Produced by Suzanne Shell, Sankar Viswanathan, and the
Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
[Illustration: "EVERY ONE HELD HIS RIFLE IN READINESS TO SHOOT THE
ESCAPING APACHES"]
CAPTURED
BY THE NAVAJOS
BY
CAPTAIN CHARLES A. CURTIS
U.S.A.
ILLUSTRATED
NEW YORK AND LONDON
HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS
Copyright, 1904, by HARPER & BROTHERS.
CONTENTS
CHAP.
I. INTRODUCES THE BOYS
II. ATTACKED BY NAVAJOS
III. WARLIKE PUEBLOS
IV. IN A NAVAJO TRAP
V. A SIEGE AND AN AMBUSCADE
VI. CROSSING THE RIVER
VII. A SWOLLEN STREAM AND STOLEN PONY
VIII. OVER THE DIVIDE--A CORPORAL MISSING
IX. THE RESCUING PARTY
X. THE CORPORALS ARE PROMOTED
XI. BOTH PONIES ARE STOLEN
XII. INDIANS ON THE WAR-PATH
XIII. THE BOY SERGEANTS DO GOOD SERVICE
XIV. ON THE DESERT WITHOUT WATER
XV. THE PONIES ARE FOUND
XVI. APACHES IN SKULL VALLEY
XVII. PURSUIT OF THE APACHES
XVIII. ON THE TRAIL OF THE APACHES
XIX. THE ATTACK ON THE APACHE CAMP
ILLUSTRATIONS
"EVERY ONE HELD HIS RIFLE IN READINESS TO
SHOOT THE ESCAPING APACHES" Frontispiece
"MOUNTED, THE BOYS PRESENTED A WARLIKE
APPEARANCE"
"CORPORAL HENRY ASKED CAPTAIN BAYARD TO
INQUIRE FOR MANUEL PEREA"
"'GOD HAS GIVEN ME AMONG MANY FRIENDS,
TWO THAT ARE SOMETHING MORE'"
CAPTURED BY THE NAVAJOS
I
INTRODUCES THE BOYS
It was late in the fall of the second year of the civil war that I
rejoined my company at Santa Fé, New Mexico, from detached service in
the Army of the Potomac. The boom of the sunrise gun awoke me on the
morning after my arrival, and I hastened to attend reveille roll-call.
As I descended the steps of the officers' quarters the men of the four
companies composing the garrison were forming into line before their
barracks. Details from the guard, which had just fired the gun and
hoisted the national colors, were returning to the guard-house, and
the officers were hastening to their places.
At the conclusion of the ceremony I turned again towards my quarters,
and noticed two handsome boys, evidently aged about fifteen and
thirteen, dressed in a modification of the infantry uniform of the
army, and wearing corporals' chevrons. They stood near the regimental
adjutant, and seemed to be reporting their presence to him.
At breakfast, the adjutant chancing to sit near me, I asked him who
the youthful soldiers were.
"They are the sons of Lieutenant-Colonel Burton, Corporals Frank and
Henry," he replied. "They hold honorary rank, and are attached to
head-quarters, acting as messengers and performing some light clerical
work."
"How do they happen to be in Santa Fé?"
"Mother recently died in the East, and the colonel had them sent here
in charge of a tutor who is to fit them for college, I believe."
Later, on the same day, being desirous of looking over this ancient
Indian and Mexican town, I was making a pedestrian tour of its
streets, and chanced to be opposite San Miguel School in the eastern
section during the pupils' recess. Half a dozen boys were engaged in
throwing the lasso over the posts of the enclosing fence, when
suddenly from a side street appeared the young corporals whom I had
seen at reveille.
The Mexican boys instantly greeted them with derisive shouts and
jeers. They called them little Gringos and other opprobrious names,
and one young Mexican threw the loop of his lasso over the smaller
corporal's head and jerked him off his feet. His companions laughed
loudly. The older corporal instantly pulled out his knife and cut the
rope. Then the two brothers stood shoulder to shoulder, facing the
crowd, quite ready to defend themselves. The young Mexicans,
gesticulating and shouting, crowded round the two brothers, and blows
appeared imminent.
"Muchachos," suddenly cried a ringing voice from the rear, in Spanish,
"are you not ashamed? A hundred against two!"
A handsome lad forced his way through the crowd, placed himself beside
the two corporals, and faced his young countrymen. Before the Mexicans
recovered from their surprise the bell of San Miguel summoned them to
school. They hurried away, leaving the two corporals with the young
Mexican who had come to their assistance.
"My name is Frank Burton," said the older corporal, extending his
hand to the Mexican, "and this is my brother, Henry."
The Mexican boy grasped the proffered hand, and said, "My name is
Manuel Perea, of Algodones."
"We are the sons of the commanding officer at the fort. Can't you come
and see us next holiday?"
"I should much like to; I will ask the fathers if I may."
"Come over, and we will try to make your visit pleasant."
"How well you speak Spanish! It will be a great pleasure to visit
American boys who can speak my language, for I know but few English
words."
"Next Saturday, then?"
"At ten o'clock, if the padres consent. Good-bye," and Manuel
disappeared into the school-room.
