#Modoc War

[historydailyfrancischappellblack]

The United States Army Executed By Hanging Four Native Americans Found Guilty of Killing American Civil War General Edward Canby during the Modoc War in Oregon. October 3, 1873.

Image: Major General Edward Canby (Public Domain). On this day in history, October 3, 1873, the United States Army executed by hanging four Native Americans found guilty of killing American Civil War general Edward Canby during the Modoc War in Oregon. Canby was the highest-ranking army officer and the only general ever murdered by Native Americans. The Modoc War started with a fight over land,…

[mthupp]

Winema Riddle: A Woman of Many Names and Talents

My next novel will include scenes with Winema Riddle, a Native American woman who lived in Oregon in the 19th century. She served as an interpreter between the Army and the Modoc tribe during the Modoc War in 1972-73. Although best known as Winema Riddle, this Modoc woman took many names during her life, and she displayed a remarkable ability to work between the Native American and white…

[whencyclopedia]

A Soldier Recalls the Trail of Tears: John G. Burnett Account

John G. Burnett (b. 11 December 1810) was a private in the US Army in 1838 when he was ordered to act as interpreter between US officials and the Cherokee during the forced removal of Native Americans now known as the Trail of Tears. On his 80th birthday, Burnett wrote a letter to his children describing his experiences.

Walkway map at the Cherokee Removal Memorial Park

It's Only Make Believe (CC BY-SA)

The Trail of Tears was a series of forced relocations of the "Five Civilized Tribes" – the Choctaw, Seminole, Muscogee Creek, Chickasaw, and Cherokee – between 1831 and 1850. Burnett's account has become a primary source on the Cherokee eviction of 1838, even though some scholars and historians discount it as self-serving or inaccurate. Scholar John Ehle, for example, comments:

A romantic concept of Indians evolved in the years following their removal from the Southeast. The Cherokee were generally pictured as living peacefully in their mountain home – though fewer than one in five lived in mountain areas; their possession of black slaves was omitted from such portrayals, their shamans were exonerated; their propensity for warfare was replaced with peaceful coexistence with Creek, Choctaw, Chickasaw, and the rest…During this period, to be a white man and to have taken part in the Indian wars became reprehensible and apologies and excuses were made by the veterans of Indian wars added to the embellishments. For instance, a letter often quoted as accurately describing the events of Cherokee removal in 1838 and 1839 was written in 1890, fifty years later, by a veteran of the United States Cavalry, John G. Burnett, who on his eightieth birthday sought to assure his grandchildren of his own purity of past actions.

(393)

Ehle, however, offers no evidence that Burnett's account is inaccurate, and, in fact, the Burnett account seems to be supported by Native American reports of the event, including that of the Cherokee woman Wahnenauhi who, according to Digital History, sent her account to the US Bureau of Indian Affairs:

Perish or remove! It might be – remove and perish! A long journey through the wilderness – could the little ones endure? And how about the sick? The old people and infirm, could they possibly endure the long tedious journey? Should they leave?

This had been the home of their ancestors from time out of mind.

Everything they held dear on earth was here, must they leave?

The graves of their kindred forsaken would be desecrated by the hand of the White Man. The very air seemed filled with an undercurrent of inexpressible sadness and regret…

Some of the Cherokee remained in their homes and determined not to leave.

For these, soldiers were sent by Georgia, and they were gathered up and driven, at the point of the bayonet, into camp with the others. They were not allowed to take any of their household stuff, but were compelled to leave as they were, with only the clothes which they had on. One old, very old, man asked the soldiers to allow him to pray one more time, with his family, in the dear old home, before he left it forever. The answer was, with a brutal oath, "No! No time for prayers. Go!" at the same time giving him a rude push toward the door. Indians were evicted, the whites entered, taking full possession of everything left.

(Digital History, 1)

The accounts of Wahnenauhi and Burnett are understood as accurate because they are supported by the reports of others who experienced the same event or similar actions of the US government in the removal of Native Americans, whether the Navajo Long Walk of 1863-1866, the removal of the Cheyenne, Sioux, the Modoc, or the many, many others whose lands were taken by Euro-Americans with little, or no, compensation.

Text

The following is taken from the site Anchor: A North Carolina History Online Resource; Primary Source: A Soldier Recalls the Trail of Tears:

Children:

This is my birthday, December 11, 1890, I am eighty years old today. I was born at Kings Iron Works in Sullivan County, Tennessee, December the 11th, 1810. I grew into manhood fishing in Beaver Creek and roaming through the forest hunting the deer and the wild boar and the timber wolf. Often spending weeks at a time in the solitary wilderness with no companions but my rifle, hunting knife, and a small hatchet that I carried in my belt in all of my wilderness wanderings.

On these long hunting trips, I met and became acquainted with many of the Cherokee Indians, hunting with them by day and sleeping around their campfires by night. I learned to speak their language, and they taught me the arts of trailing and building traps and snares. On one of my long hunts in the fall of 1829, I found a young Cherokee who had been shot by a roving band of hunters and who had eluded his pursuers and concealed himself under a shelving rock. Weak from loss of blood, the poor creature was unable to walk and almost famished for water. I carried him to a spring, bathed and bandaged the bullet wound, and built a shelter out of bark peeled from a dead chestnut tree. I nursed and protected him feeding him on chestnuts and toasted deer meat. When he was able to travel, I accompanied him to the home of his people and remained so long that I was given up for lost. By this time, I had become an expert rifleman and fairly good archer and a good trapper and spent most of my time in the forest in quest of game.

