Year: 1873

"Sconchin, said Boston Charley, reproach-


fully, 81 am not afraid to die. thought in the
front rank. 1 am wholly man, not half wo-


man." So the stalk went on with some Of


the old Indian eloquence, wherein their


paganism, tempered with Christian express
sion, is heard; The Great Spirit who
looks from above will see Sconchin


in chains, but He knows that his


heart is good, and says, You die; you


become one of My people, Then came more


prayer from the minister through the same


odd media, and the talk is ended. Soon


another scene takes place with more of the


human element in it. when the squaws,


papooses and relatives of the doomed were let
in to vent their grief in passionate storm of
farewells. Even with fettered savages and
their barbarian kindred this grief is some
thing sacred, from which we must
turn away. Night comes down over the
camp with the death songs of the Modoc
women wailing through the air. Then, save
the sentry's tread all is still. Morning
breaks, and the reveille rings out All are
afoot at dawn. The solemn pomp of death
is prepared. The morning advances, and
the troops march out and take position


Five hundred Klamath Indians squat
upon the ground before the broad gallows,
to see and be impressed by the death struggles
of four brethren Of their banned race.
loud wall from the stockade where the Modoc
squaws and braves are Gagged is heard, and
then comes the escorted wagon with the
doomed. Hope has gone out of their breasts
and the stoicism of the savage asserts itself in
the supreme moment. The fated four are
seated pinioned on the gallows Frame with the
sun shining on their backs, never to shine
upon their faces in life again The long dreary
form Of reading the sentence and praying
is proceeded with, and the Modoc wall, rising
again from the wives and children, is its
agonizing accompaniment. We wonder if it en-
tered the minds of the Klamaths looking coldly
on that so their race was passing away with the
sun upon their backs, their shadowed des-
tiny on the ground before their faces, white
officers reading their doom, white chaplains
pointing to happy hereafter and the walls
and sobs of women and children interviewer
and mingled with it oil. The thud Of an axe
is heard, and the four wretches struggle
through strangulation into eternity. Four
corpses swaying in the wind now tell that, in
slow fashion, the murders of Candy and
Thomas have been avenged,


Will the lesson profit those for whom it is
intended? We hope so. Nay we may say
that, delayed as has been the course Of justice,
we believe that some good will be done. The
death suffered by the four Modocs, in its
very degradation and surroundings, will
frighten the Indians more than any ter
rors that can flow from death in the
field. We have always said that the visitation
should have been sudden and swift, as well as
sure. But we do not wish to see it rule that
only the murderers of generals and peace
commissioners shall suffer. The Indians
must be taught through the channel
they understand that their skin carries
with it no immunity from the law.
Treating with them as war powers has had its
day, we hope, and with the hanging of Cap
tain Jack Sconchin, Boston Charley and
Black Jim we hope to see true peace policy
inaugurated, which will not discriminate in
crime between white man and red. Punish it
sternly on both sides.