THE CAMPAIGN AGAINST “GERONIMO”—THE CROPS RAISED BY THE APACHES—THE
PURSUIT OF THE HOSTILES—THE HARD WORK OF THE TROOPS—EFFICIENT
AND FAITHFUL SERVICE OF THE CHIRICAHUA SCOUTS—WAR DANCES AND
SPIRIT DANCES—CAPTAIN CRAWFORD KILLED—A VISIT TO THE HOSTILE
STRONGHOLD—A “NERVY” PHOTOGRAPHER—A WHITE BOY CAPTIVE AMONG THE
APACHES—“ALCHISE’S” AND “KA-E-TEN-NA’S” GOOD WORK—“GERONIMO”
SURRENDERS TO CROOK.
To show that Apaches will work under anything like proper
encouragement, the reader has only to peruse these extracts from the
annual report of Captain F. E. Pierce, who succeeded Captain Emmet
Crawford:
“They have about eleven hundred acres under cultivation, and have
raised about 700,000 lbs. of barley and an equal amount of corn.
They have delivered to the Post Quartermaster here 60,000 lbs. of
barley and 60,000 lbs. to the agency, have hauled 66,000 lbs. to
Thomas and about 180,000 lbs. to Globe, and still have about
330,000 lbs. on hand. Since they have been hauling barley to
Thomas and Globe, however, where they receive fair prices, they
feel much better. It gives them an opportunity to get out and
mingle with people of the world, and get an idea of the manner of
transacting business and a chance to make purchases at
considerably less rates than if they bought of the Indian traders
at San Carlos. The people at Globe are particularly kind to them,
and, so far as I can learn, deal justly with them, and the more
respectable ones will not permit the unprincipled to impose upon
them or maltreat them in any way. The Indians also conduct
themselves properly, and all citizens with whom I have conversed
speak very highly of their conduct while in Globe. About a dozen
are now regularly employed there at various kinds of work; and
they are encouraged as much as possible to seek work with
citizens, as they thereby learn much that will be of benefit to
them in the future. Shortly after the Chiricahua outbreak, word
was sent to the head of each band that General Crook wanted two
hundred more scouts to take the field, and all who wished to go
were invited to appear here next morning. It is difficult to say
how many reported, but almost every able-bodied man came. It was
difficult to tell which ones to take when all were so eager to go.
But a body of as fine men was selected as could well be secured in
any country. They repeatedly told me they meant fight; that they
intended to do the best they could, and reports from the field
show that they have made good their promises. Sixteen hundred
White Mountain Indians have been entirely self-sustaining for
nearly three years.”
The Indians at the White Mountains, according to the official
reports, were doing remarkably well.
“At this date there have been 700,000 pounds of hay and 65,000
pounds of barley purchased by the Quartermaster. Of course, the
amount of hay which will yet be furnished by them will be
regulated by the amount required, which will be in all about
1,800,000 pounds. As near as I can judge, the total yield of
barley will be about 80,000 pounds, or about double the quantity
produced last year. If no misfortune happens the crops, the yield
of corn for this year should fully reach 3,500,000 pounds,
including that retained by the Indians for their own consumption
and for seed.
“Cantelopes, watermelons, muskmelons, beans, and pumpkins are
raised by them to a considerable extent, but only for their own
consumption, there being no market for this class of produce.
“A few of the Indians—principally Chiricahuas—are delivering wood
on the contract at the post of Fort Apache. I have no doubt that
more would engage in it if it were not for the fact that the White
Mountain Apaches have no wagons for hauling it.”
