which we took meals was composed equally of Americans and Mexicans.
So, when the cook spread his canvas on the ground, one heard
such expressions as _Tantito’ zucarito quiero_; _Sirve pasar el
járabe_; _Pase rebanada de pan_; _Otra gotita mas de café_, quite
as frequently as their English equivalents, “I’d like a little more
sugar,” “Please pass the sirup,” “Hand me a slice of bread,” “A
little drop of coffee.” Close by, the scouts consumed their meals,
and with more silence, yet not so silently but that their calls for
_inchi_ (salt), _ikôn_ (flour), _pezá-a_ (frying-pan), and other
articles, could be plainly heard.
Martin, the cook, deserves some notice. He was not, as he himself
admitted, a French cook by profession. His early life had been passed
in the more romantic occupation of driving an ore-wagon between
Willcox and Globe, and, to quote his own proud boast, he could “hold
down a sixteen-mule team with any outfit this side the Rio Grande.”
But what he lacked in culinary knowledge he more than made up in
strength and agility. He was not less than six feet two in his socks,
and built like a young Hercules. He was gentle-natured, too, and
averse to fighting. Such, at least, was the opinion I gathered from
a remark he made the first evening I was thrown into his society.
His eyes somehow were fixed on mine, while he said quietly, “If
there’s anybody here don’t like the grub, I’ll kick a lung out of
him!” I was just about suggesting that a couple of pounds less
saleratus in the bread and a couple of gallons less water in the
coffee would be grateful to my Sybarite palate; but, after this
conversation, I reflected that the fewer remarks I made the better
would be the chances of my enjoying the rest of the trip; so I said
nothing. Martin, I believe, is now in Chihuahua, and I assert from
the depths of an outraged stomach, that a better man or a worse cook
never thumped a mule or turned a flapjack.
The march was continued down the San Bernardino until we reached its
important affluent, the Bávispe, up which we made our way until the
first signs of habitancy were encountered in the squalid villages of
Bávispe, Basaraca, and Huachinera.
The whole country was a desert. On each hand were the ruins of
depopulated and abandoned hamlets, destroyed by the Apaches. The
bottom-lands of the San Bernardino, once smiling with crops of
wheat and barley, were now covered with a thickly-matted jungle
of semi-tropical vegetation. The river banks were choked by dense
brakes of cane of great size and thickness. The narrow valley was
hemmed in by rugged and forbidding mountains, gashed and slashed
with a thousand ravines, to cross which exhausted both strength
and patience. The foot-hills were covered with _chevaux de frise_
of Spanish bayonet, mescal, and cactus. The lignum-vitæ flaunted
its plumage of crimson flowers, much like the fuchsia, but growing
in clusters. The grease-wood, ordinarily so homely, here assumed a
garniture of creamy blossoms, rivaling the gaudy dahlia-like cups
upon the nopal, and putting to shame the modest tendrils pendent from
the branches of the mesquite.
The sun glared down pitilessly, wearing out the poor mules, which
had as much as they could do to scramble over the steep hills,
composed of a nondescript accumulation of lava, sandstone, porphyry,
and limestone, half-rounded by the action of water, and so loosely
held together as to slip apart and roll away the instant the feet of
animals or men touched them.
When they were not slipping over loose stones or climbing rugged
hills, they were breaking their way through jungles of thorny
vegetation, which tore their quivering flesh. One of the mules,
falling from the rocks, impaled itself upon a mesquite branch, and
had to be killed.
Through all this the Apache scouts trudged without a complaint,
and with many a laugh and jest. Each time camp was reached they
showed themselves masters of the situation. They would gather the
saponaceous roots of the yucca and Spanish bayonet, to make use of
them in cleaning their long, black hair, or cut sections of the
bamboo-like cane and make pipes for smoking, or four-holed flutes,
which emitted a weird, Chinese sort of music, responded to with
melodious chatter by countless birds perched in the shady seclusion
of ash and cotton-wood.
Those scouts who were not on watch gave themselves up to the luxury
of the tá-a-chi, or sweat-bath. To construct these baths, a dozen
willow or cotton-wood branches are stuck in the ground and the upper
extremities, united to form a dome-shaped frame-work, upon which are
laid blankets to prevent the escape of heat. Three or four large
rocks are heated and placed in the centre, the Indians arranging
themselves around these rocks and bending over them. Silicious
bowlders are invariably selected, and not calcareous--the Apaches
being sufficiently familiar with rudimentary mineralogy to know that
the latter will frequently crack and explode under intense heat.
