Mr. Editor:--As the people of the United States as well as those of Oregon are deeply interested in the success of the company who have lately returned from exploring a southern route from the United States to this valley, it is the intention of that party in due season to give to their fellow citizens, whose philanthropy has prompted them to contribute to the success of this arduous undertaking, a full report of their travels and discoveries, and until such report is ready to be made public, it is certainly doing an injustice to those who have been engaged in this important service to attempt to forestall public opinion by the publication of such statements as are made in an editorial headed "The Emigration," which appeared in the 20th number of the Spectator [article of October 29, above].

    Though one of the smallest tribes with which our people have come in conflict, none have exhibited a more determined hostility or displayed greater courage than the Modoc Indians, and few have cost the government more in blood and treasure to subdue. They were but a small tribe when first discovered by the whites, less than 200 warriors, and occupied a comparatively limited section of country, much of it barren and worthless. In that inhospitable region lie the graves of emigrants, volunteers and soldiers by the score, while the bones of old men, helpless women and tender babes lay for years in their tule marshes, and found no burial save that vouchsafed by the hand of pitying Nature.
    The Modoc, or, as properly pronounced, Mo-a-dok, Indians were an offshoot from the Muk-a-luk, or Klamath Lake, tribe, inhabiting the country to the north and east of Lake Klamath, and took their name from Mo-a-dok-us, the chief under whom they seceded from the parent tribe. They were, to a degree, a tribe of Ishmaelites, living by the plunder of their neighbors on every side, and finding a secure retreat from their wrath in the marshes of Tule Lake or the rocky and mysterious caverns of the Lava Beds.
    The region dominated by them was circumscribed, embracing a small strip of country along the Oregon and California line. The east and south shores of Klamath Lake, the Butte Creek country to the south of it, the sterile Lava Beds to the south of Tule, or Rhett, Lake, and Lost River on the north, were their country, though the general headquarters were at Tule Lake. Upon the little islands among the tules they built their wickiups, where they retired in times of danger, the caves of the Lava Beds forming their last retreat when driven from their island homes.
    Such were the Modocs when first visited by the white man--a band of hardy and unscrupulous marauders, courageous and daring, living chiefly by plunder, and occupying a country apparently designed by Nature for the home of such a band of savage buccaneers. Among them were many renegades from other tribes, and the whole tribe was, in fact, but the descendants of a number of independent Indians who had gathered about Mo-a-dok-us and his little band of Muk-a-luks. Formed like the Romans, they adopted the Roman plan of procuring wives, beginning thus their habit of stealing squaws from their neighbors, which was never completely abandoned even after they came under the control of the whites.
    In the spring of 1846 Lieutenant John C. Fremont entered California on his third exploring expedition to the West and his second trip across the continent. His party consisted of about sixty men, many of them old and tried mountaineers, and all of them hardy and daring men picked by their commander for the arduous service expected of them. After exchanging international compliments with General Castro, which at one time appeared certain to result in blows, Fremont started north to visit the Columbia. The regular Hudson's Bay Company trail passed up the Sacramento, along the western base of Mount Shasta, through Shasta Valley, and thus across Klamath River and Siskiyou Mountain to Rogue River Valley. This was many miles to the west of the Modoc country, while the route of trapping parties who crossed from Snake River to the Sacramento, by the way of Pit River, passed to the eastward. It thus happened that while they knew of the white man and his dealings with surrounding tribes, it is more than probable that Fremont was at the head of the first party of whites to pass through the country of the Modocs and partake of their bloody hospitalities.
    Fremont's party turned off the regular trail to Oregon, at the mouth of Pit River, and followed up that stream, which was then called the east fork of the Sacramento. He proceeded by the way of Clear and Tule lakes to the west bank of Klamath Lake, just above the Oregon line, where he went into camp for a few days. On the 9th of May Samuel Neal and M. Sigler rode into camp with the intelligence that a United States officer was on their trail with important dispatches, which he had crossed the continent to deliver into Fremont's own hand. This was not all; the messengers had only escaped from the hands of savages by the fleetness of their animals, and they feared the officer and his companion would not be so fortunate unless they received immediate aid. Away dashed Fremont to the rescue--four trappers, five friendly Indians and the two messengers riding at his side. Back across the California line they rode, round and along the southern shore of the lake, until, at sundown, sixty miles from the camp of the morning, they met Lieutenant Gillespie and brave old Peter Lassen, unconscious of the danger from which they had been rescued.
    That meeting was an important one to California and to America. The messenger of the government informed Fremont that war had been declared with Mexico. The instructions he then imparted have remained hidden in the Pathfinder's breast to the present day, and can only be inferred from the conduct of that dashing officer, who returned at once to California, inaugurated the Bear Flag War (carried on by his counsel and inspired by him), and organized the California Battalion, which played so prominent a part in the conquest of California.
