AMONG THE APACHES, NAVAJOES, AND ZUNI INDIANS OF TEXAS,
ARIZONA, AND NEW MEXICO.
SHORTLY after the great tide of emigration had swept into California,
yet another vast tract of country, that now known under the several
titles of Texas, New Mexico, and Arizona, was annexed to the United
States. We have already visited these districts in the company of
various early heroes, chiefly missionary; but in the adventures of
Cozens, as related in his _Marvelous Country_, we find so many vivid
pictures of the life of the wild inhabitants at the present day, that
we propose supplementing our record of discovery by a short abstract
of his travels.
Cozens left Merilla, a town of Mexico, in company with three other
gentlemen and a few servants, in June, 1858, with the intention
of visiting first the copper mines of Santa Rita del Cobre, on the
Rio Mimbres, and thence making his way into Arizona. Simple as this
programme appears, its execution was fraught with great difficulty,
owing to the hostility of the Apaches, a wild native race inhabiting
the mountain fastnesses of the north of Spanish America.
The party were riding happily along, after a careful examination of
the mines, when the mule ridden by Mr. Laws showed signs of uneasiness.
“There are evidently Indians near,” said Cozens; to which Dr. Steck,
a second of his companions, replied, “If there are, they know better
than to attack their Great Father,” the name by which he was himself
called by the savages, among whom he had long been working. He was
wrong! A few minutes later, a small cañon, or pass, was entered, with
lofty rugged rocks on either side; and when retreat was impossible,
the war-whoop of the Apaches suddenly rang out from above, and,
echoing from side to side, filled every heart with horror.
A moment’s pause, and then, spurring on their mules, the travelers
endeavored to reach the mouth of the cañon, but, alas! even as they
gained it, an arrow struck Laws in the back. He fell from the saddle
dead, and the mule which had first given warning of the approaching
catastrophe galloped riderless away.
The survivors hastily retreated to a neighboring height, determined
to sell their lives as dearly as they could; but though they waited
an hour, revolvers in hand, for the arrival of the Indians, they were
left unmolested. When the evening shadows lessened the risk, they
returned to the spot where Laws had fallen, and, placing his corpse
before them on their saddles, carried it with them to the summit of
the highest hill within reach. There, by the light of the moon, a
grave was dug, and poor Laws was buried. No stone or other memorial
marked his resting-place, as it would but have served to ♦provoke the
desecration of his remains.
♦ ‘provoked’ replaced with ‘provoke’
The next day the march was resumed, and, during an interesting trip
among the lovely passes of the Mexican range, known as Los Organos, an
adventure was met with, scarcely less exciting, though less tragical
in its ending, than the encounter with the Apaches. The guide, who was
a little in advance of the party he was escorting, suddenly pointed
to a spot far up on the mountain, and observed laconically, “Yonder is
the hole of a cinnamon bear.” It was at once resolved that the owner
of the lofty cave should be compelled to show himself, and pay for
that privilege with his life.
The guide leading the way, all but Cozens, who was in no humor for
the sport, ♦proceeded to climb up to the mouth of the hole, it being
agreed that each should fire as he saw the bear emerge from his
retreat. When all were in position, the guide commenced operations by
dropping a large handful of pebbles in front of the mouth of the cave.
The effect was almost immediate. But a minute or two elapsed before
the hunted animal put his head out and calmly surveyed his tormentors.
Rogers, one of the men farthest from the actual scene of action, now
fired; the bullet struck the bear on the nose, and, furious with pain,
he rushed at one of the party named Parker, who, flinging down his
weapon, fled to a fir-tree hard by. As the doctor scrambled up the
tree, the bear gazing ruefully after him, two well-directed shots
brought the latter down dead, and, after a hearty laugh at Parker’s
expense, the carcass was cut into strips, and packed among the stores
for the journey.
♦ ‘proceede’ replaced with ‘proceeded’
A little later, a _détour_ was made to visit the ruins of Le
Gran Quivera, situated on a plain some ten miles distant from the
mountains, and supposed to be identical with one of the seven cities
of Cibola, visited by Father Kino. The ruins were found to be still
in excellent preservation; the remains of a large temple and of a
skillfully-constructed aqueduct for bringing water from the heights
above the town were distinctly made out, and the Indians told many
interesting traditions of the days when “Le Gran Quivera had been a
mighty Aztec metropolis.”
