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:

“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 manoeuvre, 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?