unusual precautions were taken to guard against discovery or
ambuscade, and to hurry along the pack-mules. Parties of Apache
scouts were thrown out to the front, flanks, and rear to note
carefully every track in the ground. A few were detailed to stay
with the pack-mules and guide them over the best line of country.
Ax-men were sent ahead on the trail to chop out trees and remove
rocks or other obstructions. Then began a climb which reflected the
experience of the previous two days; if at all different, it was
much worse. Upon the crest of the first high ridge were seen forty
abandoned _jacales_ or lodges of branches; after that, another
dismantled village of thirty more, and then, in every protected
nook, one, two, or three, as might be. Fearful as this trail was the
Chiricahuas had forced over it a band of cattle and ponies, whose
footprints had been fully outlined in the mud, just hardened into
clay.
After two miles of a very hard climb we slid down the almost
perpendicular face of a high bluff of slippery clay and loose shale
into an open space dotted with Chiricahua huts, where, on a grassy
space, the young savages had been playing their favorite game of
mushka, or lance-billiards.
Two white-tailed deer ran straight into the long file of scouts
streaming down hill; a shower of rocks and stones greeted them, and
there was much suppressed merriment, but not the least bit of noisy
laughter, the orders being to avoid any cause of alarm to the enemy.
A fearful chute led from this point down into the gloomy chasm along
which trickled the head-waters of the Bávispe, gathering in basins
and pools clear as mirrors of crystal. A tiny cascade babbled over a
ledge of limestone and filled at the bottom a dark-green reservoir of
unknown depth. There was no longer any excitement about Chiricahua
signs; rather, wonder when none were to be seen.
The ashes of extinct fires, the straw of unused beds, the skeleton
frame-work of dismantled huts, the play-grounds and dance-grounds,
mescal-pits and acorn-meal mills were visible at every turn. The
Chiricahuas must have felt perfectly secure amid these towering
pinnacles of rock in these profound chasms, by these bottomless
pools of water, and in the depths of this forest primeval. Here no
human foe could hope to conquer them. Notwithstanding this security
of position, “Peaches” asserted that the Chiricahuas never relaxed
vigilance. No fires were allowed at night, and all cooking was done
at midday. Sentinels lurked in every crag, and bands of bold raiders
kept the foot-hills thoroughly explored. Crossing Bávispe, the trail
zigzagged up the vertical slope of a promontory nearly a thousand
feet above the level of the water. Perspiration streamed from every
brow, and mules and horses panted, sweated, and coughed; but Up! Up!
Up! was the watchword.
Look out! came the warning cry from those in the lead, and then
those in the rear and bottom dodged nervously from the trajectory
of rocks dislodged from the parent mass, and, gathering momentum as
each bound hurled them closer to the bottom of the cañon. To look
upon the country was a grand sensation; to travel in it, infernal.
Away down at the foot of the mountains the pack-mules could be
discerned--apparently not much bigger than jack-rabbits,--struggling
and panting up the long, tortuous grade. And yet, up and down these
ridges the Apache scouts, when the idea seized them, ran like deer.
One of them gave a low cry, half whisper, half whistle. Instantly all
were on the alert, and by some indefinable means, the news flashed
through the column that two Chiricahuas had been sighted a short
distance ahead in a side cañon. Before I could write this down the
scouts had stripped to the buff, placed their clothing in the rocks,
and dispatched ten or twelve of their number in swift pursuit.
This proved to be a false alarm, for in an hour they returned, having
caught up with the supposed Chiricahuas, who were a couple of our own
packers, off the trail, looking for stray mules.
When camp was made that afternoon the Apache scouts had a long
conference with General Crook. They called attention to the fact that
the pack-trains could not keep up with them, that five mules had been
killed on the trail yesterday, and five others had rolled off this
morning, but been rescued with slight injuries. They proposed that
the pack-trains and white troops remain in camp at this point, and
in future move so as to be a day’s march or less behind the Apache
scouts, 150 of whom, under Crawford, Gatewood, and Mackey, with Al.
Zeiber and the other white guides, would move out well in advance to
examine the country thoroughly in front.