When it came to my time to enter the sweat-lodge I could see nothing
but a network of arms and legs, packed like sardines. An extended
experience with Broadway omnibuses assured me that there must always
be room for one more. The smile of the “medicine-man”--the master of
ceremonies--encouraged me to push in first an arm, then a leg, and,
finally, my whole body.
Thump! sounded the damp blanket as it fell against the frame-work and
shut out all light and air. The conductor of affairs inside threw a
handful of water on the hot rocks, and steam, on the instant, filled
every crevice of the den. The heat was that of a bake-oven; breathing
was well-nigh impossible.
“Sing,” said in English the Apache boy, “Keet,” whose legs and arms
were sinuously intertwined with mine; “sing heap; sleep moocho
to-night; eat plenny dinna to-mollo.” The other bathers said that
everybody must sing. I had to yield. My _repertoire_ consists of
but one song--the lovely ditty--“Our captain’s name is Murphy.” I
gave them this with all the lung-power I had left, and was heartily
encored; but I was too much exhausted to respond, and rushed out,
dripping with perspiration, to plunge with my dusky comrades into the
refreshing waters of the Bávispe, which had worn out for themselves
tanks three to twenty feet deep. The effects of the bath were all
that the Apaches had predicted--a sound, refreshing sleep and
increased appetite.
[Illustration: APACHE HEAD-DRESSES, SHOES, TOYS, ETC.]
The farther we got into Mexico the greater the desolation. The valley
of the Bávispe, like that of the San Bernardino, had once been
thickly populated; now all was wild and gloomy. Foot-prints indeed
were plenty, but they were the fresh moccasin-tracks of Chiricahuas,
who apparently roamed with immunity over all this solitude. There
were signs, too, of Mexican “travel;” but in every case these were
“_conductas_” of pack-mules, guarded by companies of soldiers.
Rattlesnakes were encountered with greater frequency both in camp
and on the march. When found in camp the Apaches, from superstitious
reasons, refrained from killing them, but let the white men do it.
The vegetation remained much the same as that of Southern Arizona,
only denser and larger. The cactus began to bear odorous flowers--a
species of night-blooming cereus--and parrots of gaudy plumage
flitted about camp, to the great joy of the scouts, who, catching
two or three, tore the feathers from their bodies and tied them in
their inky locks. Queenly humming-birds of sapphire hue darted from
bush to bush and tree to tree. Every one felt that we were advancing
into more torrid regions. However, by this time faces and hands
were finely tanned and blistered, and the fervor of the sun was
disregarded. The nights remained cool and refreshing throughout the
trip, and, after the daily march or climb, soothed to the calmest
rest.
On the 5th of May the column reached the feeble, broken-down towns
of Bávispe and Basaraca. The condition of the inhabitants was
deplorable. Superstition, illiteracy, and bad government had done
their worst, and, even had not the Chiricahuas kept them in mortal
terror, it is doubtful whether they would have had energy enough to
profit by the natural advantages, mineral and agricultural, of their
immediate vicinity. The land appeared to be fertile and was well
watered. Horses, cattle, and chickens throve; the cereals yielded
an abundant return; and scarlet blossoms blushed in the waxy-green
foliage of the pomegranate.
Every man, woman, and child had gathered in the streets or squatted
on the flat roofs of the adobe houses to welcome our approach with
cordial acclamations. They looked like a grand national convention
of scarecrows and rag-pickers, their garments old and dingy, but no
man so poor that he didn’t own a gorgeous sombrero, with a snake-band
of silver, or display a flaming sash of cheap red silk and wool.
Those who had them displayed rainbow-hued _serapes_ flung over the
shoulders; those who had none went in their shirt-sleeves.
