The Californian/Volume 1/In the Lava Beds

by William M. Bunker

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IN THE LAVA BEDS.

The Modoc war was practically ended in May, 1873, soon after General Jefferson C. Davis, then commanding the Department of the Columbia, assumed personal direction of the troops in the field. From the seventh to the twentieth of May, gallant Major Harry Hasbrouck, of the Fourth Artillery, was engaged in a scouting expedition through the Lave Beds. His force consisted of Battery B (the light battery), Fourth Artillery, Companies B and G of the First Cavalry, and the Warm Spring Indian allies—two hundred and ten men in all. Officers and soldiers suffered terrible hardships—lack of food and water, loss of sleep, and other physical discomforts. But the reward for these troubles was wholly adequate. At Dry Lake, a waterless basin in the centre of the beds, the men were hurried from their blankets in the gray of morning by a rattling volley from Modoc rifles and deafening yells of exultation. The redoubtable Captain Jack led the Indians. With a zeal born of blind confidence the warriors leaped nimbly from crag to crag at his behest. He may have relied upon a sense of justice for some of his strength. He certainly was strong in the prestige of a victor who had yet to learn the weakening influences of defeat. Hasbrouck had taken every possible precaution against a surprise. The temporary camp had been selected as affording the best facilities for repelling assailants, and the picket posts met every prudential requirement. Had the sentinels been gifted with the sensitive scent of the deer, or the eyesight of the owl, the onslaught of the enemy might have been anticipated by a few moments. The first intimation of the close proximity of the Indians were the shots and shouts. Hasbrouck swiftly placed his men in skirmish line and began aggressive work. In previous fights the Modocs had picked off the soldiers and demoralized the ranks by the devices peculiar to Savage warfare. The Indians only exposed themselves to view when they felt sure of a victory. Hasbrouck gave them little time to select their living targets. He made an irregular charge which was fatal to several of the shrieking fiends, and sent the entire outfit— bucks, squaws, and pappooses—flying for their lives. This was the decisive contest of the war. Our casualties were seven killed and nine wounded. The damage was done by the first volley from the hostiles. The Modoc tribe embraced three factions: the Lost Rivers, among whom Captain Jack belonged; the Combatwoshes, or Rock Indians, who dwelt in the Lava Beds, and the Cottonwoods, whose wigwams were by the creek of that name on Fairchild's Ranch, a locality twenty-three miles southwest of the beds. The Cottonwoods suffered most severely in the Dry Lake fight. Their leading warrior, bearing the prosaic title of Ellen's Man, succumbed to the unerring accuracy of a Warm Spring scout. The loss was doubly disastrous to the hostiles, from the fact that Jack had assured his followers, previous to the fight, that no Modoc could be injured by a white man's bullet. He had consulted the tribal oracle, with this Delphian result. The Indians, as it afterward transpired, held a hasty council of war upon the occasion of the first halt. The Cottonwoods denounced Jack as a false prophet, and advocated a measure approximating to the want of confidence vote in English legislation. Jack refused to resign, and could not be deposed. The wrangle resulted in a division of the tribe. The chieftain and his Lost Rivers and Cumbatwoshes started off in the direction of Oregon. The Cottonwoods fled to the south. Hasbrouck struck the trail of the Cottonwoods in a few hours, and dropped several stragglers, Before the fight the command. had scouted afoot. Horses were now brought to the edge of the beds, under escort, and placed at the disposal of the wearied men. The facility with which the artillerymen fought as infantry and cavalry was highly complimentary to the artillery branch of the service. The Cottonwoods passed out of the beds and into a chain of ragged mountains many miles to the south. They were followed until the horses refused to travel further. Hasbrouck reported at Fairchild's on the twentieth of May, with an exhausted command. Both men and horses had been worked out. The jaded steeds were bloody about the feet, nearly shoeless, and suffered sorely from strains and sprains. Such was the first scout under the orders of General Davis. He was proud of its success, and the words of commendation he bestowed upon Major Hasbrouck brought blushes to the cheeks of that dashing officer.