The removal of Cherokee Indians from their lifelong homes in the year of 1838 found me a young man in the prime of life and a Private soldier in the American Army. Being acquainted with many of the Indians and able to fluently speak their language, I was sent as interpreter into the Smoky Mountain Country in May 1838 and witnessed the execution of the most brutal order in the History of American Warfare. I saw the helpless Cherokees arrested and dragged from their homes and driven at the bayonet point into the stockades. And in the chill of a drizzling rain on an October morning I saw them loaded like cattle or sheep into six hundred and forty-five wagons and started toward the west.

One can never forget the sadness and solemnity of that morning. Chief John Ross led in prayer and when the bugle sounded and the wagons started rolling many of the children rose to their feet and waved their little hands good-by to their mountain homes, knowing they were leaving them forever. Many of these helpless people did not have blankets and many of them had been driven from home barefooted.

On the morning of November the 17th we encountered a terrific sleet and snow storm with freezing temperatures and from that day until we reached the end of the fateful journey on March the 26th, 1839, the sufferings of the Cherokees were awful. The trail of the exiles was a trail of death. They had to sleep in the wagons and on the ground without fire. And I have known as many as twenty-two of them to die in one night of pneumonia due to ill treatment, cold, and exposure. Among this number was the beautiful Christian wife of Chief John Ross. This noble hearted woman died a martyr to childhood, giving her only blanket for the protection of a sick child. She rode thinly clad through a blinding sleet and snowstorm, developed pneumonia and died in the still hours of a bleak winter night, with her head resting on Lieutenant Greggs saddle blanket.

I made the long journey to the west with the Cherokees and did all that a private soldier could do to alleviate their sufferings. When on guard duty at night I have many times walked my beat in my blouse in order that some sick child might have the warmth of my overcoat. I was on guard duty the night Mrs. Ross died. When relieved at midnight, I did not retire, but remained around the wagon out of sympathy for Chief Ross, and at daylight was detailed by Captain McClellan to assist in the burial like the other unfortunates who died on the way. Her unconfined body was buried in a shallow grave by the roadside far from her native home, and the sorrowing Cavalcade moved on.

Being a young man, I mingled freely with the young women and girls. I have spent many pleasant hours with them when I was supposed to be under my blanket, and they have many times sung their mountain songs for me, this being all that they could do to repay my kindness. And with all my association with Indian girls from October 1829 to March 26th, 1839, I did not meet one who was a moral prostitute. They are kind and tender hearted and many of them are beautiful.

The only trouble that I had with anybody on the entire journey to the west was a brutal teamster by the name of Ben McDonal, who was using his whip on an old feeble Cherokee to hasten him into the wagon. The sight of that old and nearly blind creature quivering under the lashes of a bull whip was too much for me. I attempted to stop McDonal, and it ended in a personal encounter. He lashed me across the face, the wire tip on his whip cutting a bad gash in my cheek. The little hatchet that I had carried in my hunting days was in my belt and McDonal was carried unconscious from the scene.

I was placed under guard but Ensign Henry Bullock and Private Elkanah Millard had both witnessed the encounter. They gave Captain McClellan the facts and I was never brought to trial. Years later I met 2nd Lieutenant Riley and Ensign Bullock at Bristol at John Roberson's show, and Bullock jokingly reminded me that there was a case still pending against me before a court martial and wanted to know how much longer I was going to have the trial put off?

McDonal finally recovered, and in the year 1851, was running a boat out of Memphis, Tennessee.

The long painful journey to the west ended March 26th, 1839, with four-thousand silent graves reaching from the foothills of the Smoky Mountains to what is known as Indian territory in the West. And covetousness on the part of the white race was the cause of all that the Cherokees had to suffer. Ever since Ferdinand DeSoto made his journey through the Indian country in the year 1540, there had been a tradition of a rich gold mine somewhere in the Smoky Mountain Country, and I think the tradition was true. At a festival at Echota on Christmas night 1829, I danced and played with Indian girls who were wearing ornaments around their neck that looked like gold.

In the year 1828, a little Indian boy living on Ward creek had sold a gold nugget to a white trader, and that nugget sealed the doom of the Cherokees. In a short time the country was overrun with armed brigands claiming to be government agents, who paid no attention to the rights of the Indians who were the legal possessors of the country. Crimes were committed that were a disgrace to civilization. Men were shot in cold blood, lands were confiscated. Homes were burned and the inhabitants driven out by the gold-hungry brigands.

Chief Junaluska was personally acquainted with President Andrew Jackson. Junaluska had taken 500 of the flower of his Cherokee scouts and helped Jackson to win the battle of the Horse Shoe, leaving 33 of them dead on the field. And in that battle Junaluska had drove his tomahawk through the skull of a Creek warrior, when the Creek had Jackson at his mercy.

Chief John Ross sent Junaluska as an envoy to plead with President Jackson for protection for his people, but Jackson's manner was cold and indifferent toward the rugged son of the forest who had saved his life. He met Junaluska, heard his plea but curtly said, "Sir, your audience is ended. There is nothing I can do for you." The doom of the Cherokee was sealed. Washington, D.C., had decreed that they must be driven West, and their lands given to the white man, and in May 1838, an army of 4000 regulars, and 3000 volunteer soldiers under command of General Winfield Scott, marched into the Indian country and wrote the blackest chapter on the pages of American history.