The following Saturday I saw the two corporals and their newly
acquired companion at the post and at dinner in the mess-room, and a
friendship was then formed which was to continue for many years.
One evening, nearly a month afterwards, I received an order to march
my company into the Jemez Mountains to co-operate with other detached
commands in a war being carried on against the Navajo Indians. Just as
I had laid aside the order after reading it, Colonel Burton entered,
and, taking a seat by my fireside, announced that he had been ordered
on detached service to northern Colorado, on a tour of inspection,
which would require him to be absent for a considerable period, and
that he had been thinking of allowing his sons to accompany me to my
camp at Los Valles Grandes.
"The hunting and fishing are fine in those valleys, and Frank and
Henry would enjoy life there very much," he said. "They have done so
well in their studies that they deserve a well-earned recreation."
"I should much like to have their company, sir," I replied, "but would
it not be exposing them to great danger from the Indians?"
"The officer whom you are to relieve has been in the valleys nearly a
year, and he reports that he has not seen a Navajo in all that time.
Of course, it may be your fortune to meet them, but I do not think
so. If you do, then the boys must give a good account of themselves.
In any engagement that involves the whole command they must not forget
they are the sons of a soldier. Still, I do not want them needlessly
exposed. You are quite sure it will give you no trouble to take them?"
"Few things could afford me greater pleasure on such isolated duty,
sir. They will be good company for me."
"Thank you for your kindness. The lads will report to you to-morrow
morning. I will see that they are properly fitted out, and will write
you now and then during my absence, and as soon as I return to Santa
Fé they can be sent back."
Colonel Burton then took his departure, and I turned to a local
history to learn from its pages something of the tribe with which I
might be brought in contact.
The home of the Navajos lay between the Rio Grande del Norte on the
east, the Rio Colorado on the west, the Rio San Juan on the north, and
the Rio Colorado Chiquito on the south, but from time immemorial they
had roamed a considerable distance beyond these borders.
They had always been known as a pastoral race, raising flocks and
herds, and tilling the soil. They owned, at the time we began war upon
them, sheep and ponies by the thousand, and raised large quantities of
corn, wheat, beans, and other products.
They numbered between twelve and fifteen thousand, and could put three
thousand mounted warriors in the field. They were industrious, the men
doing all the hard work instead of putting it upon the women, as do
the Indians of the plains and all of the marauding tribes. They
manufactured their wearing apparel, and made their own weapons, such
as bows, arrows, and lances. They wove beautiful blankets, often very
costly, and knit woollen stockings, and dressed in greater comfort
than did most other tribes. In addition to a somewhat brilliant
costume, they wore numerous strings of fine coral, shells, and many
ornaments of silver, and usually appeared in cool weather with a
handsome blanket thrown over the shoulders.
The Navajos and the New Mexicans were almost continually at war.
Expeditions were frequently fitted out in the border towns by the
class of New Mexicans who possessed no land or stock, for the sole
purpose of capturing the flocks and herds of the Navajos. The Indians
retaliated in kind, making raids upon the settlements and pasture
lands, and driving off sheep, horses, and cattle to the mountains.
Complaints were made by the property-holders, and war was declared
against the Indians.
The military department of New Mexico was in fine condition to carry
on a successful war. Besides our regiment of regular infantry, it had
two regiments of California volunteer infantry and one regiment each
of California and New Mexican cavalry.
The Navajo upon the war-path was terribly in earnest, and his methods
of waging war were like those of the redman everywhere. With the
knowledge that the American soldier was an ally of his old-time enemy,
and that the Mexican was wearing the uniform of the "Great Father," he
no longer hesitated to look upon us as his enemies also, and resolved
to combat us up to the very walls of our posts.
No road in the Territory was safe to the traveller; no train dared
move without an escort. Towns were raided, and women and children
carried into captivity. Frightful cases of mutilation and torture were
constantly occurring in the mountain fastnesses. Troops took the
field, and prosecuted with vigilance a war in which there was little
glory and plenty of suffering and hard service.
Every band of Indians captured was taken to the Bosque Rodondo, on the
Rio Pecos, where a large fort had been established. It was occupied by
a strong garrison of infantry and cavalry.
I had found social life in Santa Fé very pleasant during my brief stay
there, so I was not overjoyed when I received the order to march my
company to Los Valles Grandes, there to relieve the California company
already referred to. But the order being peremptory, we packed our
baggage during the first hours of the night, and were on the road soon
after daybreak.
It was the 3d of October when the boy corporals and myself, mounted on
sturdy Mexican ponies, rode out of Fort Marcy for our new station, one
hundred miles due west. The regimental band escorted the company
through the plaza and for a mile on our way, playing, after
immemorial custom, "The Girl I Left Behind Me," and adding, I thought
with a vein of irony, "Ain't Ye Glad You've Got Out th' Wilderness?"
On the morning of the 8th, after four days of gradual and constant
ascent from the valley of the Rio Grande, which we had forded at San
Ildefonso, we began the slower ascent of the most difficult portion of
our march.
The woods were full of wild turkeys and mountain grouse, made fat on
the pine-nuts, and Frank and Henry and the soldier huntsmen secured a
generous supply for our first meal in our new military home.