The children were bright, dirty, and pretty; the women so closely
enveloped in their _rebozos_ that only one eye could be seen. They
greeted our people with warmth, and offered to go with us to the
mountains. With the volubility of parrots they began to describe
a most blood-thirsty fight recently had with the Chiricahuas, in
which, of course, the Apaches had been completely and ignominiously
routed, each Mexican having performed prodigies of valor on a par
with those of Ajax. But at the same time they wouldn’t go alone
into their fields,--only a quarter of a mile off,--which were
constantly patrolled by a detachment of twenty-five or thirty men of
what was grandiloquently styled the National Guard. “Peaches,” the
guide, smiled quietly, but said nothing, when told of this latest
annihilation of the Chiricahuas. General Crook, without a moment’s
hesitancy, determined to keep on the trail farther into the Sierra
Madre.
The food of these wretched Mexicans was mainly _atole_,--a weak
flour-gruel resembling the paste used by our paper-hangers. Books
they had none, and newspapers had not yet been heard of. Their only
recreation was in religious festivals, occurring with commendable
frequency. The churches themselves were in the last stages of
dilapidation; the adobe exteriors showed dangerous indications of
approaching dissolution, while the tawdry ornaments of the inside
were foul and black with age, smoke, dust, and rain.
I asked a small, open-mouthed boy to hold my horse for a moment until
I had examined one of these edifices, which bore the elaborate title
of the Temple of the Holy Sepulchre and our Lady of the Trance. This
action evoked a eulogy from one of the bystanders: “This man can’t be
an American, he must be a Christian,” he sagely remarked; “he speaks
Castilian, and goes to church the first thing.”
It goes without saying that they have no mails in that country.
What they call the post-office of Basaraca is in the store of the
town. The store had no goods for sale, and the post-office had no
stamps. The postmaster didn’t know when the mail would go; it used
to go every eight days, but now--_quien sabe?_ Yes, he would send
our letters the first opportunity. The price? Oh! the price?--did
the _caballeros_ want to know how much? Well, for Mexican people, he
charged five cents, but the Americans would have to pay _dos reales_
(twenty-five cents) for each letter.
The only supplies for sale in Basaraca were fiery mescal, chile, and
a few eggs, eagerly snapped up by the advance-guard. In making these
purchases we had to enter different houses, which vied with each
other in penury and destitution. There were no chairs, no tables,
none of the comforts which the humblest laborers in our favored land
demand as right and essential. The inmates in every instance received
us urbanely and kindly. The women, who were uncovered inside their
domiciles, were greatly superior in good looks and good breeding to
their husbands and brothers; but the latter never neglected to employ
all the punctilious expressions of Spanish politeness.
That evening the round-stomached old man, whom, in ignorance of
the correct title, we all agreed to call the Alcalde, paid a
complimentary visit to General Crook, and with polite flourishes bade
him welcome to the soil of Mexico informed him that he had received
orders to render the expedition every assistance in his power, and
offered to accompany it at the head of every man and boy in the
vicinity. General Crook felt compelled to decline the assistance of
these valiant auxiliaries, but asked permission to buy four beeves
to feed to the Apache scouts, who did not relish bacon or other salt
meat.
Bivouac was made that night on the banks of the Bávispe, under
the bluff upon which perched the town of Basaraca. Numbers of
visitors--men and boys--flocked in to see us, bringing bread and
tobacco for barter and sale. In their turn a large body of our people
went up to the town and indulged in the unexpected luxury of a ball.
This was so entirely original in all its features that a mention of
it is admissible.
Bells were ringing a loud peal, announcing that the morrow would be
Sunday, when a prolonged thumping of drums signaled that the _Baile_
was about to begin.
Wending our way to the corner whence the noise proceeded, we found
that a half-dozen of the packers had bought out the whole stock of
the _tienda_, which dealt only in _mescal_, paying therefor the
princely sum of $12.50.
Invitations had been extended to all the adult inhabitants to
take part in the festivities. For some reason all the ladies sent
regrets by the messenger; but of men there was no lack, the packers
having taken the precaution to send out a patrol to scour the
streets, “collar” and “run in” every male biped found outside his
own threshold. These captives were first made to drink a tumbler
of _mescal_ to the health of the two great nations, Mexico and the
United States,--and then were formed into quadrille sets, moving in
unison with the orchestra of five pieces,--two drums, two squeaky
fiddles, and an accordion.
None of the performers understood a note of music. When a new
piece was demanded, the tune had to be whistled in the ears of
the bass-drummer, who thumped it off on his instrument, followed
energetically by his enthusiastic assistants.