Men working in the fields were arrested and driven to the stockades. Women were dragged from their homes by soldiers whose language they could not understand. Children were often separated from their parents and driven into the stockades with the sky for a blanket and the earth for a pillow. And often the old and infirm were prodded with bayonets to hasten them to the stockades. In one home death had come during the night. A little sad-faced child had died and was lying on a bear skin couch and some women were preparing the little body for burial. All were arrested and driven out leaving the child in the cabin. I don't know who buried the body.

In another home was a frail mother, apparently a widow and three small children, one just a baby. When told that she must go, the mother gathered the children at her feet, prayed a humble prayer in her native tongue, patted the old family dog on the head, told the faithful creature good-by, with a baby strapped on her back and leading a child with each hand started on her exile. But the task was too great for that frail mother. A stroke of heart failure relieved her sufferings. She sunk and died with her baby on her back, and her other two children clinging to her hands.

Chief Junaluska who had saved President Jackson's life at the battle of Horse Shoe witnessed this scene, the tears gushing down his cheeks and lifting his cap he turned his face toward the heavens and said, "Oh my God, if I had known at the battle of the Horse Shoe what I know now, American history would have been differently written."

At this time, 1890, we are too near the removal of the Cherokees for our young people to fully understand the enormity of the crime that was committed against a helpless race. Truth is, the facts are being concealed from the young people of today. School children of today do not know that we are living on lands that were taken from a helpless race at the bayonet point to satisfy the white man's greed.

Future generations will read and condemn the act and I do hope posterity will remember that private soldiers like myself, and like the four Cherokees who were forced by General Scott to shoot an Indian Chief and his children, had to execute the orders of our superiors. We had no choice in the matter.

Twenty-five years after the removal it was my privilege to meet a large company of the Cherokees in uniform of the Confederate Army under command of Colonel Thomas. They were encamped at Zollicoffer, and I went to see them. Most of them were just boys at the time of the removal but they instantly recognized me as "the soldier that was good to us." Being able to talk to them in their native language I had an enjoyable day with them. From them I learned that Chief John Ross was still ruler in the nation in 1863. And I wonder if he is still living? He was a noble-hearted fellow and suffered a lot for his race.

At one time, he was arrested and thrown into a dirty jail in an effort to break his spirit, but he remained true to his people and led them in prayer when they started on their exile. And his Christian wife sacrificed her life for a little girl who had pneumonia. The Anglo-Saxon race would build a towering monument to perpetuate her noble act in giving her only blanket for comfort of a sick child. Incidentally the child recovered, but Mrs. Ross is sleeping in an unmarked grave far from her native Smoky Mountain home.

When Scott invaded the Indian country some of the Cherokees fled to caves and dens in the mountains and were never captured and they are there today. I have long intended going there and trying to find them, but I have put off going from year to year and now I am too feeble to ride that far. The fleeing years have come and gone, and old age has overtaken me. I can truthfully say that neither my rifle nor my knife were stained with Cherokee blood.

I can truthfully say that I did my best for them when they certainly did need a friend. Twenty-five years after the removal I still lived in their memory as "the soldier that was good to us".

However, murder is murder whether committed by the villain skulking in the dark or by uniformed men stepping to the strains of martial music.

Murder is murder, and somebody must answer. Somebody must explain the streams of blood that flowed in the Indian country in the summer of 1838. Somebody must explain the 4000 silent graves that mark the trail of the Cherokees to their exile. I wish I could forget it all, but the picture of 645 wagons lumbering over the frozen ground with their cargo of suffering humanity still lingers in my memory.

Let the historian of a future day tell the sad story with its sighs, its tears and dying groans. Let the great Judge of all the earth weigh our actions and reward us according to our work.

Children – Thus ends my promised birthday story. This December the 11th 1890.

Continue reading...

[hotvampireadjacent]

In reading a book about the great depression and then the dustbowl. I everything is exactly the same in history. The author does a wonderful job of highlighting, and not ignoring what was done to the native people of California, such as the Modoc tribe, and drawing parallels to the anti immigrant and borderer fever in modern day United States.

“Many members of Hoovers’ administration and politicians and business leaders in his orbit also refused to accept, at least publicly, that any threat the United States faced could have originated from within the country and been exacerbated by existing conditions unique to the United States. Such denialists instead made spurious claims about foreign meddling in the nations economy. […]

Xenophobic but more general nuance assessments of this sort expressed by members of the Hoover administration gave cover to more explicitly nativist responses that tapped into racist, anti immigrant sentiments that had peaked in the 1920s” The Golden fortress California’s border war on dust bowl refugees page 56

[rabbitcruiser]

Klamath Falls, OR (No. 9)

The Modoc people, having been removed to Oregon to share a reservation with the Klamath, traditional rivals, wanted a reservation created on Lost River, near present-day Merrill, Oregon. Captain Jack led his band back to Lost River, but the US Army, accompanied by militia and citizens of Linkville (present-day Klamath Falls) arrived and convinced Captain Jack to return. An argument broke out, shots were fired, and the Modoc War began as the Modoc fled to Captain Jack's Stronghold in northern California.

A treaty was signed with the Klamath on October 14, 1864, which led to the establishment of the Klamath Reservation. At various times over the next 40 years, different individuals of the Modoc tribe were settled within the reservation.

