In 1855, When I arrived in Washington as an amateur delegate from the
new Territory, the "Gadsden Purchase" did not attract much attention.
They had something else to do. President Pierce, the most affable of
Presidents, was very polite, and asked many questions about the new
acquisition. The Secretary of War, Jefferson Davis, promised to order an
exploration of the Colorado River as soon as he could get an
appropriation, and to send troops to the new Territory as soon as they
could be spared.
During the winter General Heintzelman came to Washington, and as the
town was crowded, and he could not find suitable accommodations, I had
an extra bed put in my room at the National, and we messed together. It
was an advantage to have an officer of the Army who had been in command
at Yuma to give information about the country, and the association thus
formed lasted through life.
There was not much to be done in Washington, so I went over to New York,
the seat of "The Texas Pacific Railroad Company." This company had been
organized under a munificent land grant from the State of Texas. The
capital stock was a hundred million dollars. The scheme was to build a
railroad from the Mississippi River to the Pacific Ocean on the proceeds
of land grants and bonds, and make the hundred millions of dollars stock
as profit, less one tenth of one per cent to be paid in for expenses and
promotion money. The President of this company was Robert J. Walker,
Secretary of the Treasury under President Polk; Vice-President, Thomas
Butler King, of Georgia, late Collector of the Port in San Francisco, my
recent superior; Secretary, Samuel Jaudon, late Cashier of the United
States Bank. Mr. Walker, the President of the Company, received me at
dinner at his mansion on Fifth Avenue, and my acquaintance with Thomas
Butler King was renewed over sparkling vintages.
This company had parcelled the world out among its officers. Robert J.
Walker was to have the financial field of Europe. Samuel Jaudon, the
secretary, was to display his financial ability in New York and the
Atlantic cities. Edgar Conkling, of Cincinnati, was agent for the
Mississippi Valley. Thomas Butler King was allotted the State of Texas,
and I, being the junior, was to have the country between the Rio Grande
and the Colorado.
I told them all I knew about the Territory,--and a great deal more,--and
enlarged upon the advantages that would accrue to the railroad company
by an exploration of the new Territory and a development of its mineral
resources. They inquired how much it would cost to make the exploration.
I replied that I would start with a hundred thousand dollars if there
was a million behind it.
A company was organized with a capital of two million dollars, and
shares sold at an average of fifty dollars. General Heintzelman was
appointed president, and I was appointed "manager and commandant." The
office was located in Cincinnati, for the convenience of General
Heintzelman, who was stationed at Newport Barracks, Ky. William
Wrightson was appointed secretary.
As soon as the necessary arrangements were made I started west on this
arduous undertaking. The arms and equipments had been shipped to San
Antonio, Texas, and I proceeded there to complete the outfit.
San Antonio was the best outfitting place in the Southwest at that time.
Wagons, ambulances, mules, horses, and provisions were abundant, and men
could be found in Texas willing to go anywhere.
At San Antonio I met the famous George Wilkins Kendall, who advised me
to go to New Bramfels, where I could find some educated German miners,
and as he was going to Austin I accompanied him as far as New Bramfels,
and received the benefit of his introduction. There were plenty of
educated German miners about New Bramfels, working on farms and selling
lager beer, and they enlisted joyfully. The rest of the company was made
up of frontiersmen (buckskin boys), who were not afraid of the devil.
We pulled out of San Antonio, Texas, on the first day of May, 1856, and
took the road to El Paso, or Paso del Norte, on the Rio Grande, 762
miles by the itinerary. The plains of Texas were covered with verdure
and flowers, and the mocking birds made the night march a serenade.
I carried recommendations from the War Department to the military
officers of the frontiers for assistance, if necessary. The first
military post on the road was Fort Clark (El Moro), and a beautiful
location. The post was at that time under the command of the famous John
Bankhead Magruder, whom I had known in California.