It took us from early morning until noon of the last day's march to
reach the highest point of the road. What with the frequent halts for
the men to fasten a rope to the wagon-poles and aid the severely taxed
mules up the steepest places, to fill gullies and sloughs with stones
and brush, to pry mired wheels up to firm ground, and repair broken
harnesses and wagons, we were over half a day in going a distance
which could have been accomplished in two hours by soldiers
unencumbered with a baggage and supply train.
The downward march on the western slope of the mountain-range was
rapidly made over a smooth road through a continuous avenue of
overarching forest trees, and without a halt. From the lower limit of
the forest we caught the first glimpse of the Great Valleys. The
valley before us was fourteen miles long, and of a nearly uniform
width of eight miles. It was almost surrounded by mountains; in fact,
while there were many trails leading out of it, there was but one
practicable wagon-road--that by which we had entered. But at the
southern extremity there was a precipitous cañon, through which flowed
a considerable stream. To the west was another cañon, a dry one,
called La Puerta--the doorway--which led into the second valley,
called the Valley of San Antonio.
The Great Valley, on the eastern edge of which I had halted the
company for a few moments' rest and observation, was lower through the
centre than at the sides. It was not unlike an oblong platter, and was
absolutely treeless, except that opposite us a bold, pine-clad point
jutted out from the western mountain-range about three miles, like a
headland into the sea.
The whole valley was verdant with thick grass. The two boys, sitting
on their ponies a few yards in advance of the company line, were in
raptures over the prospect.
"This is the first bit of country I've seen in New Mexico that looks
like Vermont," said Frank.
"Yes, and what a change in the space of a few miles!" observed Henry.
"On the opposite side of this range were only bunch-grass, cactus, and
sand, and here we have fine turf and waving grass. What are those
objects in that farther corner, sir?" he continued, turning to me and
pointing to the southwest. "Look like deer or grazing cattle."
"There is a small herd of deer there, sure enough," I replied, after
making out the objects through my glass. "We shall not want for
venison if we have good luck with our rifles."
"Deer, antelope, turkeys, ducks, geese, sand-hill crane, and trout!"
exclaimed Frank. "We've hit a hunter's paradise."
"And bears and catamounts, too, I suspect," said Henry, looking a
little lugubrious.
"My, but wouldn't I like to kill a bear!" said Frank.
"Well, I don't believe I shall hunt for one, and I hope a bear won't
hunt for me," said the younger lad. "I'll be satisfied with turkeys,
grouse, ducks, and trout."
Six miles due west, a little south of the wooded point, detached from
it about half a mile, we perceived a line of small cabins, which we
inferred was the volunteer encampment. They stretched across a little
level space, enclosed by a gently sloping ridge of horseshoe shape.
The ridge, in fact, proved to be of that shape when we examined it
later. The row of sixteen cabins stretched across the curve, and
looked out of the opening towards the eastern side of the valley.
Fifty yards in front of the cabins, running across the horseshoe from
heel to heel, flowed a crystal stream of water twenty feet wide and
two feet deep, which rose from forty-two springs near the northern end
of the valley. The ridge enclosing the encampment was nowhere more
than twenty-five feet above the level parade.
The cabins were built of pine logs laid up horizontally, flanked on
the north by the kitchen and stable, and on the south by a storehouse.
Behind the cabins, at the centre of the horseshoe curve, two-thirds
the way up the slope of the ridge, and overlooking the encampment from
its rear, stood the guard-house, in front of which paced a sentinel.
Resuming our march, a brisk step soon brought us to the encampment. At
the brook before the parade I was met by the volunteer officers, who
did not disguise their joy at the prospect of leaving what they
considered a life of unbearable exile. Even before the customary
civilities were passed, the captain asked me if my animals were in a
condition to warrant his loading the wagons with his company property
as soon as I unloaded mine, as he wished to make an evening's march
towards Santa Fé.
I told him I thought they were, provided he took the two wagons
belonging to the camp in addition, so that the loads would be light.
He approved of my suggestion, and promised to send back the wagons as
soon as he reached Fort Marcy.
The wood-yard being well supplied with fuel, I saw no reason why the
wagons and mules could not be spared the ten days necessary to make
the round trip.
One reason for doing all I could to facilitate the immediate departure
of the Californians was that my men were anxious to move into the
cabins at once.
With my first glance at the encampment, it had seemed to me too open
to surprise. The adjacent forest-clad point crept up near the left
flank, offering an effectual screen to an attacking party, and the
overlooking sentinel at the guard-house did not have a range of vision
to the rear of more than fifty yards. He was not on the summit of the
ridge by at least half that distance, and walked along the side of the
guard-house next the cabins. He could see nothing of the surface of
the valley to the west of the ridge, and when passing along the front
of the building, as he paced backward and forward, he saw nothing to
the rear of his beat.
I expressed my opinion of the situation to the volunteer captain, but
he replied, "Pshaw! you might as well take the sentinel off, for all
the good he does as a lookout for Indians."
"Have you seen none?"
"Not a solitary moccasin, except an occasional Pueblo, since I've been
here--eleven months."
