AMONG THE NIQUIRANS AND APACHES
A somewhat adventurous career fell to the lot of the late Julius
Froebel, a nephew of the great Friedrich Froebel of "Kindergarten"
fame. Having devoted his early manhood to journalism and politics of a
very rabid and revolutionary character, he became the recognised
leader of the Dresden democratic party in 1848. After being arrested
in Austria and reprieved from a death-sentence, he fled to New York,
and was for some time the editor of a German paper published there.
Two years later he joined a party of traders who were sailing for
Central America, and with these he stayed for some months at Granada,
on Lake Nicaragua. Finding town life becoming tame to him, he one day
started off by himself to examine the more inland district, which was
then inhabited largely by Indian tribes. The project had been in his
mind for a long time, and what finally decided him was the accidental
meeting with a fellow countryman, who told him privately that gold had
just been found in large quantities at a village a little farther
west; so without a guide, without more than one day's provisions, and
with only a very scanty knowledge of Spanish to help him on his way,
he set off on his risky trip.
He travelled all that day, and met no one after he had left the
outskirts of the town; and that night, with his saddle for a pillow,
he slept very comfortably under a tree. On the next day, he continued
his way till an easy ride of about twelve miles, across a pathless
plain, brought him suddenly on the heels of a travelling party of
fifty Indians,--men, women, and children--all of them chatting freely
and jubilantly, and riding as though bent upon some definite errand.
They saluted him cheerily and he asked, in his broken Spanish, how far
he was from the next village.
"It is over there; not far; not very far." He looked where they were
pointing and saw that smoke was rising thinly from beyond a clump of
trees. "Keep with us, Senor, and we will show you the way," added the
man, who seemed to be the chief or leader.
But this village proved to be a great deal farther than it looked;
riding among the trees and thick undergrowth was slow and weary work,
and, even in this damp, shaded spot, the heat was now becoming almost
unendurable. The Indians themselves were losing their energy and
talkativeness; and many of them were beginning to lag behind or fall
asleep in their saddles, when the chief cried out that they would halt
at the little stream which was already in sight.
Froebel, more than willing, dismounted with the rest, and, tethering
his horse to a tree, sought a comfortable resting-place for himself.
Hunger and fatigue not infrequently go hand in hand, and the sight of
the Indian women collecting sticks to feed the fires which they had
speedily made reminded the traveller not only that it was some hours
since he had breakfasted, but that, beyond a flask of brandy and
water, all his provisions were exhausted. He watched wistfully the
Indians' preparations. What were they going to eat?
Two women near him were untying their bundles, and now produced
therefrom a number of small drinking-gourds, nets of eggs, bunches of
plantains, with oranges or other fruit, which Froebel eyed hungrily.
Then, to his great relief, he saw that he was to be regarded as one of
the family; for two young Indians, sons of the chief, at once helped
him generously to the fruit, and explained that the great cooking-pots
that hung over one or other of the fires would soon be filled with
eggs, of which he would be expected to eat his share.
When the eggs were "done," the water used for boiling them, instead of
being thrown away, was economically employed for cocoa-making;
irregular, greasy-looking blocks of sweetened chocolate being thrown
into the pot, which a woman stirred with a stick till it was a thick,
boiling paste; and into this each person dipped his or her gourd.
The meal being ended, the men lay and smoked long cheroots, and
recommenced their light-hearted gabble of the morning. Froebel
intimated that he was willing to pay for his meal, but the Indians
stoutly refused his offer of money, and with such an air of gentle
reproach that he began to feel as small as though he had asked for a
bill after dining at a friend's table. Something of the dignity of
manner of their Spanish conquerors seemed to have descended to these
Indians; though they were far from holding themselves aloof from their
guest, or from making any secret of their own affairs, not one of them
ventured to ask the German a single question as to his coming or his
going. They told him that they were Niquirans--a wandering, gypsy-like
tribe of the Nahuatlan stock; and that, as they had heard of the
discovery of a gold-mine at the village which they were approaching,
where everyone might go and help himself, they thought--being in the
neighbourhood--they might as well bring away a few sackfuls of the
metal.
The journalist pricked up his ears. El Dorado, Tom Tiddler's Ground,
was not a fable after all, then?
"Are there any white men there?" he asked.
The chief of the Niquirans smiled. He was a great deal too polite to
say that, had there been, the gold would not be there long, but that
was what his smile seemed to imply.
"We have heard of none as yet, Senor; but we did not know of the gold
till this morning. The village, as you perceive, is quite away from
any main road, and ordinarily there is nothing to bring white men in
this direction."
When all had rested sufficiently, the journey was resumed, and a
short ride brought them into the village, which was as deserted as
"sweet Auburn" itself. Not so much as a dog was in evidence; but
the murmur of voices in the little valley beyond was a sufficient
guide to the quarter where the inhabitants had collected. Very
soon the gold-seekers came upon these, three or four hundred of
them, encamped between a stream and a small bluff; and, round
this, horses, mules, ox-waggons, and tents were drawn up in the form
of a crescent.