A couple of days elapsed, and the Hasbrouck scout bore fresh fruits. The Cottonwoods had been so hardly pressed in the chase that they were reduced to the verge of starvation. With the aid of a friendly squaw, living at the ranch, they got word to General Davis that they were willing to cease fighting if the Boston warriors were of the same mind. The peace negotiations with this faction were soon concluded. The basis was unconditional surrender. At six o'clock on the afternoon of May 20th, the Cottonwoods wound around a hill near the camp in motley procession, and came at funeral pace to a bench of greensward 'in front of headquarters. They were filthy, ragged, and generally repulsive. The female faces were coated with tar, which, with the northern tribes, is the emblem of deepest mourning. The prisoners numbered sixty-three—twelve bucks, twenty squaws, and thirty-one children. Each buck wore the uniform of a private soldier, and carried a Springfield rifle. The squaws wore tattered and torn calico gowns, or the remnants of army blankets. The children had to depend mainly upon their robust constitutions for protection from the extremes of heat and cold. The bucks were generally small of stature, but wiry and muscular. The young squaws inclined to embonpoint, and those past the meridian of life to bones. The children were comely and bright, but precociously combative. Even the toddling child would grab a handful of sand, stones, or sticks, and make a vicious fling at the pale-face who sought to force a close acquaintance. Indian ponies formed a sorry feature in the group. These luckless brutes, about the size of Shetlands, were principally mane, tail, foretop, and fetlock. Rough usage and rougher fare had reduced them to mere skeletons. I had hardly finished a hasty inspection of the Cottonwoods when General Davis appeared on the scene. Each buck advanced, laid his rifle on the ground, gave his name, shook hands with the General, and calmly awaited instructions. The squaws and children huddled together and remained perfectly passive. At a respectful distance stood officers, soldiers, and war correspondents, who viewed with curiosity the singular scene. General Davis terminated the ceremonies with these remarks: "I will give you a camp where you may remain to-night. If you try to run or escape, you will be shot." The order was explained and obedience promised. The list of prisoners included names of note in the tribe. First in the order of ferocious reputation were Huka Jim, Shacknasty Jim, Steamboat Frank, and Bogus Charley. Huka enjoyed special distinction as a murderer, trailer, and marksman. He had the characteristic popularly ascribed to the singed cat, in that he was smarter than his appearance indicated. Shacknasty was slight of build and barely five feet high. Steamboat was the heaviest of the four, and about the height of Bogus, who stood five feet ten inches in his moccasins. Huka and Shacknasty were stoical of countenance. Bogus had a hypocritical grin which comported with his reputation. Steamboat smiled with the whites of his eyes. It always made my flesh crawl to look at Steamboat. Bogus was of the willowy type, and agile asacat. A striking feature of the Modocs was an obliquity of the eye, which, to my mind, suggests a Tartar exodus to the northern coast in some. remote period of the past. The two Jims and Steamboat and Bogus were entitled to halters, by reason of murders and other deviltries committed among the white settlers. They were on the Government black list for active participation in the Peace Commission massacre, when General Canby and Rev. Dr. Thomas were foully slain, and Colonel A. B. Meacham was wounded and partially scalped.

The surrender of these outcasts put the camp in the best of humor. The men were merry as boys, and the officers enjoyed, in anticipation, the pleasure of reunions with near and dear ones. By ten o'clock the last Modoc had gorged himself to repletion; the Indian camp and our own tented village were wrapped in slumber, and the measured tread of the sentinels and the occasional howl of a cur were the only sounds heard. The night passed away without incident save one of a domestic character among the Indians. It was a boy.

At an early hour in the morning, General Davis, Fairchild—rancher, guide, and scout— Bogus and Steamboat, and the two Modoc Jims, held a private conference. The four savages stated, in substance, that they had experienced a change of heart, and were now friends of the Boston (Indian term for white) men. They yearned to show the General that the alteration in their feelings was a tangible reality —that their regard for him was of the most enduring nature. They would assist him to ferret out the bad men whom the soldiers had been unable to catch. They were willing, after the manner of the lamented A. Ward, to sacrifice any relative in his interest. The proposition first discussed was made by Shacknasty. It was to the effect that the quartette would act as spies, and aid in the destruction of Jack's band. It was explained to the traitors that the services they might render were to be considered in mitigation of punishment for past offenses. The General positively declined to make any other promises.