Because of the extensive tracts of forest, the Klamath were very well off as a people until the termination of the reservation by the U.S. government in 1954. Termination parceled the communally managed land into individual sections, which tribe members could not manage on their own and were largely forced to sell to speculators.

A few of the Klamath refused to accept the buyout money, most notably Edison Chiloquin (1923–2003). Instead of cash, he insisted on receiving the title to ancestral land along the Sprague River where he lived. On December 5, 1980, the Chiloquin Act was signed into law, giving him title to the properties he wanted.

Source: Wikipedia

[fishrpg]

2024-10-04: Area 04 (The Bowman Herald)

On Second Street stands the wooden office of The Bowman Herald, the local newspaper. They cover news in Bowman, as well as some things in the broader Wasco county. The current owner and editor of the paper is Ernest Reynolds, a balding man who pays closer attention to his pocketwatch than most train conductors. Ernest has a predilection for gambling in town (how else is he supposed to make sure the high-stakes poker games get covered?), and he's recently lost a bit of money that was supposed to go to payroll. His loss is potentially your gain, though, because he's willing to publish stories of questionable integrity for the right price.

The Bowman Herald is also somewhat unusual among small town newspapers in that it has a young Klamath man (Lincoln Butler) on retainer to report on the happenings in and around the reservation, which is especially helpful for giving Mr. Reynolds ideas for embellished articles about the sordid details of the events transpiring during the Modoc War. Lincoln doesn't fit in terribly well in Bowman or on the reservation; each place thinks Lincoln is too entrenched in the other culture to be truly trustworthy, so he is merely tolerated in both places.

As for the layout of the building the Herald occupies, it's mostly an open area with an office off to the side where the editor can close the door and focus on proofreading the pages. The printing press and paper cutter take up most of the space on the wall opposite the office. On the back wall (closest to the printing press) is a work table and a cabinet where all the lead type is stored. Running the length of the open office is a series of ropes where the freshly-inked pages are placed to dry before printing the other side. Crushed and severed fingers were a persistent occupational hazard, and those who worked the presses long enough often found themselves with a case of "printer's disease" (lead poisoning).

A Note About Cultural Erasure

In the interest of historical authenticity, I tried to track down some traditional Klamath names. I did find a list of tribal members, but it's a list from the perspective of the colonizers as the U.S. government tried to implement the blood quanta system to determine who was "pure enough" to warrant tribal membership. You can view it for yourself on the Federal Register from November 21, 1957 (the list starts on page 25 of the PDF, but 9303 if using the original pagination).

Because the list also records birth dates (or at least birth years) I was able to find individuals who would have been alive during 1872-1873. Scanning through the list, pretty much every name had been Anglicized. The nearby reservation where the Klamath people lived was established in 1864, and the systematic forced assimilation of white culture was likely in effect well before the reservation's establishment. This leads me to the sad conclusion that traditional Klamath names were largely erased and replaced with Anglicized during the time I'm exploring.

However, there is also the (equally unsettling possibility) that traditional names were used during this time period, but were erased at some point between 1873 and 1954. In either case, I will be giving indigenous characters "white" names going forward with this project unless someone else is able to provide me with a source that indicates otherwise.

[littlefeather-wolf]

Modoc ... ... L to R, standing: US Indian agent, Winema (Toby) and her husband Frank Riddle; other Modoc women in front, 1873 Tragedy of the Lava Beds ... She and her family toured with Meacham after the war, starring in his lecture-play "Tragedy of the Lava Beds", to inform American people about the war. Meacham later published a book about Winema, which he dedicated to her. In 1891 Toby Riddle was one of the few Native American women to be awarded a military pension by the United States Congress, for her heroic actions during the peace negotiations in 1873. (Her first name also appears spelled as "Tobey" in historical records.)

[rayray2390]

The Wasteland part 4

Clint and I go find Maria to discuss what we’ve decided. With Clint’s hand in mine we head to her private quarters. We arrive and Clint knocks. “Come in.” When we enter a woman with a pixie cut looks up from her desk. “(Y/N), it really is you.” She gets up from her chair and walks towards us. “When Loki came to me I wasn’t sure if he was telling the truth. I heard you came up with a plan to defeat Maestro.” We both nod and show Maria the maps we discussed earlier.  “Good work, to both of you. You’ve always been good at working together. Let me go over this in private with a few other people, you two have done enough. Go ahead and rest I will call and let you know when we plan to attack.”

“Thanks Maria, we will.” Clint says wrapping an arm around my waist. He leads us out of Maria’s room and back to his room. “I think I have something we can eat, bet your starving huh?”

“You have no idea.” Clint walks over to a cabinet and starts pulling out cans of food. I walk over and look at the food, making sure I don’t make gross faces but fail anyway.

“Sorry I don’t have much darling. But this is all we have at the moment. There might be other options in our ‘cafeteria’ but that’s probably not worth it.” He stands up and picks up a can of green beans, and opens it.

“I can deal with it, if that’s all you have I won’t complain.” I give a smile while I pick up a can of corn for me to eat.

“This coming from the picky eater.” I give him a pout and look down slightly. “Hey look at me,” he puts his index finger under my chin and lifts my head up “I’m only teasing you babe,” he pecks my forehead “I just missed you is all.”

“I know, but it feels like nothing has changed. After all this time your still the same Clint I love.”  We smile at each other and finish eating our vegetables in silence. I pretty sure It’s late because I’m getting tired.