It would take many more pages than I care to devote to the subject
to properly describe the awful consequences of the official blunder,
which in this case was certainly worse than a crime, shown in the
bickerings and jealousies between the representatives of the War and
Interior Departments, which culminated in the “Geronimo” outbreak of
May, 1885. Those of my readers who have followed this recital need
no assurances that the country was as rough as rocks and ravines,
deep cañons and mountain streams, could make it; neither do they
need to be assured that the trail of the retreating Chiricahuas was
reddened with the blood of the innocent and unsuspecting settlers,
or that the pursuit made by the troops was energetic, untiring, and,
although often baffled, finally successful. No more arduous and
faithful work was ever done by any military commands than was
performed by those of Emmet Crawford, Lieutenant Britton Davis,
Frank L. Bennett, Lieutenant M. W. Day, Surgeon Bermingham, and
Major Wirt Davis in tracking the scattered fragments of the
“Geronimo” party over rocks and across country soaked with the heavy
rains of summer which obliterated trails as fast as made. The work
done by “Chato” and the Chiricahuas who had remained on the
reservation was of an inestimable value, and was fittingly
recognized by General Crook, Captain Crawford, and the other
officers in command of them.
Thirty-nine white people were killed in New Mexico and thirty four
in Arizona, as established in official reports; in addition to these
there were numbers of friendly Apaches killed by the renegades,
notably in the raid made by the latter during the month of November,
1885, to the villages near Camp Apache, when they killed twelve of
the friendlies and carried off six women and children captive. The
White Mountain Apaches killed one of the hostile Chiricahuas and cut
off his head. On the 23d of June, 1885, one of the hostile
Chiricahua women was killed and fifteen women and children captured
in an engagement in the Bavispe Mountains, northeast of Opata
(Sonora, Mexico), by Chiricahua Apache scouts under command of
Captain Crawford; these prisoners reported that one of their
warriors had been shot through the knee-joint in this affair, but
was carried off before the troops could seize him. July 29, 1885,
two of the hostile Chiricahua bucks were ambushed and killed in the
Hoya Mountains, Sonora, by the detachment of Apache scouts with
Major Wirt Davis’s command. August 7, 1885, five of the hostile
Chiricahuas were killed (three bucks, one squaw, and one boy fifteen
years old) by the Apache scouts of Wirt Davis’s command, who
likewise captured fifteen women and children in the same engagement
(northeast of the little town of Nacori, Sonora, Mexico). On the 22d
of September, 1885, the same scouts killed another Chiricahua in the
mountains near Bavispe.
An ex-army-officer, writing on this subject of scouting in the
southwestern country, to the _Republican_, of St. Louis, Mo.,
expressed his opinion in these words:
“It is laid down in our army tactics (Upton’s ‘Cavalry Tactics,’
p. 477), that twenty-five miles a day is the maximum that cavalry
can stand. Bear this in mind, and also that here is an enemy with
a thousand miles of hilly and sandy country to run over, and each
brave provided with from three to five ponies trained like dogs.
They carry almost nothing but arms and ammunition; they can live
on the cactus; they can go more than forty-eight hours without
water; they know every water-hole and every foot of ground in this
vast extent of country; they have incredible powers of endurance;
they run in small bands, scattering at the first indications of
pursuit. What can the United States soldier, mounted on his heavy
American horse, with the necessary forage, rations, and camp
equipage, do as against this supple, untiring foe? Nothing,
absolutely nothing. It is no exaggeration to say that these fiends
can travel, week in and week out, at the rate of seventy miles a
day, and this over the most barren and desolate country
imaginable. One week of such work will kill the average soldier
and his horse; the Apache thrives on it. The frontiersman, as he
now exists, is simply a fraud as an Indian-fighter. He may be good
for a dash, but he lacks endurance. General Crook has pursued the
only possible method of solving this problem. He has, to the
extent of his forces, guarded all available passes with regulars,
and he has sent Indian scouts on the trail after Indians. He has
fought the devil with fire. Never in the history of this country
has there been more gallant, more uncomplaining, and more
efficient service than that done by our little army in the attempt
to suppress this Geronimo outbreak.”...
In the month of November additional scouts were enlisted to take the
place of those whose term of six months was about to expire. It was
a great time at San Carlos, and the “medicine men” were in all their
glory; of course, it would never do for the scouts to start out
without the customary war dance, but besides that the “medicine men”
held one of their “spirit” dances to consult with the powers of the
other world and learn what success was to be expected. I have
several times had the good luck to be present at these “spirit
dances,” as well as to be with the “medicine men” while they were
delivering their predictions received from the spirits, but on the
present occasion there was an unusual vehemence in the singing, and
an unusual vim and energy in the dancing, which would betray the
interest felt in the outcome of the necromancy. A war dance,
attended by more than two hundred men and women, was in full swing
close to the agency buildings in the changing lights and shadows of
a great fire. This enabled the “medicine men” to secure all the more
privacy for their own peculiar work, of which I was an absorbed
spectator. There were about an even hundred of warriors and young
boys not yet full grown, who stood in a circle surrounding a huge
bonfire, kept constantly replenished with fresh fagots by assiduous
attendants. At one point of the circumference were planted four
bunches of green willow branches, square to the cardinal points.
