The principal settlement in New Mexico, immediately after it was
reconquered from the Indians by the Spaniards, was, of course, Santa
Fe, and ranking second to it, that of the beautiful Valle de Taos,
which derived its name from the Taosa Indians, a few of whose direct
descendants are still occupying a portion of the region. As the pioneers
in the trade with Santa Fe made their first journeys to the capital of
the Province by the circuitous route of the Taos valley, and the initial
consignments of goods from the Missouri were disposed of in the little
villages scattered along the road, the story of the Trail would be
deficient in its integrity were the thrilling historical facts connected
with the romantic region omitted.
The reader will find on all maps, from the earliest published to the
latest issued by the local railroads, a town with the name of Taos,
which never had an existence. Fernandez de Taos is the chief city,
which has been known so long by the title of the valley that perhaps the
misnomer is excusable after many years' use.
Fernandez, or Taos as it is called, was once famous for its distilleries
of whiskey, made out of the native wheat, a raw, fiery spirit, always
known in the days of the Santa Fe trade as "Taos lightning," which was
the most profitable article of barter with the Indians, who exchanged
their buffalo robes and other valuable furs for a supply of it, at a
tremendous sacrifice.
According to the statement of Gregg, the first white settler of
the fertile and picturesque valley was a Spaniard named Pando, who
established himself there about 1745. This primitive pioneer of the
northern part of the Province was constantly exposed to the raids of
the powerful Comanches, but succeeded in creating a temporary friendship
with the tribe by promising his daughter, then a young and beautiful
infant, to the chief in marriage when she arrived at a suitable age. At
the time for the ratification of her father's covenant with the Indians,
however, the maiden stubbornly refused to fulfil her part. The savages,
enraged at the broken faith of the Spaniard, immediately swept down upon
the little settlement and murdered everybody there except the betrothed
girl, whom they carried off into captivity. She was forced to live with
the chief as his wife, but he soon became tired of her and traded
her for another woman with the Pawnees, who, in turn, sold her to a
Frenchman, a resident of St. Louis. It is said that some of the most
respectable families of that city are descended from her, and fifty
years ago there were many people living who remembered the old lady, and
her pathetic story of trials and sufferings when with the Indians.
The most tragic event in the history of the valley was the massacre of
the provisional governor of the Territory of New Mexico, with a number
of other Americans, shortly after its occupation by the United States.
Upon General Kearney's taking possession of Santa Fe, acting under the
authority of the President, he established a civil government and put
it into operation. Charles Bent was appointed governor, and the other
offices filled by Americans and Mexicans who were rigidly loyal to the
political change. At this time the command of the troops devolved
upon Colonel Sterling Price, Colonel Doniphan, who ranked him,
having departed from Santa Fe on an expedition against the Navajoes.
Notwithstanding the apparent submission of the natives of New Mexico,
there were many malcontents among them and the Pueblo Indians, and early
in December, some of the leaders, dissatisfied with the change in the
order of things, held secret meetings and formulated plots to overthrow
the existing government.
Midnight of the 24th of December was the time appointed for the
commencement of their revolutionary work, which was to be simultaneous
all over the country. The profoundest secrecy was to be preserved,
and the most influential men, whose ambition induced them to seek
preferment, were alone to be made acquainted with the plot. No woman was
to be privy to it, lest it should be divulged. The sound of the church
bell was to be the signal, and at midnight all were to enter the Plaza
at the same moment, seize the pieces of artillery, and point them into
the streets.
The time chosen for the assault was Christmas-eve, when the soldiers and
garrison would be indulging in wine and feasting, and scattered about
through the city at the fandangoes, not having their arms in their
hands. All the Americans, without distinction, throughout the State, and
such New Mexicans as had favoured the American government and accepted
office by appointment of General Kearney, were to be massacred or driven
from the country, and the conspirators were to seize upon and occupy the
government.
The conspiracy was detected in the following manner: a mulatto girl,
residing in Santa Fe, had married one of the conspirators, and had by
degrees obtained a knowledge of their movements and secret meetings. To
prevent the effusion of blood, which would inevitably be the result of a
revolution, she communicated to Colonel Price all the facts of which
she was in possession, and warned him to use the utmost vigilance. The
rebellion was immediately suppressed, but the restless and unsatisfied
ambition of the leaders of the conspiracy did not long permit them
to remain inactive. A second and still more dangerous conspiracy was
formed. The most powerful and influential men in the State favoured the
design, and even the officers of State and the priests gave their
aid and counsel. The people everywhere, in the towns, villages, and
settlements, were exhorted to arm and equip themselves; to strike for
their faith, their religion, and their altars; and drive the "heretics,"
the "unjust invaders of the country," from their soil, and with fire and
sword pursue them to annihilation. On the 18th of January this rebellion
broke out in every part of the State simultaneously.
On the 14th of January, Governor Bent, believing the conspiracy
completely crushed, with an escort of five persons--among whom were the
sheriff and circuit attorney--had left Santa Fe to visit his family, who
resided at Fernandez.