In 1680, according to the redskins, when vast quantities of precious
metal had been extracted from the mines, and they were about to be
taken to the South, the Apaches came down from their rocky homes and
attacked the miners. The latter, warned too late of the impending
danger, had but time to bury their treasure when the savages were upon
them. All but two were massacred, and these two, on their arrival in
Mexico, gave such a terrible account of the cruelties inflicted upon
their brethren by the Apaches, that no bribes could induce any one to
attempt to recover the gold and silver left behind.
Of the near presence of the descendants of these dreaded warriors,
our travelers received proof, before leaving Le Gran Quivera, in the
loss of two valuable pack-mules and Dr. Parker’s horse; but, knowing
the uselessness of attempting to recover the stolen property, the camp
was struck, and the march resumed at once. A north-easterly course
was now pursued, and, after passing through the remains of the strange
petrified forest――the origin and history of which has been so much
discussed――the banks of the Rio Grande, forming the boundary between
Mexico and the United States, were reached, whence a pleasant ride
brought the whole party back to La Merilla.
The little that Cozens had seen of the Apaches on this trip, combined
with the wonderful stories told of them by their neighbors, and
by those who had escaped from captivity among them, rendered him
anxious to learn more of their ways. In spite, therefore, of the
earnest entreaties of his friends not to risk his life needlessly, he
determined to start alone for the encampments――or _rancheria_, as they
were called――of the Pinal and Tonto Apaches, two of the most noted
bands of this savage race dwelling near the banks of the Gila.
For this new and venturesome journey, Cozens was fortunate enough to
secure the services, as guide, of an Apache war-chief named Cochise,
of the Pinal tribe, who assured him that in his company no danger was
to be apprehended from his brethren.
It was a lovely morning in June when the two strangely assorted
companions left the Chiricalmi Mountains behind them, and, striking
across country in a north-westerly direction, entered an Indian trail
leading to the Apache encampment, over a vast plain with nothing to
relieve its monotony but an occasional glimpse of what looked like the
gleaming waters of a vast inland sea, though it turned out to be the
great mirage known as Greenhorn’s Lake.
Illustration: COCHISE.
Beyond the plains the travelers came to a mass of “cañons, ravines,
ridges, gullies, chasms, and mountains,” some of them presenting the
appearance of exquisitely constructed Gothic cathedrals, while one so
exactly resembled an organ, with pipes of green, white, blue, brown,
and pink sandstone, that Cozens could scarcely believe it to be merely
a natural phenomenon.
The Indian trail led into the very midst of this chaos of rocks, and,
breathlessly following his guide, our hero presently found himself
upon the edge of a pass, looking down a precipice two thousand feet
in depth, with perpendicular walls of a blood-red color, relieved at
their summits with patches of grayish white alkali. Cochise now made
signs to his employer――master Cozens could scarcely be called――to
dismount and leave his mule to find its own way down. Then with one
word, “_Adelante!_” (Forward!), he led the way down the pass.
Descending into the gloom beneath the overhanging rock-masses, and
feeling their way step by step in the darkness, with the mules so
close behind them that a moment’s hesitation would have been certain
death――for the animals would assuredly have pushed their masters
over the abyss――the adventurers at last reached in safety the bed
of the river, which had eaten out the pass of which they had availed
themselves. Here a halt was made for the night, and on the ensuing
day the descent of the ravine was completed, under difficulties even
greater than those already conquered.
Late in the afternoon, however, Cochise pointed out four or five black
specks in the distance, perched on the strange truncated mounds so
common in Arizona, and which have excited so much curiosity among
scientific men. “They are Apaches,” was the guide’s laconic remark;
and though Cozens pressed him with eager questions as to the next
experiences to be anticipated, he could get no replies.
Silently the two plodded on for another two hours till they came to
the summit of a bare bluff, when Cochise again paused, and, pointing
to the valley beneath, exclaimed, “Look! Apache home!” Cozens obeyed,
and, gazing down upon a lovely valley, watered by a copious stream,
and surrounded on all sides by bluffs some hundred feet high, their
surfaces worn by wind and weather into all manner of strange forms,
he obtained his first glimpse of the goal of his journey.