"I suppose you have scouted the country thoroughly?"
"There isn't a trail within thirty miles that I do not know. These
bundles of wolf-skins and other pelts you see going into the wagons
are pretty good evidence that my men know the country."
We walked to the kitchen, and found, hanging on the walls of the
store-room, a dozen quarters of venison, the fat carcass of a bear,
and several bunches of fowl.
"We are not obliged to kill our cattle to supply the men with meat,"
added the captain. "We butcher only when we need a change from wild
meat."
"I saw from the edge of the valley where I entered it that you have
deer."
"Pretty much everything but buffalo is here."
"I hear your brook is full of fish."
"There's where you make a mistake," he replied. "There is not a fish
in this valley. The water is spring water, and must possess some
mineral property distasteful to trout, for they never run up here. In
San Antonio Valley, six miles to the west, in a brook less clear than
this, you can catch them by the cart-load."
"I suppose you intend to take this venison with you?"
"Not if you will accept the gift of all but a few quarters, which we
will take for friends in the city."
"Thank you and your men. It will be a treat to us, and keep us going
until we can put in a hunt on our own account."
We went back to the parade, and stood looking at the surrounding
mountains in the deepening twilight.
"What other ways are there in and out of the valley, besides the one
which we entered?" I asked.
"Well, on the east and south sides there is a trail between the peaks,
four in all, and one good bridle-path to the Pueblo of Jemez. That
descends from the valley level to the Jemez River bottom, a drop of
nearly three thousand feet, in a distance of three miles, zigzagging
twice that distance."
"And to the west and north?"
"To the north there is a trail to Abiquiu, rarely used, and to the
west there is only La Puerta, into which all the other trails from the
east and south concentrate. It is to watch La Puerta that this camp
was established."
"And you say you have seen no Navajos or signs of them since you
came?"
"Yes, plenty of signs, but no Indians. Parties have passed here in the
night, but none were driving stock."
I learned all I could of the captain while his men hurried their
baggage into the wagons, but he was too much excited over the prospect
of leaving the Great Valleys, as well as curious to know of events in
Santa Fé, to give me much information. When the guard of regulars
relieved the volunteer guard, I placed my sentinel on a beat a dozen
yards in rear of the guard-house, which enabled him to see several
hundred yards back of the ridge, and yet not show himself prominently
to an approaching foe.
The volunteers at last marched away, and I made a casual examination
of the cabins. I noticed that the inner surface of the log walls had
been hewn smooth, and the names, company, and regiment of the former
occupants had been carved with knives or burned in with hot pokers
along the upper courses. Each had a wide, open, stone fireplace and
chimney set in one corner, after the Mexican fashion.
No uniform design had been observed in the construction of the cabins,
the occupants having followed their own ideas of what would prove
comfortable. Height, width, and depth were variable, but their fronts
were in perfect alignment.
The hut which had been occupied by the officers and which fell to the
boys and myself was at the right of the line, next the storehouse, a
little removed from the others. It was twenty by twenty feet,
partitioned on one side into two alcoves in which were rude bedsteads,
one of which was assigned to the boys and one to myself. A door opened
on the south side, and a window, the only glass one in camp, looked
out upon the parade. Floors in all the cabins were of earth, raised a
foot higher than the outside surface of the ground, smoothed with a
trowel and carpeted with blankets, until later, when skins of wild
animals took their place. Doors were made of puncheons, swung on
wooden hinges and fastened with wooden latches operated by
latch-strings.
Our first day in camp was principally spent in making ourselves
comfortable. The men were busy in filling bed-sacks from the
hay-stacks, and in repairing the cabins and articles of furniture. Ten
head of beef cattle had been turned over to me with the other property
of the camp. I had placed them in charge of a soldier, with orders to
herd them in the valley immediately in front of the opening, where
they could be plainly seen from the parade as well as the guard-house.
At noon two Mexican hunters, father and son, rode up to my door, the
former mounted on a mule and the latter on a burro, or donkey. The
elder said their names were José and Manuel Cordova, of Cañoncito,
that they were looking for deer, and would like permission to make the
camp their place of rendezvous. I gave them permission to do so, and
their animals were turned loose with our stock.
About four o'clock in the afternoon the boy corporals and myself,
tired with our work of repairing and arranging quarters, sat down to a
lunch of broiled grouse.
We were busily picking the last bones when we were startled by loud
shouts. Quickly running to the centre of the parade, where the men
were rapidly assembling with their arms, I saw the soldier-herdsman
coming towards camp as fast as he could run, waving his hat and
shouting. Behind him the steers were running in the opposite
direction, driven by six Indians on foot. They were waking the echoes
with their war-whoops.
II
ATTACKED BY NAVAJOS
The six Navajos made no attempt to shoot the herder, although for some
time he was within easy rifle range. They contented themselves with
driving the cattle towards the southern section of the valley.
At the first alarm Sergeant Cunningham got the men into line without a
moment's delay. He had hardly counted off when the report of the
sentinel's rifle was heard, followed by his shouting, excitedly,
"Indians! Indians! This way! This way!"