On the 19th, he was early roused from sleep by the populace, who, with
the aid of the Pueblos of Taos, were collected in front of his dwelling
striving to gain admittance. While they were effecting an entrance,
he, with an axe, cut through an adobe wall into another house; and
the Mexican wife of the occupant, a clever though shiftless Canadian,
hearing him, with all her strength rendered him assistance. He
retreated to a room, but, seeing no way of escaping from the infuriated
assailants, who fired upon him from a window, he spoke to his weeping
wife and trembling children, and, taking paper from his pocket,
endeavoured to write; but fast losing strength, he commended them to God
and his brothers and fell, pierced by a ball from a Pueblo. Then rushing
in and tearing off his gray-haired scalp, the Indians bore it away in
triumph.
The circuit attorney, T. W. Leal, was scalped alive and dragged through
the streets, his relentless persecutors pricking him with lances. After
hours of suffering, they threw him aside in the inclement weather, he
imploring them earnestly to kill him to end his misery. A compassionate
Mexican at last closed the tragic scene by shooting him. Stephen
Lee, brother to the general, was killed on his own housetop. Narcisse
Beaubien, son of the presiding judge of the district, hid in an outhouse
with his Indian slave, at the commencement of the massacre, under a
straw-covered trough. The insurgents on the search, thinking that they
had escaped, were leaving, but a woman servant of the family, going to
the housetop, called to them, "Kill the young ones, and they will never
be men to trouble us." They swarmed back and, by cruelly putting to
death and scalping him and his slave, added two more to the list of
unfortunate victims.
The Pueblos and Mexicans, after their cruelties at Fernandez de Taos,
attacked and destroyed Turley's Ranch on the Arroyo Hondo[27] twelve
miles from Fernandez, or Taos. Arroyo Hondo runs along the base of a
ridge of a mountain of moderate elevation, which divides the valley of
Taos from that of the Rio Colorado, or Red River, both flowing into
the Del Norte. The trail from one place to the other passes over the
mountain, which is covered with pine, cedar, and a species of dwarf oak;
and numerous little streams run through the many canyons.
On the bank of one of the creeks was a mill and distillery belonging
to an American named Turley, who did a thriving business. He possessed
herds of goats, and hogs innumerable; his barns were filled with grain,
his mill with flour, and his cellars with whiskey. He had a Mexican wife
and several children, and he bore the reputation of being one of the
most generous and kind-hearted of men. In times of scarcity, no one ever
sought his aid to be turned away empty-handed; his granaries were always
open to the hungry, and his purse to the poor.
When on their road to Turley's, the Pueblos murdered two men, named
Harwood and Markhead. Markhead was one of the most successful trappers
and daring men among the old mountaineers. They were on their way to
Taos with their pack-animals laden with furs, when the savages, meeting
them, after stripping them of their goods, and securing their arms by
treachery, made them mount their mules under pretence of conducting
them to Taos, where they were to be given up to the leaders of the
insurrection. They had hardly proceeded a mile when a Mexican rode up
behind Harwood and discharged his gun into his back; he called out to
Markhead that he was murdered, and fell to the ground dead.
Markhead, seeing that his own fate was sealed, made no struggle, and
was likewise shot in the back with several bullets. Both men were then
stripped naked, scalped, and horribly mutilated; their bodies thrown
into the brush to be devoured by the wolves.
These trappers were remarkable men; Markhead, particularly, was
celebrated in the mountains for his courage, reckless daring, and many
almost miraculous escapes when in the very hands of the Indians. When
some years previously he had accompanied Sir William Drummond Stewart on
one of his expeditions across the Rockies, it happened that a half-breed
Indian employed by Sir William absconded one night with some animals,
which circumstance annoyed the nobleman so much, as it disturbed all his
plans, that he hastily offered, never dreaming that he would be taken
up, to give five hundred dollars for the scalp of the thief. The very
next evening Markhead rode into camp with the hair of the luckless
horse-thief dangling at the muzzle of his rifle.
The wild crowd of rebels rode on to Turley's mill. Turley had been
warned of the impending uprising, but had treated the report with
indifference, until one morning a man in his employ, who had been
despatched to Santa Fe with several mule-loads of whiskey a few days
before, made his appearance at the gate on horseback, and hastily
informing the inmates of the mill that the New Mexicans had risen and
massacred Governor Bent and other Americans, galloped off. Even
then Turley felt assured that he would not be molested; but at the
solicitation of his men, he agreed to close the gate of the yard
around which were the buildings of the mill and distillery, and make
preparations for defence.
A few hours afterward a large crowd of Mexicans and Pueblo Indians
made their appearance, all armed with guns and bows and arrows, and,
advancing with a white flag, summoned Turley to surrender his house and
the Americans in it, guaranteeing that his own life should be saved,
but that every other American in the valley must be destroyed; that the
governor and all the Americans at Fernandez had been killed, and that
not one was to be left alive in all New Mexico.
To this summons Turley answered that he would never surrender his house
nor his men, and that if they wanted it or them, they must take them.
The enemy then drew off, and, after a short consultation, commenced the
attack. The first day they numbered about five hundred, but were hourly
reinforced by the arrival of parties of Indians from the more distant
Pueblos, and New Mexicans from Fernandez, La Canada, and other places.
The building lay at the foot of a gradual slope in the sierra, which was
covered with cedar bushes. In front ran the stream of the Arroyo Hondo,
about twenty yards from one side of the square, and the other side was
broken ground which rose abruptly and formed the bank of the ravine. In
the rear and behind the still-house was some garden ground enclosed by a
small fence, into which a small wicket-gate opened from the corral.