The Apache huts, with yellow thatched, dome-shaped roofs, nestled here
and there against the crags, or in little groups by the stream; from
before each door rose the smoke of a little camp-fire; and beyond, on
the slopes of the upper end of the valley, grazed thousands of cattle,
ponies and mules.
As the two gazed motionless upon this scene of peace and plenty
in the wilderness, they were suddenly perceived by the Indians. A
loud yell notified the fact, and in a moment the village was astir;
children running together, dogs barking, warriors hastily seizing
their weapons. But Cochise, the wandering war-chief, raised his hand
and gave utterance to a peculiar cry. He was recognized at once, the
arms were thrown aside, and, quickly descending the bluff, the two
travelers were received by a set of men whom Cozens characterizes
as the most degraded-looking creatures he had ever seen. The women
especially, he says, “were ugly, fat and dirty,” and nowhere did he
see any of the beautiful squaws described in the works of Cooper, the
♦romanticist of the Indians.
♦ ‘romancist’ replaced with ‘romanticist’
The hearty welcome given to the new-comers, however, compensated
in a great degree for the absence of beauty in the inmates of the
camp. Cozens was feasted on pemmican; a hut was set apart for him and
Cochise; a concert――though of a somewhat ear-splitting character, the
instruments consisting exclusively of drums and rattles――was given in
his honor; and the next morning found the white stranger peacefully
performing his ablutions in the stream, in the presence of an admiring
crowd of women and children.
Later in the day, Cozens’ sense of security was a little disturbed
by the news of the approach of one Magnus Colorado, an Apache chief,
noted for his hostility to the white men, and the number of their
scalps he had at various times secured to himself as trophies.
“What,” said Cozens to Cochise, in as careless a manner as he could
assume, “will Magnus Colorado say to the presence in your camp of a
white man?” “Oh,” was the reply, “I sent him word as soon as I knew
it was he; and you know, too, he is the white man’s friend.”
Illustration: THE APACHES’ HOME.
Not having hitherto had any proof of the latter assertion, unless
scalping could be considered a token of friendship, Cozens withdrew,
to his hut; but he was soon relieved from his anxiety by a visit he
there received from Colorado, who extended his hand in a friendly
manner, with the words, “Good day! give me bacca.”
Cozens of course complied at once, adding to the usual chewing tobacco
a small parcel for smoking, thereby winning the full confidence of his
visitor, who proceeded to tell of his recent adventures, showing off
as one of his best trophies a blood-stained baby’s frock, the wearer
of which he boasted he had himself sent home to the Great Spirit!
Disgusted with this and similar anecdotes, Cozens resolved to leave
the home of the Apaches as soon as possible; but he found that he
could not do so abruptly without risking his life, and, much against
his will, he was compelled to be present at a scalp-dance given in
honor of Colorado, and surpassing in weird horror any thing he had
ever read or heard of.
A huge fire, over which hung a steaming kettle, formed the
center-piece of the open-air stage on which the revolting ceremony was
performed. Round this kettle danced a number of half-naked braves and
squaws, each holding aloft a spear crowned by a scalp, while every now
and then one of the women snatched a piece of meat from the caldron,
and offered it in derision to the ghastly human relics.
Not until far on in the night was Cozens allowed to retire, and,
when he did so, it was with a firm resolve never again to allow his
curiosity to get the better of his judgment. A few days later he was
on his way back to Mexico, whence, in spite of the resolution just
quoted, he subsequently made two expeditions――one to the silver mines
of Tucson, the other to the ruins in New Mexico.
The account given of the first trip is little more than a _résumé_
of all that had been done by the early travelers whose work we have
already recorded; but the second contains many a thrilling anecdote of
intercourse with the Navajoes, who so long harassed the white settlers
in the newly-annexed American territories.
Accompanied by a man named Jim Davis――“a small, wiry, hatchet-faced,
red-haired Yankee, known as the Emigrant’s Friend,” on account of
the welcome he gave to all new-comers to what he considered his own
special domain――Cozens crossed the Rio Grande near its entrance into
New Mexico, and, after visits to the pueblos or towns of Acoma and
Laguna, commenced the ascent of the Sierra Madre, from the summit of
which a magnificent view, stretching far away to the Pacific, was
obtained.