Magruder had recently returned from Europe, bringing two French cooks;
and as he was a notorious bon vivant, it was not disagreeable to accept
an invitation to dinner.
After breakfast next morning I went to take my leave of the officers,
but Magruder said:--
"Sir, you cannot go. Consider yourself under arrest."
I replied, "General, I am not aware of having violated any of the
regulations of the Army."
"No, sir, but you are violating the rules of hospitality. You shall stay
here three days. Send your train on to the Pecos, and I will send an
escort with you to overtake it."
So I remained at Fort Clark three days in duress, and never had a
prisoner of war more hospitable entertainment. Texas overflows with
abundant provisions, if they only had French cooks.
After a toilsome and dangerous march through Lipans and Commanches we
arrived on the upper Rio Grande, at El Paso, in time to spend the Fourth
of July. El Paso at this time was enjoying an era of commercial
prosperity. The Mexican trade was good. Silver flowed in in a stream.
After recruiting at El Paso we moved up to the crossing of the Rio
Grande at Fort Thorn, and prepared to plunge into Apache land. Camping
the command on the green-fringed Mimbres I took five men, and with
Doctor Steck and his interpreter made a visit to the Apaches in their
stronghold at Santa Rita del Cobre.
There was an old triangular-shaped fort built by the Spaniards which
afforded shelter. There were about three hundred Apaches in
camp,--physically, fine looking fellows who seemed as happy as the day
was long. The agent distributed two wagon loads of corn, from which they
made "tiz-win," an intoxicating drink.
Their principal business, if they have any, is stealing stock in Mexico
and selling it on the Rio Grande. The mule trade was lively. They proved
themselves expert marksmen; but I noticed always cut the bullets out of
the trees, as they are economists in ammunition if nothing else.
Deer and turkeys were plentiful, and we feasted for several days in the
old triangular fort and under the trees. Doctor Steck told the Apaches
that I was "a mighty big man," and they must not steal any of my stock
nor kill any of my men.
The chiefs said they wanted to be friends with the Americans, and would
not molest us if we did not interfere with their "trade with Mexico."
On this basis we made a treaty and the Apaches kept it.
I had a lot of tin-types taken in New York, which I distributed freely
among the chiefs, so they might know me if we should meet again. Many
years afterwards an Apache girl told me they could have killed me often
from ambush, but they remembered the treaty and would not do it. I have
generally found the Indians willing to keep faith with the whites, if
the whites will keep faith with them.
After leaving the camp at the Mimbres, we crossed the Chiricahua
Mountains, and camped for noon on a little stream called the San Simon,
which empties into the Gila River. We had scarcely unlimbered when the
rear guard called out, "Apaches!" and about a hundred came thundering
down the western slope of the mountain, well mounted and well armed.
Their horsemanship was admirable, their horses in good condition, and
many of them caparisoned with silver-mounted saddles and bridles, the
spoil of Mexican foray.
A rope was quickly stretched across the road, the ammunition boxes got
out, and everything prepared for a fight. The chief was a fine-looking
man named Alessandro, and as a fight was the last thing we desired, a
parley was called when they reached the rope.
When asked what they wished, they said they wanted to come into camp and
trade; that they had captives, mules, mescal, and so on. We told them we
were not traders, and had nothing to sell. They were rather insolent at
this, and made some demonstrations against the rope. I told the
interpreter to say that I would shoot the first man that crossed the
rope, and they retired for consultations. Finally they thought better of
it, or did not like the looks of our rifles and pistols, and struck off
for their homes in the north.
I had a stalwart native of Bohemia in the company who was considered
very brave; but when the attack was imminent he was a little slow in
coming forward, and I cried out somewhat angrily, "Anton, why don't you
come out?"
He replied, "Wait till I light my pipe." And that Dutchman stalked out
with a rifle in his hand, two pistols on his sides, and a great German
pipe in his mouth.
The Apaches did not trouble us any more, and after crossing high
mountains and wide valleys we arrived on the Santa Cruz River, and
camped at the old Mission Church of San Xavier del Bac.
