In haste, yours,
        R. W. DUNBAR.

FROM CRESCENT CITY.

Port Orford,  March 5, 1856.

Your friend,
    R. W. DUNBAR
        Collector of Customs.

An Indian Agent Killed.

    (The following letter containing fuller particulars of the affair at Rogue River is sent to us from Port Orford with the request of many of the citizens that we should publish it. A portion of the news it contains has been previously published.)
    Necessity calls upon me at this moment to record one of the most atrocious outbreaks of the Indians that has ever occurred in this country and the cause of which yet remains a mystery. Difficulties of a serious and disastrous character have for several months past been enacted in other parts of Oregon, but none have reach our vicinity until recently. On receiving the proclamation of the Governor for volunteers, an effort was at once made to raise a company, and after being partially completed it was detailed for service. A tour was taken through the Indian country by the volunteers, who were accompanied by a detachment of U.S. troops from this place. After being absent a few days the troops returned to their quarters, and the volunteers repaired to the mouth of Rogue River, or near that point, for the purpose of filling up their company. This occurred about the first of February, and from this date up to the 22nd ult. no hostile feeling was perceptible among any of the band of Indians residing in the vicinity of the volunteers' encampment, and the agent had the most explicit confidence in their integrity and sincerity of motives. But treachery, the ruling character of the Indian, could not be secreted any longer, and on the evening of Feb. 22 gave vent to its ruling passion. On that evening, the Mikonotunne chief sent word to Capt. Benj. Wright, Indian agent, to "come and take away Eneas, for he was a bad Indian." This Eneas is a Canadian Indian and has been in Oregon for several years, and talks several different languages.
    He had professed great friendship for the whites, but sometime during the month of January he deserted the cause of the whites and joined the belligerent band of Indians. Capt. Wright returned the message with a request that Eneas should come and see him, or meet him at a certain place, to which Capt. Wright, accompanied by John Poland, captain of the volunteers, repaired. These communications were exchanged on the afternoon of February 22nd, and at the same time the Indians, some twelve miles distant, attacked the ranch of Mr. J. C. Smith. The Indians came to the house about 5 o'clock p.m., in their usual friendly and peaceable manner, and requested Mr. Warner to go a short distance from the house and look at an otter skin, but he had not gone more than thirty yards from the house before he was shot dead, without any chance of defense. Mr. Smith's attention was about the same moment attracted by the approach of some fifteen or twenty Indians from a different direction from which Mr. Warner had gone. Mr. Smith at once discovered the belligerent appearance of the Indians, and immediately closed the door and prepared for their reception. Mr. Smith and Dr. White (the only occupants) defended the house for thirty or forty minutes, during which time the Indians kept up a continual shooting at the house, and then it was set on fire, and Messrs. Smith and White were compelled to avail themselves of the chances of escape, which they effected amidst continual bad shooting of the Indians. Mr. Smith directed his course for this place, at which he arrived on Monday following, after suffering intense fatigue and hunger, and Dr. White sought the fort at the mouth of Rogue River, at which he arrived on the following day. From thence the Indians commenced their inhuman and atrocious work and directed their course towards Rogue River, killing all the inhabitants except two females, who they retained in capture, and burning every building that fell in their course.
    Early in the evening of the same day, Capt. Benjamin Wright, our worthy and efficient Indian agent, and John Poland, of the volunteers, who had according to an agreement above spoken of assembled at a specific place on the south side of Rogue River for the purpose of an interview with Eneas, the Canadian Indian, but sad to tell, they were both massacred as it is supposed by the same Eneas and his band of demons. On the following morning, at daylight, the volunteers were attacked by the combined forces of all the Indians occupying the vicinity of the mouth of Rogue River, and in fact extending some thirty or forty miles up the river. The volunteers were taken wholly by surprise, from the fact that they were among their friends, as they supposed, and several of the company were absent on business for the company, soliciting enlistments &c. Of the volunteers who were present, only four made their escape. Mr. Charles Foster was pursued some distance and finally secreted himself in a small thicket, in which he remained during the day and watched the infernal rejoicings of the Indians over the inhuman and atrocious victory which they had achieved. He witnessed their dancing and division of the property which they had taken. The volunteers were divided in what is called two messes; one was camped in the open air, and the other in a house. Mr. Foster was in the mess which was camped in the open air, and the first camp attacked, and from where he was secreted he could witness the entire attack on the house.
    The men who were encamped in the house fired several shots, and from the fact that it is well known that those who occupied the house were good marksmen, several Indians were killed. Mr. Foster judged the Indians to number over three hundred who made the attack, and who continued firing at the house about one hour, and their firing ceased in the house, the goods were then removed, and the house set on fire. Mr. Foster remained secreted until after dark, and then set out for this place, at which he arrived on the following evening. Mr. J. K. Vincent, Mr. Elijah Meservey, and Mr. E. A. Wilson, slightly wounded, also escaped by secreting themselves for six consecutive days, and the Indians were during the whole time all around them, and not unfrequently coming within speaking distance, but finally they made their escape to the fort. Following is a list of those killed, including volunteers and citizens:
    Benjamin Wright, Indian agent; John Poland, capt. volunteers; Pat McCullough, Pat McCluskey, John Jolles, Henry Lawrence, Barney Castle, Guy C. Holcomb, Jos. Wilkinson, Jos. Wagoner, E. W. Howe, J. H. Braun, John Geisel and four children; his wife and daughter, thirteen years of age, taken captives; Martin Reid, George Read, Lorenzo Warren, Samuel Hedrick, Nelson Seamans, and a negro, name not known. There are a few more who are missing, and it is supposed that they are also killed, but hoping that they may yet make their appearance we forbear giving their names, but will as soon as their destiny is known.   
