The April Conferences - History - http://maxpages.com/modocwar/Antepenultimatum

On the 5th [sic] 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 The army cannot be withdrawn until all the troubles are settled."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 cold 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 mad 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 puut 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?" . . .

Captain Jack, rising to full stature, broke out in an impassioned speech, that I had not though 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.

Editorial -- San Francisco Call (12 April 1873)

The Lava Bed Farce

"The Peace Commissioners are despondent," "Captain Jack's men are busily engaged in building fortifications," and he "refuses further talk." This is the burthen of the news from the lava beds. At every step of General Canby's progress it becomes necessary for him to telegraph to Washington for further instructions. Red tapery says, "Hold on." Thus, whatever plans the General may have formed are frustrated by those who know little about the situation. If left to himself, he would doubtless bring the difficulty to a close speedily. As it is, he is to be pitied. The Commissioners feed the Indians, and remit them valuable presents to conciliate their friendship. After each threat, Captain Jack goes to his camp with a fresh peace-offering. He begins to understand the matter now, and repeats his threatenings, that his gifts may be increased and multiplied. It is profitable for him to hold out; and so long as the two adverse powers--the Department at Washington and the Peace Commissioners in camp--differ, Captain Jack and his warriors will enjoy themselves on the good things they receive, until it suits them to make a treaty to get rid of the soldiers, when they will most likely resume hostilities upon the settlers.

Editorial -- Jacksonville Oregon Sentinel (12 April 1873)

Peace Commission

The Peace Commission, under the leadership of A. B. Meacham, is still pestering our army at the Modoc camp. Meacham has become a chronic sore on the country, and it is getting to be quite a serious question whether Mr. Meacham is not a greater nuisance than the Modocs. His pertinent obstinacy is without a parallel. The peace policy, under the circumstances, was humiliating and disgraceful when first inaugurated, but it has long since become criminal by endangering the lives and property of citizens, in prolonging this demoniacal farce.

The people have given up all hopes of Meacham surrendering his most wicked policy as long as he can get $10 per day, with a hope of getting a reservation established somewhere in California, with himself as agent. But why the authorities in Washington should allow the peace policy to continue at the enormous cost of life and property, is a mystery that we cannot account for.

We see from letters from Washington that Senator Mitchell has been protesting against this policy in the most earnest terms.

Even the Modocs have got disgusted and are bantering the officers for a fight. Jack says that he is tired of so much nonsensical talk. No wonder.

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