On the following day the council tent was erected in a comparatively smooth plot of land, in the Lava Beds, care being taken to select a site as far as possible from rocks that might answer for an ambuscade.

This place was less than one mile from our camp, and a little more than a mile from the Modocs. Meanwhile the signal corps had established communication between the two army camps. The signal station at our camp was half way up the bluff, and commanded a view of the council tent, and of the trail leading to it from the Modoc stronghold, as it did of the entire Lava Beds.

Col. Mason’s command being on the opposite side of Captain Jack’s head-quarters, from our camp, the three were almost in a line. Communication was also established between the army camps, with boats going from one to the other, and, in doing so, passing in full view of the Modocs.

The Modocs were permitted to visit the head-quarters during the day, and to mix and mingle with the officers and men. The object of this liberty was to convince them of the friendly intentions of the army, and also of its power, as they everywhere saw the arms and munitions of war. They were also permitted to examine the shell mortars and the shells themselves.

On one occasion Bogus Charley and Hooker Jim observed the signal telegraph working, and inquired the meaning of it. They were told by Gen. Gilliam that he was talking to the other camp; that he knew what was going on over there; they were also informed that Col. Mason would move up nearer to their camp in a few days, and that he, Gen. Gilliam, would move his camp on to the little flat very near Captain Jack’s. “But don’t you shoot my men. I won’t shoot your men, but I am going over there to see if everything is all right.” Gen. Gilliam also informed them that, “in a few days, one hundred Warm Spring braves would be there.”

These things excited the Modocs very much. Bogus Charley questioned General Gilliam, “What for you talk over my home? I no like that. What for the Warm Springs come here?” Receiving no satisfactory reply, they went to Fairchild, who was in camp, and expressed much dissatisfaction on account of the signal telegraph, and the coming of the Warm Spring Indians.

On the 5th of April Captain Jack sent Boston Charley, with a request for old man Meacham to meet him at the council tent, and to bring John Fairchild along. This message was laid before the board. It was thought, both by Gen. Canby and Dr. Thomas, to be fraught with danger. I did not, and I assumed the responsibility of going this time; inviting Mr. Fairchild, and taking Riddle and his wife as interpreters, I went.

Judge Roseborough arrived in camp, and came on after we had reached the council tent.

Captain Jack was on the ground, accompanied by his wives and seven or eight men. On this occasion he talked freely, saying, substantially, that he felt afraid of Gen. Canby, on account of his military dress; and, also, of Dr. Thomas, because he was a Sunday doctor; but “now I can talk. I am not afraid. I know you and Fairchild. I know your hearts.” He reviewed the circumstances that led to the war, nearly in the order they have been referred to in this volume, and differing in no material point, except that he blamed Superintendent Odeneal for not coming in person to see him while on Lost river, saying, “that he would not have resisted him. Take away the soldier, and the war will stop. Give me a home on Lost river. I can take care of my people. I do not ask anybody to help me. We can make a living for ourselves. Let us have the same chance that other men have. We do not want to ask an agent where we can go. We are men; we are not women.”

I replied, that, “since blood has been spilled on Lost river, you cannot live there in peace; the blood would always come up between you and the white men. The army cannot be withdrawn until all the troubles are settled.”

After sitting in silence a few moments, he replied, “I hear your words. I give up my home on Lost river. Give me this lava bed for a home. I can live here; take away your soldiers, and we can settle everything. Nobody will ever want these rocks; give me a home here.”

Assured that no peace could be had while he remained in the rocks, unless he gave up the men who committed the murders on Lost river for trial, he met me with real Indian logic: “Who will try them,—white men or Indians?”

“White men, of course,” I replied, although I knew that this man had an inherent idea of the right of trial by a jury of his peers, and that he would come back with another question not easy to be answered by a citizen who believed in equal justice to all men.

“Then will you give up the men who killed the Indian women and children on Lost river, to be tried by the Modocs?”

I said, “No, because the Modoc law is dead; the white man’s law rules the country now; only one law lives at a time.”

He had not yet exhausted all his mental resources. Hear him say: “Will you try the men who fired on my people, on the east side of Lost river, by your own law?”

This inquiry was worthy of a direct answer, and it would seem that no honest man need hesitate to say “Yes.” I did not say yes, because I knew that the prejudice was so strong against the Modocs that it could not be done. I could only repeat that “the white man’s law rules the country,—the Indian law is dead.”

“Oh, yes, I see; the white man’s laws are good for the white man, but they are made so as to leave the Indian out. No, my friend, I cannot give up the young men to be hung. I know they did wrong,—their blood was bad when they saw the women and children dead. They did not begin; the white man began first; I know they are bad; I can’t help that; I have no strong laws, and strong houses; some of your young men are bad, too; you have strong laws and strong houses (jails); why don’t you make your men do right? No, I cannot give up my young men; take away the soldiers, and all the trouble will stop.”