In the direction of the guard-house I saw the sentinel and guard
getting into line with great rapidity. They were gesticulating wildly
to us. Frank Burton, who was standing near me, shouted, "Henry, get
your carbine and fall in with me on the left!"
"Don't expose yourselves, boys," I said. "The colonel told me to keep
you out of danger."
"We are needed, sir," answered Frank, promptly, and the two youngsters
instantly placed themselves on the left of the line.
I broke the company to the rear through the intervals between the
cabins. The men had only the marching allowance of ten rounds of
ammunition, so I had a couple of boxes broken open with an axe, and
cartridges were distributed to them. The two Mexicans joined us, and
steadily and rapidly we advanced up the slope to unite with the guard.
Scarcely two hundred yards distant we saw a compact body of over three
hundred Indians. They were charging down upon us, and with a general
and frightful war-whoop they began firing.
We deployed as skirmishers. The men fired by volleys, sheltering
themselves behind bowlders, logs, and ridges.
Instantly, at the head of the mounted column, there was an emptying of
saddles. The onset was suddenly checked, and the Indians broke into
two divisions. Part of the force swept along the outer side of the
horseshoe ridge to the south, and the other part wheeled round to the
north.
I met the attack by dividing my men into two divisions. The men moved
along the interior slopes, firing as they ran, and kept pace with the
ponies running to the extremities.
The Navajos had lost twenty men. A chief, who had been in the front of
the fight throughout, had the utmost difficulty in holding them in
close column.
"That is the great chief, El Ebano," cried the elder Cordova, as he
put his gun to his shoulder. Taking careful aim at the gray-haired
leader, he fired, and one of the most famous chieftains of the Navajos
rolled from his saddle. The beautiful black horse he had been riding
ran on towards us. With El Ebano dead, the Indians were dismayed. A
moment later they were in full retreat, and joined their comrades who
had stolen our cattle.
* * * * *
Our casualties were few. Sergeant Cunningham's scalp had been grazed
along the left side, Private Tom Clary had the lobe of an ear cut,
Privates Hoey and Evans were wounded along the ribs, and Corporal
Frank Burton had a bullet wound in the right shoulder.
The Indians had gathered in a compact body about three miles to the
southward, evidently holding a council of war. Reflecting that they
would not be likely to repeat their attack immediately, I walked out
with the first sergeant and a few of the men to note what casualties
had befallen the enemy, and learn if there were any wounded men in
need of assistance.
As I neared the place where the charge had been checked, I met
Corporal Frank Burton leading a black pony, gently stroking his nose
and talking soothingly to him, while the animal seemed half divided
between fear and newly awakened confidence.
"Oh, isn't he a beauty, sir!" exclaimed the boy--"isn't he just a
perfect beauty!"
"He certainly is a very handsome horse," I answered, after walking
around him and taking in all his graces and points. "Take him to the
stable and we will see to what use we can put him."
"Do you think it would be possible for me to own him, sir?" inquired
the boy, in an anxious voice.
"As spoil of war, corporal?"
"I suppose so, sir. I was first to capture him, you know."
Before I could reply to this we were startled by a loud whinny, a
little to the north, which was promptly answered by the black, and,
looking in that direction, we saw a cream-colored pony, with
high-erected head, looking anxiously in the direction of our captive.
"That seems to be a friend of your pony's," I said.
"Another beauty, too, sir! Can't we catch it for Henry?"
"Perhaps we can. It seems inclined to stay by this one. I see all the
other loose ponies have joined the Indians. But wait now until we look
over the field."
We now turned our attention to the prostrate bodies of the fallen
enemy. All were dead.
The body of El Ebano, clad in black buck-skin, ornamented with a
profusion of silver buttons, chains, and bracelets, lay face upward,
his resolute, handsome countenance still in the embrace of death. I
told the men we would give him and his comrades a warrior's burial on
the morrow, and returned to camp to make it defensible against a
possible night attack.
The advantage of numbers was decidedly on the side of the Indians, and
I felt if they could show the firmness and dash of white men our
chances of repelling a resolute attack were small. Counting the
Mexicans and the boys, we numbered but forty-eight, to their three
hundred or more.
We were in the centre of a large valley, with no knowledge of our
surroundings nor with any way out except the road by which we had
entered. Should we leave the protection of our ridge and cabins and
take to the open valley we should be at the mercy of our foes.
Even supposing we could pass out of the valley unmolested, there were
the forests and defiles, filled with natural ambuscades. We could not
hope to pass them and reach the Rio Grande alive.
Only a few hours of daylight remained. Whatever was to be done in
preparation for defence must be done at once.
In the wood-yard there were tiers of dry pine-logs, many of them four
feet in diameter, and all about twenty feet long. With drag ropes and
by rolling we conveyed them to the points of the ridge and to each end
of the guard-house, and erected effective barricades.
While this work was going on the two boys were busy in an attempt to
capture the cream-colored pony. Frank led the black towards it, while
Henry rattled the contents of a measure of corn and coaxed the
cream-color in a tongue foreign to that with which the animals were
familiar to approach and partake of it. Tired at last of what seemed a
vain attempt, the young corporal set the box before the black, which
at once began to munch the crackling corn, and the other pony,
attracted by the sound, trotted up and placed her nose beside her
friend's. Instantly its bridle-rein was seized, and the lads uttered a
shout of triumph and led the prizes to the stable.