    In addition to this we are compelled to record another misfortune, which is in ratio nonetheless melancholy. On receiving the sad intelligence from Rogue River, expresses were sent out in every direction to solicit all the whites to convene at this place immediately for the purpose of building a fort, and making other and all necessary arrangements for a sure defense, and all the friendly Indians had been gathered in and their arms secured. A whaleboat set out for Rogue River to learn the result of the outbreak, and keep up a communication between the two places. The party consisted of eight persons, via: H. C. Guerin, merchant, and formerly of New York; John O'Brien, miner; Sylvester Long, farmer; Richard Gray, boatman; Felix McCue, miner; William Thompson, boatman; Henry S. DeFremery, farmer, and Capt. Davis, miner, and on going ashore at the landing opposite the Rogue River fort the boat capsized, and all were drowned except Henry S. DeFremery and Capt. Davis. This said intelligence was brought up on Friday evening by Robert Forsyth and Mr. McGuire, who literally ran the gantlet and arrived safe at our place. By this express we learn that the Indians, numbering from three to five hundred, were encamped within one mile from the fort at Rogue River, but the whites are so situated that scouting parties are daily cutting off and adding to the list of Indians killed.
    All the Indians, or nearly all, between this and the Coquille River have been convened by order of the commanding officer at this place and their arms secured, yet we are here on the lookout day and night, anticipating an attack.
Daily Alta California, San Francisco, March 20, 1856, page 2

Deer Creek, March 12, 1856.       

    Friend Bush:--An express arrived here through the mountains last night from Port Orford with the news that one hundred men or more were surrounded in their entrenchment at the mouth of Rogue River by the Indians, without any chance of retreat. That the Indians already there number between three and four hundred. A whaleboat left Port Orford for the purpose of communicating with the whites, but was swamped in trying to land, and as fast as the crew came ashore they were killed by the Indians, only two making their escape.
    Capt. Tichenor tried to approach them with his schooner Nelly but could not on account of the winds. It was said when my informant left that these men had but about four days' provision.
    This man says there are about eighty men at Port Orford including 30 U.S. troops. They have erected a fort by setting up planks about six inches apart and filling the space with earth. The people at Port Orford think they can stand a siege, but expect the town will be burnt.
    A rumor tonight says that the Coquille and Coos Bay bands have left for the mountains with the intention of joining the hostile Indians. If this be true all the property along the coast as far as the mouth of the Umpqua will be destroyed, as it is said the people at Coos Bay have no arms, what few they had being sent down the coast.
    The messenger who brought this news here went south this morning to see Gen. Lamerick, hoping he would be able to send some men to the relief of the people on the coast.
Oregon Statesman, Salem, March 18, 1856, page 2

    In one of the charming villas at Belvedere lives George W. Miller, who, something more than forty years ago, was first lieutenant of the volunteer company raised at Port Orford, Or., to aid the regulars in the defense of homes and the suppression of the Indians in what is called the Rogue River War.
    An allusion to the massacre in a recent publication has awakened in his mind personal reminiscences of that struggle, in which a little band of whites successfully resisted the desire for their extermination which lurked in the breast of the old Chief John of the Tututnis.
    Port Orford was at that time a collection of perhaps a dozen houses, with the fort, in which Major Reynolds of the United States army was stationed with possibly thirty-five regular soldiers.
    "The cause of the outbreak was, undoubtedly, a system of indignities practiced upon the Indians by a number of lawless whites," said Mr. Miller.
    "One of the outrages bitterly resented by them was that of robbing their burial grounds of the boards with which it was customary for them to protect each grave. These boards were hewn with much labor from great cedar trees and with tools that a carpenter would have scorned. They were from a foot to two feet in width and of various lengths.
    Whenever lumber for certain purposes was needed, there were those in the community who did not hesitate to appropriate the nicely finished boards, without regard for the sacred significance applied to them by their lawful owners. Protestations upon the part of the Indians or settlers possessing a sense of justice were met with either insult or indifference.
    "At that time there was no dearth of flotsam which society ever casts upon the frontier. A certain number of young men, whose ages ranged from 25 to 30, were banded together and gave full play to any lawless inclination without regard for consequences. They affected the long-haired, buckskin-suited style of the dime-novel hero. Some of them deferred to the Indian law of purchasing their squaw wives; others defied the custom, and, intimidating friends and relatives into relinquishing the squaws on whom their fancy lighted, bore them away after the fashion of barbaric conquerors.
    "Before the feeling generated by these and other indignities had arisen the Indians were peaceful and friendly. On finding that their primitive shell coin could not purchase the white man's supplies they willingly gave labor in exchange. This work was done principally by the squaws, who dug gold or helped in unloading vessels when they ventured into the dangerous, breaker-beset harbors.
    "The Indians were four years preparing for the war which they fancied would rid them of the whites and avenge their wrongs.
    "Sea otters were at that time plentiful, and numbers were caught by the Indians. The usual price paid by the traders for a skin was three rifles, and in this way arms and ammunition were purchased. These were carefully cached for the contemplated outbreak.
    "The greater part of the guns traded to the Indians were what was termed the United States yager gun. These were short-barreled affairs holding an ounce ball, which was discharged with a rotary motion. The cash price paid for this gun was $12.