This orchestra was augmented in a few moments by the addition of a
young boy with a sax-horn. He couldn’t play, and the horn had lost
its several keys, but he added to the noise and was welcomed with
screams of applause. It was essentially a _stag_ party, but a very
funny one. The new player was doing some good work when a couple of
dancers whirled into him, knocking him clear off his pins and astride
of the bass-drum and drummer.
Confusion reigned only a moment; good order was soon restored, and
the dance would have been resumed with increased jollity had not the
head of the bass-drum been helplessly battered.
Midnight had long since been passed, and there was nothing to be done
but break up the party and return to camp.
From Basaraca to Tesorababi--over twenty miles--the line of march
followed a country almost exactly like that before described. The
little hamlets of Estancia and Huachinera were perhaps a trifle
more squalid than Bávispe or Basaraca, and their churches more
dilapidated; but in that of Huachinera were two or three unusually
good oil-paintings, brought from Spain a long time ago. Age, dust,
weather, and candle-grease had almost ruined, but had not fully
obliterated, the touch of the master-hand which had made them.
Tesorababi must have been, a couple of generations since, a very
noble ranch. It has plenty of water, great groves of oak and
mesquite, with sycamore and cotton-wood growing near the water, and
very nutritious grass upon the neighboring hills. The buildings have
fallen into ruin, nothing being now visible but the stout walls of
stone and adobe. Mesquite trees of noble size choke up the corral,
and everything proclaims with mute eloquence the supremacy of the
Apache.
Alongside of this ranch are the ruins of an ancient pueblo, with
quantities of broken pottery, stone mortars, Obsidian flakes and
kindred _reliquiæ_.
To Tesorababi the column was accompanied by a small party of guides
sent out by the Alcalde of Basaraca. General Crook ordered them back,
as they were not of the slightest use so long as we had such a force
of Apache scouts.
We kept in camp at Tesorababi until the night of May 7, and then
marched straight for the Sierra Madre. The foot-hills were thickly
covered with rich _grama_ and darkened by groves of scrub-oak. Soon
the oak gave way to cedar in great abundance, and the hills and
ridges became steeper as we struck the trail lately made by the
Chiricahuas driving off cattle from Sahuaripa and Oposura. We were
fairly within the range, and had made good progress, when the scouts
halted and began to explain to General Crook that nothing but bad
luck could be expected if he didn’t set free an owl which one of our
party had caught, and tied to the pommel of his saddle.
They said the owl (Bû) was a bird of ill-omen, and that we could
not hope to whip the Chiricahuas so long as we retained it. These
solicitations bore good fruit. The moon-eyed bird of night was set
free and the advance resumed. Shortly before midnight camp was made
in a very deep cañon, thickly wooded, and having a small stream a
thousand feet below our position. No fires were allowed, and some
confusion prevailed among the pack-mules, which could not find their
places.
Very early the next morning (May 8, 1883) the command moved in
easterly direction up the cañon. This was extremely rocky and steep.
Water stood in pools everywhere, and animals and men slaked their
fierce thirst. Indications of Chiricahua depredations multiplied. The
trail was fresh and well-beaten, as if by scores--yes, hundreds--of
stolen ponies and cattle.
The carcasses of five freshly slaughtered beeves lay in one spot;
close to them a couple more, and so on.
The path wound up the face of the mountain, and became so precipitous
that were a horse to slip his footing he would roll and fall hundreds
of feet to the bottom. At one of the abrupt turns could be seen, deep
down in the cañon, the mangled fragments of a steer which had fallen
from the trail, and been dashed to pieces on the rocks below. It will
save much repetition to say, at this point, that from now on we were
never out of sight of ponies and cattle, butchered, in every stage of
mutilation, or alive, and roaming by twos and threes in the ravines
and on the mountain flanks.
Climb! Climb! Climb! Gaining the summit of one ridge only to
learn that above it towered another, the face of nature fearfully
corrugated into a perplexing alternation of ridges and chasms. Not
far out from the last bivouac was passed the spot where a large
body of Mexican troops had camped, the farthest point of their
penetration into the range, although their scouts had been pushed in
some distance farther, only to be badly whipped by the Chiricahuas,
who sent them flying back, utterly demoralized.