About noon the camp was startled by a genwine sensation. General Davis, Mr. Fairchild, five soldiers of the Fourth Artillery, a special correspondent, and the four red-handed Modocs suddenly rode away together in the direction of the Lava Beds. Each member of the party was armed, and some of them may have been eager fora fray. I can safely acquit one member of any such eagerness. The General carried two self-cocking revolvers; Fairchild, the soldiers, and the special were armed with carbines; and the Indians were provided with Springfield rifles and a prodigal supply of cartridges. The Indians preferred the rifles because of their superiority to the carbines. The day was pleasant, the road, barring fugitive blocks of lava which now and then caused the animals to stumble, was fairly adapted for horseback traveling, and the ride, under most circumstances, would have been highly enjoyable. But the proverbial thorn was there. It was difficult for me to realize that the four savages, who rode just in the advance, had been divested of their hostile intent, and transformed into peaceful, plodding scouts in the space of twenty-four hours. The regeneration was too miraculous for belief. I was prepared to see these aborigines whirl around in their saddles and pay us a few leaden compliments. I even considered the relative speed of the horses we rode. I thought of the dispatch I could show in case trouble occurred and it became necessary for me to ride away for succor. It afforded me a sort of melancholy satisfaction to think that it might be my first duty to ride off in case firing began. My view of the situation was not rendered more agreeable when it became necessary to send two of our soldier escort on a special mission to Hasbrouck, then encamped on Lost River, distant sixty miles. General Davis announced that the party, as now constituted, would halt on the western border of the Lava Beds, and, next morning, proceed directly through the beds to Boyle's Camp. This camp was a permanent depot for stores. It was situated on a peninsula jutting out from the eastern side of Rhett Lake. Most of the Modocs were supposed to have left the beds, and the soldiers were being concentrated at Boyle's to recruit for outside scouting operations. We reached the border of the beds in about four hours, our ride having been entirely peaceful. We found that the evacuation was all but completed. The last of the troops, under Colonel Mendenhall and Captains Field, Bancroft, Throckmorton, and other officers of the Fourth Artillery, were encamped on the brow of the bluff overlooking the beds from the west, and had arranged to depart next day for the Boyle Camp, by way of Lost River. This was a circuitous route, but the only one available for the infantry. We were the guests of Colonel Mendenhall for the night.

After supper, I strolled along the edge of the bluff for my last view of the Modocs' rocky abode. The Lava Beds are of historical interest. As the scenes of Modoc triumphs they will ever claim the attention of the civilized world. Seventy warriors, encumbered with women and children to the number of two hundred, had defied the United States Government for months and months, killed and wounded soldiers equal to three times the number of their own fighting force, and again and again repulsed attacking parties consisting of several hundred regular soldiers. I recall to mind no instance in modern or ancient warfare surpassing in rude heroism the desperate defense made by the Modocs. Their success, of course, was largely due to the fact that the soldiers were not familiar with the ramifications and sinuosities of the beds. The Modoc Lava Beds (there are other lava beds in Oregon, Idaho, and Arizona) are situated northeast from Yreka, Siskiyou County, California, about fifty-three miles in an air line. This distance is over eighty miles by road. The beds proper have a width of ten miles north and south, and run east and west fifteen miles. They are bounded on the north by Rhett Lake, half of which sheet of water is in Oregon. The old emigrant road, familiar to many who crossed the plains in early days, skirts the eastern side of the beds. To the south is a nameless range of mountains. The western boundary is a bluff which continues north along the western shore of the lake. It is a rocky bluff, its face nearly a sheer precipice, and from the level of the beds to its summit the distance is five hundred and eighty-six feet. The bluff is the coign of vantage in viewing the beds. The entire lava country is compassed in a sweeping glance. Looking over the beds with the naked eyes, they appear to consist of an undulating plain. The sight is uninviting because of the general suggestion of desolation. A forsaken region is the impression left upon the mind. No trees are seen in the immediate foreground, and those in the distance are dwarfed into bushes. The counterpart of this apparent plain may be seen along the ocean shore of New England. Let grounded sea-weed represent the dark lines twisting through the bed, and the picture is complete. The gentle undulations, as they appear from a distance, the waving grass and bushes, the lights and shadows cast on the surface by passing clouds, are in strict keeping with a beach landscape. The white, pumice-strewn shore of Tule Lake makes the resemblance most complete. I know the beds of old. To me the dark lines are something more formidable than sea-weed. Every one of them recalls to memory adventures more or less disagreeable. Away in the east, distant three miles as the crow flies, is a long, dark, ragged line—Jack's famous stronghold.