If they came upon scattered parties of the hostiles they would
attack boldly, kill as many as they could, and take the rest back,
prisoners, to San Carlos. Should the Chiricahuas be intrenched in a
strong position, they would engage them, but do nothing rash, until
reinforced by the rest of the command. General Crook told them they
must be careful not to kill women or children, and that all who
surrendered should be taken back to the reservation and made to work
for their own living like white people.
Animation and bustle prevailed everywhere; small fires were burning
in secluded nooks, and upon the bright embers the scouts baked
quantities of bread to be carried with them. Some ground coffee on
flat stones; others examined their weapons critically and cleaned
their cartridges. Those whose moccasins needed repair sewed and
patched them, while the more cleanly and more religious indulged in
the sweat-bath, which has a semi-sacred character on such occasions.
A strong detachment of packers, soldiers, and Apaches climbed the
mountains to the south, and reached the locality in the foot-hills
where the Mexicans and Chiricahuas had recently had an engagement.
Judging by signs it would appear conclusive that the Indians had
enticed the Mexicans into an ambuscade, killed a number with bullets
and rocks, and put the rest to ignominious flight. The “medicine-men”
had another song and pow-wow after dark. Before they adjourned it
was announced that in two days, counting from the morrow, the scouts
would find the Chiricahuas, and in three days kill a “heap.”
On May 11, 1883 (Friday), one hundred and fifty Apache scouts, under
the officers above named, with Zeiber, “Mickey Free,” Severiano,
Archie McIntosh, and Sam Bowman, started from camp, on foot, at
daybreak. Each carried on his person four days’ rations, a canteen,
100 rounds of ammunition, and a blanket. Those who were to remain in
camp picketed the three high peaks overlooking it, and from which
half a dozen Chiricahuas could offer serious annoyance. Most of those
not on guard went down to the water, bathed, and washed clothes. The
severe climbing up and down rough mountains, slipping, falling, and
rolling in dust and clay, had blackened most of us like negroes.
Chiricahua ponies had been picked up in numbers, four coming down the
mountains of their own accord, to join our herds; and altogether,
twenty were by this date in camp. The suggestions of the locality
were rather peaceful in type; lovely blue humming-birds flitted from
bush to bush, and two Apache doll-babies lay upon the ground.
Just as the sun was sinking behind the hills in the west, a runner
came back with a note from Crawford, saying there was a fine camping
place twelve or fifteen miles across the mountains to the south-east,
with plenty of wood, water, and grass.
For the ensuing three days the white soldiers and pack-trains
cautiously followed in the footsteps of Crawford and the scouts,
keeping a sufficient interval between the two bodies to insure
thorough investigation of the rough country in front. The trail
did not improve very much, although after the summit of a high,
grassy plateau had been gained, there was easy traveling for
several leagues. Pine-trees of majestic proportions covered the
mountain-tops, and there was the usual thickness of scrub-oak on
the lower elevations. By the side of the trail, either thrown away
or else _cachéd_ in the trees, were quantities of goods left by the
Chiricahuas--calico, clothing, buckskin, horse-hides, beef-hides,
dried meat, and things of that nature. The nights were very cool,
the days bright and warm. The Bávispe and its tributaries were
a succession of deep tanks of glassy, pure water, in which all
our people bathed on every opportunity. The scouts escorting the
pack-trains gathered in another score of stray ponies and mules,
and were encouraged by another note sent back by Crawford, saying
that he had passed the site of a Chiricahua village of ninety-eight
_wickyups_ (huts), that the enemy had a great drove of horses and
cattle, and that the presence of Americans or Apache scouts in the
country was yet undreamed of.
Additional rations were pushed ahead to Crawford and his command,
the pack-trains in rear taking their own time to march. There was
an abundance of wood in the forest, grass grew in sufficiency,
and the Bávispe yielded water enough for a great army. The stream
was so clear that it was a pleasure to count the pebbles at the
bottom and to watch the graceful fishes swimming within the shadow
of moss-grown rocks. The current was so deep that, sinking slowly,
with uplifted arms, one was not always able to touch bottom with the
toes, and so wide that twenty good, nervous strokes barely sufficed
to propel the swimmer from shore to shore. The water was soft, cool,
and refreshing, and a plunge beneath its ripples smoothed away the
wrinkles of care.