I repeated again: “The soldiers cannot be taken away while you stay in the Lava Beds.” Laying his hand on my arm, he said, “Tell me, my friend, what I am to do,—I do not want to fight.” I said to him, “The only way now for peace is to come out of the rocks, and we will hunt up a new home for you; then all this trouble will cease. No peace can be made while you stay in the Lava Beds; we can find you another place, and the President will give you each a home.” He replied, “I don’t know any other country. God gave me this country; he put my people here first. I was born here,—my father was born here; I want to live here; I do not want to leave the ground where I was born.”

On being again assured that he “must come out of the rocks and leave the country, acknowledge the authority of the Government, and then we could live in peace,” his reply was characteristic of the man and his race:—

“You ask me to come out, and put myself in your power. I cannot do it,—I am afraid; no, I am not afraid, but my people are. When you was at Fairchild’s ranch you sent me word that no more preparation for war would be made by you, and that I must not go on preparing for war until this thing was settled. I have done nothing; I have seen your men passing through the country; I could have killed them; I did not; my men have stayed in the rocks all the time; they have not killed anybody; they have not killed any cattle. I have kept my promise,—have you kept yours? Your soldiers stole my horses, you did not give them up; you say ‘you want peace,’ why do you come with so many soldiers to make peace? I see your men coming every day with big guns; does that look like making peace?”

Then, rising to his feet, he pointed to the farther shore of the lake: “Do you see that dark spot there? do you see it? Forty-six of my people met Ben Wright there when I was a little boy. He told them he wanted to make peace. It was a rainy day; my people wore moccasins then; their feet were wet. He smoked the pipe with them. They believed him; they set down to dry their feet; they unstrung their bows, and laid them down by their sides; when, suddenly, Ben Wright drawing a pistol with each hand, began shooting my people. Do you know how many escaped? Do you know?” With his eye fixed fiercely on mine, he waited a minute, and then, raising one hand, with his fingers extended, he answered silently. Continuing, he said: “One man of the five—Te-he-Jack—is now in that camp there,” pointing to the stronghold.

I pointed to “Bloody Point,” and asked him how many escaped there? He answered: “Your people and mine were at war then; they were not making peace.”

On my asserting that “Ben Wright did wrong to kill people under a flag of truce,” he said: “You say it is wrong; but your Government did not say it was wrong. It made him a tyee chief. Big Chief made him an Indian agent.”

This half-savage had truth on his side, as far as the Government was concerned; as to the treachery of Ben Wright, that has been emphatically denied, and just as positively affirmed, by parties who were cognizant of the affair. It is certain that the Modocs have always claimed that he violated a flag of truce, and that they have never complained of any losses of men in any other way. I have no doubt that this massacre had been referred to often in the Modoc councils by the “Curly-haired Doctor” and his gang of cut-throats, for the purpose of preventing peace-making.

Captain Jack, rising to full stature, broke out in an impassioned speech, that I had not thought him competent to make:—

“I am but one man. I am the voice of my people. Whatever their hearts are, that I talk. I want no more war. I want to be a man. You deny me the right of a white man. My skin is red; my heart is a white man’s heart; but I am a Modoc. I am not afraid to die. I will not fall on the rocks. When I die, my enemies will be under me. Your soldiers begun on me when I was asleep on Lost river. They drove us to these rocks, like a wounded deer. Tell your soldier tyee I am over there now; tell him not to hunt for me on Lost river or Shasta Butte. Tell him I am over there. I want him to take his soldiers away. I do not want to fight. I am a Modoc. I am not afraid to die. I can show him how a Modoc can die.”

I advised him to think well; that our Government was strong, and would not go back; if he would not come out of the rocks the war would go on, and all his people would be destroyed.

Before parting, I proposed for him to go to camp with me, and have dinner and another talk. He said “he was not afraid to go, but his people were afraid for him. He could not go.”

This talk lasted nearly seven hours, and was the only full, free talk had with the Modocs during the existence of the Peace Commission.

I left that council having more respect for the Modoc chief than I had ever felt before. No arrangement was made for subsequent meetings, he going to his camp, to counsel with his people. We returned to ours, to report to the Board of Commissioners the talk, from the notes taken. Judge Roseborough, who had been present a portion of the time, and Mr. Fairchild, agreed with me that Captain Jack himself wanted peace, and was willing to accept the terms offered; but he, being in the hands of bad men, might not be able to bring his people out of the rocks.

Gen. Canby, Dr. Thomas, and Mr. Dyer were of the opinion that, inasmuch as Captain Jack had abandoned his claim to Lost river, which he had always insisted on previously, he might consent to a removal. We did not believe that his people would permit him to make such terms. We were all more anxious than before to save Captain Jack and those who were in favor of peace. Accordingly, it was determined to make the effort, Gen. Canby authorizing me to say, through a messenger, that, if Captain Jack and the peace party would come out, he would place the troops in position to protect him while making the attempt.

