While this battle is raging, the stage-coach from the North arrives at Y-re-ka, and stops at the hotel. A gentleman says a few words to the driver. The street-lamp before Judge Roseborough’s door throws its light on the faces of several ladies and gentlemen who stand waiting to receive the lady passenger. She
is met with warm-hearted kindness, although every face is new. Supper is waiting. Every effort is made for the lady’s comfort. She weeps now, although this great sorrow of her life had seemed to dry up the fountain of tears until the warm hearts and kind words of strange voices had touched, with melting power, her inner soul. A short sleep, and she arises, to find a four-horse carriage awaiting to bear her to the Lava Beds. A new escort takes his place beside her.
Just after daylight, and while leaving the Shasta valley, a few miles out of Y-re-ka, the driver announces a courier coming from the Lava Beds. As he approaches, he draws from his “cantena”—a leather pocket carried on the saddle-front—a paper, and, waving it while he checks his panting horse, says, “For Mrs. Meacham.” Oh, the power of a few words! How they can change darkness into light! The letter read as follows:—
Lava Beds, Tuesday Eve., April 15.
Dear Sister: Your husband will recover. His wounds are doing well, but he will never be very handsome any more.
Your brother,
D. J. FERREE.
This inveterate joker cannot resist the temptation to mix the colors of the rainbow in all he does. But we forgive him.
This morning, as the sun dispels the darkness, the Modocs abandon the attempt to reach the lake. For two days and nights they have fought without sleep. They are suffering from thirst and long-continued fighting; but no signs of surrender are anywhere visible.
The chief has called a council. It is decided to evacuate on the approach of night, and the braves are ordered to hold their fire unless to resist a charge.
A few of the Modocs have passed outside the lines by way of the “open flat,” and are crawling towards the soldiers’ camp at the foot of the bluff. Gen. Gilliam, Dr. McEldry and others have passed over the route unharmed. The horse-stretchers have passed and repassed with their mangled freight. The pack-ponies are all busily engaged, and the team horses, that were ordered by the quartermaster into service, are employed in carrying the dead. The pack-trains and teams belong to private citizens, and have been employed by the Government in carrying and hauling supplies. It was not expected, however, that they would be required to carry bleeding and mangled human freight.