Seated within this sacred grove, as I may venture to call it, as it
represented about all the trees they could get at the San Carlos,
were the members of an orchestra, the leader of which with a small
curved stick beat upon the drum improvised out of an iron
camp-kettle, covered with soaped calico, and partially filled with
water. The beat of this rounded stick was a peculiar rubbing thump,
the blows being sliding. Near this principal drummer was planted a
sprig of cedar. The other musicians beat with long switches upon a
thin raw-hide, lying on the ground, just as the Sioux did at their
sun dance. There were no women present at this time. I did see three
old hags on the ground, watching the whole proceedings with curious
eyes, but they kept at a respectful distance, and were Apache-Yumas
and not Apaches.
The orchestra thumped and drummed furiously, and the leader began to
intone, in a gradually increasing loudness of voice and with much
vehemence, a “medicine” song, of which I could distinguish enough to
satisfy me that part of it was words, which at times seemed to
rudely rhyme, and the rest of it the gibberish of “medicine”
incantation which I had heard so often while on the Sierra Madre
campaign in 1883. The chorus seconded this song with all their
powers, and whenever the refrain was chanted sang their parts with
violent gesticulations. Three dancers, in full disguise, jumped into
the centre of the great circle, running around the fire, shrieking
and muttering, encouraged by the shouts and singing of the
on-lookers, and by the drumming and incantation of the chorus which
now swelled forth at full lung-power. Each of these dancers was
beautifully decorated; they were naked to the waist, wore kilts of
fringed buckskin, bound on with sashes, and moccasins reaching to
the knees. Their identity was concealed by head-dresses, part of
which was a mask of buckskin, which enveloped the head as well as
the face, and was secured around the neck by a “draw-string” to
prevent its slipping out of place. Above this extended to a height
of two feet a framework of slats of the amole stalk, each differing
slightly from that of the others, but giving to the wearer an
imposing, although somewhat grotesque appearance. Each “medicine
man’s” back, arms, and shoulders were painted with emblems of the
lightning, arrow, snake, or other powers appealed to by the Apaches.
I succeeded in obtaining drawings of all these, and also secured one
of these head-dresses of the “Cha-ja-la,” as they are called, but a
more detailed description does not seem to be called for just now.
Each of the dancers was provided with two long wands or sticks, one
in each hand, with which they would point in every direction,
principally towards the cardinal points. When they danced, they
jumped, pranced, pirouetted, and at last circled rapidly, revolving
much as the dervishes are described as doing. This must have been
hard work, because their bodies were soon moist with perspiration,
which made them look as if they had been coated with oil.
“Klashidn,” the young man who had led me down, said that the
orchestra was now singing to the trees which had been planted in the
ground, and I then saw that a fourth “medicine man,” who acted with
the air of one in authority, had taken his station within. When the
dancers had become thoroughly exhausted, they would dart out of the
ring and disappear in the gloom to consult with the spirits; three
several times they appeared and disappeared, at each return dancing,
running, and whirling about with increased energy. Having attained
the degree of mental or spiritual exaltation necessary for
satisfactory communion with the denizens of the other world, they
remained absent for at least half an hour, the orchestra rendering a
monotonous refrain, mournful as a funeral dirge. At last a thrill of
expectancy ran through the throng, and I saw that they were looking
anxiously for the incoming of the “medicine men.” When they arrived
all the orchestra stood up, their leader slightly in advance,
holding a bunch of cedar in his left hand. The “medicine men”
advanced in single file, the leader bending low his head, and
placing both his arms about the neck of the chief in such a manner
that his wands crossed, he murmured some words in his ear which
seemed to be of pleasing import. Each of the others did the same
thing to the chief, who took his stand first on the east, then on
the south, then on the west, and lastly on the north of the little
grove through which the three pranced, muttering a jumble of sounds
which I cannot reproduce, but which sounded for all the world like
the chant of the “Hooter” of the Zunis at their Feast of Fire. This
terminated the great “medicine” ceremony of the night, and the glad
shouts of the Apaches testified that the incantations of their
spiritual advisers or their necromancy, whichever it was, promised a
successful campaign.