As soon as the attack was determined upon, the assailants scattered
and concealed themselves under cover of the rocks and bushes which
surrounded the house. From these they kept up an incessant fire upon
every exposed portion of the building where they saw preparations for
defence.
The Americans, on their part, were not idle; not a man but was an
old mountaineer, and each had his trusty rifle, with a good store of
ammunition. Whenever one of the besiegers exposed a hand's-breadth of
his person, a ball from an unerring barrel whistled. The windows had
been blockaded, loopholes having been left, and through these a lively
fire was maintained. Already several of the enemy had bitten the dust,
and parties were seen bearing off the wounded up the banks of the
Canada. Darkness came on, and during the night a continual fire was kept
up on the mill, whilst its defenders, reserving their ammunition, kept
their posts with stern and silent determination. The night was spent
in casting balls, cutting patches, and completing the defences of the
building. In the morning the fight was renewed, and it was found that
the Mexicans had effected a lodgment in a part of the stables, which
were separated from the other portions of the building by an open space
of a few feet. The assailants, during the night, had sought to break
down the wall, and thus enter the main building, but the strength of the
adobe and logs of which it was composed resisted effectually all their
attempts.
Those in the stable seemed anxious to regain the outside, for their
position was unavailable as a means of annoyance to the besieged, and
several had darted across the narrow space which divided it from the
other part of the building, which slightly projected, and behind which
they were out of the line of fire. As soon, however, as the attention of
the defenders was called to this point, the first man who attempted to
cross, who happened to be a Pueblo chief, was dropped on the instant,
and fell dead in the centre of the intervening space. It appeared to be
an object to recover the body, for an Indian immediately dashed out to
the fallen chief, and attempted to drag him within the shelter of the
wall. The rifle which covered the spot again poured forth its deadly
contents, and the Indian, springing into the air, fell over the body
of his chief. Another and another met with a similar fate, and at last
three rushed to the spot, and, seizing the body by the legs and head,
had already lifted it from the ground, when three puffs of smoke blew
from the barricaded windows, followed by the sharp cracks of as many
rifles, and the three daring Indians were added to the pile of corpses
which now covered the body of the dead chief.
As yet the besieged had met with no casualties; but after the fall of
the seven Indians, the whole body of the assailants, with a shout
of rage, poured in a rattling volley, and two of the defenders fell
mortally wounded. One, shot through the loins, suffered great agony,
and was removed to the still-house, where he was laid on a large pile of
grain, as being the softest bed that could be found.
In the middle of the day the attack was renewed more fiercely than
before. The little garrison bravely stood to the defence of the mill,
never throwing away a shot, but firing coolly, and only when a fair mark
was presented to their unerring aim. Their ammunition, however, was fast
failing, and to add to the danger of their situation, the enemy set fire
to the mill, which blazed fiercely, and threatened destruction to the
whole building. Twice they succeeded in overcoming the flames, and,
while they were thus occupied, the Mexicans and Indians charged into the
corral, which was full of hogs and sheep, and vented their cowardly rage
upon the animals, spearing and shooting all that came in their way. No
sooner were the flames extinguished in one place than they broke out
more fiercely in another; and as a successful defence was perfectly
hopeless, and the numbers of the assailants increased every moment, a
council of war was held by the survivors of the little garrison, when
it was determined, as soon as night approached, that every one should
attempt to escape as best he could.
Just at dusk a man named John Albert and another ran to the wicket-gate
which opened into a kind of enclosed space, in which were a number of
armed Mexicans. They both rushed out at the same moment, discharging
their rifles full in the face of the crowd. Albert, in the confusion,
threw himself under the fence, whence he saw his companion shot down
immediately, and heard his cries for mercy as the cowards pierced him
with knives and lances. He lay without motion under the fence, and
as soon as it was quite dark he crept over the logs and ran up the
mountain, travelled by day and night, and, scarcely stopping or resting,
reached the Greenhorn, almost dead with hunger and fatigue. Turley
himself succeeded in escaping from the mill and in reaching the mountain
unseen. Here he met a Mexican mounted on a horse, who had been a most
intimate friend of his for many years. To this man Turley offered his
watch for the use of the horse, which was ten times more than it was
worth, but was refused. The inhuman wretch, however, affected pity
and consideration for the fugitive, and advised him to go to a certain
place, where he would bring or send him assistance; but on reaching the
mill, which was a mass of fire, he immediately informed the Mexicans of
Turley's place of concealment, whither a large party instantly proceeded
and shot him to death.
Two others escaped and reached Santa Fe in safety. The mill and Turley's
house were sacked and gutted, and all his hard-earned savings, which
were concealed in gold about the house, were discovered, and, of course,
seized upon by the victorious Mexicans.
