Devil's Backbone: The Modoc War, 1872-3 Read online

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  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Notice

  Dedication

  Epigraphs

  Modoc War Chronology

  Characters

  Maps

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Epilogue

  Author’s Afterword

  Teaser

  The Plainsmen Series by Terry C. Johnston

  Praise

  Copyright

  for what the years ahead

  can mean to us both,

  I lovingly dedicate this novel

  to my son,

  Noah

  The Modocs are not yet extinct. But the spirit that drove them to resist the inevitable westering of the whites died in the lava beds. Occasionally, on frost-biting nights, the cries of coyotes haunt the ghostly, star-lit Stronghold, bringing back the memory of that time. A time to remember.

  —Erwin N. Thompson

  Modoc War—Its Military History & Topography

  [General Jefferson C.] Davis should have killed every Modoc before taking him if possible, then there would have been no complications.

  —General William T. Sherman

  6 June, 1873, correspondence to General Philip H. Sheridan

  The Modoc War bathed none of its participants in glory, or even credit … The army made a mess of almost everything it attempted. Commanders quarreled or simply did not cooperate; underestimated, then overestimated the enemy; hesitated when they should have acted, acted when they should have hesitated. Enlisted men proved too easily panicked, repulsed, and demoralized. In the end, Modoc defectors provided the key to military “victory.”

  —Robert M. Utley

  Frontier Regulars

  Few among them felt they were their brother’s keeper; the Good Samaritan spirit scarcely existed. Some of the men had been officers during the Civil War; because they had been in some kind of trouble, they had re-enlisted under assumed names as a way to spend a few months or years until their failings had been forgotten. A few were said to have been Confederate veterans. Enlisted men were considered beneath the notice or concern of their officers, and the casualty reports scarcely took note of them. Officers were mentioned by name; sometimes non-commissioned officers were mentioned; privates were almost never listed. If they died, they were buried, frequently without a marker of any kind, and they wore no identification unless they pinned notes on their clothes saying who they were. If they were unfortunate enough to be killed, frequently these scraps of paper would be discarded, and they were interred simply as unknown dead. There they lay, unmourned, in uncared-for graves, many times lost to the knowledge of their loved ones.

  —Keith A. Murray

  The Modocs and Their War

  Modoc War Chronology

  October 1864

  treaty signed with Klamath-Modocs

  April 1870

  Jack leaves the reservation

  November 29, 1872

  Battle of Lost River

  December 21, 1872

  Battle of Land’s Ranch

  January 17, 1873

  First Battle for the Stronghold

  January 22, 1873

  First Battle of Scorpion Point

  January 29, 1873

  Peace Commission appointed

  April 11, 1873

  murder of Peace Commission and Lieutenant Sherwood

  April 14–17, 1873

  Second Battle for the Stronghold

  April 26, 1873

  “Thomas-Wright” Massacre at Black Ledge

  May 2, 1873

  Second Battle of Scorpion Point

  May 10, 1873

  Battle of Sorass/Dry Lake

  May 22, 1873

  Battle of Willow Creek Ridge

  June 1, 1873

  Captain Jack surrenders

  July 1–9, 1873

  trial of Modoc leaders

  October 3, 1873

  execution of Modoc leaders; exile of Captain Jack’s band to Oklahoma/Indian Territory

  Characters

  Seamus Donegan

  Civilians

  Ian O’Roarke—Donegan’s uncle, rancher, Hot Creek, California

  Elisha Steele—onetime superintendent of Northern California in Yreka, friend of Captain Jack

  John Fairchild—rancher, Cottonwood Creek, California

  Pressley Dorris—rancher, Butte Valley, California

  O. C. Knapp—Indian Agent, District of the Lakes

  Oliver C. Applegate—Yainax sub-agency commissary operator; interpreter, head of company of Oregon volunteers

  Ivan Applegate—rancher, Clear Lake, California/one-time agent to the Klamaths

  Jesse Applegate—rancher, Clear Lake, California

  Bob Whittle—ferryboat operator on Link River; interpreter (wife: Matilda)

  H. Wallace Atwell—known as “Bill Dadd the Scribe,” reporter for Sacramento Record

  T. B. Odeneal—Superintendent of Indian Affairs for Oregon

  Patrick McManus—civilian packer for the army

  Eugene Hovey—civilian teamster from Yreka, California

  “General” John E. Ross—Commander, Oregon Volunteer Militia

  Eadweard Muybridge—San Francisco photographer

  Dennis Crawley—settler on Lost River

  Louis Land—settler on east side of Tule Lake

  Louis Webber—head packer for Thomas-Wright Patrol

  H. C. Ticknor—local settler, surveyor of Ticknor Road, guide

  Charley Larengel—civilian packer/Battle of Sorass Lake

  George Fiocke—civilian in on capture of Hooker Jim’s village

  Jack Thurber—civilian in on capture of Hooker Jim’s village (killed)