“You can go to sleep if you want, I’m always up late keeping watch so I don’t mind.”

“You don’t plan on going to sleep? That’s not very healthy of you Clint.”

“I really don’t mind, the beds right there go ahead and go to sleep. If something happens I’ll wake you.” I give him a small nod and quick goodnight and head to the bed. It doesn’t take long when my head hits the pillow that I fall asleep. Today was exhausting and I have a long battle to prepare for tomorrow.

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Clint’s POV

This morning could have started like any other. That was until I saw a big flash near the old Avengers tower. When I went over I saw someone who I thought I never seen again. The girl I was going to propose to after our battle with Modoc ended. But she was nowhere to be found. For years I thought she ran away from us, from me. After a while, when Maestro took over, I accepted the fact that she might be dead. My patrol this morning I thought Loki was pulling a cruel trick on me. But it was really her.

I don’t want her to be involved in anything battle wise. I just want her to go home back to her time, so past me doesn’t have to live this hell without her. My conversation with Loki made me realize Maestro is going to look for her, and try and come after her. I can’t let that happen. No matter what I will protect (Y/N).

As I look at the cameras I have set up in my quarters, I can’t help but take some glances at her. She looks so peaceful, no scars with all the war that’s happened, no nightmares to deal with every night. She’s at peace, and I want her to go back to her time and keep that. This plan better work, otherwise I don’t know what I’m going to do. Ever since she got here all I wanted to do was hold her, and never let her go. But I remember, she’s not my (Y/N).

Reader’s POV

I wake up and roll onto my back and stare at the celling for a bit. I don’t remember cracks being in the celling, weird. I gasp then shot up in bed in a fright. I calm down once I see Clint passed out in his chair at the desk. I forgot I’m in the future. Yesterday felt like an awful dream. I start feeling a little homesick and tear up a bit and try not letting out a sniffle. But I fail at that and Clint wakes up.

“Good morning darling, how are…” He stops as soon as he makes eye contact with me. “Hey, what’s wrong?” He gets up to sit next to me on the bed, hesitating to wrap an arm around me.

“I’m just a little homesick,’ I choke out “don’t worry I’m fine, really.” I sat up and wipe my tears, but more just fall. “Can you hold me, just for a little bit?”

“Yeah darling, or course.” Clint does as I ask and wraps me in a hug. This is honestly the closest thing I’m getting to home, and I love it. “Try not to fall asleep again. We still got work to do.”

I let out a groan and snuggle deeper in his chest. “Do we have to? I’m already a badass on the battle field. I can handle some robots.”

“Its more than just a few robots darling. You need to prepare to defeat a monster that’s 10 times stronger and bigger than you.” He says “I just don’t want to loose you again.” Clint murmurs  the last part into my hair.  “Please, just train with me for a bit. It doesn’t matter how good you are. You just need to be prepared enough to make it to the stones. Ok?”

“Ok. If it’ll put you more at ease, I’ll do it.” He kisses my forehead in response and we both get up and get ready for the day. “Is there a training area we can go to? You mentioned a few places but no training area.” “That’s the beauty of living in an old tunnel, the whole thing can be a training ground.” Clint says as he leads me the opposite direction of the base. “I like to train on this side, away from everyone.” He heads over to the target and picks up a bow and some arrows, then heads back to where I’m standing. “You wanna shoot some?” He offers me the bow with a small smile.

“I don’t know, I’m not as good as the great Hawkeye.” I said with a laugh

“Your better than you think you are, trust me. Here just try.” I take the bow and an arrow with some hesitation and get ready to aim. I raise the bow and aim at the target. I feel Clint move behind me and he adjusts my arms a bit. “Was I off a bit?”

“Just a bit. You should be good now.” He let’s go of my arms and I shoot the arrow. I hit the target, but it’s not a bullseye and I’m a little disappointed in myself for moving the bow on accident.

“Sorry Clint. I told you I’m not that good, even with your help.” I look down in embarrassment and can feel my face getting red. Before I start crying Clint speaks up and tilts my head up.

“You hit the target didn’t you? That’s all that matters. If that was a robot, you’d just have to hit it a second time and it go down. Trust me darling, you’re a better shot than you think. You  want to wipe away those tears and try hitting the target again?”

I nod and use my sleeve to dry my eyes. “Yeah I want to try again. And I’ll try not to be too nervous this time.” He gives a small nod and I get another arrow. We stay there for a while. It could’ve been hours or days, who knows. Being here with Clint felt like time didn’t exist, this felt right.

-------------------------

I start making shot after shot. I can feel Clint’s eyes on me as I do so. Every now and then He’ll have a turn. When it’s his turn he makes the target move, a skill I’m obviously not ready for. I’m ready to take another shot when a loud voice startles me from a speaker. “Clint Barton, can you report to the armory.”

“That’s our cue to stop darling.” Clint comes up and pats my shoulder to calm me down. “Guess I should’ve warned you that the speakers are extremely loud, huh?”

“That would’ve been nice to know.” We both gather the arrows and put them away and head to the armory.

When we get to the armory Maria, Loki, and a bunch of other people are gathered around the wall with our plan on it. “Glad you two could make it.” Maria says, “We are ready to discuss what we want done with your plan.” Maria starts going over with the recruits, the plan and schedule of the robot security. From what I’ve gathered, the security is less active around sunset. That’s when the bots are swapped out to recharge. It’s the perfect time to get in. This is also the time Maestro will be out of the tower wandering the wasteland. “If there are any questions feel free to come to my office. We strike in 3 weeks from today. So, I want you all to be prepared and train until then. Remember we are doing this to get (Y/N) back to her time. If we can’t defeat Maestro, it is not a loss. We do what we can when we are there. Understood?”