    "When rumors of impending trouble were noised about, the traders, the majority of whom were what is termed squaw men, remarked with complacency that under any circumstances they had no cause to fear the Indians, as the presence of their squaws was a protection. It was significant that these traders were the first to fall victims to the wrath of the savages, and were all mercilessly tortured. The most prominent among them was Ben Wright, known as an Indian fighter, who for such services drew a pension from the government. The successive slaughter of other well-known characters followed and soon brought us to a realization that a bloody war was full upon us. Plans for resistance were soon put into operation. A number of men in whaleboats started to aid the settlers living at the mouth of Rogue River. The effort was futile, as the Indians attacked them when about to land, killing all save one of their number, who escaped to the fort. [They were drowned in the surf, not attacked.] Among them was a merchant named Jerome, who had taken advantage of the expedition to collect a debt from a debtor at that point.
    "The instigator and leader of the Indians, Chief John, was acknowledged by the white officers to be a warrior indeed, a crafty technician, who tried to the uttermost the military skill of his white adversaries. Besides employing the usual signal fires resorted to by all savages, he invented a unique and effective human telephone system. Knowing that the women of the tribe would be safer than men from the guns of the soldiers, he stationed young squaws at intervals of 300 yards from one point to another between which he desired communications to pass. Thus the message was called from mouth to mouth with rapidity and authenticity.
    "When Colonel Buchanan came to the relief of the disheartened soldiers he requested John's presence at camp, sending men as hostages, and endeavoring to treat with his red foe, but the warrior listened to his propositions disdainfully. He desired no treaty, and, looking the officer steadily in the eye, declared that he preferred to fight him man to man--a statement which the angry general could not resent, as he felt inclined to do, owing to the dangerous position of the three soldiers held by the Indians until the return of their chief.
    "The Indians endeavored to keep the waters of Rogue River between themselves and the white men. Upon the further shore were their provisions, their stores of ammunition and their families. For a long time they successfully resisted the efforts of their enemies to cross.
    "The story has often been told of the construction of canvas boats in which the soldiers reached the opposite shore under protection of howitzers planted upon the bank above them, and of the destruction by them of immense stores of dried fish, which at that season of the year formed the chief article of Indian food. The berries upon which they might have subsisted had not yet ripened, and their attempts to catch further supplies of fish were frustrated. Starvation or surrender stared them in the face, and a dreadful scourge of sickness, caused by lack of food, set in among them.
    "When General Buchanan sent word for Chief John's surrender, the Indian replied that through necessity he yielded to the great tyee's command. When the order was given for them to leave the vicinity for the more fruitful northern reservation a chief called Tagonecia sorrowfully protested.
    "'I was born here,' said he, 'and here I hope to lay my bones when I die. I have always befriended the whites and in my heart is no enmity toward them.' His request was unheeded and with the Indians well known to be hostile he was commanded to take his departure.
    "Tagonecia was an Indian of fine physique, being fully 6 feet tall,. of a benevolent and intelligent countenance. He was noted among his people for his ingenuity, and among other useful things could make an excellent saddle similar to those used by the Mexicans.
    "When the Indians, some 1500 in number, took their departure they passed through the lines of the soldiers stationed at Port Orford. They formed a procession, which was the personification of wretchedness, poverty and despair. Old men and women were led in their blindness by younger members of their tribe or family. Women weak from sickness bore heavy burdens or children upon their backs. Wolf-eyed warriors stepped with an air of haughty nonchalance and a look of baffled hatred upon their dark faces. Troops of children crept along, ragged, dirty, pitiful, and leading his people was Chief John, mounted upon a sorry mule, a look of indifference upon his face, his eyes, which seemed to observe nothing, fixed straight before him.
    "Port Orford was never attacked by the Indians, though scouts were often sent by them to take account of and report any opportunity for slaughter. These scouts traveled at night, running swiftly upon the beach and in the water's edge to hide their footprints. In spite of this precaution, however, they were usually seen by the watchful sentinels and a shot sent them precipitately into the sea.
    "A number of peculiar incidents of that bloody period remain in the memory after the general dark background has worn dim. At the beginning of the outbreak, I remember, a blockhouse, two stories in height and forty-five feet square, was built on the outskirts of the little town; in this blockhouse families found shelter at night.
    "There had been no indication of the presence of Indians for some time, and one of the families, growing tired of the constant moving to and fro, decided to remain at home upon a certain night. Before morning, however, an alarm of Indians was sounded, and the husband and wife, each catching up a child, started for the blockhouse.
    "They had gone but a short distance when it was discovered that some much-needed belonging had been forgotten. The husband decided to return, bidding his wife hasten on to the blockhouse, which there were two ways of reaching from their dwelling--one a shortcut through the thick bushes, and the other by a wagon road.
    "The wife chose the former, while in returning the husband took the road. Not overtaking her, the safety of his wife and child weighed upon his mind, and the necessity of silence was entirely forgotten.
    "He loudly called her name and she, though realizing the danger of such an outburst, felt compelled to answer.
    "Her exact location and the progress she was making next caused him anxiety, and his call was repeated. As expostulation was impossible the wife again relieved his anxiety by loudly calling her answer. So through the strip of woodland they went proclaiming themselves an easy prey to the savages, who fortunately for them were biding their time or committing depredations elsewhere."
    Although surrounded by dangers the younger portion of the community felt the need of amusement, and a dance was accordingly given.
    They congregated in the only hall the place afforded, stationed pickets to guard against surprises, and, stacking their arms conveniently at hand, proceeded to enjoy themselves to the accompaniment of a brace of fiddles.
    As young children formed an important part of the community, and nurses were not a feature of the frontier, each mother participating in the gaiety--and young mothers were in the majority among the women--placed her child upon a convenient bed in the dressing room and unencumbered joined the dance.
    One of the babies so disposed of is today a prosperous business man of our city.
    The sympathetic members of that party received a shock in the unexpected appearance of an elderly woman who but a few weeks before had a son murdered [sic] in the whaleboat expedition. Yet in spite of his awful fate she joined in dancing and made merry with the rest. Her utter heartlessness was a circumstance never forgotten by those who were present.