  Army

  General Edward R. S. Canby—Commanding Officer, Department of the Columbia and Acting Head, Military Division of the Pacific (SCOTT—orderly; MONAHAN—personal secretary)

  Colonel Jefferson C. Davis—successor as Commanding Officer, Department of the Columbia

  Lieutenant Colonel (Bvt. Major General) Frank Wheaton—Commander of the 21st Infantry, District of the Lakes, director of Modoc Campaign from 11/72 to 1/23/73 and after 5/22/73

  Colonel (Bvt. Major General) Alvan C. Gillem—Commander, Modoc Campaign, January 23–May 22, 1873

  Major (Bvt. Colonel) John Green—First Cavalry, commanding officer at Fort Klamath; field commander in Strong
hold battle

  Major (Bvt. Colonel) Edwin C. Mason—21st Infantry, commander east side of Stronghold

  Captain (Bvt. Colonel) David Perry—First Cavalry, Troop F, wounded January 17

  Captain (Bvt. Major) James Jackson—First Cavalry, Troop B, commander during Battle of Lost River

  Captain (Bvt. Colonel) James Biddle—First Cavalry, Troop K, captured Modoc ponies in March during sweep of Lava Beds

  Captain (Bvt. Colonel) R. F. Bernard—First Cavalry, Troop G, cavalry commander on east side of Stronghold; commanding officer during Battle of Land’s Ranch

  Captain (Bvt. Major) Evan Thomas—Fourth Artillery, Battery A, killed April 26

  Captain H. C. Hasbrouck—Fourth Artillery, Battery B (mounted and serving as cavalry), commanding officer at Battle of Sorass Lake in May; escorted defeated Modocs to Kansas

  Captain William Trimble—H Troop, 1st Cavalry, captures Captain Jack, June 1

  Lieutenant Thomas F. Wright—Twelfth Infantry, Company E, killed April 26

  Lieutenant John Kyle—Troop G, 1st Cavalry

  Lieutenant John Quincy Adams—Signalman, 21st Infantry

  Lieutenant Albion Howe

  Lieutenant George M. Harris

  Lieutenant Arthur Cranston

  Lieutenant William Sherwood—killed on April 11, 1873

  Lieutenant Boyle

  Lieutenant Charles C. Cresson

  Lieutenant George R. Bacon

  Lieutenant E. R. Theller—Company I, 21st Infantry

  Lt. Frazier A. Boutelle

  Lieutenant J. B. Hazelton

  Sergeant Robert Romer—4th Artillery

  Sergeant Malachi Clinton—12th Infantry

  Sergeant Michael McCarthy—H Troop, 1st Cavalry

  Sergeant Maurice Fitzgerald—K Troop, 1st Cavalry

  Private James Shay—F Troop, 1st Cavalry

  Private Charles Hardin

  Dr. Cabaniss—army surgeon

  Dr. Bernard A. Semig—Assistant Surgeon

  Henry McElderry—Assistant Surgeon

  Scouts and Interpreters

  Bob Whittle—ferryboat operator with wife Matilda; interpreter

  Frank Riddle—trapper and hunter on Lost River; interpreter for Peace Commission and at trials

  Toby (Winema) Riddle—Frank’s wife; interpreter for Peace Commission

  Donald McKay—half-breed guide and interpreter, leader of Tenino scouts/mercenaries from Warm Springs Reservation in Oregon

  O. C. “One-Arm” Brown—Superintendent Odeneal’s scout/interpreter from Fort Klamath

  Dave Hill—Klamath Indian in on capture of Hooker Jim’s camp, leader of some Klamath mercenaries

  Settlers Murdered by Modocs, 29 November 1872

  Wendolen Nus

  William Boddy

  Richard Cravigan

  William Brotherton

  Henry Miller

  Christopher Erasmus

  John Tober

  Joe Penning (severely wounded and left for dead)

  Frank Follins

  William Schira

  William Cravigan

  W. K. Brotherton

  Nicholas Schroeder

  Robert Alexander

  Adam Shillingbow

  Peace Commission Representatives

  Alfred B. Meacham—Head of Peace Commission (onetime Indian superintendent for Oregon)

  Rev. Eleazar Thomas—peace commissioner (killed by Boston Charley, April 11, 1873)

  L. S. Dyar—peace commissioner (Klamath sub-agent/succeeding Knapp)

  Modocs

  Captain Jack/Kientpoos

  •

  PEACE FACTION:

  Scar-Faced Charley—leader after Jack’s execution, lieutenant under Captain Jack

  Humpy Joe

  William Faithful (Wild Gal’s Man)

  Queen Mary—Jack’s sister

  •

  WAR FACTION:

  Curly Headed Doctor

  Schonchin John—second in command

  Bogus Charley—messenger between Modocs and army, “bloodhound”

  •

  Hot Creek Band

  Shacknasty Jim—murderer, “bloodhound”