“Yes ma’am!” The group shouts.

“Good. You’re all dismissed.” Maria finishes, then heads towards me and Clint. “Cool it with the PDA you two.” she said with a teasing smile. I was confused on what she was talking about until she gestured to me and Clint holding hands. I quickly look away flustered, and I’m pretty sure my face is red. “I’m just teasing. We all know the two of you are very affectionate. In a discreet way, of course.”

“Yah well, gotta do what I can to make my little lady comfortable.” Clint said then kissed my temple. All I did was hide my face in his shoulder too flustered to speak. “We’ll be ready to strike Maria. Don’t worry much about us.”

“I won’t, you came up with this plan. I trust you 100% completely.” With that Maria walks away and Clint leads me back to his quarters.

------------------

When we arrived, Clint offered me some food and we just sat in silence, until I broke it. “Are you nervous?”

“When you’ve done this for years you don’t get nervous. But now that you’re involved, I am. So many things can go wrong, and it’s terrifying to think about.” Clint doesn’t make eye contact with me. You can hear the crack in his voice too.

“I was getting a little worried. I’m scared too. But on the bright side, we’re going to do this together.” I hate seeing him like this. Having to live for this long with his friends dead, the girl he loved for years left with no words. Then later accept her as dead. He needs to know he’s not going in on this alone.

“How is that the ‘bright side’? When we go into this who knows what’s going to happen. You could end up dead.” Clint starts yelling, and it hurts, so much. Before he needed to let it out, but the anger felt directed at me this time. “I don’t want you going. I just can’t let you go.”  

“The fuck does that mean.” I know he’s scared. I know he’s angry, but I need to go. “What the hell are you thinking, telling me I can’t go. I’m the main purpose you must do this mission. What are you going to do to get me back?” Now I’m yelling. I can’t think straight, we rarely ever fight.

“I don’t know anymore. We might have to bring the stone here or something. But you’re not going.”

“I need to go. If you try and leave the building with the stone- “

“JUST SHUT UP AND LET ME THINK!” My heart clenches when he shouts that. I start shaking and can feel the tears building. “(Y/N), I- “

“Fine. I’ll shut up. In fact, to give you quiet, I’ll go find somewhere else to sleep.” My voice started shaking the moment I opened my mouth. I don’t give him a chance to speak. Without looking at him I left. As soon as the door shuts, I let out a sob. And I cried all the way to Maria’s office.

[detectivemaker]

Some more stuff about my hattercrow/ mad Rider Fusion au

John was damned to his fate since the day he was born, for you see he was a baby made  from a plea for fertility to the devil, and on his 20th birthday Lucifer would come to take what was rightfully his, and he did

His ride of choice is a skeletal horse that has a flaming head and back hooves

His outfit consists of a pitch black hodgepodge of a cowboy outfit and a preachers habit, mostly the preacher part comes from the hat and how flowy the robes are, when he's riding his skeletal faces hating under the Hat, but it does light up when he's found his Mark or when he's pissed

jervis was a neuroscientist working for aim, he's actually one of the scientists that help make  brain doc(  a fusion of Modoc and Brainiac),   when he learned it was going to be used for war and destruction, he tried to whistle blow, to keep him from doing this the higher ups subjected him to an experimental formula,  a formula that was thought to be an extremely failed attempt at creating a regenerative Mega Soldier, but it didn't fail for him

So yeah after we escaped the facility and figured out he couldn't induce temporary but incredibly destructive Madness on to people, he started little cross country chaos

It was love at first pennant stare between the two,  though it was a second pennant stare he got that  knocked some of his original Self back into place, nowadays is a lot less of a chaos spreading dick than he was, who has a knack for inducing destructive chaos but for a good cause

John calls the angel of  vengeance  he's sharing a body with Crow,  it's real name is incredibly unpronounceable by human tongue,  only John can say it but when he does the people who's listening to him say it spontaneously start burning and vomiting blood

jervis pet name for him is Angel

He calls  John's horse Seabiscuit,  but it's given name by its creator and owner is death  stallion

John has access to his pennant stare in his human form as well,  though it only induces the emotional agony

jervis's mad cap outfit is basically a suit version of the canonical get up, and no mask though his eyes are shaded  most of the time by the Hat, he only lifts it up if you can do is horrible Madness onto people, or when he needs a fresh dose of penance when he starts getting a little bit too excited lest he revert to complete chaos dickory

A bit of a side effect of jervis's Madness  gaz, anything he commands you to do while under its effect you will do, though usually he just lets people he crazys do their own thing,  it can be permanent if he gazes upon you long enough,  but only one person he's ever encountered was worthy of  a long look

That person was Lyle Bolton, he was a guard at the aim facility jervis used to work at, he was the guy who  ratted  him out for wanting to snitch  on the   brain doc thing, and he's in the  incurable  Ward of Arkham

John's pennant stare also has the effect of making you horribly hallucinate your worst fear as well as any crimes you have committed upon your fellow man

John's  Rider form has the voice of the Lich, with the  tiniest little sprinkle of a Southern accent below all that whispering baritone

Yes they have made love on the Flaming horse, on multiple occasions,  usually after a successful bounty

jervis is very acrobatic,  and also a really good contortionist,  it's less he's good at stretching his limbs back and more that he's completely okay and capable of dislocating his bones for any uses he may need them dislocated for 

jervis sometimes dresses up like a cowboy  nun to compliment John's Cowboy Priestess attic

jervis has a rivalry with the Ragdoll Deadpool Fusion of this AU,  it's mostly just tetch instigating fights, his hatred of dead  doll comes from an irrational fear that he will steal his flaming man and an incident where he was thrown off a building, yes it is true the death doll has a thing for skeletons but not flaming skeletons,  but jervis doesn't know that

[transfem-octopus]

I was once curious about the reliability of ChatGPT so I asked it questions about the Yakima War of 1855.