Captain Crawford, whose services, both in pursuit of hostile Apaches
and in efforts to benefit and civilize those who had submitted, had
won for him the respect and esteem of every manly man in the army or
out of it who had the honor of knowing him, met his death at or near
Nacori, Sonora, Mexico, January 11, 1886, under peculiarly sad and
distressing circumstances. These are narrated by General Crook in
the orders announcing Crawford’s death, of which the following is an
extract:
“Captain Crawford, with the zeal and gallantry which had always
distinguished him, volunteered for the arduous and thankless task
of pursuing the renegade Chiricahua Apaches to their stronghold in
the Sierra Madre, Mexico, and was assigned to the command of one
of the most important of the expeditions organized for this
purpose. In the face of the most discouraging obstacles, he had
bravely and patiently followed in the track of the renegades,
being constantly in the field from the date of the outbreak in May
last to the day of his death.
“After a march of eighteen hours without halt in the roughest
conceivable country, he had succeeded in discovering and
surprising their rancheria in the lofty ranges near the Jarras
River, Sonora. Everything belonging to the enemy fell into our
hands, and the Chiricahuas, during the fight, sent in a squaw to
beg for peace. All arrangements had been made for a conference
next morning. Unfortunately, a body of Mexican irregular troops
attacked Captain Crawford’s camp at daybreak, and it was while
endeavoring to save the lives of others that Crawford fell.
“His loss is irreparable. It is unnecessary to explain the
important nature of the services performed by this distinguished
soldier. His name has been prominently identified with most of the
severest campaigns, and with many of the severest engagements with
hostile Indians, since the close of the War of the Rebellion, in
which also, as a mere youth, he bore a gallant part.”
The irregular troops of the Mexicans were Tarahumari Indians, almost
as wild as the Apaches themselves, knowing as little of morality and
etiquette, the mortal enemies of the Apaches for two hundred years.
While it is probable that their statement may be true, and that the
killing of Crawford was unpremeditated, the indignities afterwards
heaped upon Lieutenant Maus, who succeeded Crawford in command, and
who went over to visit the Mexican commander, did not manifest a
very friendly spirit. The Government of Mexico was in as desperate
straits as our own in regard to the subjugation of the Chiricahua
Apaches, which could never have been effected without the employment
of just such wild forces as the Tarahumaris, who alone would stand
up and fight with the fierce Chiricahuas, or could trail them
through the mountains.
“Geronimo” sent word that he would come in and surrender at a spot
he would designate. This was the “Cañon de los Embudos,” in the
northeast corner of Sonora, on the Arizona line. From Fort Bowie,
Arizona, to the “Contrabandista” (Smuggler) Springs, in Sonora, is
eighty-four miles, following roads and trails; the lofty mountain
ranges are very much broken, and the country is decidedly rough
except along the road. There are a number of excellent ranchos—that
of the Chiricahua Cattle Company, twenty-five miles out from Bowie;
that of the same company on Whitewood Creek, where we saw droves of
fat beeves lazily browsing under the shady foliage of oak trees; and
Joyce’s, or Frank Leslie’s, where we found Lieutenant Taylor and a
small detachment of Indian scouts.
The next morning at an early hour we started and drove first to
the camp of Captain Allan Smith, Fourth Cavalry, with whom were
Lieutenant Erwin and Surgeon Fisher. Captain Smith was living in
an adobe hut, upon whose fireplace he had drawn and painted, with
no unskilled hand, pictures, grave and comic, which imparted an
air of civilization to his otherwise uncouth surrounding. Mr.