No sooner did the new-comers show their faces than the villagers, who
seemed to have been taking their siesta, rose up and armed themselves
with stones or sticks, and some few even with bows and spears.
The Niquirans drew up hesitatingly, and Froebel, dismounting,
approached the threatening crowd with every sign of friendliness. He
asked to see the chief, and, on being taken before him, demanded to
know the cause of such a hostile reception.
"We have found a gold-mine here," said the chief, "and our people at
first mistook your party for unfriendly Indians who might have come to
drive us away from it." He went on to say, with delightful frankness,
that the villagers intended removing as much of the gold as possible,
and that, as soon as their own claims were satisfied, anyone would be
welcome to what remained.
"But _will_ there be any remaining?" asked Froebel, with an
incredulous smile. "There are many of my people who would gladly give
you money and cattle in exchange for your gold. You had better show me
your mine."
The chief eyed him with some amount of suspicion, discussed the matter
with one or two cronies for a few minutes, and at last invited the
stranger to "come and see." Following his conductors through the line
of vehicles, animals, and babies that marked off the precious spot,
Froebel came to the bluff-face, at which one or two of the more
zealous Indians were now beginning work again. He had been prepared
to see nothing but quartz, or possibly a few grains of the metal
mingled with sand; therefore he was fain to stand still and rub his
eyes when he beheld a broad golden stratum in the cliff on which the
sunrays flashed as on a looking-glass. It was a sight that would have
made the least covetous of mortals gasp.
The chief pointed proudly to a row of bushel-baskets, piled to the
brim with the glittering substance, and intimated that, since the
white stranger's intentions were peaceable, he was at liberty to fill
his pockets.
There are some white men who, when they have an unpalatable truth to
disclose, do not trouble to choose a tasteful or tactful or kind
method of performing the task; and it is to be feared that Herr
Froebel was one of these. He knew little about metallurgy, but one
glance at the shining lump that he took from the nearest basket told
him that the "gold" was pyrites, worth perhaps twopence a cart-load.
To the amazement of the Indians he flung it contemptuously away.
"That's no gold; it's rubbish; worth nothing," he blurted out.
_Not gold?_ But not an Indian believed him; not one of them could see
anything but jealousy or intentional insult in this frank piece of
information; and the chief and his followers turned threateningly upon
him. One and another took up the cry, and Froebel, who had left his
only pistol in his holster, fancied that he saw death staring him in
the face; for the excitement that he had created in the little
community could not be quelled by a man who only knew about a
thousand words of the language. He dodged between two mules and into
the open; but the crowd of loiterers there had already invented
another version of his crime; he was running off with their gold!
There was nothing for it but pure and undisguised flight, and he set
off as fast as his legs could carry him to the spot where the
Niquirans were awaiting him. Sticks, stones, and mud whizzed about his
head, and he could hear swift feet pursuing him.
Luckily, it was a time of day when no Indian, however fleet of foot,
will run very far or fast; his pursuers turned out to be only some
mischievous boys who were not going to throw away an opportunity of
pelting a fugitive; and, at sight of the grim-looking Niquiran
horsemen, who began to move a step or two forward, even these returned
to their camp. Mounting his horse again, Froebel looked back and saw
that the villagers were making ready to repel any advance of the
strangers; they were again collecting their weapons and shouting
defiance at the Niquirans. Doubtless these would have had a very easy
victory; for they were better armed and infinitely finer men, in the
habit of fighting at a moment's notice; while the simple villagers had
had no quarrel with their neighbours for a quarter of a century.
"There is nothing to fight about; it was all my fault," said Froebel;
and he hastily explained the whole matter.
His companions laughed, and turned their horses' heads; they were
happy-go-lucky, hand-to-mouth folk, to whom the disappointment was far
less bitter than to the German; and they rode away cheerily enough,
leaving the gold-diggers to bask in their happy ignorance.
As he had nothing better to do, Froebel threw in his lot with the
wanderers, and, in this manner, spent many happy months in seeing the
country. But, to a man of his restless disposition, even this roving
life became wearisome; he returned to Granada and there fell in again
with two of the Yankee traders with whom he had arrived. For the next
year or so he travelled with them, visiting almost every town in
Central America; and at last decided to return with them to the States
by way of Mexico.
Mexico, as will be seen in a later chapter, was in a state of great
unrest at this time (1853); and, in the wilder parts, it was unsafe
for white men to travel without escort; but, as troops of soldiers
were often scouring the country, the three strangers relied on being
able to travel with one or other of these. They had a pleasant ride
through Guatemala, visited the wonderful ruins at Uxmal in Yucatan:
ruins nearly a thousand years old, that tell practically all that can
be told of the civilisation of the ancient Mexicans; and at length
entered upon the longer and more perilous portion of their trip.