The following account is taken from Governor Prince's chapter on the
fight at Taos, in his excellent and authentic _History of New Mexico_:--
The startling news of the assassination of the governor was
swiftly carried to Santa Fe, and reached Colonel Price the
next day. Simultaneously, letters were discovered calling
on the people of the Rio Abajo to secure Albuquerque and
march northward to aid the other insurgents; and news
speedily followed that a united Mexican and Pueblo force of
large magnitude was marching down the Rio Grande valley
toward the capital, flushed with the success of the revolt
at Taos. Very few troops were in Santa Fe; in fact, the
number remaining in the whole territory was very small,
and these were scattered at Albuquerque, Las Vegas, and
other distant points. At the first-named town were Major
Edmonson and Captain Burgwin; the former in command of the
town, and the latter with a company of the First Dragoons.
Colonel Price lost no time in taking such measures as his
limited resources permitted. Edmonson was directed to come
immediately to Santa Fe to take command of the capital; and
Burgwin to follow Price as fast as possible to the scene
of hostilities. The colonel himself collected the few
troops at Santa Fe, which were all on foot, but fortunately
included the little battalion which under Captain Aubrey
had made such extraordinary marches on the journey across
the plains as to almost outwalk the cavalry. With these
was a volunteer company formed of nearly all of the American
inhabitants of the city, under the command of Colonel Ceran
St. Vrain, who happened to be in Santa Fe, together with
Judge Beaubien, at the time of the rising at Taos.
With this little force, amounting in all to three hundred
and ten men, Colonel Price started to march to Taos, or at
all events to meet the army which was coming toward the
capital from the north and which grew as it marched by
constant accessions from the surrounding country.
The city of Santa Fe was left in charge of a garrison under
Lieutenant-Colonel Willock. While the force was small
and the volunteers without experience in regular warfare,
yet all were nerved to desperation by the belief, since
the Taos murders, that the only alternative was victory
or annihilation.
The expedition set out on January 23d, and the next day
the Mexican army, under command of General Montoya as
commander-in-chief, aided by Generals Tafoya and Chavez,
was found occupying the heights commanding the road near
La Canada (Santa Cruz), with detachments in some strong
adobe houses near the river banks. The advance had been
seen shortly before at the rocky pass, on the road from
Pojuaque; and near there and before reaching the river, the
San Juan Pueblo Indians, who had joined the revolutionists
reluctantly and under a kind of compulsion, surrendered and
were disarmed by removing the locks from their guns.
On arriving at the Canada, Price ordered his howitzers to
the front and opened fire; and after a sharp cannonade,
directed an assault on the nearest houses by Aubrey's
battalion. Meanwhile an attempt by a Mexican detachment
to cut off the American baggage-wagons, which had not yet
come up, was frustrated by the activity of St. Vrain's
volunteers. A charge all along the line was then ordered
and handsomely executed; the houses, which, being of adobe,
had been practically so many ready-made forts, were
successively carried, and St. Vrain started in advance to
gain the Mexican rear. Seeing this manoeuvre, and fearing
its effects, the Mexicans retreated, leaving thirty-six
dead on the field. Among those killed was General Tafoya,
who bravely remained on the field after the remainder had
abandoned it, and was shot.
Colonel Price pressed on up the river as fast as possible,
passing San Juan, and at Los Luceros, on the 28th, his
little army was rejoiced at the arrival of reinforcements,
consisting of a mounted company of cavalry, Captain Burgwin's
company, which had been pushed up by forced marches on foot
from Albuquerque, and a six-pounder brought by Lieutenant
Wilson. Thus enlarged, the American force consisted of
four hundred and eighty men, and continued its advance up
the valley to La Joya, which was as far as the river road at
that time extended. Meanwhile the Mexicans had established
themselves in a narrow pass near Embudo, where the forest
was dense, and the road impracticable for wagons or cannon,
the troops occupying the sides of the mountains on both
sides of the canyon. Burgwin was sent with three companies
to dislodge them and open a passage--no easy task.
But St. Vrain's company took the west slope, and another
the right, while Burgwin himself marched through the gorge
between. The sharp-shooting of these troops did such
terrible execution that the pass was soon cleared, though
not without the display of great heroism, and some loss;
and the Americans entered Embudo without further opposition.
The difficulties of this campaign were greatly increased by
the severity of the weather, the mountains being thickly
covered with snow, and the cold so intense that a number
of men were frost-bitten and disabled. The next day Burgwin
reached Las Trampas, where Price arrived with the remainder
of the American army on the last day of January, and all
together they marched into Chamisal.
Notwithstanding the cold and snow they pressed on over the
mountain, and on the 3d of February reached the town of
Fernandez de Taos, only to find that the Mexican and Pueblo
force had fortified itself in the celebrated Pueblo of Taos,
about three miles distant. That force had diminished
considerably during the retreat from La Canada, many of the
Mexicans returning to their homes, and its greater part
now consisting of Pueblo Indians. The American troops were
worn out with fatigue and exposure, and in most urgent need
of rest; but their intrepid commander, desiring to give his
opponents no more time to strengthen their works, and full
of zeal and energy, if not of prudence, determined to
commence an immediate attack.
The two great buildings at this Pueblo, certainly the most
interesting and extraordinary inhabited structures in
America, are well known from descriptions and engravings.
They are five stories high and irregularly pyramidal in
shape, each story being smaller than the one below, in order
to allow ingress to the outer rooms of each tier from the
roofs. Before the advent of artillery these buildings were
practically impregnable, as, when the exterior ladders were
drawn up, there were no means of ingress, the side walls
being solid without openings, and of immense thickness.