    Mr. Miller exclaims bitterly against the blindness of the government to the interests of its law-abiding citizens in depriving them of fertile and accessible lands and bestowing them upon the unwilling Indians, who preferred the thick woods and barren shores from which they were driven and which were best suited for their savage needs.
    "God made that wild country for the Injuns," declared Mr. Miller in conclusion, "and the government made a fool of itself in driving them away and giving them land that the white man was bound to need someday."--Clara Price in S.F. Call.
Oregon Daily Statesman, Salem, April 14, 1897, page 7  The story originally ran in the San Francisco Call of April 11, 1897, page 19

    Christina Geisel, now Christina Edson, emigrated in the early years from the Atlantic States to the shore of the Pacific, and with her husband, John Geisel, and their little family settled on the Pacific Ocean, near the mouth of the Rogue River, in Oregon. Their house was upon the then traveled trail leading from the coast of California into Oregon. They were comfortably fixed when they settled there at that time. John Geisel mined the fine gold dust on the ocean beach and this, together with his stock upon the prairies, and what was received by the passing travelers for lodgings, constituted their meals and livelihood. A friendly Indian was employed about the premises in occasional services. The village of the Indian tribe of the "Tututnis" was eight miles distant up the Rogue River. Very little apprehension existed among the settlers as to any hostile intent on the part of the Indians. Ben Wright, the Indian agent in the vicinity, and known in the Pacific States as a daring Indian fighter, gave positive assurance that no danger existed.
    On the night of Feb. 22, 1856, the settlers for some miles around attended a ball at Rogue River, in observance of Washington's birthday. The Indians, expecting to find the country comparatively defenseless, owing to the assemblage at the hall, concluded upon a general massacre of the whites who remained at home. Owing to the illness of one of the children, none of the Geisel family attended the ball.
    About midnight Mr. Geisel was awakened by a rap upon the door, and by hearing their Indian servant saying that he desired to obtain something to eat. Upon this the door was opened, and immediately several stalwart Indians rushed in and commenced their attack with long drawn knives and tomahawks upon Mr. Geisel. Mrs. Geisel left her three-week-old infant in bed, and though quite feeble rushed to her husband's rescue. In the conflict she received a severe wound. Her husband was soon overcome and fell dead in her presence. She was securely bound, and with her infant and a seven-year-old daughter was forced without. There she witnessed her three boys taken from their little beds in an adjoining room, and while piteously begging for life they were, one by one, slaughtered in her presence.
    After rifling the house of all such articles as they desired, they applied the torch to it and compelled their captives to witness its destruction with the burning of the bodies of the slain. Mrs. Geisel, barefooted and clad in her thin gown, and with her two children, was then marched to the camp of the Tututnis, and while en route witnessed the burning of many houses and the massacre of her neighbors. Great indignities were inflicted upon the captives by the Indians in the village of the hostiles. They were kept prisoners under strict watch for two weeks, when they were exchanged or ransomed by the white people who were forted at the mouth of the Rogue River.
    During her captivity Mrs. Geisel took careful notes and sketches of what she observed. She discovered that several allied tribes were constructing very strong fortifications from which they proposed making raids upon all the surrounding country in California and Oregon, and thus complete the destruction already begun. Mrs. Geisel discovered a concealed approach through the mountain gorges into this fortification and village by which, if it could be assailed in that direction by sufficient force, defense would be without avail. She also learned from conversations among the Indians in their own language, which she interpreted, that great preparations were in progress for a raid on the people of the town of Port Orford, thirty miles distant, where they expressed great confidence of exterminating the men and children and making captives of the women. The time was fixed for their departure and surprise. This information she disclosed to the settlers in the fort immediately upon her ransom, and they sent forward to Port Orford a swift-traveling messenger to inform the people of their approaching danger. Port Orford was at once placed in a condition of defense, and when the Indians appeared before it they were repulsed and returned to their camp on Rogue River.
    Soldiers and volunteers were soon on the ground, and availing themselves of the information communicated by Mrs. Geisel, they made a sudden assault upon the Indian fortifications by way of the approaches discovered by the captive woman, and after a closely contested battle they completely routed and killed many of the Indian warriors. The defeat so dispirited them that they never rallied again, and were afterward the most peaceable Indians on the Pacific coast. The Rogue River war, which extended over a large portion of southern Oregon, was substantially ended at this place. It is a part of the written history of the Pacific coast states and territories.
Daily Herald, Delphos, Ohio, November 2, 1899, page 3


    The following article, entitled "A Scout to Rogue River in 1856," was written by Jeremiah Huntley of Gold Beach.
    "The first news of the Indian outbreak at the mouth of Rogue River was brought to Port Orford by Charley Foster, whose company of home guards, of volunteers, were attacked and routed by the Indians at their camp on the north bank of Rogue River at a point since known as Bagnell's Ferry, on the early morning of February 23, 1856. Several men of the company were killed and wounded at the first volley; the others fled to the timber and brush nearby and hid the best they could. A few were discovered by the Indians during the day and killed. Foster succeeded in eluding the Indians and when it became dark started for Port Orford, thirty miles distant, where he arrived the second day, almost famished, and gave the alarm. Foster did not know the fate of the people at the mouth of the river but reported that he believed that all the whites in that vicinity had been killed. From his hiding place in the jungle he saw many strange Indians passing during the day, from which he judged that the hostiles from up the river had come down and, joining with the coast Indians, had killed all the whites they could find. At that period Port Orford was a thriving little town of about two hundred people, mostly miners and packers, though a few families had recently been added to the town. The Indians in that vicinity were not very numerous or warlike, and the few who lived thereabouts gave the people no concern.