Thomas Moore had preceded General Crook with a pack-train, and
with him were “Alchise,” “Ka-e-ten-na,” a couple of old Chiricahua
squaws sent down with all the latest gossip from the women
prisoners at Bowie, Antonio Besias and Montoya (the interpreters),
and Mr. Strauss, Mayor of Tucson. All these moved forward towards
the “Contrabandista” Springs. At the last moment of our stay a
photographer, named Fly, from Tombstone, asked permission for
himself and his assistant—Mr. Chase—to follow along in the wake of
the column; and still another addition, and a very welcome one,
was made in the person of José Maria, another Spanish-Apache
interpreter, for whom General Crook had sent on account of his
perfect familiarity with the language of the Chiricahuas.
San Bernardino Springs lie twelve miles from Silver Springs, and had
been occupied by a cattleman named Slaughter, since General Crook
had made his expedition into the Sierra Madre. Here I saw a dozen or
more quite large mortars of granite, of aboriginal manufacture, used
for mashing acorns and other edible nuts; the same kind of household
implements are or were to be found in the Green Valley in the
northern part of Arizona, and were also used for this same purpose.
We left the wheeled conveyances and mounted mules saddled and in
waiting, and rode over to the “Contrabandista,” three miles across
the boundary. Before going to bed that night, General Crook showed
“Ka-e-ten-na” a letter which he had received from Lorenzo Bonito, an
Apache pupil in the Carlisle School. “Ka-e-ten-na” had received one
himself, and held it out in the light of the fire, mumbling
something which the other Apaches fancied was reading, and at which
they marvelled greatly; but not content with this proof of travelled
culture, “Ka-e-ten-na” took a piece of paper from me, wrote upon it
in carefully constructed school-boy capitals, and then handed it
back to me to read aloud. I repressed my hilarity and read slowly
and solemnly: “MY WIFE HIM NAME KOWTENNAYS WIFE.” “ONE YEAR HAB TREE
HUNNERD SIXY-FIBE DAY.” “Ka-e-ten-na” bore himself with the dignity
and complacency of a Boston Brahmin; the envy of his comrades was
ill-concealed and their surprise undisguised. It wasn’t in writing
alone that “Ka-e-ten-na” was changed, but in everything: he had
become a white man, and was an apostle of peace, and an imitation of
the methods which had made the whites own such a “rancheria” as San
Francisco.
The next morning we struck out southeast across a country full of
little hills of drift and conglomerate, passing the cañons of the
Guadalupe and the Bonito, the former dry, the latter flowing water.
A drove of the wild hogs (peccaries or musk hogs, called “jabali” by
the Mexicans) ran across our path; instantly the scouts took after
them at a full run, “Ka-e-ten-na” shooting one through the head
while his horse was going at full speed, and the others securing
four or five more; they were not eaten. Approaching the Cañon de los
Embudos, our scouts sent up a signal smoke to warn their comrades
that they were coming. The eyes of the Apaches are extremely sharp,
and “Alchise,” “Mike,” “Ka-e-ten-na,” and others had seen and
recognized a party of horsemen advancing towards us for a mile at
least before Strauss or I could detect anything coming out of the
hills: they were four of our people on horseback riding to meet us.
They conducted us to Maus’s camp in the Cañon de los Embudos, in a
strong position, on a low mesa overlooking the water, and with
plenty of fine grass and fuel at hand. The surrounding country was
volcanic, covered with boulders of basalt, and the vegetation was
the Spanish bayonet, yucca, and other thorny plants.
