sympathy between all. Happily, the death of young Gillispie was to be
the only one to visit our neighborhood.

The stay-at-homes, those gallant (?) soldiers who fight their battles
with their mouths, were loud in fault finding and severe in censure of
those in command, and would tell how the battle should have been fought
and how not. This was especially true of the one-horse politicians, too
cowardly to go to the front, and of disgruntled politicians. To the
shame of our common humanity be it said, there were not wanting those
who sought to coin the very blood of the brave men at the front, and
these ghouls and vampires talked loudest when the war was at length
brought to a close, to be quoted in after years as history by Bancroft
and others.

Chief John adopted a Fabian policy from the first. He would disappear
with his warriors, hiding away in the deep recesses of the mountains
only to appear again when and where least expected, but towards the
close of 1856 his people grew tired of war. They said the more men they
killed the more came and took their places, and in spite of John and
Limpy they determined to sue for peace. The terms were finally agreed
upon, and John and Limpy, deserted but not conquered, at last
surrendered.

After the surrender, John and son, a lad of 16, were placed on board a
steamer and started to a reservation up the coast. When off the mouth of
Rogue river and beholding the hunting grounds of his people and the
familiar scenes of his youth, he made a desperate attempt to capture the
ship. It was a "Call of the Wild," and snatching a sabre from his guard
he succeeded in driving them below and for a time had possession of the
ship's deck. But firearms were brought into play, one leg of the boy was