PRESCOTT, THE APACHES, ETC.
Prescott had been described to us, as resembling very much a "New
England village." We were told so in San Francisco. It was repeated
at Fort Yuma. It was hinted at Tucson. Well, perhaps, it did, except
as regards school-houses and churches, white paint and green blinds,
general thriftiness, and a wholesome respect for law and order.
Eliminating these, Prescott, perhaps, _was_ quite New-Englandish; but,
otherwise, it resembled rather some country cross-roads in Missouri,
or Arkansas. In brief, there was not a school-house, or church, or
bank, in the place. Business we found at a general stand-still, because
of absolute stagnation among the mines. And the peaceable and quiet
population had just shown their New-Englandlike disposition, by robbing
and beating a squad of United States soldiers--a part of those recently
sent out better to protect that region--mortally wounding one, and
severely injuring several others. Of course, the Blue-Coats were off
duty, or the cowards wouldn't have assailed them.
Said I to an old acquaintance I met, an ex-Army of the Potomac officer:
"I hear you have quite a New England village here?"
"Yes, indeed, it is very New-Englandlike! Last night I was in our
billiard-saloon here. A game of monte was going on in one corner,
brag-poker in another, and a couple of dogs were having a free fight
under the billiard-table. I lived in Boston once for some time, but
have no recollection of seeing anything exactly like that!"
"But you have a good class of population, have you not, as a general
thing?"
"O yes! Excellent! Less than five hundred, altogether! But we have
ten drinking-saloons, and a dozen gambling-hells, more or less! What
kind of a population that implies, judge for yourself!"
I think my friend was, perhaps, somewhat prejudiced. He had, probably,
invested in mining "feet," and found out he had made a "permanent
investment," with slight prospect of "dividends." Nevertheless,
Prescott had been much overrated and bepraised, and, consequently,
suffered somewhat in the estimation of strangers. We found it well
laid-out, on a scale of Magnificent Distances, like its illustrious
prototype, the National Capital, and lacking only--buildings and people
to be a fine city. Its site, though nearly six thousand feet above the
sea, is a good one, along the undulating bottoms of Granite Creek,
about a mile or so from Fort Whipple, then the chief military-post in
northern Arizona. Its houses were grouped mostly around a spacious
plaza, after the old Spanish custom, though a few straggled off
into ragged streets either way. They were chiefly of logs and rough
lumber, and guiltless of paint, though some brick and adobe structures
appeared here and there. The population seemed to be between four and
five hundred. The autumn previous, it had been largely increased by
a notable immigration from Montana, which came to Prescott with the
expectation of finding rich placer mines, from what they had seen
published about the region. But the most of these had already left,
cruelly disappointed, and others would follow, if they had the means.
The barber, who shaved me one day, proved to be a Montanian, from
Helena City. I asked him, casually, what he thought of Arizona.
"Why, you see, stranger, I pays for this yer room eight dollars a
month, in "dust." For a room in Helena City, of the same size, I paid
last summer seventy-five dollars per month."
"You mean _that_ for a fair comparison of Arizona, with Montana?"
"Sartin! Thet's about it naow, you bet! Our fellers, who come down
yer with me last fall, most all gone; others leavin' every week. I'm
goin' to vamose, too, 'fore long, you bet!"
These placer mines were scattered over a district of ten or twelve
miles around Prescott, and the truth seemed to be, that as a general
thing they had produced poorly. It appeared, there were two or three
hundred men, in all, engaged in them still, but these were making
only indifferent wages, and many were quite discouraged. The quartz
mines covered a much wider area, and beyond question were very rich
in the precious metals; but the ores were sulphurets, of the most
refractory character, and there was no known "process" to work them
at a profit. Eleven mills, of from five to twenty stamps each, had
been erected, at mines whose ores assayed from one hundred to two
hundred or more dollars per ton--an excellent yield, of course.
But, of all these, only one five-stamp mill was then running--the
Ticonderoga--and that was reported as only about paying expenses.
Instead of two hundred dollars, or more, per ton, as per assay,
the mills in fact could only stamp out and save from ten to twenty
dollars per ton; and this was a losing business. A new "process"
was just being tried at the Eureka Mill, which did excellently well,
as per assay in the laboratory; but it was uncertain what would be
the result, when applied to large quantities of ore in the mill.
