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.”