Three leagues north of the Mission Church of San Xavier del Bac (Bac
means water) is located the ancient and honorable pueblo of Tucson. This
is the most ancient pueblo in Arizona, and is first mentioned in Spanish
history in the narrative of Castaneda, in 1540. The Spanish expedition
of Coronado in search of gold stopped here awhile, and washed some gold
from the sands of the Cañon del Oro on sheep skins. It is well known
that that expedition drove sheep. The Spaniards, from this experience,
remembering the island of Colchis, named the place Tucson,--Jason in
Spanish. The "ancient and honorable pueblo" has borne this name ever
since, without profound knowledge of its origin.
The patron saint of Tucson is San Augustine, and as it was now the last
of August the fiesta in honor of her patron saint was being celebrated.
As we had a long march and a dry time, the animals were sent out to
graze in charge of the Papago Indians living around the Missions; two
weeks' furlough was given the men to attend the fiesta, confess their
sins, and get acquainted with the Mexican señoritas, who flocked there
in great numbers from the adjoining State of Sonora.
Music and revelry were continued day and night, with very few
interruptions by violence. The only disorder that I observed was caused
by a quarrel among some Americans, and the use of the infernal revolver.
There were not more than a dozen Americans in the pueblo of Tucson when
we arrived, and they were not Methodist preachers. The town has grown
with the country, and now contains a population of nearly ten thousand
people, of many shades of color and many nationalities.
The first question to be settled was the location of a headquarters for
the company. We had come a long way, at considerable risk and expense,
and fortunately without disaster. We were now encamped in view of the
scene of our future operations, and the exploration and settlement of a
territory of considerably over a hundred thousand square miles was
before us, and the destiny of a new State was in embryo. It would not be
prudent to expose the lives of the men and valuable property we had
hauled so far to the cupidity of the natives; and therefore a safe place
for storage and for defense was the first necessity in selecting a
headquarters. We had some hundred and fifty horses and mules, wagons,
ambulances, arms, provisions, merchandise, mining, material,--and
moreover, what we considered of inestimable value, the future,--in our
keeping, and a proper location was a grave consideration.
The Spaniards had located a presidio at the base of the Santa Rita
Mountains on the Santa Cruz River, a stream as large and as beautiful as
the Arno, flowing from the southeast, and watering opulent valleys which
had been formerly occupied and cultivated. The presidio was called
Tu-bac (the water). The Mexican troops had just evacuated the presidio
of Tubac, leaving the quarters in a fair state of preservation, minus
the doors and windows, which they hauled away.
The presidio of Tubac was about ten leagues south of the mission church
of San Xavier del Bac, on the Santa Cruz River, on the high road (camino
real) to Sonora and Mexico; consequently we struck camp at the Mission
San Xavier del Bac, and pulled out for the presidio of Tubac to
establish our headquarters and future home.
There was not a soul in the old presidio. It was like entering the ruins
of Pompeii. Nevertheless we set to work, cleaned out the quarters,
repaired the corrals, and prepared to make ourselves as comfortable as
possible.
The first necessity in a new settlement is lumber, and we dispatched
men to the adjacent mountains of Santa Rita to cut pine with whip-saws,
and soon had lumber for doors, windows, tables, chairs, bedsteads, and
the primitive furniture necessary for housekeeping. The quarters could
accommodate about three hundred men, and the corrals were ample for the
animals. The old quartel made a good storehouse, and the tower on the
north, of which three stories remained, was utilized as a lookout. The
beautiful Santa Cruz washed the eastern side of the presidio, and fuel
and grass were abundant in the valley and on the mountain sides. It was
not more than a hundred leagues to Guaymas, the seaport of the Gulf of
California, where European merchandise could be obtained. There were no
frontier custom houses at that time to vex and hinder commerce.