On May 15, 1883, we climbed and marched ten or twelve miles to
the south-east, crossing a piece of country recently burned over,
the air, filled with soot and hot dust, blackening and blistering
our faces. Many more old ruins were passed and scores of walls of
masonry. The trail was slightly improved, but still bad enough;
the soil, a half-disintegrated, reddish feldspar, with thin seams
of quartz crystals. There were also granite, sandstone, shale,
quartzite, and round masses of basalt. In the bottoms of the cañons
were all kinds of “float”--granite, basalt, sandstone, porphyry,
schist, limestone, etc.; but no matter what the kind of rock was,
when struck upon the hill-sides it was almost invariably split and
broken, and grievously retarded the advance.
III.
About noon of the 15th we had descended into a small box cañon, where
we were met by two white men (packers) and nine Apache scouts.
They had come back from Crawford with news for which all were
prepared. The enemy was close in our front, and fighting might
begin at any moment. The scouts in advance had picked up numbers of
ponies, mules, burros, and cattle. This conversation was broken by
the sudden arrival of an Apache runner, who had come six miles over
the mountains in less than an hour. He reached us at 1.05, and handed
General Crook a note, dated 12.15, stating that the advance-guard had
run across the Chiricahuas this morning in a cañon, and had become
much excited. Two Chiricahuas were fired at, two bucks and a squaw,
by scouts, which action had alarmed the hostiles, and their camp was
on the move. Crawford would pursue with all possible rapidity. At
the same moment reports of distant musketry-firing were borne across
the hills. Crawford was fighting the Chiricahuas! There could be no
doubt about that; but exactly how many he had found, and what luck
he was having, no one could tell. General Crook ordered Chaffee to
mount his men, and everybody to be in readiness to move forward to
Crawford’s support, if necessary. The firing continued for a time,
and then grew feeble and died away.
All were anxious for a fight which should bring this Chiricahua
trouble to an end; we had an abundance of ammunition and a
sufficiency of rations for a pursuit of several days and nights, the
moon being at its full.
Shortly after dark Crawford and his command came into camp. They
had “jumped” “Bonito’s” and “Chato’s” _rancherías_, killing nine
and capturing five--two boys, two girls, and one young woman, the
daughter of “Bonito,” without loss to our side. From the dead
Chiricahuas had been taken four nickel-plated, breech-loading
Winchester repeating rifles, and one Colt’s revolver, new model.
The Chiricahuas had been pursued across a fearfully broken country,
gashed with countless ravines, and shrouded with a heavy growth of
pine and scrub-oak. How many had been killed and wounded could never
be definitely known, the meagre official report, submitted by Captain
Crawford, being of necessity confined to figures known to be exact.
Although the impetuosity of the younger scouts had precipitated the
engagement and somewhat impaired its effect, yet this little skirmish
demonstrated two things to the hostile Chiricahuas; their old friends
and relatives from the San Carlos had invaded their strongholds as
the allies of the white men, and could be depended upon to fight,
whether backed up by white soldiers or not. The scouts next destroyed
the village, consisting of thirty _wickyups_, disposed in two
clusters, and carried off all the animals, loading down forty-seven
of them with plunder. This included the traditional riffraff of
an Indian village: saddles, bridles, meat, mescal, blankets, and
clothing, with occasional prizes of much greater value, originally
stolen by the Chiricahuas in raids upon Mexicans or Americans. There
were several gold and silver watches, a couple of albums, and a
considerable sum of money--Mexican and American coin and paper. The
captives behaved with great coolness and self-possession, considering
their tender years. The eldest said that her people had been
astounded and dismayed when they saw the long line of Apache scouts
rushing in upon them; they would be still more disconcerted when
they learned that our guide was “Peaches,” as familiar as themselves
with every nook in strongholds so long regarded as inaccessible.