It is assumed that the beds were once occupied by an active volcano. Through a freak of nature the volcano sunk into the earth during an eruption, and left upon the surface a sea of seething lava. The lava fused the rock with which it came in contact, and, as a rule, caused a complete metamorphosis. The primary rocks were stratified in new and curious forms. The formations exposed are of trachyte and basalt. Every ledge, so far as I observed, was mineralized with iron. Rock from the ledges is heavy and very tenacious. The rim of the beds is from fifty to one hundred yards in width, and consists of chunks of lava and lava dust. The java in the rim is of a light brown color, occasionally bordering on white, and weighs little more than pumice stone. The tough lava of which the beds are mainly composed is black, or has a bluish shade, according to locality. The loose pieces of lava on the outskirts of the beds indicate that the coating, as before suggested, was once in a liquid state. The fragments are porous and curved. Each had its place in the huge bubbles of the lava sea. There are immense numbers of funnel-like outlets, in which steam has been generated below and gas exploded, the openings being small at the bottom and large at the top, with crevices around. Where the steam has not exploded strongly enough to blow the rocks entirely clear, and has left these funnels, it has upheaved the rocks and allowed them to fall back loosely so as to form immense heaps.

The true character of the Lava Beds cannot be learned by inspection from afar. Nothing but close acquaintance will inform the visitor. Pass inside of the rim and you fail to find a level spot. Every rock stands on end and exposes angular points. When the war began the Indians were scattered along the western border. After several battles they suddenly vanished as by magic. It was supposed that they had fled to a distant locality. A reconnoissance developed them in what was aptly termed the back-bone of the beds, or Captain Jack's stronghold. This bone consists of a nob of giant ledges in the northeastern portion of the lava section. These ledges crop out boldly and have no special course. The best defined ledge generally trends north and south. The lesser ledges run nearly parallel at times, and again cut in at right angles. The mean level of the beds is below that of the lake, As you draw near the stronghold it becomes necessary to descend into irregular chasms, Before you have time to study the topography of the place, ledges loom up fifty and sixty feet high, directly in front, and all but compel a halt. The savages, pressed by the troops, retired from ledge to ledge, and each retreat carried them to higher ground and gave them additional advantages. The stronghold proper is about the summit of several of the boldest ledges. They radiate from a common centre and are difficult of access. Along the top of each ledge is a natural channel three or four feet in depth, wherein the cunning savage can skulk and shoot and still remain unseen. The channels are complicated and labyrinthian. Modocs had dwelt here for ages, so said tradition, and yet the followers of Jack would not trust to memory as they moved about. They failed to feel securely familiar with this pile of rocks two hundred yards square, and had the different channels marked by bits of wood! The rocks are not adapted to cave formations. The caves mentioned in war telegrams are spacious basins occurring in the solid rock. Those in the stronghold are one hundred or more feet in circumference, and have a depth of fifty feet. Overhanging rocks furnish a few of these caves with what might be termed incomplete roofing. Jack's band made a stand in the stronghold, and played sad havoc with assailing parties. One night the water in the stronghold gave out. The only convenient source of supply was the lake, distant one mile. Between the stronghold and the lake was a line of soldiers. Before morning the Modocs fled from this rocky fastness to the southern end of the beds, where Hasbrouck finally gave them so much trouble.

Five miles south of Rhett Lake, and in the southeastern portion of the lava deposit, are two bold buttes, united by a narrow tongue of black lava, which are of pure scoria. Each of these buttes has a crater at its crest. Close at hand are a number of lava buttes, with craters. All of these buttes combined could not have made the overflow constituting the beds, albeit the lips of the craters have been cut by streams of lava which cooled in the shadowy past. The marvelous power of nature, as exemplified in the configuration of the rocks about these buttes, and the lines of demarkation between fusion complete and arrested, make a lasting impression upon the most superficial beholder. There is an appalling sublimity in the sight which one can not shake off. The surface of the earth is in ruins here. Tree, plant, and grass are absent. The lava is a sombre black. There are bottomless fissures from one to two feet in width and miles in length. There are broad chasms over one hundred feet deep. There are perfect arches—keystone and all—suggesting remnants ofa Roman temple. There are odd forms and profiles which would do credit to a gifted sculptor. The ledges often lie parallel, like so many dark, forbidding waves, each ledge dotted with circular, sharp-edged hollows.

The striking characteristics of this wonderful home of the Modocs were outlined in my mind as I stood on the bluff that night. But darkness wrapped the beds in a pall, and I retired to a welcome couch on Mother Earth.