Thus far all went well, and the descent of the western slope was all
but accomplished, when it became necessary to encamp for the night.
Cozens had fallen asleep, and was dreaming of the lovely scenes he was
about to visit, when he was suddenly awakened by a hand laid on his
shoulder. He started up, revolver ready, but no one except “Jimmy,”
the Irish servant, was near, who whispered, “She is calling me!”
Thinking his servant had gone mad, or had woke up in terror from a
nightmare, the master was about to order him off to bed again, when
a low wail, like that of a child in trouble, fell upon his ear.
“Jimmy” was right. _She_ was calling him, and _she_ was one of the
mules, at that moment in an agonized struggle with a panther, whose
low, almost plaintive yell was one of triumph. Rushing forward,
accompanied by two gentlemen of his party, Cozens came up just as
the mule’s sufferings were over, and shared with them the triumph of
shooting the panther, who turned out to be one of the finest creatures
of the kind ever brought down in the neighborhood.
On the following day a slight détour was made to visit the ruins of
El Moro, one of the most stately of the old Spanish cities, bearing
traces on its walls of the engraved names of many of the old heroes
of the days when the power of the Roman Catholic Church was at its
zenith. From El Moro a ride of a few hours brought the cavalcade
to the Valley of Zuni, inhabited by a few survivors of a race
of blue-eyed and fair-skinned Indians, who are said to have been
descended from the Welsh miners who accompanied Prince Madoc on that
visit to Cibola, concerning which so hot a war has been waged among
archæologists.
Entering the town of Zuni, a ruin differing but little in general
character from that of El Moro, the travelers were courteously
received by the cacique, or chief――a fine-looking old man, with large,
intelligent, dark-blue eyes――wearing a Spanish shawl and trowsers.
He conducted them over his city, pointing out to them, among its
special features, a sacred spring, from which neither man nor beast
was ever allowed to drink, the genius of the place avenging any such
desecration by instant death.
After a careful examination of the wonders of Zuni, the ascent of the
mountain plateau on the west was commenced, and, after many a pause to
examine the strange monuments of a departed race with which its sides
and summit were strewn, the land of the blue-eyed Indians was left
behind, and that of the fierce Navajoes entered.
Again, as in the Apache country, Cozens had encamped for the night
with a sense of false security, when he awoke suddenly, a presentiment
of danger, which he could not explain, causing him to start up
and look around him. As he listened intently, the sharp crack of a
rifle-shot struck upon his ear, succeeded by another and yet another.
Springing to his feet, he saw a gentleman of the party advancing with
stealthy steps, who laid his finger on his lips and whispered, “Hist!
Navajoes.”
Another moment and the Navajo war-whoop rang out, and about a dozen
dusky forms, mounted on splendid horses, were seen advancing toward
the camp. “We’d better go behind the wagon,” suggested one of the
white men. From behind the friendly shelter of the wagon, therefore,
the heroes watched the approach of their enemies, who, however, to
their great surprise, suddenly disappeared.
“It’s the pits! the pits!” cried one of the party, rejoicing at the
thought that the Indians had fallen into a hollow unperceived by
them until it was too late to check their horses; but again the wild
war-whoop rang out, and as the white men fired, a shower of arrows
cleft the air. Cozens received one of these missiles in his arm,
but, drawing it out, he continued to fire at intervals, and by their
judicious mode of aiming, the handful of white men managed to keep
off nearly three times their number of savages, who finally rode
off, leaving many of their warriors and horses dead upon the field
of action.
A little later, Jimmy, who had been missing from the affray, came
riding wildly into the camp with the news that he had, single-handed,
worsted a large body of Navajoes, and that there had also been
a struggle between some of these fierce savages and some Zunis,
four of whom had been killed. The latter part of the story received
confirmation, as the bodies of the Zunis were found on the ground,
but of Jimmy’s part in the tragedy no proof was ever obtained. It
also transpired that seven hundred head of cattle had been stolen from
the Zunis by the Navajoes, the attack on the white men’s camp having
merely formed part of a well-organized plundering expedition. The
white men, who had experienced much hospitality from the Zunis, now
resolved to return their courtesy by aiding in the recovery of their
property. A consultation with the sufferers was held, and before many
hours were over, a large body of horsemen were galloping across the
lovely plains of the Navajo land to the pueblo where the cattle had
been penned.
