Midway between the oceans and near Solon, Iowa, in the sitting-room of an old homestead, a group is kneeling around a family altar. The bent form of a silver-haired man is surrounded by his aged second wife, his two living daughters; and perhaps, too, the invisible presence of two daughters and two sons that have gone before, and their own mother, are also there. His voice is tremulous while he leads in prayer and recounts that half of his family has gone and half remains; blesses God that the dark sorrow that threatened them has passed away, and invokes Heaven’s blessings on the living loved ones.
Thursday morning, and we are in a cabin at Ferree’s ranch. The proprietor enters, holding a letter in his hand. “See here, old man, I don’t know but what you have jumped out of the frying-pan into the fire. How does this suit you?”
Klamath Agency, Thursday morning, April 23.
Friend Ferree:—Be on your guard. The Klamath Indians were in war council last night.... We have sent our women and children to Fort Klamath for safety....
L. S. DYER,
Agent Klamath.
“That don’t look wholesome for us, old man; but you are all right, you can play dead on ’em again, and they can’t scalp you nohow. We are pretty well stockaded and well armed. We can play them a merry string, if they do come. If we have to fight, why, you can’t do much, that’s so, except as old man Jones did at the camp-meeting last year. He said he couldn’t preach, he couldn’t pray much, but he could say Amen as well as anybody; and all through the meeting old Father Jones was shouting ‘Amen!’ ‘A-men!’ until they stopped the old fellow. Didn’t I never tell you about that? Well, brother Congar was preaching brimstone pretty lively, and Father Jones was shouting Amen occasionally. Brother Congar was saying to the congregation, ‘If you don’t repent and be baptized, you’ll all go to hell, shure as you’re born,’—‘Amen! Thank God!—Amen!’ shouts Father Jones. Brother Congar stops. ‘Father Jones, you didn’t understand what I was a-sayin,’—‘Yes, I guess I did, Bro. Congar, you told me if we come over here that, whenever you said anything powerful smart, I was to say ‘Amen!’ You said you couldn’t preach worth a cent unless I did, and I’ve done it, so I have. If it aint satisfactory, I quit and go back home,’—‘Amen!’ shouted brother Congar, and went on with the preaching. Now all we will ask of you, ‘old man,’ is to say ‘Amen,’ but don’t act the fool about it like Father Jones did, that’s all. We’ll tend to administering sulphur in broken doses, if they try to take us in. Don’t think there’s any danger though. Dyer isn’t over the scare he got in the race with Hooker Jim yet.”
Friday morning, April 24th.—The army at the
Lava Beds is performing some masterly feats of inactivity that would have been a credit to Gen. McClellan on the peninsula. The wild fowls that fly over the Lava Beds look down on the army of a thousand recuperating after the big battle of last week. Col. Miller is in charge of Captain Jack’s stronghold. The Warm Springs are divided up, and assigned to duty with the different squadrons of cavalry. Quartermaster Grier is having a coffin made and a grave prepared for a soldier that is dear to somebody somewhere, who is in blissful ignorance of his fate.
Ferree’s Ranch, Sunday morning, April 25, ’72.—A horseman arrives, and, taking Ferree aside, he informs him that a reliable friendly Indian had come in to Linkville and reported that it was understood that Meacham had killed Schonchin, and that some of Schonchin’s friends had been to Yai-nax—an Indian station on Klamath Reservation—and learned that Meacham was at Ferree’s. Further, that it was thought advisable that he be immediately removed to Linkville, lest the Modocs should make an attack on the ranch, seeking revenge for the death of Schonchin. The ambulance is ordered out, and the convalescent Peace Commissioner was again on wheels. Here we take leave of our inveterate joker—the Iowa veteran—Capt. Ferree leaving him to administer “saltpetre and blue-pills” to the red skins in the event of an attack.
Lava Beds, Gilliam’s Camp, Sunday morning, April 26th.—Something is to be done to-day. The location of the Modocs has been ascertained through the efforts of the Warm Springs Indian scouts. A reconnoissance of the new stronghold is ordered. The detachment designated for this purpose consisted