It conflated the Yakama War of 1855 with the Nez Perce War of 1877 and the Modoc War of 1872 and said the war started in 1873. It stated that the Battle of Seattle was a massacre of an Indigenous Village when it was in fact an attack by Indigenous Warriors on an American Settlement and was just in general vague in the way that an essay written by a student who didn’t do the reading and now has to write an essay is vague.

All of which is to that’s exactly what I’d expect of a text aggregator that doesn’t so much answer questions as much as it writes text that sound like they could be the answers to the question being asked.

I knew going into this that when I asked Chat GPT to write a paragraph about the Yakama War it wouldn’t write about the Yakama War it would write something that sounds like it could be about the Yakama War.

Because these things are just highly advanced random text generators. They write by guessing what words are most likely to follow each other, not because they have any real understanding or intentionality.

I feel like the only person not tempted to use ChatGPT like it doesn't even occur to me as an option

[coyotepoet]

If I had magic.. And a amazing Tom Jones song.

 If I had magic…. Johnnie walked the California Fault line alone. Looking for a ancient and holy places.The desert mountain hard and her natural beauty.Perfect place to hide the wishing wells and to burn some sage.A place to pray. Once I knew anger, war and greed.Now I sit by Captain Jack, great Chief of the Modoc tribe, hidden waterfall.I whispered silently to Captain Jack.We lost great…

[silvestromedia]

SAINTS JANUARY 31

St. Eusebius, 884 A.D. Martyred Irish Benedictine. While traveling from Ireland to Switzerland, Eusebius became Benedictine at Saint-Gall Monastery, Switzerland. He spent thirty years as a hermit on Mt. St. Victor and was cut down by a scythe when he preached to a group of pagan peasants.

St. Madres, Saint honored in the Carse of Gowrie, Scotland, also listed as Madianus. He may be identified with St. Modoc. One tradition makes him a companion of St. Boniface Quiritinus. Many legends offer other identities, none substantiated.

St. Marcella, Roman Catholic Widowed noblewoman of Rome, the hostess of St. Jerome and other dignitaries. She was scourged in the invasion of Rome in 410 by the Visigoths Under King Alaric who wished to extract knowledge of her wealth, which had in fact been given away. While she survived the vicious beating, she died soon after from the severity of her ordeal. Widowed nine months of marriage, she gave her wealth to the poor and founded a community of pious noble women. . Feastday January 31

St. Aidan, 626 A.D. Monastic founder, bishop, and miracle worker known for his kindness to animals. Known as Edan, Modoc, and Maedoc in some records, Aidan was born in Connaught, Ireland. Tradition states that his birth was heralded by signs and omens, and he showed evidence of piety as a small child. Educated at Leinster, Aidan went to St. David monastery in Wales. He remained there for several years, studying Scriptures, and his presence saved St. David from disaster. Saxon war parties attacked the monastery during Aidan's stay, and he supposedly repelled them miraculously. In time, Aidan returned to Ireland, founding a monastery in Ferns, in Wexford. He became the bishop of the region as well. His miracles brought many to the Church. Aidan is represented in religious art with a stag. He is reported to have made a beautiful stag invisible to save it from hounds.

St. Adamnan of Coldingham, 680 A.D. Confessor and prophet who was born in Ireland and undertook a series of penitential pilgrimages. Adamnan arrived on the southwest coast of Scotland where he met St. Ebba at the Monastery of Coldingham. He became a monk in this monastery and lived a life of severe austerity. Adamnan was noted for the gift of prophecy until his death.

St. Francis Xavier Bianchi, Roman Catholic Barnabite Priest and miricale worker. Feastday January 31

St. John Bosco, Roman Catholic Priest. He dedicated his life to the betterment and education of street children, juvenile delinquents, and other disadvantaged youth. He developed teaching methods based on love rather than punishment, a method that became known as the Salesian Preventive System. Feastday January 31

[brookstonalmanac]

Events 1.17 (before 1946)