    "Several days passed after Foster's arrival, but nothing more was heard from Rogue River, so one Gerow, a storekeeper, in company with four or five others, whose names have been forgotten, manned a whaleboat, loaded it with provisions, guns and ammunition, and pulled out for Rogue River to assist the people there, should they find any alive. It was known that a small fort or earthwork had been partially built a short time previous about one mile north of the mouth of the river by some miners who feared an outbreak, and thither the men in a boat directed their course. The boat was spied and hailed by the people in the fort, and in an attempt to make a landing all the occupants of the boat, save one, were drowned in the surf.
    "The little fort was besieged by hundreds of Indians, who kept at a safe distance, however, as the occupants had good rifles and knew how to use them. With plenty of provisions, a good log fort carefully constructed with loopholes and protected by a wide ditch on the outside, the miners had no fears of their ability to repel any assaults of the Indians. But they needed every man present, so had not tried to send for assistance. Several days passed, and as no word was received from Rogue River or the occupants of the whaleboat, W. S. Winsor and George Wasson, two miners, but experienced Indian fighters, volunteered to go to Rogue River and locate the white people, if any were alive, or learn their fate. Winsor and Wasson secured the best horses they could find, and at dark on the evening of March 3, 1856, were ready to undertake the perilous journey. Armed with good rifles and revolvers, and with four days' rations tied on their saddles, the two men shook hands with the friends who had assembled at the only store in town to see them off, mounted, and soon disappeared in the darkness down the beach. Both had traveled that trail many times, and as the night was not very dark they made good time. No one resided on or near the trail, so it was pretty certain that the only human beings they were apt to encounter would be Indians. As the scouts hurried along that lonely trail they were frequently startled by wild animals scampering off through the forest, through brush and over logs, making considerable noise. The clink of the shoes on their horses against the many stones in the trail made more noise than was pleasant to hear, as such noise might be heard by some lurking warrior picketing the trail. But such noises could not be avoided, and our scouts went forward as fast as it was prudent in the darkness.
    "The scouts approached Mussel Creek, fifteen miles south of Port Orford, about eleven o'clock, where they knew that several Indian families lived close to the trail. In fact all Indian huts were located on the side of the trails in early days. Several fires were burning in the village and Indians were seen moving about, all of which indicated to the scouts that something unusual was doing, as it was well known that all Indians usually retired early in the evening. On nearing the village the scouts paused to determine what was best to do to pass the camp in safety. A rocky beach to the right and an impenetrable jungle to their left, above the village, made it almost impossible to pass the village without riding through it. Wasson suggested that Winsor hold his horse while he advanced on foot to reconnoiter, but the latter objected to such a move, saying: 'George, there is no use of monkeying round that camp, for we must either ride through or go back; and as we have no time to lose, let's get a move on. What do you say?' The only reply Wasson made was, 'Go ahead.' Wasson was one of those fearless, cautious mountaineers of the early days who never hesitated to do things when brought face to face with danger. In fact, he was chosen by Winsor as one, upon whom he could rely on the perilous journey. The scouts dismounted, tightened their saddles, mounted again and, with drawn revolvers, moved forward, forded the creek and. putting spurs to their horses, quickly passed through the village, uttering war whoops, and reached the timber on the hillside before the astonished Indians knew what had happened. As the scouts passed through the village they did not see many Indians, and those whom they saw had no arms and wore no war paint.
    "When clear of the village the scouts increased their pace, satisfied that they had left no hostile Indians behind them--a fact which might prove of inestimable value should they suddenly encounter a war party and be compelled to retreat. The next Indian village was located at Euchre Creek, about five miles below the village they had just passed, and as the tide was nearly high they must cross that creek at the village. The scouts feared that some of the hostiles from Rogue River might be encountered, but they were determined to get through if possible. The village was built on sand, which enabled the scouts to approach it without making the usual noise on horseback. When within a short distance of the huts the scouts paused to 'size up the outfit,' as Wasson put it. There was little life or bustle in the village save the beating of a drum in a hut near the trail, and as few Indians were astir, the scouts breathed easier. But the scouts did not hesitate long and, putting spurs to their horses and bending low in their saddles, quickly passed through the village, forded the creek just beyond and disappeared in the darkness down the beach. If they were seen by the Indians the latter made no outcry or gave them a parting shot. Afterward the scouts learned that there was a band of about one hundred warriors from the camp at Rogue River asleep as they passed through the village. Below the village the trail led along the beach and, though the tide was in and the beach heavy, the scouts made good time till they left the beach. They were now approaching the danger zone and must advance with greater caution than they had thought necessary during their ride. They turned into the timber and brush to the left and climbed the mountain, searching for a place where they could get a view of the country beyond, to pass the coming day in security. Fortunately they found some grassy glades near the open ground and here they unsaddled, picketed their horses and prepared to pass the day. The long, weary ride had sharpened the appetite of the scouts and they did ample justice to their lunch, after which they enjoyed their first smoke since leaving Port Orford. A faint glimmer in the east proclaimed the approach of another day and, to the delight of the weary men, not a cloud was visible, though it was yet the rainy season. When it was light enough to see, the scouts sought an open space at the edge of the timber and fortunately were enabled to get a good view of the country to the south. And when it grew lighter the keen eyes of scouts saw the outlines of the little fort on the bluff near the ocean, about five miles distant. The old flag was floating over the fort, which was proof positive to the scouts that the miners were there in force, defiant and full of fight. The mountain on which the scouts were standing sloped gently to the south to a small valley, through which coursed a creek which emptied into Rogue River, about five miles beyond. Beyond the valley, about three miles distant, a bald, fiat mountain rose about six hundred feet. To the right the mountain sloped off to the westward, forming a high bluff' on the shore of the ocean. The trail to Rogue River was plainly visible where it crossed the hill on the west.