The Bully-Bueno and Sterling lodes seemed to be the most in favor.
Specimens from the Sterling, that were shown, were indeed wonderful
in richness, and there seemed to be no doubt that the ledges around
Prescott abound in mines, which will yield very largely, if only
a process can be found to treat successfully such obstinate and
refractory sulphurets. For the present, however, mining operations
about Prescott were very "sick," with poor prospect of speedy
recovery. The region had indeed two advantages, very rare in Arizona,
to wit, good fuel, and sufficient water. The breadth of timber here,
however, had been much overstated. An area of ten miles square or so
embraced the bulk of the pine, which was an exceptional growth just
there; the rest consisted chiefly of scrawny juniper and scraggly
cedar, fit only for fuel and fencing.
The Territorial capital was still at Prescott, but its permanent
location was yet to be decided on. Maricopa Wells and Tucson were
both contending for the honor, and the latter it seems has since won
it. Ultimately, however, it is probable, the Territory will divide on
the line of the Gila, and Prescott again become the capital of the
northern part of it. Arizona naturally and geographically subdivides
on that line, and the interests of the two sections are usually quite
divergent. The population of the territory was variously computed at
from three to four thousand only, of whom the major portion by far
were Mexicans and their descendants. The other whites were mainly
Arkansans and Texans, many of them no doubt exiles from the East,
"for their country's good." Of course, this was not a very promising
basis for a commonwealth, and the Territory, it appeared, was about
at a stand-still. As evidence of this, there was not then a bank, or
banking-house, or free-school, or Protestant church, or missionary
even, throughout the whole of Arizona--a region some four or five
times as large as the great State of New York. The Indian population
was estimated at about twenty thousand, of whom ten thousand were
regarded as friendly, five thousand as hostile, and five thousand as
half and half--that is, sometimes friendly, and sometimes hostile,
depending on circumstances. To offset and antagonize these, the
Government had then about twenty-five hundred regular soldiers in
Arizona, which would seem sufficient, if well handled, though the
people of course were clamoring for more. The great controlling
tribe in Arizona, and extending into New Mexico, and the terror of
the Mexican border, were the Apaches. Those that we saw gave one
the impression of a fierce, sinewy, warlike race, very different
from the Plains Indians, and it was plain there would be no peace
in Arizona, nor much hope for its development, until these Apaches
received a thorough chastisement. This they had never yet had, from
either Mexicans or Americans, and consequently they despised and
hated the Pale Faces, as we hate (or ought to hate) Satan himself.
They inhabited the mountains chiefly, though they often descended
into the plains, and in bands of two or three, or more, scoured the
country far and near, as it suited them. About Tucson and Tubac they
stole stock, and occasionally killed travellers, often within a mile
or two of the towns. Sometimes, for months together, they would leave
a road unmolested, and then, suddenly, attacking it at different
points, clean out all the ranches. A few miles from Camp McDowell,
on the road between there and Maricopa Wells, they infested a rocky
cañon on the Rio Salado, and mockingly defied all attempts to expel
them. A fortnight before we reached Maricopa Wells, _en route_ to
Tucson, a party of them crossed the Salado and Gila, and stole ten
head of stock from a ranch only three miles from the Wells. About
the same time, another party of three lurked around the station at
Blue Water, on the road to Tucson, some fifty miles south of the
Wells, and, failing to find anything they could steal, vented their
spleen by shooting an arrow into a valuable horse that was stabled
safely from their reach. This done, the same night they struck across
the country, some fifteen or twenty miles, to the peaceable Pimo
settlements on the Gila, where they each stole a couple of horses
apiece, and made good their escape with them to the mountains.
Some of their exploits were very amusing, as well as very daring,
worthy of the best days of Osceola or Tecumseh. We heard one of a
party, that had just preceded us in Arizona. They camped at a station
for the night, and thought their animals thoroughly secure, when they
had put them into an adobe corral, with a wall four or five feet high
by two thick, and then lay down themselves across the only entrance,
with their rifles by their sides. The stealthy Apaches waited until
their pale-face friends were well asleep, and then with a piece of
dry cow-hide, hard and thin, sawed out a section of the adobe wall,
at the other end of the corral, and in the morning _Los Americanos_
found themselves horseless and muleless. We may "fancy their
feelings," when they discovered the opening! Just then, I fear, they
would have made poor Peace Commissioners! Especially, as they had to
foot it fifty miles, back to the next station, for new animals!