    Late into the night those young officers, on whose shoulders such weighty responsibilities had been thrown, sat by the smoldering embers and counseled about their future course. Around them lay their companions, wrapped in profound slumber, their weary limbs stretched upon the ground. Fatigue and the excitement of the news had made their leader incautious. He forgot that he was in a country where the natives had shown signs of hostility; that he had ridden sixty miles that day because of such hostility. Filled with the great projects of the future, his limbs weary with fatigue, he, too, lay down by the fire and closed his heavy eyes in asleep. In that silent camp lay the sleeping forms of Richard Owens, Lucien Maxwell, Kit Carson, Alex. Godey, Steppenfeldt, Basil Lajeunesse, Denne, Crane, and others of those hardy mountaineers who had trapped the whole western wilderness and fought the savage denizens for years, and never before been guilty of lying down to sleep in an enemy's country without posting a guard.
    Slumber's chains bound the camp, but around it stole the sinuous forms of savage enemies. Nearer and wearer they crept, until they stood among the sleeping men by the fire. The Modocs were ready to claim the first white victims of that band of murdered ones who have fallen in that sterile land.
    Even in his slumbers the sensitive ear of Kit Carson caught the sound of the dull thud, as a blow fell upon the head of a sleeping companion. Leaping to his feet he kicked the smoldering embers of the camp fire, and by the light of the upshooting flame saw the dark forms of the Modocs. Springing to one side to avoid the light of the fire, the bold trapper cried "Indians! Indians!" and in an instant the camp was aroused. Crane, a Delaware Indian, sprung to his feet and endeavored to discharge his gun, which was unfortunately unloaded, and received five arrows in his breast. Remembering that his gun was also unloaded, Carson cast it aside, drew a single-barreled pistol and discharged it at the savage who was slaying his friend, but the brave was dodging about so continually that the bullet missed him and cut the string of his tomahawk. All but this Modoc were now in full retreat, and as he turned to flee two bullets from the now thoroughly aroused camp laid him dead upon the ground. He was the only one of the attacking party who remained long enough to be hurt, and had they all been as bold as he it would have fared badly with that unprotected camp.
    With rifle in hand they kept close vigil till morning, but no enemy appeared to molest them. Lajeunesse and Denne, an Iroquois, had been killed in their sleep before the alarm was given, and the brave Crane had died in the struggle. Bearing their inanimate forms the sorrowful party started back along their trail to meet the main body, but after progressing about ten miles decided to bury them among the willows of a small stream. This was Hot Creek, in Siskiyou County, California, discharging into Klamath Lake from the south. Having performed this painful duty, and having driven their horses backwards and forwards across the spot to destroy all traces of the grave, so that the savages would not exhume the bodies, they continued their journey and soon met their friends and the company, once more united, went into camp for the night, cherishing thoughts of revenge.
    On the morrow, when the party commenced its journey towards the south, fifteen men remained concealed near the camp, and were soon rewarded by the appearance of two Modocs, whose scalps were quickly taken. Skirting around the end of the lake, Kit Carson was sent out the next day in the direction of Tule Lake to search for the village, accompanied by ten picked men. The came suddenly upon a rancheria of fifty lodges, and having no time to send for reinforcements, charged boldly upon the astonished Modocs. The Indians fought desperately for a time, but the noise of the guns and the great execution they made were so novel and so terrifying that they soon fled in a panic, pursued by the avengers, who killed several of them before they disappeared amid the intricacies of the Lava Beds. The deserted wickiups were found to be artistically and beautifully woven of the tules from the lake, but the torch was applied to them, and the whole rancheria, with a large quantity of dried fish, was destroyed.
    The main party soon arrived and then the journey was resumed. Twenty men stole back to the burned village to see if the Indians would not return, and though fifty were seen they disappeared before the party was prepared to attack them. In riding into camp one brave was discovered, who was ridden down by Fremont just in time to save Kit Carson's life. They soon passed out of the Modoc country, and though they had a little more trouble with Indians, it is probable that the Modocs were not responsible for it. A few days later they reached the Sacramento Valley, and Fremont began the conquest of California, changing a savage for a civilized foe.
    Years later, in speaking of this affair to the Hon. Lindsay Applegate, a Modoc chief said the reason for making this attack upon Fremont was that these were the first white men who had ever come into their country, and they wanted to kill them to prevent others from coming.
    On the 4th of July, 1846, but two months after this affair, a party of fourteen men from the Willamette Valley came upon that grave among the willows of Hot Creek. They were exploring an emigrant route from Fort Hall to the southern end of the Willamette Valley, the one since known as the Southern Route to Oregon, the Northern Route to California, or the Applegate Trail. Leading spirits in this party were Jesse and Lindsay Applegate, well known to all old residents of Oregon. They saw pieces of paper and other evidences of the presence of white men, and surmised that someone was buried where the ground was so badly trampled by the horses--a surmise which they verified by probing the ground with poles. The Modocs were much excited and apparently alarmed by this second invasion of their country, and signal smokes arose from the hilltops to apprise all members of the tribe of the presence of an enemy. The cause of all this was explained afterwards, when they learned of the attack upon Fremont and the chastisement he had administered. By keeping careful watch they passed through the hostile country without exposing themselves to attack and reached Fort Hall in safety. Upon their return that fall with a party of emigrants one of these loitered behind the train, near Tule Lake, and fell a victim to the Modocs. That was the first train of emigrants to pass through this inhospitable country, and no more followed them till 1852, that year of death at Bloody Point.
West Shore, Portland, March 1884, pages 79-80