In the autumn of 1856 we had made the headquarters for the company at
Tubac comfortable, laid in a store of provisions for the winter, and
were ready to begin the exploration of the country for mines. When you
look at the Santa Rita Mountains from Tubac, it seems a formidable
undertaking to tunnel and honeycomb them for mines. Nevertheless, we
began to attack with stout hearts and strong arms, full of hope and
enthusiasm. The mines in the Santa Rita Mountains had been previously
worked by the Spaniards and Mexicans, as was evident by the ruins of
arrastres and smelters. Gold could be washed on the mountain sides, and
silver veins could be traced by the discolored grass.
As soon as it was known in Mexico that an American company had arrived
in Tubac, Mexicans from Sonora and the adjacent States came in great
numbers to work, and skillful miners could be employed at from fifteen
to twenty-five dollars a month and rations. Sonora furnished flour,
beef, beans, sugar, barley, corn, and vegetables, at moderate prices.
A few straggling Americans came along now and then on pretense of
seeking employment. When questioned on that delicate subject, they said
they would work for $10 a day and board; that they got that in
California, and would never work for less. After staying a few days at
the company's expense they would reluctantly move on, showing their
gratitude for hospitality by spreading the rumor that "the managers at
Tubac employed foreigners and greasers, and would not give a white man a
chance." They were generally worthless, dissipated, dangerous, low white
trash.
Many Mexicans that had been formerly soldiers at the presidio of Tubac
had little holdings of land in the valley, and returned to cultivate
their farms, in many cases accompanied by their families.
By Christmas, 1856, an informal census showed the presence of fully a
thousand souls (such as they were) in the valley of the Santa Cruz in
the vicinity of Tubac. We had no law but love, and no occupation but
labor. No government, no taxes, no public debt, no politics. It was a
community in a perfect state of nature. As "syndic" under New Mexico, I
opened a book of records, performed the marriage ceremony, baptized
children, and granted divorces.
Sonora has always been famous for the beauty and gracefulness of its
señoritas. The civil wars in Mexico, and the exodus of the male
population from Northern Mexico to California, had disturbed the
equilibrium of population, till in some pueblos the disproportion was as
great as a dozen females to one male; and in the genial climate of
Sonora this anomalous condition of society was unendurable. Consequently
the señoritas and grass widows sought the American camp on the Santa
Cruz River. When they could get transportation in wagons hauling
provisions they came in state,--others came on the hurricane deck of
burros, and many came on foot. All were provided for.
The Mexican señoritas really had a refining influence on the frontier
population. Many of them had been educated at convents, and all of them
were good Catholics. They called the American men "Los God-dammes," and
the American women "Las Camisas-Colorados." If there is anything that a
Mexican woman despises it is a red petticoat. They are exceedingly
dainty in their underclothing,--wear the finest linen they can afford;
and spend half their lives over the washing machine. The men of northern
Mexico are far inferior to the women in every respect.
This accretion of female population added very much to the charms of
frontier society. The Mexican women were not by any means useless
appendages in camp. They could keep house, cook some dainty dishes, wash
clothes, sew, dance, and sing,--moreover, they were expert at cards, and
divested many a miner of his week's wages over a game of monte.
As Alcalde of Tubac under the government of New Mexico, I was legally
authorized to celebrate the rites of matrimony, baptize children, grant
divorces, execute criminals, declare war, and perform all the functions
of the ancient El Cadi. The records of this primitive period are on file
in the Recorder's office of the Pueblo of Tucson, Pima County.
Tubac became a kind of Gretna Green for runaway couples from Sonora; as
the priest there charged them twenty-five dollars, and the Alcalde of
Tubac tied the knot gratis, and gave them a treat besides.
I had been marrying people and baptizing children at Tubac for a year or
two, and had a good many godchildren named Carlos or Carlotta according
to gender, and began to feel quite patriarchal, when Bishop Lame sent
down Father Mashboef, (Vicar Apostolic,) of New Mexico, to look after
the spiritual condition of the Arizona people.