There was another story told of a gallant army officer, who had
been out on a scout the year before, and was determined not to lose
a favorite horse he had along. The Apaches were about thick, and
the night before had stolen several animals, in spite of the utmost
vigilance. To guard against what he supposed even the possibility
of loss, the officer picketed his horse with a lariat to a tree,
and then spreading his blankets camped down under the tree--at the
same time posting a sentinel over his horse, with strict orders to
watch faithfully. Toward morning the sentry thought the horse was
a little farther from the tree than he should be; still, as he saw
nothing suspicious, he supposed he must be mistaken as to the length
of the lariat. After walking a few more beats, he thought the horse
was still farther off; but it seemed so little, and the horse was
so quiet, he did not think it right to make an alarm. A few beats
more, however, convinced him that something must be wrong, as the
horse was evidently still farther away. But now, simultaneously with
his challenge, lo! an Apache sprang lithely upon the steed, and in a
twinkling he was galloping off through the chaparral and cactuses,
with a yell of defiance at the astonished Blue Coat! Creeping
stealthily up in the dark, with a more than cat-like caution and
silence, he had severed the lariat, and edged the horse off little by
little, until at last his capture was sure.
If a party were strong, or not worth cleaning out, or killing, the
Apaches usually gave them a wide berth. But woe to those whom they
marked for their prey, if not well armed, and ceaselessly vigilant.
They would dog a party for days, with the tireless energy of the
sleuth-hound, watching for an unguarded moment in which to attack,
and then suddenly pounce upon them, like fiends, as they were. As a
rule, they used bows and arrows still; but many had fire-arms, and
knew how to handle them with deadly effect. We were shown several
of their children, captured in different fights, and they were the
wiriest, fiercest little savages imaginable. Sullen, dogged, resolute
little Red Skins, they lacked only maturity and strength to "make
their mark" on somebody's head; and this they seemed quite likely to
do yet, unless their Apache natures were thoroughly "reconstructed."
They had a peculiar and pleasant _penchant_ for setting fire
to hay-stacks and ranches, and on the whole were a species of
population, that nobody but an Arizonian would care much to fancy.
They were held as servants in different families, and their service
in too many instances approximated to downright slavery--so much so,
indeed, that the attention of the Territorial authorities was already
being directed to the matter.
As if to give us some proof of their enterprise and audacity, a
band of these Apaches made a raid near Prescott, the very day we
arrived there. They attacked a ranch only three miles east of "this
New-England-like" village, and seized several cattle and drove
them off. A mounted scout was at once sent out from Fort Whipple,
and though they marched seventy-five miles in twenty-four hours,
they failed to come up with the Red Skins. The officer in command
reported the bold marauders as strong in numbers, and fleeing in
the direction of Hell Cañon--an ugly, diabolical-looking place,
some forty miles east of Prescott. Gen. Gregg, then commanding the
District of Prescott, immediately ordered out two fresh companies
of cavalry, and, himself at their head, made a forced march by
night, in order to surprise them in their reported stronghold. Next
morning at daybreak, he was at Hell Cañon, but no Apaches were found
there, nor any traces of them. After a brief halt, he ordered the
cavalry to follow down the cañon to its junction with the Verde,
and after scouring all the cañons centering there, to return by a
wide detour to Fort Whipple. The General himself now returned to
Prescott, and I cheerfully bear witness to his vigor and chagrin,
having accompanied him out and back. A detachment of the cavalry, a
day or two afterwards, succeeded in finding a rancheria of Apaches in
a villainous cañon, miles away to the southwest of the Verde--a thin
curling smoke in the mountains revealing their presence. The troops
pushed boldly in, and came suddenly on the rancheria, or village,
before they were discovered. Dismounting from their horses, they
poured in a rapid volley from their Spencer carbines, that killed
five Apaches, and wounded twice as many more. The rest fled, but in
a few minutes bravely rallied, and soon came swarming back, down
the cañon and along its rocky cliffs, in such numbers and with such
spirit, that the officer in command deemed it prudent to fall back on
the main column. This he succeeded in doing, but it required a march
of several miles, as the column had moved on; and when he rejoined,
it was thought best for the whole command to return to Fort Whipple,
as their rations and forage were about exhausted. Subsequently,
Gregg sent them out again, and this time they succeeded in damaging
the Apaches very considerably; but it was not long before they were
lurking about the country again.