Nearly all the Chiricahua warriors were absent raiding in Sonora and
Chihuahua. This young squaw was positive that the Chiricahuas would
give up without further fighting, since the Americans had secured all
the advantages of position. “Loco” and “Chihuahua,” she knew, would
be glad to live peaceably upon the reservation, if justly treated;
“Hieronymo” and “Chato” she wasn’t sure about. “Ju” was defiant, but
none of his bands were left alive. Most important information of all,
she said that in the _ranchería_ just destroyed was a little white
boy about six years old, called “Charlie,” captured by “Chato”
in his recent raid in Arizona. This boy had run away with the old
squaws when the advance of the Apache scouts had been first detected.
She said that if allowed to go out she would in less than two days
bring in the whole band, and Charlie (McComas) with them. All that
night the lofty peak, the scene of the action, blazed with fire from
the burning _ranchería_. Rain-clouds gathered in the sky, and, after
hours of threatening, broke into a severe but brief shower about
sunrise next morning (May 15).
[Illustration: APACHE GIRL WITH TYPICAL DRESS.]
The young woman was given a little hard bread and meat, enough to
last two days, and allowed to go off, taking with her the elder of
the boy captives. The others stayed with us and were kindly treated.
They were given all the baked mescal they could eat and a sufficiency
of bread and meat. The eldest busied herself with basting a skirt,
but, like another Penelope, as fast as her work was done she ripped
it up and began anew--apparently afraid that idleness would entail
punishment. The younger girl sobbed convulsively, but her little
brother, a handsome brat, gazed stolidly at the world through eyes
as big as oysters and as black as jet.
Later in the morning, after the fitful showers had turned into a
blinding, soaking rain, the Apache scouts made for these young
captives a little shelter of branches and a bed of boughs and dry
grass. Pickets were thrown out to watch the country on all sides
and seize upon any stray Chiricahua coming unsuspectingly within
their reach. The rain continued with exasperating persistency all
day. The night cleared off bitter cold and water froze in pails and
kettles. The command moved out from this place, going to another and
better location a few miles south-east. The first lofty ridge had
been scaled, when we descried on the summit of a prominent knoll
directly in our front a thin curl of smoke wreathing upwards. This
was immediately answered by the scouts, who heaped up pine-cones
and cedar branches, which, in a second after ignition, shot a bold,
black, resinous signal above the tops of the loftiest pines.
Five miles up and down mountains of no great height but of great
asperity led to a fine camping-place, at the junction of two
well-watered cañons, near which grew pine, oak, and cedar in plenty,
and an abundance of rich, juicy grasses. The Apache scouts sent up
a second smoke signal, promptly responded to from a neighboring
butte. A couple of minutes after two squaws were seen threading
their way down through the timber and rocks and yelling with full
voice. They were the sisters of Tô-klani (Plenty Water), one of the
scouts. They said that they had lost heavily in the fight, and that
while endeavoring to escape over the rocks and ravines and through
the timber the fire of the scouts had played havoc among them.
They fully confirmed all that the captives had said about Charlie
McComas. Two hours had scarcely passed when six other women had come
in, approaching the pickets two and two, and waving white rags.
One of these, the sister of “Chihuahua”--a prominent man among the
Chiricahuas--said that her brother wanted to come in, and was trying
to gather up his band, which had scattered like sheep after the
fight; he might be looked for in our camp at any moment.
On the 18th (May, 1883), before 8.30 A.M., six new arrivals were
reported--four squaws, one buck and a boy. Close upon their heels
followed sixteen others--men, women, and young children. In this
band was “Chihuahua” himself, a fine-looking man, whose countenance
betokened great decision and courage.
This chief expressed to General Crook his earnest desire for peace,
and acknowledged that all the Chiricahuas could hope to do in the
future would be to prolong the contest a few weeks and defer their
destruction. He was tired of fighting. His village had been destroyed
and all his property was in our hands. He wished to surrender his
band just as soon as he could gather it together. “Hieronymo,”
“Chato,” and nearly all the warriors were absent, fighting the
Mexicans, but he (“Chihuahua”) had sent runners out to gather up his
band and tell his people they must surrender, without reference to
what the others did.
Before night forty-five Chiricahuas had come in--men, women, and
children. “Chihuahua” asked permission to go out with two young men
and hurry his people in. This was granted. He promised to return
without any delay. The women of the Chiricahuas showed the wear and
tear of a rugged mountain life, and the anxieties and disquietudes
of a rugged Ishmaelitish war. The children were models of grace and
beauty, which revealed themselves through dirt and rags.