The rancheria of the hostile Chiricahuas was in a lava bed, on top
of a small conical hill surrounded by steep ravines, not five
hundred yards in direct line from Maus, but having between the two
positions two or three steep and rugged gulches which served as
scarps and counter-scarps. The whole ravine was romantically
beautiful: shading the rippling water were smooth, white-trunked,
long, and slender sycamores, dark gnarly ash, rough-barked
cottonwoods, pliant willows, briery buckthorn, and much of the more
tropical vegetation already enumerated. After General Crook had
lunched, “Geronimo” and most of the Chiricahua warriors approached
our camp; not all came in at once; only a few, and these not all
armed. The others were here, there, and everywhere, but all on the
_qui vive_, apprehensive of treachery, and ready to meet it. Not
more than half a dozen would enter camp at the same time. “Geronimo”
said that he was anxious for a talk, which soon took place in the
shade of large cottonwood and sycamore trees. Those present were
General Crook, Dr. Davis, Mr. Moore, Mr. Strauss, Lieutenants Maus,
Shipp, and Faison; Captain Roberts and his young son Charlie, a
bright lad of ten; Mr. Daily and Mr. Carlisle, of the pack-trains;
Mr. Fly, the photographer, and his assistant, Mr. Chase; packers
Shaw and Foster; a little boy, named Howell, who had followed us
over from the San Bernardino ranch, thirty miles; and “Antonio
Besias,” “Montoya,” “Concepcion,” “José Maria,” “Alchise,”
“Ka-e-ten-na,” “Mike,” and others as interpreters.
I made a verbatim record of the conference, but will condense it as
much as possible, there being the usual amount of repetition,
compliment, and talking at cross-purposes incident to all similar
meetings. “Geronimo” began a long disquisition upon the causes which
induced the outbreak from Camp Apache: he blamed “Chato,” “Mickey
Free,” and Lieutenant Britton Davis, who, he charged, were
unfriendly to him; he was told by an Indian named “Nodiskay” and by
the wife of “Mangas” that the white people were going to send for
him, arrest and kill him; he had been praying to the Dawn (Tapida)
and the Darkness, to the Sun (Chigo-na-ay) and the Sky (Yandestan),
and to Assunutlije to help him and put a stop to those bad stories
that people were telling about him and which they had put in the
papers. (The old chief was here apparently alluding to the demand
made by certain of the southwestern journals, at the time of his
surrender to Crook in 1883, that he should be hanged.) “I don’t want
that any more; when a man tries to do right, such stories ought not
to be put in the newspapers. What is the matter that you [General
Crook] don’t speak to me? It would be better if you would speak to
me and look with a pleasant face; it would make better feeling; I
would be glad if you did. I’d be better satisfied if you would talk
to me once in a while. Why don’t you look at me and smile at me? I
am the same man; I have the same feet, legs, and hands, and the Sun
looks down on me a complete man; I wish you would look and smile at
me. The Sun, the Darkness, the Winds, are all listening to what we
now say. To prove to you that I am now telling you the truth,
remember I sent you word that I would come from a place far away to
speak to you here, and you see me now. Some have come on horseback
and some on foot; if I were thinking bad or if I had done bad, I
would never have come here. If it had been my fault would I have
come so far to talk with you?” He then expressed his delight at
seeing “Ka-e-ten-na” once more: he had lost all hope of ever having
that pleasure; that was one reason why he had left Camp Apache.
GENERAL CROOK: “I have heard what you have said. It seems very
strange that more than forty men should be afraid of three; but if
you left the reservation for that reason, why did you kill innocent
people, sneaking all over the country to do it? What did those
innocent people do to you that you should kill them, steal their
horses, and slip around in the rocks like coyotes? What had that to
do with killing innocent people? There is not a week passes that you
don’t hear foolish stories in your own camp; but you are no
child—you don’t have to believe them. You promised me in the Sierra
Madre that _that_ peace should last, but you have lied about it.
When a man has lied to me once, I want some better proof than his
own word before I can believe him again. Your story about being
afraid of arrest is all bosh; there were no orders to arrest you.
You sent up some of your people to kill ‘Chato’ and Lieutenant
Davis, and then you started the story that they had killed them, and
thus you got a great many of your people to go out. Everything that
you did on the reservation is known; there is no use for you to try
to talk nonsense. I am no child. You must make up your minds whether
you will stay out on the war-path or surrender unconditionally. If
you stay out I’ll keep after you and kill the last one if it takes
fifty years. You are making a great fuss about seeing ‘Ka-e-ten-na’;
over a year ago, I asked you if you wanted me to bring ‘Ka-e-ten-na’
back, but you said ‘no.’ It’s a good thing for you, ‘Geronimo,’ that
we didn’t bring ‘Ka-e-ten-na’ back, because ‘Ka-e-ten-na’ has more
sense now than all the rest of the Chiricahuas put together. You
told me the same sort of a story in the Sierra Madre, but you lied.
