In 1861 John Lemon, a gentleman of about my own age, resided with his
wife and children at La Mesilla, N. M., fifty miles north of El Paso. I
was not then acquainted with Mr. Lemon, but soon after my escape to Fort
Craig from the Confederates at Fort Bliss in 1861, and after the
Confederates had taken possession of La Mesilla, Lemon and one Jacob
Applezoller and a Kentuckian named Critendon Marshall, were arrested and
placed in the guard house as “Union men.” One midnight these three were
taken from the guard house by the guard and a party of citizens to a
bosque and Marshall was hung by the neck until he was dead. Applezoller
was also suspended by a rope, but for some reason was cut down before
death ensued, and I believe is still living in New Mexico. Lemon and
Applezoller were taken back to the guard house and some time later Lemon
made his escape and joined the Union people at Fort Craig, as I had done
a few weeks earlier. There we two refugees met for the first time, and
there commenced an intimate friendship which continued to the time of
his death by assassination, which occurred at La Mesilla about ten years
later. After the Confederates were driven from the frontier Mr. Lemon
returned to his home, where he acquired wealth and popularity, being
repeatedly elected County Judge. One night in 1865 an express came to my
house at El Paso with a note from Lemon requesting me to come
immediately to La Mesilla, but without intimating why. I went at once,
and Lemon explained that he had been slandered by Col. Samuel J. Jones
(a neighbor) and that he was determined to make Jones retract or kill
him. I called on Jones as Lemon’s friend, and he referred me to a young
frontier lawyer then almost unknown but who has since become very
wealthy and very prominent in the politics of the nation, attaining the
very highest offices excepting only those of President and Vice
President.
This gentleman acted as Jones’ friend, and it was due to his fairness
and firmness that Jones signed a retraction and a fight was avoided. I
am proud to say that this friend of Jones’ became my friend, and remains
so to this day. This was Stephen B. Elkins. Of all the men of the
frontier with whom I have been associated I liked John Lemon best, and I
think him the most admirable character of them all. He possessed all the
best qualities of the frontiersman with none of their vices. He was
_with_ us, but not _of_ us. He was strictly temperate, perfect in habits
and morals, and yet a genial, sympathetic companion and faithful friend,
and behind a manner almost as modest and quiet as a Quaker’s there
rested a personal courage and resolution equal to that of Andrew
Jackson. In 1870 Mr. Lemon’s party (the Republicans) had gained a county
election, and while he was going to join the procession which was
celebrating he was struck in the head with a bludgeon from behind and
died a few days later.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
“BOB” CRANDALL AS A DAMPHOOL.
While I was collector of customs at El Paso a good friend of mine,
Captain Crandall, had been honorably discharged from the Union army and
had located at Tucson.
Crandall came to El Paso and stopped at my house and informed me that
his father had died in Indiana and that he (“Bob”) was en route there to
get his portion of the estate, and he hoped to return pretty well fixed.
After several months Bob returned, and came to my house looking dejected
and rather seedy. He told me that others had administered on his
father’s estate before he arrived and had got away with it all and that
he was destitute.
I asked my friend what he proposed to do? He said he would work his way
back to Tucson and commence life anew. The next morning I asked him to
accompany me to my office, and as we walked I said: “Bob, as soon as we
get to the office I will write your appointment as deputy collector of
customs at Tucson at a salary of $1,800 a year, and I will advance you a
month’s salary.” My friend paused and when he spoke there were tears in
his _voice_. “Mills,” he said, “do you know that I am a Democrat?”
“Yes,” I replied, “but is that any reason why you should be a damphool?”
“Well,” replied the Captain, speaking slowly, “I don’t know that it is,
but sometimes it appears to me _that it amounts to about the same
thing_.” He got the appointment and years later died at Tucson. I told
this story to a mixed audience in a political speech at the Court House
in El Paso, and feel sure that it did not offend even the most
enthusiastic Democrat.
------------------------------------------------------------------------