    "Soon after sunrise several straggling bands of Indians, warriors no doubt, came in view from the east, presumably the river, going towards the fort, some riding, but mostly men on foot, and disappeared over the mountain in the direction of the fort. The scouts estimated the war party, for such it evidently was, to be fully three hundred. No doubt there was a force equally as large occupying the country between the fort and the river, but that part of the field was shut out of view by intervening mountains. The distance was too great to hear the report of firearms or see the smoke of battle, if one was in progress. Several small bands of Indians, mostly squaws, passed up and down the little valley during the day, but at nightfall returned towards the river, which indicated that the main camp of the hostiles was on the river to their left. The day passed slowly to the scouts, who were anxious to get to the fort and learn the extent of the massacre of the whites. About sundown the warriors, who went over in the morning, or about the same number, returned and disappeared over the mountain, whence they came in the morning. During the day the scouts took careful note of the country beyond and picked out their route to the fort. They believed that the fort was not closely picketed by the Indians during the night and that the quickest and perhaps the safest move on their part was to ride directly to the fort, keeping a close lookout, of course, for Indians.
    "As the shades of evening fell over hill and valley the scouts saddled their horses and rode down to the little valley below, then to the trail, along which they advanced with more caution till the little fort was visible on the bluff near the ocean beach. As they were apt to encounter the Indian pickets, if any were on duty on the hillside, the scouts dismounted and, leading their horses, moved forward with caution. They frequently paused and anxiously peered into the darkness to catch the least sound of an enemy, if present, but no sound except the occasional bark of a dog in the fort broke the awful stillness. After a long halt the scouts believed that no pickets were on guard on that part of the field at least, so they tied their horses in a thicket nearby, crawled to a friendly knoll about three hundred yards from the little fort and, in a low tone at first, hailed the people in the fort. Receiving no answer, they hailed again in a louder voice, which was soon after answered by someone in the fort. After hurriedly telling the people in the fort who they were, the scouts were directed to come forward slowly. The scouts were now in extreme peril, for should there be lurking pickets in that vicinity to fire upon them, the people in the fort might think it a night attack and fire a volley in the face of the scouts. The scouts, sensible of their peril, lost no time in reaching the fort, where they were met with many guns pointed at them as they crossed the plank laid across the ditch to admit them. The scouts were greeted with many handshakes and were glad that their perilous journey was at an end. Accompanied by men from the fort, they returned and led their horses into the fort.
    "The scouts found about eighty people, mustering about seventy guns. They had plenty of ammunition and provisions, were full of fight and did not appear to be greatly disturbed by their surroundings. The hostile Indians appeared upon the hillside above the fort the next day but kept at a safe distance. In about a week after the scouts reached the little fort, the siege was raised by the arrival of several companies of regular soldiers from the south. The Indians then withdrew up the river and the war was practically ended.
    "James Brooking and James McVay, of Smith River, California, E. H. Meservey of Agness, and W. S. Winsor of Gold Beach, Oregon, are the only occupants of that little fort known to be alive. And men of their mettle made the Oregon country."
James Gaston, ed., Centennial History of Oregon, 1911, vol. 4, pages 1026-1028.

    Seven miles north on the Rogue River on the Roosevelt Highway is a sign pointing toward the area, and marked "One mile to the Geisel monument." The dirt road which leads to it is, in some places, almost like a dark tunnel cut through the forest of interweaving myrtle, spruce and fir, with an underbrush of salal, which grows in this region to a height of 10 or 12 feet, and is so dense and matted that a snake hardly could crawl through it.
    A square block of the forest, about 20 feet in diameter, has been lifted out, and the space fenced with tall iron pickets. Against this fence the impenetrable forest hurls itself; looking into it from the inside is like looking into the sea from a glass-bottomed boat. In the center of the plot a red granite shaft rises from the head of a cement-covered grave, marked with the names of John Geisel and his three little sons, John, aged 5; Henry, aged 7; and Andrew, aged 9. It is dated February 22, 1856.
    Another cement slab close by is marked by the name of Christina Edson, and dated [1899]. "Killed in an Indian massacre," someone said.
    Out of the sunlight we had come into the dark and haunted past where lie the ashes of the Geisel family, guarded by the heavy Port Orford cedars, dark and funereal. It was so silent! only the whimper of the gulls, and the wash of the sea, which breaks on a wild and rocky coast. There is a tiny strip of black sand beach, the same black sand, laden with gold, which lured John Geisel here three-quarters of a century ago.
    The bit of the story was so fascinating that I must know the rest. I got it from two old Curry County histories, from Mrs. Mary Gauntlet, born of parents married at Gold Beach; from A. T. Moores, who carried the mail between Gold Beach and Port Orford 40 years ago, and finally from Mrs. Mary Blake herself, who is the oldest child of John Geisel and who witnessed the massacre. She is a dear and beautifully preserved old lady living at 1604 Alameda Drive, Portland.
    As short a time ago as 1856, Curry County was inhabited by ten Indian tribes on the coast and the fierce Shas-te-Koos-tees [Shasta Costas] farther up the Rogue. Now, they say, there is left but one full-blooded Indian, and old Shasta woman living near the Chetco River.
    John Geisel and his wife Christina, both born in Germany, had gradually drifted westward across the United States. In 1852, by way of covered wagon and ox team, with their four children, they arrived at Portland, where they lived in a house on Front Street.
    In 1853 gold was discovered in the black sand of the beach at the mouth of the Rogue River. John Geisel took his family there in 1854.