  Steamboat Frank—“bloodhound”, later a Quaker lay minister

  Bogus Charley

  Ellen’s Man George—one of Canby’s murderers, killed 10 May, 1873

  Boston Charley—hanged for the murder of Thomas

  Black Jim—hanged for murder

  Barncho—died in Alcatraz prison for part in murder

  Miller’s Charley—killer of Sherwood, never brought to trial

  Curly Headed Jack—killer of Sherwood, suicide in June, 1873

  Sloluck—pardoned and exiled after term in Alcatraz prison

  Hooker Jim—killer of settlers in November, “bloodhound”

  Duffy—killer of settlers in November

  Long Jim—killer of settlers in November

  One-Eyed Mose—killer of settlers in November

  Maps drawn by author, with his appreciation, compiled from maps drawn by Doris Palmer Payne and Erwin N. Thompson

  Maps drawn by author, with his appreciation, compiled from maps drawn by Doris Palmer Payne and Erwin N. Thompson

  Prologue

  Season of the Raven Calling

  Fear rose in his throat like bile.

  He had been afraid before, but nothing like this.

  For the first time in his life—afraid of dying.

  Captain Jack swallowed the fear down and shuffled forward, dragging the heavy chains that encased his ankles across the wooden floor of the tiny guardhouse. Heading for the door and the patch of cold October sunlight the soldiers allowed to enter this close, stinking place.

  Three others already shuffled ahead of him. Two more trailed behind Jack.

  “Ho! Captain Jack!” hollered a soldier as the Modoc chief emerged into the sunlight.

  That’s what the white men called him. His adult name, bestowed upon him many years before by the white miners over at Yreka, California. So many seasons gone the way of the snow geese. Captain Jack remembered this was to have been his thirty-third winter as his eyes finally rose to the pine-plank scaffold and the ugly beam arching over the platform. And the six knotted ropes dangling still as death itself, their shadows smeared darkly over the first rows of wide-eyed, gape-mouthed spectators.

  Jack and the rest were manhandled up into the back of an army wagon where they were crowded together atop four crude coffins. The mules lurched forward at the insistence of an impatient teamster, carrying the condemned through the muttering crowd of white and copper-skinned faces, everyone straining to catch a glimpse of the great Captain Jack of the renegade Modocs.

  The soldier wagon halted beside the pine-plank scaffold. Jack could smell the newness of the timber as four of the six prisoners were dragged down from the wagon bed by blue-clad soldiers. The other two, an interpreter explained without emotion, would not be hanged this day. This, Jack did not understand as he was shoved forward into a group of grasping arms.

  He forced himself to believe it did not matter. He could face this, as he had faced everything else in its season.

  Death too had its own time.

  After two sweating soldiers had chiseled the iron shackles from his ankles, Jack was hurriedly hoisted up the ladder to the narrow platform. Reaching the platform, he noticed the cutaway trapdoor where he and the other three would stand, each beneath a dangling noose. Then he looked away to the sun overhead.

  A tight-faced soldier came forward quickly, shuffling Jack into position before he dragged a black, airless bag over his head. Jack swallowed hard. Even though no one could see his eyes, he vowed he would not let them know he was afraid. It would be over quickly, he prayed.

  He remembered hearing that a man did some dreaming when he died—while he was crossing over. It was all the shamans had taught him as a boy.

  He hoped the dreaming would not take long today, beneath this cold autumn sun.

  The old whit
e shaman’s words were muffled, coming through the black hood, but Jack could tell the man was fervently praying to his white god.

  His legs were shoved together. A soldier, someone, was wrapping and tying, lashing his legs together securely.

  I’m not supposed to kick when I start dreaming, he vowed to himself.

  As the hands left his legs pinched beneath the tight rope, a stillness came suddenly over the platform. He heard some boots scuff across the new timber planks, then a nervous cough. Jack strained, and listened to the heavy breathing of the young soldier who had been standing to his left when he was shoved into position—the fresh-faced youth dressed in soldier blue who stood stiffly with his two freckled hands clamped on a long pole near the end of the platform.

  He will be the one to kill us. No … Curly Headed Doctor and his foolish warriors are the ones who have killed me. Not this young soldier—

  There came a rustle to his left, surprising him—the creaking of the huge lever the freckle-faced soldier stood against—and the floor fell away beneath Jack’s bound feet.

  For a moment he struggled as the rope cut into his neck, jerking his head to the side—he fought to control his legs, which convulsively drew up against the tight bindings. Jack did not want to fight it now.

  Only air, fight only for air, he told himself. Like being down in one of the swimming ponds too long and clawing his way back up.

  The hands tied at his back with cruel hemp did not feel like his, wrenching against one another now, fighting to get freed.

  Then as he watched in utter amazement—the surface of the blue water above him grew placid, smooth and untroubled. Not churned as he remembered from the days of his youth.

  With trouble, he opened his burning, tortured eyes, staring up at the shafts of sunlight diffused through the many feet of water left for him to crawl through …

  … and then it did not matter any longer that he hurry to the top.