evidence who was victor, but there is the record. The major dispatched a messenger for reinforcements, who run the gauntlet of Indian bullets, and barely escaped.

From Indian lips I learn that in the first battle of which I have spoken, Captain Jack did not fire a shot himself, though he directed the fight.

On the occasion of the messenger being sent off by Maj. Jackson, Captain Jack, who was secreted in the sage brush, ran after him and fired one or two shots.

Let us look now to the Modocs with Captain Jack. They did not go on the warpath, but hastened to gather up their women and horses, and retired to the Lava Bed.

Scarface Charley remained behind, for a purpose that can scarcely be credited. Those who doubt any real genuine manhood among Indians may wonder when I declare that he remained to warn white men of the danger threatening them. In two instances he saw white men, who were his personal friends, going, as he knew, into certain death. In both instances he laid hold of the bridle-reins of the riders’ horses and turned them around, and, pointing to the road whence they came, bade them “ride for life.”

They lost no time in heeding the warning given, and also in notifying the settlers en route of the existence of open hostilities.

By this means John A. Fairchild was notified of the dangers that surrounded him and his family.

Mr. Fairchild’s name has become intimately connected with the Modoc war; indeed, he played some of the thrilling parts of this tragic drama. He is a man of forty years of age, a native of Mississippi; went West when a boy, and engaged in mining. In the course of time he became a large stock-raiser, and went, ten years ago, with his herds of cattle and horses, into the Modoc country.

He soon learned a lesson that our Government has not, viz., that it is cheaper to feed Indians than to fight them. Soon after his arrival he arranged a treaty with the Modocs, paying them a small compensation for the use of the country for stock uses. During the time, he has made the personal acquaintance of nearly every Indian of Captain Jack’s band.

His home is situated on Hot Creek, near its rise at the foot of the mountains that divide the Modoc from the Shasta country.

It will be remembered that the head-quarters of the Peace Commission was at Fairchild’s ranch during the first days of its organization. This was also the original home of a part of Jack’s band.

At the beginning of the late Modoc war some fourteen warriors and their families were living near Mr. Fairchild’s house; by his management of them they were prevented from joining Captain Jack for several days. He, together with Mr. Press Dorris, who lives near him, and is also a stock-raiser, called together these fourteen men, including “Bogus Charley” (who gets his name from his birthplace on Bogus creek), “Shacknasty Jim” (so named from his mother), “Steamboat Frank” (so called in honor of his squaw, whose name was Steamboat, because of her great size and her habit of puffing and blowing like the aforesaid vessel), Ellen’s man George, and ten others,—who all distinguished themselves in the war,—and started with them and their families to Klamath Reservation. They notified Agent Dyer, of Klamath, of their coming, and requested him to meet them and take charge of the Indians.

Dyer responded, and, hastening to meet them on Klamath river, passed through Linkville en route. While there he heard intimations of the danger of passing through the town with the above-named Modocs.

The news of the battle had reached Linkville, and the people were aroused to madness at the sight of the mangled bodies of the soldiers and citizens that had been brought in. It is not strange that such sights should call out a demand for vengeance; that the citizens, feeling outraged, should make threats.

It is certain that a party left Linkville before Agent Dyer arrived, and went in the direction of Bob Whittle’s, where Fairchild and Dorris were guarding the Hot Creek Modocs, now so anxious to reach the Reservation that they might escape any kind of entanglement with the rebels.

The party found Fairchild and Dorris fully prepared to protect those under their charge, and no attack was made, whatever may have been the first intention. On Mr. Dyer’s arrival at this time, he stated his fears to Fairchild and Dorris, which the Indians overhearing, stampeded, and went directly to the Lava Beds, thus adding fourteen warriors to Captain Jack’s forces. All of them were brave men, and bad men, too, as the sequel will show. The fright they had received at Bob Whittle’s appears to have made them even more anxious for war than those who had been engaged in the Lost-river battle, on the 30th of November, 1872.