Between these great buildings, each of which can accommodate
a multitude of men, runs the clear water of the Taos Creek;
and to the west of the northerly building stood the old
church, with walls of adobe from three to seven and a half
feet in thickness. Outside of all, and having its northwest
corner just beyond the church, ran an adobe wall, built for
protection against hostile Indians and which now answered
for an outer earthwork. The church was turned into a
fortification, and was the point where the insurgents
concentrated their strength; and against this Colonel Price
directed his principal attack. The six-pounder and the
howitzer were brought into position without delay, under
the command of Lieutenant Dyer, then a young graduate of
West Point, and since then chief of ordnance of the
United States army, and opened a fire on the thick adobe
walls. But cannon-balls made little impression on the
massive banks of earth, in which they embedded themselves
without doing damage; and after a fire of two hours,
the battery was withdrawn, and the troops allowed to return
to the town of Taos for their much-needed rest.
Early the next morning, the troops, now refreshed and ready
for the combat, advanced again to the Pueblo, but found
those within equally prepared. The story of the attack and
capture of this place is so interesting, both on account
of the meeting here of old and new systems of warfare--of
modern artillery with an aboriginal stronghold--and because
the precise localities can be distinguished by the modern
tourist from the description, that it seems best to insert
the official report as presented by Colonel Price.
Nothing could show more plainly how superior strong
earthworks are to many more ambitious structures of defence,
or more forcibly display the courage and heroism of those
who took part in the battle, or the signal bravery of the
accomplished Captain Burgwin which led to his untimely death.
Colonel Price writes:
"Posting the dragoons under Captain Burgwin about two
hundred and sixty yards from the western flank of the church,
I ordered the mounted men under Captains St. Vrain and Slack
to a position on the opposite side of the town, whence they
could discover and intercept any fugitives who might attempt
to escape toward the mountains, or in the direction of
San Fernando. The residue of the troops took ground about
three hundred yards from the north wall. Here, too,
Lieutenant Dyer established himself with the six-pounder
and two howitzers, while Lieutenant Hassendaubel, of Major
Clark's battalion, light artillery, remained with Captain
Burgwin, in command of two howitzers. By this arrangement
a cross-fire was obtained, sweeping the front and eastern
flank of the church. All these arrangements being made,
the batteries opened upon the town at nine o'clock A.M.
At eleven o'clock, finding it impossible to breach the
walls of the church with the six-pounder and howitzers,
I determined to storm the building. At a signal, Captain
Burgwin, at the head of his own company and that of Captain
McMillin, charged the western flank of the church, while
Captain Aubrey, infantry battalion, and Captain Barber and
Lieutenant Boon, Second Missouri Mounted Volunteers, charged
the northern wall. As soon as the troops above mentioned
had established themselves under the western wall of the
church, axes were used in the attempt to breach it, and a
temporary ladder having been made, the roof was fired.
About this time, Captain Burgwin, at the head of a small
party, left the cover afforded by the flank of the church,
and penetrating into the corral in front of that building,
endeavoured to force the door. In this exposed situation,
Captain Burgwin received a severe wound, which deprived me
of his valuable services, and of which he died on the
7th instant. Lieutenants McIlvaine, First United States
Dragoons, and Royall and Lackland, Second Regiment
Volunteers, accompanied Captain Burgwin into the corral,
but the attempt on the church door proved fruitless, and
they were compelled to retire behind the wall. In the
meantime, small holes had been cut in the western wall, and
shells were thrown in by hand, doing good execution.
The six-pounder was now brought around by Lieutenant Wilson,
who, at the distance of two hundred yards, poured a heavy
fire of grape into the town. The enemy, during all of
this time, kept up a destructive fire upon our troops.
About half-past three o'clock, the six-pounder was run up
within sixty yards of the church, and after ten rounds,
one of the holes which had been cut with the axes was
widened into a practicable breach. The storming party,
among whom were Lieutenant Dyer, of the ordnance, and
Lieutenant Wilson and Taylor, First Dragoons, entered and
took possession of the church without opposition.
The interior was filled with dense smoke, but for which
circumstance our storming party would have suffered great
loss. A few of the enemy were seen in the gallery,
where an open door admitted the air, but they retired
without firing a gun. The troops left to support the
battery on the north side were now ordered to charge on
that side.
"The enemy then abandoned the western part of the town.
Many took refuge in the large houses on the east, while
others endeavoured to escape toward the mountains.
These latter were pursued by the mounted men under Captains
Slack and St. Vrain, who killed fifty-one of them, only two
or three men escaping. It was now night, and our troops
were quietly quartered in the house which the enemy had
abandoned. On the next morning the enemy sued for peace,
and thinking the severe loss they had sustained would prove
a salutary lesson, I granted their supplication, on the
condition that they should deliver up to me Tomas, one of
their principal men, who had instigated and been actively
engaged in the murder of Governor Bent and others.
The number of the enemy at the battle of Pueblo de Taos
was between six and seven hundred, and of these one hundred
and fifty were killed, wounded not known. Our own loss was
seven killed and forty-five wounded; many of the wounded
have since died."
The capture of the Taos Pueblo practically ended the main
attempt to expel the Americans from the Territory.