From the top of the ridge I looked occasionally through my field-glass
at the enemy. They still continued well to the south on the western
side of the brook. They had dismounted and appeared to be carrying on
an animated consultation.
After a considerable interval of time, four of their number mounted,
and, collecting the ten beeves, mule, and burro, which had been
grazing near by, drove them up and down in front of the camp, beyond
rifle range. They made gestures for us to come and take them--an
invitation which, for obvious reasons, I declined to accept. I quite
agreed with Private Tom Clary, who, as he placed his brawny shoulder
to a big log to roll it up the slope, remarked to his "bunky," Private
George Hoey, "That's an invitation, begorra, I don't fale loike
acciptin'."
"Ye'd niver make yer t'ilet for anither assimbly if ye did, Tom. I
don't think the lutinint will risk the comp'ny's hair in that way,"
replied Hoey.
To have attempted to recover our stock would have necessitated a
division of our force, and the main body of the Navajos stood ready to
dash in and cut off a party making such a reckless move.
This was what they had originally attempted to accomplish, as I heard
years afterwards from a chief who took part in the raid.
Failing to draw us out in pursuit of our lost stock, the Navajos moved
slowly away in the deepening dusk to a point close against the forest
on the eastern side of the valley and nearly opposite our camp. There
they built a row of five fires, which soon became, in the darkness,
the only evidence of their presence.
I caused the sentinels to be increased, and, after dressing the wounds
of the men and removing a bullet from Frank's shoulder, went to bed
without undressing. After some half-hour of silence, Henry said:
"Mr. Duncan."
"Yes; what is it?"
"I'm going to name my pony Chiquita."
"And I'm going to name mine Sancho," added Frank.
"What are you going to do with the animals you brought here?" I asked.
"Turn them in in place of the two we captured," answered Henry.
"All right; for general utility. Good-night."
"Good-night. Thank you, sir."
Half an hour before midnight the sergeant of the guard aroused me to
report that strange noises could be heard from the rear of the camp.
I went to the top of the ridge and listened. A sound like the dragging
of branches over the ground, with occasional pauses, fell upon my
ears. I sent for the elder Cordova, and he listened long, with an ear
close to the ground. His opinion was that the Indians were creeping up
for another attack.
Orders were sent to Sergeant Cunningham to wake the men without noise
and assemble them at the barricades.
A little after midnight the moon rose over the mountains and bathed
the valley in a beautiful light.
As the moon cleared herself from the summits of the range and her rays
fell upon the line of paling camp-fires of the Indians, my field-glass
revealed the fact that the raiders had departed. Ponies and riders
were gone. In the whole length and breadth of the Great Valley not a
living being was in sight outside the limit of our encampment.
An inspection to the rear, to the scene of the late conflict, revealed
the fact that the body of El Ebano and the group of dead warriors
which lay about him at nightfall had been taken away. Their removal
had caused the rushing and creeping sounds we had heard.
Mounting my horse, and accompanied by four men upon the four ponies, I
crossed the valley to the Indian fires, but found nothing there except
the horns, hoofs, and entrails of our captured cattle. The flesh had
probably been packed upon the Cordovas' mule and burro to ration a
raiding party into the valley of the Rio Grande.
A well-defined trail went back through the forest, which Cordova
afterwards assured me led to the town of Pina Blanca.
Returning to camp, I wrote a letter to the commanding general, giving
an account of the attack and its repulse, and despatched it by the
Mexicans, who, taking cut-offs with which they were acquainted, and
borrowing horses in relays at ranches on the way, delivered it next
evening at Santa Fé.
The general sent a hundred troopers to Los Valles Grandes, where they
came galloping into camp two evenings afterwards. As Captain Wardwell
sprang from his saddle and wrung my hand, he exclaimed:
"God bless you, Duncan! I came out expecting to bury the bones of you
and your men."
I was glad to see the California cavalry officers, and, during the
three days of their stay in the valley for rest after a forced march,
did the honors to the best of my ability. On the day of their
departure the wagons returned loaded with supplies. Instructions were
received to send back all but one wagon and six mules.
With the departure of cavalry and wagons, life in the valley settled
down to quiet routine. I spent some time in instructing my companions,
according to an agreement I had made with their father. Not being a
West-Pointer, but a college graduate with a fair knowledge of Greek
and Latin, and some other acquirements not considered of military
utility, I was able to carry out a desire of the colonel and assist
the boys in preparing themselves for college.
We rarely received visits from the outside world. The nearest hamlet
was an Indian pueblo, twenty-six miles away, in the Rio Jemez Valley,
and representatives of the army seldom had occasion to visit our
outposts. The mail arrived from Santa Fé every Saturday afternoon, and
left every Monday morning in the saddle-bags of two cavalry
express-men.
To the soldiers life in the valleys was very pleasant. Duty was light,
and there were no temptations to dissipation or to be out of quarters
at night, and there were no confinements to the guard-house for
disorder. Evenings were spent over books and papers and quiet games,
and the days in drill, repairing buildings, providing the fuel for
winter, hunting, and scouting.