Indian proof is abundant that Captain Jack, in anticipation of the coming of the soldiers, had advised his men to surrender rather than fight; but, even if forced to resist, in no event to attack citizens, saying, “If we must, we will fight soldiers, not white men,” meaning citizens.

It is a fact that, so far as he was concerned, he sought to avoid conflict. The Curly-haired Doctor was eager for blood—or, at all events, he was rebellious, and constantly advised resistance to the authority of the Government.

His interference in the council of December, 1869, referred to in a former chapter, and his sanction to the proposition to murder our party at that time, and the subsequent proposal to assassinate the Commissioners sent out in August, 1871, to arrange matters with them, all stand against him previous to the opening of the war.

But to return to the battle of Lost river. After a sharp fight, the citizens having withdrawn to Dennis Crawley’s house, the Modoc braves assembled, and, through the advice of Hooker Jim, the Curly-haired Doctor, with Steamboat Frank and three or four others, started on a mission of vengeance.

The acts of savage butchery committed by them are well known to the world,—how they went to Mr. Boddy’s house with their garments covered with the life-blood of their victims, and, taunting the women, boasted of their heroism, saying, “This is Boddy’s blood; but we are Modocs; we do not kill women and children. You will find Boddy in the woods. We will not hurt you.”

Thus from house to house they went, after killing the husbands and fathers, until they had slaughtered thirteen persons,—Brotherton, Schiere, Miller, and others, including one small boy, who resisted them.

The reign of terror was complete. Who shall ever find words to describe the horror of the night following this treacherous butchery? The women left their homes to hunt for their murdered friends. In one instance, the presence of a team without a driver gave the awful tidings.

Leaving their dead, through the long dark night that followed, they made their way through the trackless sage-brush plains to the nearest settlement. With these people the Modocs had been on friendly terms, and had never had any misunderstandings with the Indians. On the contrary, they had shown by many acts of kindness their good will. They were personally acquainted with the men who composed the murderous gang. This was especially the case with Mr. Miller; he had been their steadfast friend for years, and had furnished them provisions and ammunition but a few days previously, and had further interested himself in their behalf, in conjunction with Esquire Steele of Y-re-ka, in securing to them the right to take up lands in common with other people.

The murder of Miller seems the more inhuman when it is remembered that he was killed by Hooker Jim. The latter declares that he did not know that he was shooting at Miller. Otherwise he would not have committed the treacherous deed. Miller had been on especial good terms with this desperado.

With my knowledge of Indian character, I am of the opinion that Hooker Jim designedly killed Mr. Miller, because he believed that the latter had purposely withheld from the Modocs the movement of Major Jackson.

Loaded with plunder, and mounted on the horses they had captured, these bloodthirsty savages made their way around the east side of Tule lake; meeting Captain Jack and his warriors in the Lava Bed. I am indebted to the Modocs themselves for many items of importance in this connection. I give them for what they are worth, with the authority announced. Some of them are doubtless correct, according to the authority quoted.

On the arrival in the Lava Bed, Captain Jack denounced the murderers for their bloody work, and particularly for the killing of Mr. Miller; he then declared that the men who committed this outrageous crime should be surrendered to the white men for trial; that a great mistake had been made; and that unless these men were given up, the whole band would be lost. The councils held were noisy and turbulent, threatening strife and bloodshed. While this matter was under discussion, the Hot-Creek Indians, who had stampeded from Whittle’s Ferry, while they were en route to Klamath Agency, arrived in the Lava Bed, adding fourteen braves to the little band of desperadoes. The Hot-Creek Modocs, having become demoralized by the threats they had overheard made against them, and being influenced by the Curly-haired Doctor’s promise of making medicine to protect them, were ready to espouse the cause of the murderers. The whole number of braves at this time was fifty-three, including the chief himself. Thus, when the discussion was ended and the question was submitted to a vote, a large majority was opposed to the surrender of the Lost-river murderers.