Governor Montoya, who was a very influential man in the
conspiracy and styled himself the "Santa Ana of the North,"
was tried by court-martial, convicted, and executed on
February 7th, in the presence of the army. Fourteen others
were tried for participating in the murder of Governor Bent
and the others who were killed on the 19th of January, and
were convicted and executed. Thus, fifteen in all were
hung, being an equal number to those murdered at Taos, the
Arroyo Hondo, and Rio Colorado. Of these, eight were
Mexicans and seven were Pueblo Indians. Several more were
sentenced to be hung for treason, but the President very
properly pardoned them, on the ground that treason against
the United States was not a crime of which a Mexican
citizen could be found guilty, while his country was
actually at war with the United States.
There are several thrilling, as well as laughable, incidents
connected with the Taos massacre, and the succeeding trial of the
insurrectionists; in regard to which I shall quote freely from
_Wah-to-yah_, whose author, Mr. Lewis H. Garrard, accompanied Colonel
St. Vrain across the plains in 1846, and was present at the trial and
execution of the convicted participants.
One Fitzgerald, who was a private in Captain Burgwin's company of
Dragoons, in the fight at the Pueblo de Taos, killed three Mexicans with
his own hand, and performed heroic work with the bombs that were thrown
into that strong Indian fortress. He was a man of good feeling, but
his brother having been killed, or rather murdered by Salazar, while a
prisoner in the Texan expedition against Santa Fe, he swore vengeance,
and entered the service with the hope of accomplishing it. The day
following the fight at the Pueblo, he walked up to the alcalde, and
deliberately shot him down. For this act he was confined to await a
trial for murder.
One raw night, complaining of cold to his guard, wood was brought,
which he piled up in the middle of the room. Then mounting that, and
succeeding in breaking through the roof, he noiselessly crept to the
eaves, below which a sentinel, wrapped in a heavy cloak, paced to
and fro, to prevent his escape. He watched until the guard's back was
turned, then swung himself from the wall, and with as much ease as
possible, walked to a mess-fire, where his friends in waiting supplied
him with a pistol and clothing. When day broke, the town of Fernandez
lay far beneath him in the valley, and two days after he was safe in our
camp.
Many a hand-to-hand encounter ensued during the fight at Taos, one of
which was by Colonel Ceran St. Vrain, whom I knew intimately; a grand
old gentleman, now sleeping peacefully in the quaint little graveyard at
Mora, New Mexico, where he resided for many years. The gallant colonel,
while riding along, noticed an Indian with whom he was well acquainted
lying stretched out on the ground as if dead. Confident that this
particular red devil had been especially prominent in the hellish acts
of the massacre, the colonel dismounted from his pony to satisfy himself
whether the savage was really dead or only shamming. He was far from
being a corpse, for the colonel had scarcely reached the spot, when the
Indian jumped to his feet and attempted to run a long, steel-pointed
lance through the officer's shoulder. Colonel St. Vrain was a large,
powerfully built man; so was the Indian, I have been told. As each of
the struggling combatants endeavoured to get the better of the other,
with the savage having a little the advantage, perhaps, it appears that
"Uncle Dick" Wooton, who was in the chase after the rebels, happened to
arrive on the scene, and hitting the Indian a terrific blow on the head
with his axe, settled the question as to his being a corpse.
Court for the trial of the insurrectionists assembled at nine o'clock.
On entering the room, Judges Beaubien and Houghton were occupying their
official positions. After many dry preliminaries, six prisoners were
brought in--ill-favoured, half-scared, sullen fellows; and the jury of
Mexicans and Americans having been empanelled, the trial commenced.
It certainly did appear to be a great assumption on the part of
the Americans to conquer a country, and then arraign the revolting
inhabitants for treason. American judges sat on the bench. New Mexicans
and Americans filled the jury-box, and American soldiery guarded the
halls. It was a strange mixture of violence and justice--a middle ground
between the martial and common law.
After an absence of a few minutes, the jury returned with a verdict of
"guilty in the first degree"--five for murder, one for treason. Treason,
indeed! What did the poor devil know about his new allegiance? But so it
was; and as the jail was overstocked with others awaiting trial, it
was deemed expedient to hasten the execution, and the culprits were
sentenced to be hung on the following Friday--hangman's day.
Court was daily in session; five more Indians and four Mexicans were
sentenced to be hung on the 30th of April. In the court room, on the
occasion of the trial of these nine prisoners, were Senora Bent the late
governor's wife, and Senora Boggs, giving their evidence in regard to
the massacre, of which they were eye-witnesses. Mrs. Bent was quite
handsome; a few years previously she must have been a beautiful woman.
The wife of the renowned Kit Carson also was in attendance. Her style
of beauty was of the haughty, heart-breaking kind--such as would lead a
man, with a glance of the eye, to risk his life for one smile.
The court room was a small, oblong apartment, dimly lighted by two
narrow windows; a thin railing keeping the bystanders from contact
with the functionaries. The prisoners faced the judges, and the three
witnesses--Senoras Bent, Boggs, and Carson--were close to them on a
bench by the wall. When Mrs. Bent gave her testimony, the eyes of the
culprits were fixed sternly upon her; when she pointed out the Indian
who had killed the governor, not a muscle of the chief's face twitched
or betrayed agitation, though he was aware her evidence settled his
death warrant; he sat with lips gently closed, eyes earnestly fixed
on her, without a show of malice or hatred--a spectacle of Indian
fortitude, and of the severe mastery to which the emotions can be
subjected.
