Gen. Wheaton refrains from the use of the Dead March. The column goes steadily on, marching for one hundred yards, then turns to the right, and the scaffold comes in view; it marches square to the front, then turning to the left, directly towards it, and when within a few yards, the column opens right and left, while the team with the victims of crime drives to the foot of the steps that lead to the ropes dangling in the air above. It stops. Again the stern, manly voice of Gen. Wheaton commands. The first time the Modocs heard that voice was on the 17th of June, 1873, when supported by loud-talking guns. Then they answered back defiance from the caverns of the stronghold. All day long he coaxed them then with powder and shell; now he speaks with the silent power of a hundred glittering sabres backing his words, and the Modocs answer with the clashing chains on their legs. “The first shall be last, and the last shall be first.”
This royal-blooded chief was the last to enter the vortex of crime; he is the first to rise on the ladder of justice.
The chains are now cut from his limbs. He stood unmoved when they were riveted there; he is equally firm now.
Again the problem of the four coffins and six graves engages his mind, while the chisel parts the rivets. Schonchin is next to stand up while his fetters are broken. Then Boston, next Black Jim; and the good blacksmith wipes the perspiration from his brow with his leathern apron, straightens himself ready for this kindly work to Barncho and Slolux.
Behind are six graves,—above are six ropes,—in the wagon are four unchained men and four empty coffins. The suspense is ended by a word from General Wheaton to the blacksmith, and a motion with his sword towards the ladder, while his eyes meet first the Chief, then Schonchin, next Black Jim, and rest a moment on Boston Charley. Steadily the four men march up the seven steps that lead to the six dangling ropes. Barncho, with Slo-lux, still sits in the wagon below.
The mourning Modoc captives in the stockade have an unobstructed view of the scene, three hundred yards away; they count four men going up the ladder,—they see six ropes hanging from the beam above them.
“Four loyal Modoc lions, who did so much to bring the war to a close,” are standing with folded arms within the hollow square near the scaffold. Scar-faced Charley is sitting on a bench on the opposite side of the stockade, with his face buried in his hands. He will not witness the death-struggles of his dying chieftain.
It is now 10 A.M., October 3d, 1873. The four
men are led on to the drop; their arms and legs are pinioned. Captain Jack is placed on the right; next to him, Schonchin, then Black Jim, and then Boston Charley. Four hempen cords hang beside them,—two swing clear to the left; the two villains who broke the long armistice on the eleventh of April with a war-whoop are resting on other men’s coffins in the wagon below.
The four men are standing on a single strand that holds the drop. One stroke of an axe would end this terrible drama, now. The polished blade is waiting for the dreadful work. Justice perches with folded wings on the beam above. Her face is blanched. She says, “My demands would be satisfied with imprisonment for life for these helpless, blood-stained men,—’twould be more in harmony with my Father’s wishes; but those whom he has sent me to serve, clamor for blood, for life. If this must be, why the two men in the wagon below? Why the four unfettered villains yonder? I cannot understand by what authority I am compelled by my masters to witness this partiality. Here, over these betrayed victims do I enter my solemn protest. I see before me another power that evokes my presence, the State of Oregon, represented by Sheriff McKenzie, in whose hands I see a paper signed by Gov. Grover, and bearing my own countersign.” With faith in the power of the general Government, she folds her wings and sits calmly watching Corporal Ross of Co. G, twelfth Infantry, adjust the instrument of death to Captain Jack’s neck. It differs from the one used by this chief on Gen. Canby, but is equally sure; and the chief’s nerves are even