38 BC – Octavian divorces his wife Scribonia and marries Livia Drusilla, ending the fragile peace between the Second Triumvirate and Sextus Pompey. 1362 – Saint Marcellus' flood kills at least 25,000 people on the shores of the North Sea. 1377 – Pope Gregory XI reaches Rome, after deciding to move the Papacy back to Rome from Avignon. 1524 – Giovanni da Verrazzano sets sail westward from Madeira to find a sea route to the Pacific Ocean. 1562 – France grants religious toleration to the Huguenots in the Edict of Saint-Germain. 1595 – During the French Wars of Religion, Henry IV of France declares war on Spain. 1608 – Emperor Susenyos I of Ethiopia surprises an Oromo army at Ebenat; his army reportedly kills 12,000 Oromo at the cost of 400 of his men. 1641 – Reapers' War: The Junta de Braços (parliamentary assembly) of the Principality of Catalonia accepts the proposal of establishment of the Catalan Republic under French protection. 1648 – England's Long Parliament passes the "Vote of No Addresses", breaking off negotiations with King Charles I and thereby setting the scene for the second phase of the English Civil War. 1649 – The Second Ormonde Peace creates an alliance between the Irish Royalists and Confederates during the War of the Three Kingdoms. The coalition was then decisively defeated during the Cromwellian conquest of Ireland. 1773 – Captain James Cook leads the first expedition to sail south of the Antarctic Circle. 1781 – American Revolutionary War: Battle of Cowpens: Continental troops under Brigadier General Daniel Morgan defeat British forces under Lieutenant Colonel Banastre Tarleton at the battle in South Carolina. 1799 – Maltese patriot Dun Mikiel Xerri, along with a number of other patriots, is executed. 1811 – Mexican War of Independence: In the Battle of Calderón Bridge, a heavily outnumbered Spanish force of 6,000 troops defeats nearly 100,000 Mexican revolutionaries. 1852 – The United Kingdom signs the Sand River Convention with the South African Republic. 1873 – A group of Modoc warriors defeats the United States Army in the First Battle of the Stronghold, part of the Modoc War. 1885 – A British force defeats a large Dervish army at the Battle of Abu Klea in the Sudan. 1893 – Lorrin A. Thurston, along with the Citizens' Committee of Public Safety, led the Overthrow of the Kingdom of Hawaii and the government of Queen Liliʻuokalani. 1899 – The United States takes possession of Wake Island in the Pacific Ocean. 1903 – El Yunque National Forest in Puerto Rico becomes part of the United States National Forest System as the Luquillo Forest Reserve. 1904 – Anton Chekhov's The Cherry Orchard receives its premiere performance at the Moscow Art Theatre. 1912 – British polar explorer Captain Robert Falcon Scott reaches the South Pole, one month after Roald Amundsen. 1915 – Russia defeats Ottoman Turkey in the Battle of Sarikamish during the Caucasus Campaign of World War I. 1917 – The United States pays Denmark $25 million for the Virgin Islands. 1918 – Finnish Civil War: The first serious battles take place between the Red Guards and the White Guard. 1920 – Alcohol Prohibition begins in the United States as the Volstead Act goes into effect. 1941 – Franco-Thai War: Vichy French forces inflict a decisive defeat over the Royal Thai Navy. 1943 – World War II: Greek submarine Papanikolis captures the 200-ton sailing vessel Agios Stefanos and mans her with part of her crew. 1944 – World War II: Allied forces launch the first of four assaults on Monte Cassino with the intention of breaking through the Winter Line and seizing Rome, an effort that would ultimately take four months and cost 105,000 Allied casualties. 1945 – World War II: The Vistula–Oder Offensive forces German troops out of Warsaw. 1945 – The SS-Totenkopfverbände begin the evacuation of the Auschwitz concentration camp as the Red Army closes in. 1945 – Swedish diplomat Raoul Wallenberg is taken into Soviet custody while in Hungary; he is never publicly seen again.

[valkyries-things]

TOBY RIDDLE // INTERPRETER

“She was a Modoc woman who served as an interpreter in negotiations between the Native American Modoc tribe and the United States Army during the Modoc War (also called the Lava Beds War). She warned the peace commission of a possible Modoc attack, and she saved the life of the chairman Alfred B. Meacham when the 1873 attack took place. In 1891 Toby Riddle was one of the few Native American women to be awarded a military pension by the United States Congress, for her heroic actions during the peace negotiations in 1873.”

[thon717-2d]

independent research

Eadweard Muybridge Stephen E. Wilhite was a was an English photographer known for his pioneering work in photographic studies of motion, and early work in motion-picture projection. He adopted the first name Eadweard as the original Anglo Saxon form  of Edward, and the surname Muybridge, believing it to be similarly archaic. He also photographed Yosemite, San Francisco, the newly acquired Alaskan Territory, subjects involved in the Modoc War, and lighthouses on the West Coast. he animated the 'galloping horse' as seen below using many small photographs

[rabbitcruiser]

Klamath Falls, OR (No. 3)

The Klamath and Modoc peoples were the first known inhabitants of the area. The Modocs' homeland is about 20 miles (32 km) south of Klamath Falls, but when they were forced onto a reservation with their adversaries, the Klamath, a rebellion ensued and they hid out in nearby lava beds.[10] This led to the Modoc War of 1872–1873, which was a hugely expensive campaign for the US Cavalry, costing an estimated $500,000, the equivalent of over $8 million in 2000. 17 Indigenous people and 83 Americans were killed.

The Applegate Trail, which passes through the lower Klamath area, was blazed in 1846 from west to east in an attempt to provide a safer route for emigrants on the Oregon Trail. The first non-Indigenous settler is considered to have been Wallace Baldwin, a 19-year-old civilian who drove fifty head of horses in the valley in 1852. In 1867, George Nurse, named the small settlement "Linkville", because of Link River north of Lake Ewauna.

The Klamath Reclamation Project began in 1906 to drain marshland and move water to allow for agriculture. With the building of the main "A" Canal, water was first made available on May 22, 1907. Veterans of World War I and World War II were given homesteading opportunities on the reclaimed land.

Source: Wikipedia