Meanwhile, the report went out that the war was over, much to the disquiet of those who were anxious to secure U. S. greenbacks.
The day previous to the proposed surrender, Riddle and his wife expressed to me their opinion, that if the teams were sent they would be captured, or that no Modocs would meet them, to surrender.
I sought an interview with Gen. Canby, giving him the opinions I had formed from Riddle’s talk.
The general called Riddle and his wife to his quarters. They repeated to him what they had previously said to me. He consulted Gen. Gilliam, and concluded that Mrs. Riddle either did not know, or was working into the hands of the Modocs, or, perhaps, was influenced in some way by those who were opposed to peace.
At all events, on the morning fixed upon, the teams were sent out, under charge of Mr. Steele. Many an anxious eye followed them until they passed out of sight.
The hours dragged slowly by for their return; but so sanguine were Gen. Canby and Gen. Gilliam that tents were prepared for their accommodation, one was designated as “Captain Jack’s Marquee,” another “Schonchin’s,” and so on, through the row of white canvas tents.
Mr. Applegate was so certain that they would come that he left the head-quarters for home, and reported en route: “The war is over. The Modocs have surrendered.”
The soldiers were ready and anxious to welcome the heroes of the Lava Beds. The sentiment was not universal that the wagons would return loaded with Indians.
Our keen-sighted, gray-eyed man shook his head. “I don’t think they will come. They are not going to Angel Island, as prisoners of war, just yet.”
Riddle and wife were in distress; their warning had been disregarded, their opinions dishonored, their integrity doubted.