It required all the sheets and tablecloths of the establishment to fix
up a confessional room, and we had to wait till noon for the blessing at
breakfast; but worse than all that, my commadres, who used to embrace me
with such affection, went away with their reybosas over their heads
without even a friendly salutation.
It was "muy triste" in Tubac, and I began to feel the effects of the ban
of the Church; when one day after breakfast Father Mashboef took me by
the arm, (a man always takes you by the arm when he has anything
unpleasant to say,) and said:--
"My young friend, I appreciate all you have been trying to do for these
people; but these marriages you have celebrated are not good in the eyes
of God."
I knew there would be a riot on the Santa Cruz if this ban could not be
lifted. The women were sulky, and the men commenced cursing and
swearing, and said they thought they were entitled to all the rights of
matrimony.
My strong defense was that I had not charged any of them anything, and
had given them a marriage certificate with a seal on it, made out of a
Mexican dollar; and had given a treat and fired off the anvil. Still,
although the Pope of Rome was beyond the jurisdiction of even the
Alcalde of Tubac, I could not see the way open for a restoration of
happiness.
At last I arranged with Father Mashboef to give the sanction of the
Church to the marriages and legitimize the little Carloses and Carlottas
with holy water, and it cost the company about $700 to rectify the
matrimonial situation in Santa Cruz.
An idea that it was lonesome at Tubac would be incorrect. One can never
be lonesome who is useful, and its was considered at the time that the
opening of mines which yielded nothing before, the cultivation of land
which lay fallow, the employment of labor which was idle, and the
development of a new country were meritorious undertakings.
The table at Tubac was generously supplied with the best the market
afforded, besides venison, antelope, turkeys, bear, quail, wild ducks,
and other game, and we obtained through Guaymas a reasonable supply of
French wines for Sunday dinners and the celebration of feast days.
It is astonishing how rapidly the development of mines increases
commerce. We had scarcely commenced to make silver bars--"current with
the merchant"--when the plaza at Tubac presented a picturesque scene of
primitive commerce. Pack trains arrived from Mexico, loaded with all
kinds of provisions. The rule was to purchase everything they brought,
whether we wanted it or not. They were quite willing to take in exchange
silver bars or American merchandise. Sometimes they preferred American
merchandise. Whether they paid duties in Mexico was none of our
business. We were essentially free traders.
The winter was mild and charming, very little snow, and only frost
enough to purify the atmosphere. It would be difficult to find in any
country of the world, so near the sea, such prolific valleys fenced in
by mountains teeming with minerals. The natural elements of prosperity
seem concentrated in profusion seldom found. In our primitive simplicity
we reasoned that if we could take ores from the mountains and reduce
them to gold and silver with which to pay for labor and purchase the
productions of the valleys, a community could be established in the
country independent of foreign resources. The result will show the
success or failure of this Utopian scheme.
The usual routine at Tubac, in addition to the regular business of
distributing supplies to the mining camps, was chocolate or strong
coffee the first thing in the morning, breakfast at sunrise, dinner at
noon, and supper at sunset.
Sunday was the day of days at Tubac, as the superintendents came in from
the mining camps to spend the day and take dinner, returning in the
afternoon. One Sunday we had a fat wild turkey weighing about
twenty-five pounds, and one of my engineers asked permission to assist
in the _cocina_. It was done to a charm, and stuffed with pine nuts,
which gave it a fine flavor.
As we had plenty of horses and saddles, a gallop to the old Mission of
San Jose de Turnucacori, one league south on the Santa Cruz River,
afforded exercise and diversion for the ladies, especially of a Sunday
afternoon. The old mission was rapidly going to ruin, but the records
showed that it formerly supported a population of 3,500 people, from
cultivation of the rich lands in the valley, grazing cattle, and working
the silver mines. The Santa Cruz valley had been and could apparently
again be made an earthly paradise. Many fruit trees yet remained in the
gardens of the old mission church, and the "Campo Santo" walls were in
a perfect state of preservation.