What evidence have I of your sincerity? How do I know whether or not
you are lying to me? Have I ever lied to you? I have said all I have
to say; you had better think it over to-night and let me know in the
morning.”
During this conference “Geronimo” appeared nervous and agitated;
perspiration, in great beads, rolled down his temples and over his
hands; and he clutched from time to time at a buckskin thong which
he held tightly in one hand. Mr. Fly, the photographer, saw his
opportunity, and improved it fully: he took “shots” at “Geronimo”
and the rest of the group, and with a “nerve” that would have
reflected undying glory on a Chicago drummer, coolly asked
“Geronimo” and the warriors with him to change positions, and turn
their heads or faces, to improve the negative. None of them seemed
to mind him in the least except “Chihuahua,” who kept dodging behind
a tree, but was at last caught by the dropping of the slide.
Twenty-four warriors listened to the conference or loitered within
ear-shot; they were loaded down with metallic ammunition, some of it
reloading and some not. Every man and boy in the band wore two
cartridge-belts. The youngsters had on brand-new shirts, such as are
made and sold in Mexico, of German cotton, and nearly all—young or
old—wore new parti-colored blankets, of same manufacture, showing
that since the destruction of the village by Crawford, in January,
they had refitted themselves either by plunder or purchase.
Mr. Strauss, Mr. Carlisle, “José Maria,” and I were awakened at an
early hour in the morning (March 26, 1886), and walked over to the
rancheria of the Chiricahuas. “Geronimo” was already up and engaged
in an earnest conversation with “Ka-e-ten-na” and nearly all his
warriors. We moved from one “jacal” to another, all being
constructed alike of the stalks of the Spanish bayonet and mescal
and amole, covered with shreds of blanket, canvas, and other
textiles. The “daggers” of the Spanish bayonet and mescal were
arranged around each “jacal” to form an impregnable little citadel.
There were not more than twelve or fifteen of these in the
“rancheria,” which was situated upon the apex of an extinct crater,
the lava blocks being utilized as breastworks, while the deep seams
in the contour of the hill were so many fosses, to be crossed only
after rueful slaughter of assailants. A full brigade could not drive
out that little garrison, provided its ammunition and repeating
rifles held out. They were finely armed with Winchesters and
Springfield breech-loading carbines, with any quantity of metallic
cartridges.
Physically, the Chiricahuas were in magnificent condition: every
muscle was perfect in development and hard as adamant, and one of
the young men in a party playing monte was as finely muscled as a
Greek statue. A group of little boys were romping freely and
carelessly together; one of them seemed to be of Irish and Mexican
lineage. After some persuasion he told Strauss and myself that his
name was Santiago Mackin, captured at Mimbres, New Mexico; he seemed
to be kindly treated by his young companions, and there was no
interference with our talk, but he was disinclined to say much and
was no doubt thoroughly scared. Beyond showing by the intelligent
glance of his eyes that he fully comprehended all that was said to
him in both Spanish and English, he took no further notice of us. He
was about ten years old, slim, straight, and sinewy, blue-gray eyes,
badly freckled, light eyebrows and lashes, much tanned and blistered
by the sun, and wore an old and once-white handkerchief on his head
which covered it so tightly that the hair could not be seen. He was
afterwards returned to his relations in New Mexico.
One of the Chiricahuas had a silver watch which he called
“Chi-go-na-ay” (Sun), an evidence that he had a good idea of its
purpose. Nearly every one wore “medicine” of some kind: either
little buckskin bags of the Hoddentin of the Tule, the feathers
of the red-bird or of the woodpecker, the head of a quail, the
claws of a prairie dog, or silver crescents; “medicine”
cords—“Izze-kloth”—were also worn. I stopped alongside of a
young Tubal Cain and watched him hammering a Mexican dollar
between two stones, and when he had reduced it to the proper
fineness he began to stamp and incise ornamentation upon it with
a sharp-pointed knife and a stone for a hammer. Nearly all the
little girls advanced to the edge of our camp and gazed in mute
admiration upon Charlie Roberts, evincing their good opinion in
such an unmistakable manner that the young gentleman at once
became the guy of the packers. “Geronimo” and his warriors
remained up in their village all day, debating the idea of an
unconditional surrender.