Tobey Riddle was despatched to the Modoc camp with the message, fully instructed what to say. On her arrival, Captain Jack refused a private conference, saying, “I want my people all to hear.” The proposition was made, the vote was taken, and but eleven men voted with Jack to accept the terms, the majority giving warning that any attempt to escape would be attended with chances of death to all who dared it. Captain Jack replied to the message: “I am a Modoc, and I cannot, and will not, leave my people.” The reason was evident—he dared not, knowing that his own life and that of his family would pay the penalty.

This vote in Tobey’s presence gave a knowledge as to the number of peace men in the Modoc camp. On her return to our camp, one of the peace men (the wild girl’s man), having secreted himself behind a rock near the trail, as she passed, said to her: “Tell old man Meacham and all the men not to come to the council tent again—they get killed.” Tobey could not stop to hear more, lest she should betray her friend who was giving her the information. She arrived at the Peace Commission tent in camp in great distress; her eyes were swollen, and gave evidence of weeping. She sat on her horse in solemn, sullen silence for some minutes, refusing to speak until her husband arrived. He beckoned me to him, and, with whitened lips, told the story of the intended assassination. The board was assembled, and the warning thus given us was repeated by Riddle, also the reply of Captain Jack to our message. A discussion was had over the warning, Gen. Canby saying that they “might talk such things, but they would not attempt it.” Dr. Thomas was inclined to believe that it was a sensational story, got up for effect. Mr. Dyer and myself accepted the warning, accrediting the authority.

On the day following, a delegation composed of “Bogus,” “Boston,” and “Shacknasty,” arrived, and proposed a meeting at the council tent; saying that Captain Jack and four other Indians were there waiting for us to meet them. I was managing the talks and negotiations for councils, and without evincing distrust of Boston, who was spokesman, said we were not ready to talk that day. While the parley was going on, an orderly handed Gen. Canby a despatch from the signal station, saying, “Five Indians at the council tent, apparently unarmed, and about twenty others, with rifles, are in the rocks a few rods behind them.” This paper was passed from one to another without comment, while the talk with Boston was being concluded. We were all convinced that treachery was intended on that day.

Before the Modocs left our camp, Dr. Thomas unwisely said to Bogus Charley, “What do you want to kill us for? We are your friends.” Bogus, in a very earnest manner, said, “Who told you that?” The doctor evaded. Bogus insisted; growing warmer each time; and finally, through fear, or perhaps he was too honest to evade longer, the doctor replied, “Tobey told it.” Bogus signalled to Shacknasty and Boston, and the three worthies left our camp together; Bogus, however, having questioned Tobey as to the authorship of the warning, before leaving. Riddle and his wife were much alarmed now for their own personal safety. Up to this time they had felt secure. The trio of Modocs had not been gone very long, when a messenger came demanding of Tobey to visit the Modoc camp. She was alarmed, as was Riddle. They sought advice of the commission,—they thought there was great danger. I did not.

A consultation was had with General Canby, who proposed to move immediately against the Modocs were Tobey assaulted. With this assurance she consented to go. In proof of my faith in her return I loaned her my overcoat, and gave her my horse to ride. She parted with her little boy (ten years old) several times before she succeeded in mounting her horse,—clasping him to her breast, she would set him down and start, and then run to him and catch him up again,—each time seeming more affected,—until at last her courage was high enough, and, saying a few words in a low voice to her husband, she rode off on this perilous expedition to meet her own people. Riddle, too, was very uneasy about her safety; with a field-glass in hand he took a station commanding a view of the trail to the Modoc camp. This incident was one of thrilling interest. We could see that Indian woman when she arrived in the Modoc camp, and could see them gather around her. They demanded to know by what authority she had told the story about their intention to kill the commission. She denied that she had; but the denial was not received as against the statement of Bogus. She then claimed that she dreamed it; this was not accepted. The next dodge was, “The spirits told me.” Believers as they are in Spiritualism, they would not receive this statement, and began to make threats of violence; declaring that she should give the name of her informer, or suffer the consequences. Rising to a real heroism, she pointed with one hand, saying, “There are soldiers there,” and with the other, “There are soldiers there; you touch me and they will fire on you, and not a Modoc will escape.” Smiting her breast, she continued: “I am a Modoc woman; all my blood is Modoc; I did not dream it; the spirits did not tell me; one of your men told me. I won’t tell you who it was. Shoot me, if you dare!”

On her return she gave an account of this intensely thrilling scene as related, and it has been subsequently confirmed by other Modocs who were present. Captain Jack and Scar-face Charley interfered in her behalf, and sent an escort to see her safely to our camp. She repeated her warning against going to the peace tent.