The communal system of the Latin races was well adapted to this country
of oases and detached valleys. Caesar knew nearly as much about the
governing machine as the sachem of Tammany Hall, or a governor in
Mexico. At least, he enriched himself. In countries requiring irrigation
the communal system of distributing water has been found to produce the
greatest good for the greatest number. The plan of a government granting
water to corporations, to be sold as a monopoly, is an atrocity against
nature; and no deserving people will for long submit to it. The question
will soon come up whether the government has any more right to sell the
water than the air.
In the spring of 1857, a garden containing about two acres was prepared
at Tubac, and irrigated by a canal from the Santa Cruz River. By the
industry of a German gardener with two Mexican assistants, we soon
produced all vegetables, melons, etc., that we required, and many a
weary traveler remembers, or ought to remember, the hospitalities of
Tubac. We were never a week without some company, and sometimes had more
than we required; but nobody was ever charged anything for
entertainment, horse-shoeing, and fresh supplies for the road.
Hospitality is a savage virtue, and disappears with civilization.
As the ores in the Santa Rita Mountains did not make a satisfactory
yield, we turned our explorations to the west of the Santa Cruz River,
and soon struck a vein of petanque (silver copper glance) that yielded
from the grass roots seven thousand dollars a ton. This mine was named
in honor of the president of the company, "Heintzelman," which in German
mining lore is also the name of the genius who presides over mines.
The silver bullion over expenses, which were about fifty per cent, was
shipped, via Guaymas, to San Francisco, where it brought from 125 to 132
cents per ounce for the Asiatic market.
Silver bars form rather an inconvenient currency, and necessity required
some more convenient medium. We therefore adopted the Mexican system of
"boletas." Engravings were made in New York, and paper money printed on
pasteboard about two inches by three in small denominations, twelve and
one half cents, twenty-five cents, fifty cents, one dollar, five
dollars, ten dollars. Each boleta had a picture, by which the illiterate
could ascertain its denomination, viz: twelve and a half cents, a pig;
twenty-five cents, a calf; fifty cents, a rooster; one dollar, a horse;
five dollars, a bull; ten dollars, a lion. With these "boletas" the
hands were paid off every Saturday, and they were currency at the
stores, and among the merchants of the country and in Mexico. When a run
of silver was made, anyone holding tickets could have them redeemed in
silver bars, or in exchange on San Francisco. This primitive system of
greenbacks worked very well,--everybody holding boletas was interested
in the success of the mines; and the whole community was dependent on
the prosperity of the company. They were all redeemed. Mines form the
bank of Nature, and industry puts the money in circulation, to the
benefit of mankind.
In the autumn of 1857 a detachment from the regiment of First Dragoons
arrived in the Santa Cruz Valley, for the purpose of establishing a
military post, and for the protection of the infant settlements. The
officers were Colonel Blake, Major Stein, and Captain Ewell. The first
military post was established at Calaveras, and the arrival of the
officers made quite an addition to the society on the Santa Cruz.
Incident to the arrival of the military on the Santa Cruz was a
citizens' train of wagons laden with supplies,--twelve wagons of twelve
mules each,--belonging to Santiago Hubbell, of New Mexico. While he was
encamped at Tubac I inquired the price of freight, and learned it was
fifteen cents a pound from Kansas City. I inquired what he would charge
to take back a freight of ores, and he agreed to haul them from the
Heintzelman mine to Kansas City and a steamboat for twelve and a half
cents a pound, and I loaded his wagons with ores in rawhide bags,--a ton
to the wagon. This was the first shipment of ores, and a pretty "long
haul."
Upon the arrival of these ores in the States they were distributed to
different cities for examination and assay, and gave the country its
first reputation as a producer of minerals. The average yield in silver
was not enormous, as the ores contained a great deal of copper, but the
silver yield was about fifteen hundred dollars to the ton.