As previously referred to, we were in a region of abundant game. The
boy corporals accompanied the hunting-parties, and became skilled in
bringing down whatever they sighted. Henry, as well as Frank, shot his
bear, and soon our floor was covered with the skins of wolves,
coyotes, bears, and catamounts, skilfully dressed and tanned by the
Cordovas.
And now I must introduce a principal character of my story, a valued
friend who took a conspicuous part in our scouting and hunting, and
who, later on, did valuable service to myself and my youthful
comrades.
Just as I was about to leave Santa Fé for Los Valles Grandes, the
regimental adjutant--since a distinguished brigadier-general in the
war in the Philippines--gave me a beautiful young setter named
Victoriana, and called Vic for convenience. She was of canine
aristocracy, possessing a fine pedigree, white and liver-colored, with
mottled nose and paws, and a tail like the plume of Henry of Navarre.
The boys, soon after our arrival in the valleys, carrying out a
conceit suggested by the letters "U.S." which are always branded upon
the left shoulder of all government horses and mules, marked with a
weak solution of nitrate of silver upon Vic's white shoulder the same
characters, and as long as she continued to live they were never
allowed to grow dim.
Vic came to me with no education, but plenty of capacity, and the
corporals and I spent much time during the long evenings and on the
days when we did not accompany the scouting and hunting parties, in
training her.
She learned to close the door if we simulated a shiver, to bring me my
slippers when she saw me begin to remove my boots, to carry messages
to the first sergeant or the cook, to return to the camp from long
distances and bring articles I sent for.
Vic was an unerring setter and a fine retriever. She was taught not to
bark when a sound might bring an enemy upon us, and she would follow
patiently at my heels or those of either of the boys when told to do
so and never make a break to the right or left.
Our repeated scoutings soon made us acquainted with every trail in and
out of the valley. I obtained permission from department head-quarters
to employ the elder Cordova as spy and guide, and he was of invaluable
use to us. He was able to show me a mountain-trail into the valley of
San Antonio besides the one through La Puerta, which I kept in reserve
for any desperate emergency which might make it necessary to use
another. We frequently went trout-fishing with an armed party, and
could pack a mule with fish in a few hours.
One morning, near the close of October, Cordova left the camp before
reveille on a solitary hunting-trip in order to reach Los Vallecitos,
four miles to the south of our valley, before sunrise.
He had gone but half an hour, and I was dressing after first
bugle-call for reveille, when I was startled by the rapid approach of
some one running towards my door. Presently the guide tumbled into the
cabin, gasping:
"Muchos Navajos, teniente, muchos Navajos!" (Many Navajos, lieutenant,
many Navajos!)
"Where are they, and how many?" I asked.
"About half a league over the ridge," pointing to the south. "They
chased me from the Los Vallecitos trail. They number about a hundred."
Without waiting for more definite information, I told the boys, who
were hastily getting into their clothes, to stay in the cabin, and,
going for Sergeant Cunningham, ordered him to parade the company under
arms without delay; then, taking my glass, I went to the top of the
ridge. Lying down before reaching the crest, I looked through the
screening grass and saw a party of eighty-three Indians, halted and
apparently in consultation. They were in full war costume, and were
painted and feathered to the height of Indian skill.
III
WARLIKE PUEBLOS
The party of Indians halted for nearly ten minutes, evidently in
excited dispute, accompanying their talk with much gesticulation. I
had time to notice that the details of dress were not like those of
the Navajos with whom we had recently had a fight; but as the old
hunter Cordova had pronounced them Navajos, I gave the matter little
consideration. They did not seem to be aware of the existence of an
encampment of soldiers in the valleys, and after a brief delay moved
on towards La Puerta.
Returning to the parade, I ordered the six mules and four ponies
brought to my door, saddled and bridled, and all the men not on guard
to assemble under arms with cartridge-boxes filled. Fortunately, the
mail-riders had arrived the previous evening from Santa Fé, so I
ordered them to form a part of the expedition, and placed the party
of thirteen under command of Sergeant Cunningham, mounted upon my
horse.
The sergeant was directed to take the "reserved trail" through the
hills into the valley of San Antonio and bring his men into the
western end of La Puerta before the Indians could pass through it. I
impressed it upon him on no account to fire unless the redmen showed
fight, to leave his mules and horses concealed in the timber at the
entrance of the cañon, and so dispose his men as to convey the
impression that thirteen was but a part of his force.
Just before the horsemen were to start I overheard Private Tom Clary,
who was mounted on Frank's recent equine acquisition, Sancho, say to
the boy:
"Corpril Frank, laddie, can ye give me the Naviho words for _whoa_ and
_get up_? I'm afeared the little baste 'll not understand me English,
and may attimpt to lave for his troibe."
"You needn't speak to him, Tom. Use your reins, curb, and spurs,"
replied the boy.
"True for you, corpril; a pull to stop, and a spur to go ahead. That's
a language that nades no interpreter."
For myself, I proposed to follow up the Navajos with the rest of the
company as soon as they were fairly within the cañon, and I expected
to capture them without blood-shed.