    The black sand mining excitement was at its height. The Indian villages along the coast at the mouths of the rivers had been generally replaced by white settlements. In the vicinity of the mouth of the Rogue were Elizabeth Town, five miles up the coast; Ellensburg, now Gold Beach, and Log-Town, whose populations were made up of several hundred miners, some traders, and a few vegetable-growing farmers, all men in the prime of life. There were only two or three white families. John Geisel's family, located at Elizabeth Town, was the second to locate in this section.
    At Port Orford, 30 miles up the coast from Gold Beach, was stationed Brevet-Major Reynolds, U.S.A., with his company of the 3d artillery. There was almost no communication from the north or east, only the wagon road south to Crescent City, Cal., and the occasional boats along the coast. Captain Tichenor's historic boat, the Seagull, had been wrecked on the Humboldt Bar in 1852, but he was probably making regular trips at that time between Portland and San Francisco in the Quickstep.
    There had been considerable trouble with the Indians, dating from "Miller's Outrage" on the Chetco in 1854. An Indian village had been demolished, and 16 people, including a squaw and her papoose, killed. The whites were usurping their lands; taking the sites of their villages at the mouths of rivers where fish, rock oysters and shellfish were so abundant, killing their herds of elk and deer.
    Yet the To-to-tin tribes, including 11 bands, which extended from the northern limits of Coos Bay to the Chetco River on the south, were apparently peaceful and even friendly.
    Among the To-to-tin tribes was Enos, an educated Indian, half French he was--from Canada, who was greatly in the confidence of Colonel Wright, the sub-agent in charge of Indian affairs at this place.
    Enos, although he was much with the whites and fully trusted by them, lived with his squaw up the Rogue, among the Rogue River Indians. He came and went continually among the Indians and the whites.
    Colonel Wright had been warned that the fighting tribes up the river were trying to involve the lower river tribes--the To-to-tuna, the Mac-an-o-tin and the Yahsutes--in a war of extermination against the whites. But Colonel Wright knew his Indians, or thought he did, and laughed at the idea of an uprising. Gold Beach, which comprised at that time the whole section, was quiet and peaceful. There was the ringing sound of the ax, and the song of the saw. On the Big Flat, three miles up the Rogue River, men were growing potatoes and other vegetables. All day red-shirted miners worked on the beaches, filtering the black sand through woolen blankets to catch the gold, powder-fine.
    John Geisel and his family, at Elizabeth Town, were living in domestic peace. They were mining the black sand and raising vegetables. Mrs. Geisel had a fine sow with a litter of pigs. This sow had wandered away with her little ones.
    February 22, 1856, Geisel, and a Rogue River Indian employed by him, had gone out to hunt the strayed pigs. Perhaps they had gone south down the wagon road as far as Rogue River, and looked across at Ellensburg, lying peacefully in the flat at the mouth of the river. The sun was shining on this late February day. Across the river a group of Rogue River squaws were taking their daily plunge, and Geisel may have laughed to see one of them supporting her young papoose on her hands, giving him his first swimming lesson.
    Their boats, shaped and fire-hollowed logs, were drawn up on the river bank. Dogs and children played. Smoke poured out of the tops of their conical-shaped huts.
    There had been rumors of trouble, and John Geisel, with his little flock in mind, had felt uneasy. Now, as he looked at the peaceful Indian village, his heart quieted.
    His Indian companion got into a passing canoe with others of his kind. "Me hunt hogs other time," he said. "Come back pretty soon."
    Geisel, weary of the search, started home. He met a couple of young miners on their way to Ellensburg.
    "Going to the dance on the Big Flat tonight, John?" one of them shouted.
    "No," smiled he, "too many little folks."
    "Oh, you ought to come and bring your womenfolk," protested the miner. "Women are mighty scarce in these woods."
    "Mary is only 13 and my wife has a small baby," Geisel answered as he tramped on home.
    That evening, February 22, 1856, most of the people of the whole Gold Beach section departed for the dance on the Big Flat, given in honor of Washington's birthday.
    The Geisels covered their ashes, put out their light and went to bed.
    "John," Mrs. Geisel may have said, timidly, "they say there's going to be trouble among the Indians."
    "Oh, no," would have been his natural answer, spoken comfortably and sleepily. "Ben Wright can handle the Indians. By summer they will all be moved north to the reservation anyway."
    Doubtless he told her of looking across the river at a contented little village that day, and of the squaw teaching her papoose to swim. They laughed and John Geisel, weary of his long tramp, dropped asleep, wondering if his Indian companion had found the hogs and wagering audibly that he wouldn't be seen for a week again.
    Perhaps, with her babe on her arm, Mrs. Geisel lay that night fearful and anxious, in spite of her husband's reassurance. She thought of the rumors of trouble, and in contrast of the white population dancing on the Big Flat.
    An early flight of migrating geese passed in the sky. She listened to their weird, yearning cries and thought fancifully that they might be lost souls seeking their creator.
    Mary lay in the next room. In the trundle bed beside her own she saw by the light of the moon the tousled heads of her three little sons. The 3-week-old baby on her arm stirred, seeking the mother's breast. Her dear ones were all safe, all together. The cabin was locked and barred. She fumbled for her husband's hand, which even in his sleep pressed her reassuringly, and fell asleep at last.
    At midnight came a knock on the door, and the familiar face of the Indian helper.
    "Yes," answered Geisel, and sprang up to admit him. He threw open the door and was stabbed where he stood. A moment later the little cabin was full of yelling, painted Indians. The To-to-tunas were on the warpath.