In December, 1856, I purchased for the company the estate of "La
Aribac," or Arivaca, as it is called by Americans. This place is a
beautiful valley encompassed by mountains, and containing only a few
leagues of land. It was settled by Augustine Ortiz, a Spaniard, in 1802,
and title obtained from the Spanish government. The ownership and
occupation descended to his two sons, Tomas and Ignacio Ortiz, who
obtained additional title from the Mexican Republic in 1833, and
maintained continuous occupation until 1856, when they sold to the
company for a valuable consideration.
The validity of the title has been denied by the United States,
notwithstanding the obligations of the treaty, and is now pending before
the United States Land Court, with the prospect of an appeal to the
United States Supreme Court, with a fair prospect of the ultimate loss
of the property. The company conveyed the property with all mines and
claims in Arizona to the writer, on the 2nd January, 1870,--a woful
heritage.
In the early months of 1857, everything was going well in the Santa Cruz
valley. The mines were yielding silver bullion by the most primitive
methods of reduction. The farmers were planting with every prospect of a
good crop. Emigrants were coming into the country and taking up farms.
Merchants were busy in search of the Almighty Dollar or its
representative.
The only disturbing element in the vicinity was a little guerilla war,
going on in Sonora between two factions for the control of the State
government. Gaudara was the actual governor, and had been so for many
years, during which time he had accumulated a handsome fortune in lands,
mills, mines, merchandise, live stock, and fincas. He was a sedate and
dignified man, much respected by the natives, and especially polite and
hospitable to foreigners. Pesquiera was an educated savage, without
property or position, and naturally coveted his neighbor's goods.
Consequently a revolution was commenced to obtain control of the
governorship of the State; and just the same as when King David sought
refuge in the cave of Adullam, all who were in debt, all who were
refugees, all who were thieves, and all who were distressed, joined
Pesquiera to rob Guadara. This is all there was,--or ever is, to Mexican
revolutions.
On the discovery of gold in California, many Mexicans went from Sonora
to California and remained there. Among these was one Ainsa, of Manila
descent, married to a native of Sonora, who migrated to California with
a large family of girls and boys in 1850, and had a Bank and Mexican
Agency on the northwest corner of Clay and Montgomery streets, where
there was the usual sign,--
SE COMPRA ORO
Up Stairs
The girls of the Ainsa family grew to womanhood, and carried the beauty
and graces of Sonora to a good market. They all married Americans, and
married well.
As Helen of Sparta caused the Trojan War, and many eminent women have
caused many eminent wars, there was no reason why the Ainsa women should
not take part in the little revolution going on in their native State
(Sonora). Their husbands could then become eminent men, annex the State
of Sonora to the United States, and become governors and senators. It
was a laudable ambition on the part of the Ainsa women, and their
husbands were eminently deserving,--in fact, their husbands were already
the foremost men in California in political position. One of them had
been a prominent candidate for the United States Senate, and the others
had occupied high position in Federal and State service, and were highly
respected among their fellow citizens. In this state of affairs the
eldest brother,--Augustine, was despatched to Sonora to see what
arrangements could be made with Pesquiera if the Americans would come
from California and help him oust Gaudara.
Pesquiera was in desperate straits, and agreed to whatever was
necessary; the substance of which was that the Americans should come
with five hundred men, well armed, and assist him in ousting Guadara and
establishing himself as governor of Sonora. After that the Americans
could name whatever they wanted in money or political offices, even to
the annexation of the State, which was at that time semi-independent of
Mexico.
Augustine, the Envoy Extraordinary and Minister Plenipotentiary,
returned to California with the agreement in writing; and the Americans
immediately began to drum up for recruits; but the prosperity of
California was so great that but a few could be persuaded to leave a
certainty for an uncertainty. The Americans in California actually
started for Sonora with less than fifty men, with vague promises of
recruits by sea. The records of the ferryman on the Colorado River show
that they crossed the river with only forty-two men and a boy.