So prompt indeed were the measures taken, and so little did the
Navajoes expect pursuit, that the whole of the cattle were recaptured,
and on their way back to their old pasture-lands before the alarm was
given. The same night found the white men and their escort once more
in safety at Zuni; and, taking the disturbed state of the country into
account, Cozens resolved to attempt no further explorations among the
Navajoes for the present.
In ascending the heights above the sacred spring of Zuni, however, an
accident occurred which delayed for a considerable time the return of
Cozens to Mexico. In following his guide along a narrow ledge of rock,
our hero’s foot slipped on a loose stone, and, before he could recover
himself, he was flung over the bluff, and fell a distance of no less
than three hundred feet into the abyss, clutching wildly at the rocks
in a vain hope of saving himself. Presently, he tells us in his own
account of the matter, the heel of his right boot hit the corner of a
stone, he was thrown forward on his face, and as he flung up his arms
to protect himself, one of his hands struck against something sharp.
He grasped that something, and, clinging to it convulsively, lost
consciousness.
When he came to himself, he was lying on blankets, surrounded by his
companions, who had had themselves lowered down the abyss over which
he had fallen, and, finding him still breathing, had given signals to
the Zunis watching above to hoist the sufferer up. This was done with
the aid of cords as tenderly as possible, and Cozens was then carried
to camp on the shoulders of the faithful Indians.
Illustration: SACRED SPRING AT ZUNI.
A long and tedious illness, through which he was faithfully nursed by
his own people and the Zunis, followed, and in the long weary hours of
weakness the white man learned more perhaps of the ways of the people
than he could have done in weeks of hurried traveling. While he was
still at Zuni, there took place one ♦of the worst tragedies enacted
by the Apaches in these the early days of the annexation of their
territory to the United States.
♦ omitted word ‘of’ added
A little party of emigrants, numbering some ten persons, under the
guidance of the head of the family, a Mr. Stewart, were crossing
Arizona on their way to California, when they were one night surprised
by a party of Apache warriors. Without warning or parley, the savages
closed round the women and children, discharging showers of arrows
upon them with deadly effect. All fell victims to the unexpected
assault except Mr. Stewart himself, who, seeing that he could do
nothing, fled to warn two of his daughters, who, for some reason or
another, had been separated from the main party, and were awaiting
them a little distance off.
The daughters, alas, were not at the rendezvous, and after a long
heart-rending search, during which he had again and again to dodge
the Apaches hunting for him, poor Stewart returned to the scene of
the massacre of his other dear ones. Arrived there, a horrible sight
greeted him. A huge fire had been lighted, and on it, half consumed,
were the naked bodies of his wife and six children. All night long he
lay upon the ground in an agony of despair, and the next day commenced
an aimless wandering to and fro, careless of what should happen to
himself. He came presently, however, upon a little Moquis village,
where he was kindly received, and whence two natives conducted him to
Zuni. He lived but long enough to tell his terrible story. His heart
was broken, and after a few days of suffering he passed peacefully
away.
As soon as he was able to travel, Cozens left Zuni for the last time,
returning, as he had come, to the Rio Grande, and thence to his old
home in Mexico. Since his return, many a thrilling tale has been told
of the wild doings of the Apaches and Navajoes; but gradually they,
like their more northerly brethren, are succumbing to the civilizing
influence of the white man, and their final subjugation is but a
question of time.
The completion of the Southern Pacific railroad, and the opening of
the many supplementary transit lines of the Union, have at last united
in indissoluble bonds the States of the East and of the West. Fresh
capital and fresh enterprise are ever flowing, like mighty arteries,
throughout the once deserted wastes between the Mississippi and the
Rocky Mountains; and the shrill whistle of the steam-engine replaces
alike the war-whoop of the savage and the wail of his victim.
Illustration: NEW WEST BRITISH COLUMBIA.