    The three little boys were slain in their bed. Mrs. Geisel, fighting to defend herself and her children, received a knife wound in her hand. She and Mary were rushed out of the house and bound to the trunks of trees, where, half fainting, they watched the burning of the cabin in which were the bodies of the father and sons.
    A tall buck had seized the baby, Anna, and dashed her upon the floor. Wrapped in her blankets she neither cried nor died. Thinking that she must be under the care of the Great Spirit himself, he put her into the mother's outstretched arms.
    The savages rushed on, yelling, dancing, burning. They destroyed the homes of the absent dancers, all but two or three Frenchmen's cabins. Enos, who it was afterward learned was the instigator of the trouble, was half French, and the Frenchmen were safe through the following weeks of siege and bloodshed.
    After the burning little town had ceased to throw its fitful flames against the trees, and the "painted devils" had grown weary of their sport, they forced the mother with her baby in her arms and Mary behind her away on a forest trail to their camp four miles up the river.
    An ocean fog rolled in from the Pacific, mingling with the smoke of Elizabeth Town, and all was still.
    History records that this massacre occurred February 22, 1856, when the Rogue River Indians, including the To-to-tuna, the Mac-an-o-tin, and the Yashute tribes rose up in an endeavor to exterminate the whites. There were 35 persons killed that night; the miners' cabins up and down the coast were destroyed by fire; and all the buildings in Ellensburg (now Gold Beach) were burned.
    One night, 17 days after their capture, Mrs. Geisel and Mary had eaten what they could of the bountiful supper of smoked salmon, and bread made of acorn flour ground in a stone mortar, with a stone pestle, and baked in ashes. The flour had been mixed with dried huckleberries and salmonberries and seasoned with some highly flavored herb. A friendly squaw had dropped into Mary's lap a handful of that beloved delicacy, wocus, or pond lily seeds. The diet, wholesome enough, did not appeal to the tastes of white women.
    They lay in their bed of skins and blankets, comfortable physically. The hut was dug back into the bank about eight feet. The poles set around against the excavation were covered with grass and dirt. The smoke from the embers of the dying fire escaped, part of it at least, through the hole left for that purpose at the top of the conical-shaped structure.
    Hour after hour Mrs. Geisel lay awake. The moon passed through a white cloud in the range of her vision.
    She guessed where she was, some miles up the Rogue. Could she, dared she, with her baby in her arms, and Mary behind her, climb up the notched pole, creep through the narrow opening out of the hut, steal one of the heavy log canoes on the beach and guide it down to the settlement at the mouth of the river? Or--she shivered, remembering the flaming cabins of Elizabeth Town--was there any settlement there now?
    She thought with fear of Enos, the educated Indian, who was now the chief of the tribe. Him she knew--smiling, friendly and treacherous. Fortunately she did not know that on the very night her family had been massacred, Enos had smiled into Colonel Wright's face when he entered his cabin at Ellensburg in the guise of a friend, and then murdered him with an axe. But she feared and dreaded him. Even if she could dare the woods and waves, could she dare Enos?
    Rumors had got about that Mrs. Geisel and her daughters were alive and held in the To-to-tuna village up the river. Charley Brown and his Indian wife Betsey, and Captain Davis had bargained and traded with Enos, and at last after nearly three weeks of imprisonment Mrs. Geisel, Mary and the infant Anna were exchanged for a captive squaw, some blankets and a handful of gold slugs and Spanish doubloons.
    Mrs. Geisel was one born for tragedy. It is almost inconceivable that 40 years afterward she should have shared the identical fate of her husband and sons. She was robbed, murdered, and burned in her house at the edge of Gold Beach in [1899]. The pathetic, empty hillock on which her cottage stood is at the left-hand side of the highway just where the road from the ferry across the Rogue starts up the hill into Gold Beach. Her body lies under the second cement slab in the Geisel graveyard.
    The Roosevelt Highway is almost completed. Within three years a splendid bridge will span the Rogue between Wedderburn and Gold Beach. Thousands of tourists will rush up and down the smooth pavement, sleeping in modern automobile camps, eating at cheap barbecues and never know of the ghosts that walk in Curry County; of the brave pioneers that haunt the cedar forests; ghosts of miners whom the Indians left lying where they fell; ghosts of murderers swinging from trees; perhaps of the half-breed chief Enos himself who was hanged afterward on Battle Rock at Port Orford; ghosts of Indian braves engaged in the deadly war dance on the smooth, gold-laden, black sand beaches above and below the Rogue River.
Sunday Oregonian, Portland, December 15, 1929, page 33


    Captain Clary, assistant quartermaster, just from Fort Orford, informs us that Governor Curry's troops, on taking their departure from that place, by order, it is presumed, of the Governor, left their mark by burning several houses and greatly alarming the citizens in the neighborhood.
"News from Oregon," New York Herald, July 28, 1856, pages 2-3


    Ed. Statesman--The disturbed state of affairs through which we have passed since the Indian outbreak have now subsided and settled down into a permanent peace and security of life and property. Nearly all the belligerent bands have now decided upon peace, and signified their willingness to submit to a removal to the reserve. The notorious chiefs George, Limpy and John are now here on the military reserve, ready for a departure to the military reserve that has been set apart for them, with other bands, north of the Umpqua.
    There are yet remnants of several bands scattered through the mountains, which it is thought will not come in or consent to remove to the reserve, and should they remain obstinate, and refuse the demands of government, their career will, we apprehend, meet with many incidents of a dark and foreboding character that will tend to lessen their future happiness and prosperity.
    A large number of the Indians now ready for their departure for the reserve will leave by the steamer now due, and the balance will immediately go by land.
Oregon Statesman, Salem, July 22, 1856, page 2


Crescent City Herald, August 20, 1856, page 2