Among the jurors was a trapper named Baptiste Brown, a Frenchman, as
were the majority of the trappers in the early days of the border.
He was an exceptionally kind-hearted man when he first came to the
mountains, and seriously inclined to regard the Indians with that
mistaken sentimentality characterizing the average New England
philanthropist, who has never seen the untutored savage on his native
heath. His ideas, however, underwent a marked change as the years rolled
on and he became more familiar with the attributes of the noble red man.
He was with Kit Carson in the Blackfeet country many years before the
Taos massacre, when his convictions were thus modified, and it was
from the famous frontiersman himself I learned the story of Baptiste's
conversion.
It was late one night in their camp on one of the many creeks in the
Blackfoot region, where they had been established for several weeks, and
Baptiste was on duty, guarding their meat and furs from the incursions
of a too inquisitive grizzly that had been prowling around, and the
impertinent investigations of the wolves. His attention was attracted to
something high up in a neighbouring tree, that seemed restless, changing
its position constantly like an animal of prey. The Frenchman drew a
bead upon it, and there came tumbling down at his feet a dead savage,
with his war-paint and other Indian paraphernalia adorning his body.
Baptiste was terribly hurt over the circumstance of having killed an
Indian, and it grieved him for a long time. One day, a month after the
incident, he was riding alone far away from our party, and out of sound
of their rifles as well, when a band of Blackfeet discovered him and
started for his scalp. He had no possible chance for escape except by
the endurance of his horse; so a race for life began. He experienced no
trouble in keeping out of the way of their arrows--the Indians had no
guns then--and hoped to make camp before they could possibly wear out
his horse. Just as he was congratulating himself on his luck, right in
front of him there suddenly appeared a great gorge, and not daring to
stop or to turn to the right or left, the only thing to do was to make
his animal jump it. It was his only chance; it was death if he missed
it, and death by the most horrible torture if the Indians captured him.
So he drove his heels into his horse's sides, and essayed the awful
leap. His willing animal made a desperate effort to carry out the desire
of his daring rider, but the dizzy chasm was too wide, and the pursuing
savages saw both horse and the coveted white man dash to the bottom
of the frightful canyon together. Believing that their hated enemy
had eluded them forever, they rode back on their trail, disgusted and
chagrined, without even taking the trouble of looking over the precipice
to learn the fate of Baptiste.
The horse was instantly killed, and the Frenchman had both of his legs
badly broken. Far from camp, with the Indians in close proximity, he did
not dare discharge his rifle--the usual signal when a trapper is lost
or in danger--or to make any demonstration, so he was compelled to lie
there and suffer, hoping that his comrades, missing him, would start
out to search for him. They did so, but more than twenty-four hours had
elapsed before they found him, as the bottom of the canyon was the last
place they thought of.
Doctors, in the wild region where their camp was located, were as
impossible as angels; so his companions set his broken bones as well as
they could, while Baptiste suffered excruciating torture. When they had
completed their crude surgery, they improvised a litter of poles, and
rigged it on a couple of pack-mules, and thus carried him around with
them from camp to camp until he recovered--a period extending over three
months.
This affair completely cured Baptiste of his original sentimentality in
relation to the Indian, and he became one of their worst haters.
When acting as a juror in the trials of rebel Mexicans and Indians, he
was asleep half the time, and never heard much of the evidence, and that
portion which he did was so much Greek to him. In the last nine cases,
in which the Indian who had murdered Governor Bent was tried, Baptiste,
as soon as the jury room was closed, sang out: "Hang 'em, hang 'em,
sacre enfans des garces, dey dam gran rascale!" "But wait," suggested
one of the cooler members; "let's look at the evidence and find out
whether they are really guilty." Upon this wise caution, Baptiste got
greatly excited, paced the floor, and cried out: "Hang de Indian anyhow;
he may not be guilty now--mais he vare soon will be. Hang 'em all,
parceque dey kill Monsieur Charles; dey take son topknot, vot you call
im--scalp. Hang 'em, hang 'em--sa-a-cre-e!"
On Friday the 9th, the day for the execution, the sky was unspotted,
save by hastily fleeting clouds; and as the rising sun loomed over
the Taos Mountain, the bright rays, shining on the yellow and white
mud-houses, reflected cheerful hues, while the shades of the toppling
peaks, receding from the plain beneath, drew within themselves. The
humble valley wore an air of calm repose. The Plaza was deserted;
woe-begone burros drawled forth sacrilegious brays, as the warm sunbeams
roused them from hard, grassless ground, to scent their breakfast among
straw and bones.
Poor Mexicans hurried to and fro, casting suspicious glances around;
los Yankees at El casa Americano drank their juleps, and puffed their
cigarettes in silence.
The sheriff, Metcalf, formerly a mountaineer, was in want of the
wherewithal to hang the condemned criminals, so he borrowed some rawhide
lariats and picket-ropes of a teamster.
"Hello, Met," said one of the party present, "these reatas are mighty
stiff--won't fit; eh, old feller?"