On May 19, 1883, camp was moved five of six miles to a position
giving the usual abundance of water and rather better grass. It
was a small park in the centre of a thick growth of young pines.
Upon unsaddling, the Chiricahuas were counted, and found to number
seventy, which total before noon had swollen to an even hundred, not
including “Chihuahua” and those gone back with him.
The Chiricahuas were reserved, but good-humored. Several of them
spoke Spanish fluently. Rations were issued in small quantity,
ponies being killed for meat. Two or three of the Indians bore fresh
bullet-wounds from the late fight. On the succeeding evening, May
20, 1883, the Chiricahuas were again numbered at breakfast. They had
increased to 121--sixty being women and girls, the remainder, old
men, young men, and boys.
All said that “Chihuahua” and his comrades were hard at work
gathering the tribe together and sending them in.
Toward eight o’clock a fearful hubbub was heard in the tall cliffs
overlooking camp; Indians fully armed could be descried running about
from crag to crag, evidently much perplexed and uncertain what to do.
They began to interchange cries with those in our midst, and, after
a brief interval, a couple of old squaws ventured down the face of
the precipice, followed at irregular distances by warriors, who hid
themselves in the rocks half-way down.
They asked whether they were to be hurt if they came in.
One of the scouts and one of the Chiricahuas went out to them to
say that it made no difference whether they came in or not; that
“Chihuahua” and all his people had surrendered, and that if these
new arrivals came in during the day they should not be harmed; that
until “Chihuahua” and the last of his band had had a chance to come
in and bring Charlie McComas hostilities should be suspended. The
Chiricahuas were still fearful of treachery and hung like hawks or
vultures to the protecting shadows of inaccessible pinnacles one
thousand feet above our position. Gradually their fears wore off, and
in parties of two and three, by various trails, they made their way
to General Crook’s fire. They were a band of thirty-six warriors,
led by “Hieronymo,” who had just returned from a bloody foray in
Chihuahua. “Hieronymo” expressed a desire to have a talk; but General
Crook declined to have anything to do with him or his party beyond
saying that they had now an opportunity to see for themselves that
their own people were against them; that we had penetrated to places
vaunted as impregnable; that the Mexicans were coming in from all
sides; and that “Hieronymo” could make up his mind for peace or war
just as he chose.
This reply disconcerted “Hieronymo;” he waited for an hour, to resume
the conversation, but received no encouragement. He and his warriors
were certainly as fine-looking a lot of pirates as ever cut a throat
or scuttled a ship; not one among them who was not able to travel
forty to fifty miles a day over these gloomy precipices and along
these gloomy cañons. In muscular development, lung and heart power,
they were, without exception, the finest body of human beings I had
ever looked upon. Each was armed with a breech-loading Winchester;
most had nickel-plated revolvers of the latest pattern, and a few had
also bows and lances. They soon began to talk with the Apache scouts,
who improved the occasion to inform them that not only had they come
down with General Crook, but that from both Sonora and Chihuahua
Mexican soldiers might be looked for in swarms.
“Hieronymo” was much humbled by this, and went a second time to
General Crook to have a talk. He assured him that he had always
wanted to be at peace, but that he had been as much sinned against as
sinning; that he had been ill-treated at the San Carlos and driven
away; that the Mexicans had been most treacherous in their dealings
with his people, and that he couldn’t believe a word they said. They
had made war upon his women and children, but had run like coyotes
from his soldiers. He had been trying to open communications with
the Mexican generals in Chihuahua to arrange for an exchange of
prisoners. If General Crook would let him go back to San Carlos,
and guarantee him just treatment, he would gladly work for his own
living, and follow the path of peace. He simply asked for a trial; if
he could not make peace, he and his men would die in these mountains,
fighting to the last. He was not a bit afraid of Mexicans alone; but
he could not hope to prolong a contest with Mexicans and Americans
united, in these ranges, and with so many Apache allies assisting
them. General Crook said but little; it amounted to this: that
“Hieronymo” could make up his mind as to what he wanted, peace or war.