These particulars may now be remarked of that country: It seemed
to consist of a series of parallel and very high, knife-edged
hills,--extremely rocky and bold; the cañons all contained water,
either flowing rapidly, or else in tanks of great depth. Dense
pine forests covered the ridges near the crests, the lower skirts
being matted with scrub-oak. Grass was generally plentiful, but not
invariably to be depended upon. Trails ran in every direction, and
upon them were picked up all sorts of odds and ends plundered from
the Mexicans,--dresses, made and unmade, saddles, bridles, letters,
flour, onions, and other stuff. In every sheltered spot could be
discerned the ruins,--buildings, walls, and dams, erected by an
extinct race, once possessing this region.
The pack-trains had much difficulty in getting along. Six mules
slipped from the trail, and rolled over and over until they
struck the bottom of the cañon. Fortunately they had selected a
comparatively easy grade, and none was badly hurt.
The scouts became more and more vigilant and the “medicine-men”
more and more devotional. When camp was made the high peaks were
immediately picketed, and all the approaches carefully examined.
Fires were allowed only in rare cases, and in positions affording
absolute concealment. Before going to bed the scouts were careful
to fortify themselves in such a manner that surprise was simply
impossible.
Late at night (May 8th) the “medicine-men” gathered together for the
never-to-be-neglected duty of singing and “seeing” the Chiricahuas.
After some palaver I succeeded in obtaining the privilege of sitting
in the circle with them. All but one chanted in a low, melancholy
tone, half song and half grunt. The solitary exception lay as if in a
trance for a few moments, and then, half opening his lips, began to
thump himself violently in the breast, and to point to the east and
north, while he muttered: “Me can’t see the Chilicahuas yet. Bimeby
me see ’um. Me catch ’um, me kill ’um. Me no catch ’um, me no kill
’um. Mebbe so six day me catch ’um; mebbe so two day. Tomollow me
send twenty-pibe (25) men to hunt ’um tlail. Mebbe so tomollow catch
’um squaw. Chilicahua see me, me no get ’um. No see me, me catch him.
Me see him little bit now. Mebbe so me see ’um more tomollow. Me
catch ’um, me kill ’um. Me catch ’um hoss, me catch ’um mool (mule),
me catch ’um cow. Me catch Chilicahua pooty soon, bimeby. Me kill
’um heap, and catch ’um squaw.” These prophecies, translated for me
by an old friend in the circle who spoke some English, were listened
to with rapt attention and reverence by the awe-struck scouts on the
exterior.
The succeeding day brought increased trouble and danger. The
mountains became, if anything, steeper; the trails, if anything, more
perilous. Carcasses of mules, ponies, and cows lined the path along
which we toiled, dragging after us worn-out horses.
It was not yet noon when the final ridge of the day was crossed and
the trail turned down a narrow, gloomy, and rocky gorge, which
gradually widened into a small amphitheatre.
This, the guide said, was the stronghold occupied by the Chiricahuas
while he was with them; but no one was there now. For all purposes
of defense, it was admirably situated. Water flowed in a cool,
sparkling stream through the middle of the amphitheatre. Pine, oak,
and cedar in abundance and of good size clung to the steep flanks
of the ridges, in whose crevices grew much grass. The country, for
a considerable distance, could be watched from the pinnacles upon
which the savage pickets had been posted, while their huts had been
so scattered and concealed in the different brakes that the capture
or destruction of the entire band could never have been effected.
The Chiricahuas had evidently lived in this place a considerable
time. The heads and bones of cows and ponies were scattered about
on all sides. Meat must have been their principal food, since we
discovered scarcely any mescal or other vegetables. At one point the
scouts indicated where a mother had been cutting a child’s hair; at
another, where a band of youngsters had been enjoying themselves
sliding down rocks.
Here were picked up the implements used by a young Chiricahua
assuming the duties of manhood. Like all other Indians they make vows
and pilgrimages to secluded spots, during which periods they will not
put their lips to water, but suck up all they need through a quill or
cane. Hair-brushes of grass, bows and arrows, and a Winchester rifle
had likewise been left behind by the late occupants.
The pack-trains experienced much difficulty in keeping the trail
this morning (May 9). Five mules fell over the precipice and killed
themselves, three breaking their necks and two having to be shot.
[Illustration: APACHE WEAPONS AND EQUIPMENTS.]