But fortune was more favourable to them than to the generality of
Mexican travellers in those days; for they covered the long journey,
of over a thousand miles, from the frontier to Chihuahua in North
Mexico, without a single misadventure. While in this city, Froebel
discovered, first that he was leading too uneventful a life for his
constitution, and secondly, that his purse was now empty, for while
his companions had been ants, he had been a cricket. It happened that
the Mexican Commander-in-Chief, General Trias, was going north to put
down a rising, and Froebel obtained from him the post of temporary
transport-agent; he was to follow the troops with ten waggons and a
hundred mules, and assist generally in the commissariat.
Every day, from the time of starting, horrible reports of atrocities
committed by the Apache Indians reached him. In one place, fourteen
women and children had been slaughtered; in another, a flock of sheep
had been stolen and the shepherds killed; while in a third, the
prairie had been deliberately set on fire at a time when the wind
could not fail to carry the flames to a cluster of huts, many of whose
occupants were burned to death. Yet the soldiers could not so much as
get a sight of the culprits, who, on their fleet horses, made nothing
of covering fifty miles in a few hours.
But one night, when Froebel and his muleteers were encamped some few
hundred yards behind the main body, a volley of musketry sounded close
at hand; and an attendant, who was in the act of handing the transport
agent his supper, fell dead. The muleteers snatched up brands from the
fire for torches, and, gun in hand, ran in search of the enemy.
"Shoot; shoot," cried Froebel, himself setting the example by firing
at a group of shadowy figures that were already on the move. But it
was too late; the Indians could be heard scampering away across the
prairie. The agent dared not take his men in pursuit, leaving the
mules unguarded; but he rode across to the cavalry tents where
General Trias and twenty men, who had heard the firing, were already
in the saddle.
"Fall in with us, then, as you know the direction in which they went,"
said Trias hurriedly; and away they all galloped.
Far away across the plain they could hear the regular beat of the
fleeing horses' hoofs. Without stopping, Trias gave the command to
fire; the twenty carbines went off like one, and, from the sudden wild
screaming ahead of them, Froebel knew that some of the bullets had hit
their random mark. This was confirmed in a minute or so when, in the
clouded and uncertain light of the moon, he caught sight of three
Indians and a horse lying on the ground as the troop swept past.
"There they are; load again," shouted Trias; and all could see the
feather head-dresses of the Apaches waving in the breeze, still within
gunshot. But the next volley took no apparent effect, the shapes were
growing dimmer again, and the sounds less distinct.
"On; on; we must have them," shouted the General; and, as the horses
were tolerably fresh, the task was still not hopeless.
"Hark! They have reached the road," cried one of the soldiers, who was
perfectly familiar with the neighbourhood. This was the high road to
the Texan frontier, in places a mere sand-strip bordered on either
side by forests, in others a smooth, well-beaten track bisecting a
vast prairie. The news was the reverse of good, for now the Apaches
might at any moment separate, and disappear among the trees. The
forest part of the road wound very considerably, so that the pursuers
would no longer be able to profit by the light of the already setting
moon.
Half an hour went by; an hour; and still the Mexicans rode on, now
certain that they heard the Indians' horses, now equally certain that
all of them had dispersed over the prairie or in the woods. But all of
a sudden a faint scream sounded along the road, together with the
undeniable tramp of horses. The scream came nearer, and the soldiers
spurred their breathless chargers round the bend of the road.
"There are lights," shouted Froebel.
"Yes; carriage-lamps; they have stopped the mail-coach," roared Trias.
"Keep it up, my men; we must have them now."
"Why, they are running to meet us," said Froebel; "they must have been
reinforced."
The lights were certainly coming nearer, and, with them, a body of
horsemen; and now the soldiers could hear the quick popping of
pistol-shots. Then all at once a loud shout arose from where the
lights were, the sound of wheels came nearer and nearer, but the
accompanying horsemen were obviously riding now in the other
direction.
"Are you the soldiers?" shouted a chorus of voices from the coach as
it came up.
"Yes."
"You can catch them yet; they tried to stop us and rob us; and would
have done, but for hearing you."
The troop did not draw bridle, but wheeled away on to the prairie in
pursuit of half a dozen moving figures on whom they were easily
gaining. A minute later a voice in front cried: "All right; we'll
give in. Don't fire."
"Why, those are not Indians," said Trias in astonishment.
Nor were they; they were six Mexican brigands who had been pursuing
the mail; the Apaches were probably safe long ago, in one of their
forest camps. The highwaymen were soon seized and bound, and as it was
ultimately discovered that they were some of the revolutionaries for
whom Trias was on the look-out, the night-ride was not altogether a
wild-goose chase.