The rough ride to Hell Cañon and back, despite occasional
snow-squalls, was not unpleasant, and not without its interest. Our
route in the main was down the valley of Granite Creek, and past
the site of old Fort Whipple, now called Postle's Ranch. Here was a
fine plateau of several hundred acres, with acequias and a petty
grist-mill, the whole used formerly by the troops; but occupied now
by only a family or two. The truth is, population was too sparse, and
the Apaches too plenty, to make farming an agreeable occupation just
there. We saw several men at work in the fields, as we rode along,
all with rifles slung across their backs, and the infrequent settlers
protested they meant to quit the country, as soon as their harvests
matured. The last ranch eastward--the one most remote from Prescott,
and, consequently, the very edge of the frontier there--was owned and
occupied by what may justly be called a typical American emigrant.
Born in New Jersey, the nephew of an eminent minister there, he early
emigrated to Canada, and thence to Michigan. Here he married, and
soon afterwards emigrated to Illinois. Thence he went to Kansas,
and thence to New Mexico. Subsequently, he emigrated to California,
and when he grew weary there, as he could "go west" no farther,
concluded to remove to Arizona. Here he had been for two years, with
his family, on the very edge of the border; but was now tired of the
West, and meditating a return East. He said his children were growing
up, and needed school-houses and churches, and he meant to sell out
and leave as soon as practicable.
The country as a whole proved barren and sterile, like so much of
Arizona elsewhere, though here also the Aztecs (or whoever the
ancient population were) had left their marks, as on the Salado and
Gila. The remains of edifices, or fortifications, and acequias, were
still quite visible in various places, and no doubt the ancient
settlers had followed up the rivers, and their tributaries, nearly
everywhere. They seem to have been a pushing, progressive people,
bent on conquest and civilization, after their kind, and doubtless
swayed the whole interior of the continent. At Point of Rocks, on
Willow Creek, we halted for an hour or two, to explore the wonderful
rock-formations there; and subsequently dined with a settler on
a wild turkey, that stood four feet high and weighed forty-three
pounds, when first shot, and about thirty pounds dressed. We were
tired and hungry, from long riding and light rations, and you may be
sure enjoyed our meal to the full.
Fort Whipple, already alluded to several times, was situated on
Granite Creek, a mile and a half east of Prescott, near the centre of
a Reservation there a mile square. It consisted of a rude stockade,
enclosing the usual log quarters and barracks of our frontier posts,
and was then Headquarters of all the district north of the Gila. Its
garrison was small, and dependencies few and petty; but the cost
of maintaining it seemed something enormous. Here are a few of the
prices then current at the post: hay cost about sixty dollars per
ton; grain, about twelve dollars per bushel; lumber, from fifty to
seventy-five dollars per thousand; freight on supplies, from San
Francisco (and about everything had to come from there _via_ the Gulf
of California and the Colorado), two hundred and fifty dollars per
ton; and these all in coin. The flag-staff alone, quite a respectable
"liberty-pole," was reported to have cost ten thousand dollars; and
District Headquarters--a one-and-a-half story frame house, surrounded
by verandas, but barely comfortable and genteel--was said to have
cost one hundred thousand dollars. This last, plain as it was, was
then about the best modern edifice in Arizona, but was used as
the Post Hospital--Gen. Gregg ("Cavalry Gregg" of the Army of the
Potomac) in the true spirit of a soldier, declining to occupy it,
until his sick and disabled men were first well sheltered, and
provided for. Himself and staff, as yet, shared the log cabins of the
Post proper, through whose open crannies the wind and rain had free
course to run and be glorified, during every storm. We were there
during a wild tempest of rain and hail, as well as for a week or more
besides, and learned well how to appreciate their infelicities and
miseries. All honor to this chivalrous and gallant Pennsylvanian, for
his courtesy and humanity. A Bayard and a Sydney combined, surely he
deserves well of his country; and the Army may justly be proud of
such a representative soldier.