With this meager force these infatuated and misguided men pushed one
hundred and thirty-two miles across a barren desert to the boundary line
of Mexico at the Sonoita (Clover Creek), where there is a little stream
of water struggling for existence in the sands. At the Sonoita the
invaders were met by a proclamation from Pesquiera, forwarded through
Redondo, the Prefect of Altar, warning them not to enter the State of
Sonora. When men have resolved on destruction, reason is useless, and
they paid no attention to the order, and crossed the boundary line of
Mexico with arms and in hostile array. When they reached the vicinity of
Altar they diverged from the main road to the west, and took the road to
Caborca.
The only possible reason for this movement is that they may have
expected reinforcements by sea, as Caborca is the nearest settlement to
a little port called Libertad, where small ships could land. Be this as
it may, no reinforcements ever came: and this little handful of
Americans soon found themselves hemmed in at the little town of Caborca
without hope or succor. They were the very first gentlemen of the
States, mostly of good families, good education, and good prospects in
California. What inhuman demon ever induced them to place themselves in
such position, God only knows. Many of them left their wives and
families in California, and all of them had warm friends there.
Pesquiera issued a bloodthirsty proclamation, in the usual grandiloquent
language of Spain, calling all patriotic Mexicans to arms, to
exterminate the invaders and to preserve their homes. The roads fairly
swarmed with Mexicans. Those who had no guns carried lances, those who
had no horses went on foot. Caborca was soon surrounded by Mexicans, and
the forty-two Americans and one little boy took refuge in the church on
the east side of the plaza.
This proved only a temporary refuge. An Indian shot a lighted arrow into
the church and set it on fire. The Americans stacked arms and
surrendered. My God! had they lost their senses? These forty-two
American gentlemen, who had left their wives, children, and friends in
California a month or two before under a contract with Pesquiera were
butchered like hogs in the streets of Caborca, and neither God nor man
raised hand to stop the inhuman slaughter.
They had not come within two hundred miles of my place, and nobody could
have turned them from their purpose if they had. Many of them were old
friends and acquaintances in California, and their massacre cast a gloom
over the country.
There was only one redeeming act that ever came to my knowledge, and I
know it to be true. When Pesquiera's order to massacre the invaders were
read, Gabilonda, second in command, swore he would have nothing to do
with it, and mounting his horse swung the little boy Evans behind him
and galloped away to Altar. Gabilonda carried him to Guaymas, from where
he was afterwards sent to California.
It has been stated that the corpses were left in the streets for the
hogs to eat, but the cure of Caborca assured me that he had a trench dug
and gave them Christian interment. I never saw nor conversed with any of
the leaders, but a detachment came up the Gila River to Tucson and
Tubac, enlisting recruits, but could only raise twenty-five or thirty
men. The invasion was generally discouraged by the settlers on the Santa
Cruz. When they passed by Sopori on their way to join the main body, I
remember very well the advice of old Colonel Douglas, a veteran in
Mexican revolutions. He said,--
"Boys, unless you can carry men enough to whip both sides, never cross
the Mexican line."
I was at Arivaca when the Santa Cruz contingent returned, badly
demoralized, wounded, naked, and starving. The place was converted into
a hospital for their relief, with such accommodations as could be
afforded. Pesquiera was well aware of the adage that "dead men tell no
tales." Crabb was beheaded, and his head carried in triumph to
Pesquiera, preserved in a keg of Mescal, with the savage barbarity of
the days of Herod. The contracts which would have compromised Pesquiera
with the Mexican government were destroyed by fire. So ended the Crabb
Expedition, one of the most ill-fated and melancholy of any in the
bloody annals of Mexico.
The result of this expedition, commonly called "Crabb's," was that the
Mexican government laid an embargo upon all trade with this side of the
line, and business of all kinds was paralyzed.
Under these circumstances I crossed the desert on mule-back to Los
Angeles, with only one companion, and went to San Francisco to take a
rest.