At daylight, we bade farewell to Colonel Mendenhall's command, and rode down a steep trail to the beds. The Colonel and other officers had tried to dissuade General Davis from making the journey, but without success. He said six white men ought to be a match for four Modocs; he did not fear the Modocs; and he had a purpose to serve in passing through the beds with his small party. We advanced into the beds in open order; but every hundred feet or so the intruding ledges forced us into single file. The Modocs kept well in front, and did the scouting. And such scouting! After studying the movements of the savages—and I confess to having watched closely—it was easy to see that Cooper had a clear title to many of the fascinating details in his novels. If one scout halted for a moment, his companions followed suit. The passing of signals was unnecessary. These sons of nature knew each other as they knew nature itself. Near the scene of the Peace Commission massacre, and hardly a mile from the bluff, Huka Jim dropped from his horse and left the animal nibbling at a bush. The other savages adopted the same course. In the twinkling of an eye, there were four riderless horses in sight, but no Indians. Ourparty halted in obedience to a signal from Fairchild. With the aid of a field-glass we saw a man wiggling through a groove in one of the ledges. In a few moments another man was detected crawling toward No. 1. Finally we made out four men in a group, all lying upon the ground, and apparently holding a consultation. The group was broken as quietly as it was formed, and, inside of five minutes, our scouts were again in the saddle and going forward. We took the hint and also resumed our journey. Huka sent Bogus to us with the message that Indian signs had been found—the remains of a fire. But we need not look very sharp, as the fire was two suns old. I am unable to state how Huka reached this conclusion; but I do know, from facts I learned later in the season, that Huka's report was literally correct. The next halt was caused by a quick motion of the hand by this same Huka. He was prostrate on the ground and listening ere we had complied with his gesture. Back came the word that there were animals in motion just beyond a ridge which we were approaching. We were to dismount and await the results of an investigation. The suspense was soon dissipated. The animals were stray cattle.

The trail led us across the northern corner of Jack's stronghold. Here we were often obliged to walk and lead horses. It was hard, tiring work, and I rejoiced when the last barrier of the stronghold was cleared. I now felicitated myself on the fact that the gloomiest portion of the route would soon be passed. A couple more miles and we would be out of the beds and upon a level road following the eastern shore of the lake. But a bitter disappointment was close at hand. Fairchild and the scouts had rounded a rocky point one hundred yards in advance of the other members of the party, and were out of our sight. We in the rear were riding in single file—first a soldier, then the General, then the correspondent, and lastly two soldiers. There was a shot, followed by a savage cry, just beyond the point, and then there were more shots, fired in quick succession, and a series of ear-splitting yells. There was no mistaking the character of the latter. Such emotional yells could come from none but savages. Yelling and dancing are the mediums through which a savage expresses his feelings. We got down from our horses at once. The General was cool and perfectly calm. As the firing increased, his face was illumed with smiles, and his action betokened supreme delight. As we hurried forward he made observations which satisfied me that he looked on the fight, whatever the result might be, as a pleasant feature introduced into the programme for his special delectation. There is no rear for non-combatants in Indian fights. The firing developed in front may prove to be only a feint, and the severest attack generally begins from behind when the troops are advancing upon the enemy. With weapons ready for immediate use we turned the rocky point—to find that our scouts were shooting at the ducks on the lake, and had already bagged a goodly number. The heartiness with which some of us laughed at the humorous features of the affair was quite suggestive.

Thenceforward the ride to Boyle's Camp, which we reached in the gloaming, was devoid of noteworthy incidents. The purposes of our peculiar ride were afterwards told me by General Davis. I hold that they reflect the highest credit upon that noble soldier and true friend. The troops, he said, had necessarily been demoralized by the original successes of the Madocs, and needed some sort of encouragement. He wanted every man in the command to fully realize that he meant business. He also aimed to convince the Modoc scouts that he reposed confidence in them and had not the slightest fear of treachery. The General’s plan was a complete success. The four Modoc scouts, without doubt the worst scoundrels in the whole tribe, were ceaseless in their efforts to ferret out Captain Jack and the remnants of his band. The scouts came to regard General Davis with mingled awe and admiration. They recognized in his character those qualities which gained for him the esteem and respect of the entire expeditionary force in the field. General Davis’s services in the Modoc war constitute one of the most prominent features of his brilliant record. The operations against the Indians anterior to his appearance on the scene were terribly disastrous to the whites, and the soldiers were pretty thoroughly disheartened. In six weeks after he first arrived at the Lava Beds, the Modoc revolt was a thing of the past. He checked the demoralization resulting from repeated reverses, instituted aggressive movements, roused the soldiers with his personal magnetism, and achieved a full measure of success. A few weeks ago the nation was called upon to mourn the loss of this faithful soldier. But among the tributes so richly deserved and so freely bestowed I failed to notice any reference to the General’s reward for subduing the Modocs, which was, “the privilege of signing his brevet title of Major-General to official orders.” And such is the gratitude of a republic!

W. M. BUNKER.