"I've got something to make 'em fit--good 'intment--don't emit very
sweet perfume; but good enough for Greasers," said the sheriff,
producing a dollar's worth of Mexican soft soap. "This'll make 'em slip
easy--a long ways too easy for them, I 'spect."
The prison apartment was a long chilly room, badly ventilated by one
small window and the open door, through which the sun lit up the
earth floor, and through which the poor prisoners wistfully gazed.
Two muscular Mexicans basked in its genial warmth, a tattered serape
interposing between them and the ground. The ends, once fringed but
now clear of pristine ornament, were partly drawn over their breasts,
disclosing in the openings of their fancifully colored shirts--now
glazed with filth and faded with perspiration--the bare skin, covered
with straight black hair. With hands under their heads, in the mass of
stringy locks rusty-brown from neglect, they returned the looks of
their executioners with an unmeaning stare, and unheedingly received the
salutation of--"Como le va!"
Along the sides of the room, leaning against the walls, were crowded the
poor wretches, miserable in dress, miserable in features, miserable
in feelings--a more disgusting collection of ragged, greasy, unwashed
prisoners were, probably, never before congregated within so small a
space as the jail of Taos.
About nine o'clock, active preparations were made for the execution, and
the soldiery mustered. Reverend padres in long black gowns, with meek
countenances, passed the sentinels, intent on spiritual consolation, or
the administration of the Blessed Sacrament.
Lieutenant-Colonel Willock, commanding the military, ordered every
American under arms. The prison was at the edge of the town; no houses
intervened between it and the fields to the north. One hundred and fifty
yards distant, a gallows was erected.
The word was passed, at last, that the criminals were coming. Eighteen
soldiers received them at the gate, with their muskets at "port arms";
the six abreast, with the sheriff on the right--nine soldiers on each
side.
The poor prisoners marched slowly, with downcast eyes, arms tied behind,
and bare heads, with the exception of white cotton caps stuck on the
back, to be pulled over the face as the last ceremony.
The roofs of the houses in the vicinity were covered with women and
children, to witness the first execution by hanging in the valley of
Taos, save that of Montojo, the insurgent leader. No men were near; a
few stood afar off, moodily looking on.
On the flat jail roof was placed a mountain howitzer, loaded and ranging
the gallows. Near was the complement of men to serve it, one holding in
his hand a lighted match. The two hundred and thirty soldiers, less the
eighteen forming the guard, were paraded in front of the jail, and
in sight of the gibbet, so as to secure the prisoners awaiting trial.
Lieutenant-Colonel Willock, on a handsome charger, commanded a view of
the whole.
When within fifteen paces of the gallows, the side-guard, filing off to
the right, formed, at regular distances from each other, three sides of
a hollow square; the mountaineers composed the fourth and front side, in
full view of the trembling prisoners, who marched up to the tree under
which was a government wagon, with two mules attached. The driver and
sheriff assisted them in, ranging them on a board, placed across the
hinder end, which maintained its balance, as they were six--an even
number--two on each extremity, and two in the middle. The gallows was
so narrow that they touched. The ropes, by reason of their size
and stiffness, despite the soaping given them, were adjusted with
difficulty; but through the indefatigable efforts of the sheriff and
a lieutenant who had accompanied him, all preliminaries were arranged,
although the blue uniform looked sadly out of place on a hangman.
With rifles at a "shoulder," the military awaited the consummation
of the tragedy. There was no crowd around to disturb; a death-like
stillness prevailed. The spectators on the roofs seemed scarcely to
move--their eyes were directed to the doomed wretches, with harsh
halters now encircling their necks.
The sheriff and his assistant sat down; after a few moments of intense
expectation, the heart-wrung victims said a few words to their people.
Only one of them admitted he had committed murder and deserved death.
In their brief but earnest appeals, the words "mi padre, mi madre"--"my
father, my mother"--were prominent. The one sentenced for treason
showed a spirit of patriotism worthy of the cause for which he died--the
liberty of his country; and instead of the cringing recantation of the
others, his speech was a firm asseveration of his own innocence, the
unjustness of his trial, and the arbitrary conduct of his murderers. As
the cap was pulled over his face, the last words he uttered between his
teeth with a scowl were "Carajo, los Americanos!"
At a word from the sheriff, the mules were started, and the wagon drawn
from under the tree. No fall was given, and their feet remained on the
board till the ropes drew tight. The bodies swayed back and forth, and
while thus swinging, the hands of two came together with a firm grasp
till the muscles loosened in death.
After forty minutes' suspension, Colonel Willock ordered his command to
quarters, and the howitzer to be taken from its place on the roof of the
jail. The soldiers were called away; the women and population in general
collecting around the rear guard which the sheriff had retained for
protection while delivering the dead to their weeping relatives.
While cutting a rope from one man's neck--for it was in a hard knot--the
owner, a government teamster standing by waiting, shouted angrily, at
the same time stepping forward:
"Hello there! don't cut that rope; I won't have anything to tie my mules
with."
"Oh! you darned fool," interposed a mountaineer, "the dead men's ghosts
will be after you if you use them lariats--wagh! They'll make meat of
you sartain."
"Well, I don't care if they do. I'm in government service; and if them
picket-halters was gone, slap down goes a dollar apiece. Money's scarce
in these diggin's, and I'm going to save all I kin to take home to the
old woman and boys."