The entire command of Gen. Gillem now became demoralized, and desertions were by the wholesale.  Gen. Gillem fortified his camp at the foot of the bluff, and surrounded it with a rock wall.  His communications were cut off and his trains captured and destroyed.  “Gillem’s Camp” was a fort as well as a “graveyard.”  Trains of wagons were captured, the wagons burned and the animals taken away.  The Indians daily fired on his picket line.

Such was the deplorable conditions of affairs when Gen. Jeff C. Davis assumed command.  Davis was eminently fitted for the task assigned him.  He at once restored confidence among the disheartened and beaten men.  He declared if there was to be more massacres he would know who to blame, and led the scouting parties in person.  The camp at “Gillem’s Graveyard” was broken up, and leaving a force to hold the stronghold he began scouting and searching for the enemy.  He went with six men to search for traces of the hostiles.  His action restored confidence, and the men manifested a spirit of fight.  Donald McKay and his Wascos were sent to circle the lava beds.  That night his signal fires informed Gen. Davis that the Modocs had deserted the lava beds.  All available cavalry were sent in pursuit.  The command of Capt.  Hasbrook had been out all day, and was accompanied by Donald McKay’s Indians.  Arriving at Dry Lake, then politely called Sauress Lake, they found that there was no water.  Wells were dug but to no purpose, and McKay and his Indians were sent back to Boyles’ camp for water.

From Dry Lake to Boyles’ camp the distance was about twelve miles.  With a pack train McKay was in no hurry; as a matter of fact, Donald was never in a hurry when there was danger about.  He was an arrant coward, but had some brave men of the Wascos with him.  I speak advisedly of what I know.

Capt.  Hasbrook’s command went into camp feeling secure, as the Indians were in hiding.  But Hasbrook, old soldier as he was, had a lesson to learn.  During the night a dog, belonging to the packers, kept growling.  The boss of the train, Charley Larengel, went to the officer of the guard and told him the Indians were about and that they would certainly be attacked at daylight.  Mr. Larengel told me that the officer treated his advice with indifference, not to say contempt.  The “boss of the pack train was unduly alarmed, there were no Indians around.”  But Charley Larengel knew a thing or two.  He had been with Crook and knew that hostiles did not come out, shake their red blankets and dare the soldiers to a fight, so he barricaded his camp, using the apparajos as breast works and told the packers to “let the mules go to the devil.  We must look out for ourselves.”

Just as day began to break over the desolate hills, the fun began.  From three sides the Indians poured into the camp a withering fire.  As a result the entire command became panic stricken.  Seven men were knocked down, almost at the first fire, and it has always been a matter of surprise to me that Hasbrook, old campaigner as he was, should be caught off his guard.  It began to look like another Wright-Thomas massacre.  Captain Jack stood well out of harm’s way, dressed in the uniform of Gen. Canby, and giving orders.  It was surely another massacre.