The next morning (March 27th) “Chihuahua” sent a secret message to
General Crook, to say that he was certain all the Chiricahuas would
soon come in and surrender; but whether they did or not, he would
surrender his own band at noon and come down into our camp.
“Ka-e-ten-na” and “Alchise” had been busy at work among the
hostiles, dividing their councils, exciting their hopes, and
enhancing their fears; could General Crook have promised them
immunity for the past, they would have come down the previous
evening, when “Chihuahua” had first sent word of his intention to
give up without condition, but General Crook did not care to have
“Chihuahua” leave the hostiles at once; he thought he could be more
useful by remaining in the village for a day or two as a leaven to
foment distrust of “Geronimo” and start a disintegration and
demoralization of the band. “Ka-e-ten-na” told General Crook that
all the previous night “Geronimo” kept his warriors ready for any
act of treachery on our part, and that during the talk of the 25th
they were prepared to shoot the moment an attempt should be made to
seize their leaders. It was scarcely noon when “Geronimo,”
“Chihuahua,” “Nachita,” “Kutli,” and one other buck came in and said
they wanted to talk. “Nané” toddled after them, but he was so old
and feeble that we did not count him. Our people gathered under the
sycamores in the ravine, while “Geronimo” seated himself under a
mulberry, both he and “Kutli” having their faces blackened with
pounded galena. “Chihuahua” spoke as follows: “I am very glad to see
you, General Crook, and have this talk with you. It is as you say:
we are always in danger out here. I hope that from this on we may
live better with our families, and not do any more harm to anybody.
I am anxious to behave. I think that the Sun is looking down upon
me, and the Earth is listening. I am thinking better. It seems to me
that I have seen the one who makes the rain and sends the winds, or
he must have sent you to this place. I surrender myself to you,
because I believe in you and you do not deceive us. You must be our
God; I am satisfied with all that you do. You must be the one who
makes the green pastures, who sends the rain, who commands the
winds. You must be the one who sends the fresh fruits that come on
the trees every year. There are many men in the world who are big
chiefs and command many people, but you, I think, are the greatest
of them all. I want you to be a father to me and treat me as your
son. I want you to have pity on me. There is no doubt that all you
do is right, because all you say is true. I trust in all you say;
you do not deceive; all the things you tell us are facts. I am now
in your hands. I place myself at your disposition to dispose of as
you please. I shake your hand. I want to come right into your camp
with my family and stay with you. I don’t want to stay away at a
distance. I want to be right where you are. I have roamed these
mountains from water to water. Never have I found the place where I
could see my father or mother until to-day. I see you, my father. I
surrender to you now, and I don’t want any more bad feeling or bad
talk. I am going over to stay with you in your camp.
“Whenever a man raises anything, even a dog, he thinks well of it,
and tries to raise it up, and treats it well. So I want you to feel
towards me, and be good to me, and don’t let people say bad things
about me. Now I surrender to you and go with you. When we are
travelling together on the road or anywhere else, I hope you’ll talk
to me once in a while. I think a great deal of ‘Alchise’ and
‘Ka-e-ten-na’; they think a great deal of me. I hope some day to be
all the same as their brother. [Shakes hands.] How long will it be
before I can live with these friends?”
Despatches were sent ahead to Bowie to inform General Sheridan of
the conference and its results; the Chiricahuas had considered three
propositions: one, their own, that they be allowed to return to the
reservation unharmed; the second, from General Crook, that they be
placed in confinement for a term of years at a distance from the
Agency, and that, if their families so desired, they be permitted to
accompany them, leaving “Nané,” who was old and superannuated, at
Camp Apache; or, that they return to the war-path and fight it out.
“Mangas,” with thirteen of the Chiricahuas, six of them warriors,
was not with “Geronimo,” having left him some months previously and
never reunited with him. He (General Crook) asked that instructions
be sent him with as little delay as possible.