the dinner table were seated about forty officers, men grown
gray in the service of their country and young Lieutenants just out from
West Point. The latter, as is always the case, were in full uniform,
while the old fellows wore little or nothing that would indicate their
calling or rank. During dinner one of the young men made some slighting
remark about the conduct of the women in attempting to kill the Indians,
characterizing their act as unwarranted and a breach of respect to the
General.

Instantly Gen. Davis pushed back from the table and rose to feet, fire
flashing from his eyes, and if ever a young upstart received a lecture
that young officer received one. I was sitting to the left of Gen. Davis
while Jesse Applegate, one of the "Makers of Oregon," sat at his right.
The General spoke of the women as the wife and daughter of a
frontiersman, and before whom stood the bloody handed butcher of
husbands and sons. It was one of the most eloquent, at the same time one
of the most withering addresses that it has ever been my fortune to
hear. Resuming his seat the General continued his conversation with
those about him, but there were no more remarks, you may be assured,
upon this incident.

The next morning at daylight the orderly to Gen. Davis came to my tent
and awaking me said that the General wanted to see me at once. Hastily
dressing I walked over to the General's tent. He was sitting on the side
of his camp bed, partly undressed. Jas. Fairchilds was sitting in the
tent talking as I entered. The General asked him to repeat to me what he
had been saying. Mr. Fairchilds then proceeded to relate that a bunch of
Indians, four bucks and a lot of women and children, had come in to the
ranch and surrendered. He had loaded them into a wagon and started to
the Peninsula to turn them over to the military authorities. When within
about six miles of his destination he was headed off by two men who were
disguised past identification. They ordered him to stop and unhitch his
team and after doing so was told to drive the horses up the road. When
about thirty yards away he was ordered to stop. The men then began
killing the Indians while he stood looking on and holding to his team.
After firing a dozen shots into the wagon, the men rode away, telling
him to remain there and not to leave. He remained until dark and then
mounting one of his horses rode to camp.

While we were talking Donald McKay came up and accused the voluntee