We started, the mounted men turning to the north of the wooded point
and entering the forest, and the footmen marching direct for La
Puerta. I kept my men out of sight under the rolls of the valley
surface, and moved at quick time. When the redmen were well within the
walls of the cañon we deployed right and left, and closed up rapidly
behind them.
The Indians showed perceptible astonishment when they perceived this
unexpected and warlike demonstration, but they soon recovered, and
then, feeling the superiority of the mounted man over the footman,
they broke into derisive shouts and made gestures conveying their
contempt for us. This continued for some time, when they suddenly
showed confusion. They dashed at a gallop to the north side of the
passage, and skirted it for a considerable distance, as if looking for
a place of escape. Failing to find one they dashed wildly to the other
side, where they met with no better success, and then they halted and
consulted.
Presently one of their number rode out and waved a white cloth. Upon
this I approached alone and made signs for them to dismount and lay
down their arms. They did so, and at another sign withdrew in a body,
when my men picked up everything and collected their ponies.
I was certainly surprised at such a bloodless result of my strategy,
and, after shaking hands with the chief, began my return march to
camp.
We had gone but a short distance when I overheard Private Clary, one
of the mounted men, who was riding near me, say to Private Hoey beside
him.
"D'ye moind the cut uv thim chaps' hair, Jarge?"
"Indade I do that, Tom," replied George.
"Thim's no Navihos!"
"Not a bit uv it. I'd as soon expict to see one in currls!"
I had a wholesome respect for the opinions of these old soldiers, for
they had campaigned against Indians in Texas, Utah, Colorado, and New
Mexico long before I had seen a more savage redman than the indolent,
basket-making descendants of the Passamaquoddies and Penobscots.
Accordingly, without appearing to notice their remarks, I approached
the chief, and said, interrogatively:
"Apache?"
A shake of the head.
"Ute?"
Another shake.
"Navajo?"
"Si, señor!" he said, with a bow of his head, and I moved triumphantly
on, satisfied that my eighty-three prisoners were Navajos.
But presently I heard Clary ask, "Jarge, did ye iver see Navihos with
blankets like thim?"
"Niver!" answered Hoey, emphatically.
Evidently the two soldiers did not believe they were Navajos, and were
"talking at me." But if not Navajos, Apaches, or Utes, who were these
warriors?
When we were near camp we were met by Cordova, who had remained behind
to recover from the fatigue of his early morning run. As soon as he
came up to the Indians there seemed to be an immediate recognition. He
and the chief met and embraced, and conversed for a few moments in a
language that was neither English nor Spanish. Then the hunter turned
to me, looking shamefaced, and said, in Spanish, "Lieutenant, these
Indians are Pueblos, of Santo Domingo."
Whoever knows the character of the Pueblos will appreciate the joke I
had perpetrated upon myself. Many towns in New Mexico are inhabited by
these Indians--towns which stood on their present sites when Coronado
entered the country in 1541. They form an excellent part of the
population, being temperate, frugal, and industrious. They dress in
Indian style, and when at war paint and disfigure themselves like any
other of the red peoples, so that a green soldier would see no
difference between them and the wilder tribes.
The Pueblos explained that they were in pursuit of a band of Navajos
who had stolen some of their cattle the previous night. When they
first saw Cordova they attempted to approach him to inquire if he had
seen any Navajo "signs."
My appearance and warlike demonstrations they could not account for,
not knowing there was a camp of soldiers in the valley. When I put
the questions, Apache? Ute? Navajo? the chief thought I was asking him
if he was in pursuit of a party of one of those tribes. Being in
pursuit of Navajos, he answered yes to that name.
A week after my captives had returned to their homes in Santo Domingo,
at the close of a long and fruitless search for their lost stock, a
gentleman and his servant, mounted on broncos and leading a pack-mule,
rode up to my cabin late in the afternoon. He introduced himself as a
government Indian agent for the Navajos, and handed me a letter from
the department commander. It stated that the bearer was on his way to
the Indian pueblo of Jemez, to prevent the massacre of a number of
Navajo women, children, and old men who had sought asylum there, and
authorized me to furnish him with all the aid in my power.
After dismounting and entering my quarters, the agent stated that, the
Navajo country being over-run by national troops, many of the
principal men had sent their wives and children, with a few old men,
to Jemez for safety; that the party of Dominicans which had been
recently captured by us, being bitterly disappointed at their lack of
success in retaking their missing cattle, had determined to go to
Jemez and wreak vengeance upon the enemy.
The Santo Dominicans had informed the people of Jemez that if they
interfered to prevent the slaughter of the Navajos they would be
considered by the military authorities as allies of that tribe, and
treated accordingly.
Convinced, from what the agent told me, that I should act without
unnecessary delay, I proposed that we should start for Jemez at once,
but he declared himself too much fatigued by a long journey to
undertake a night ride of twenty-six miles. My instructions from the
general were to conform my movements to the wishes of the agent, so I
very reluctantly and much against my convictions concluded to wait
until morning. He strongly insisted there was no reason for haste, as
the Dominicans had not planned to leave their pueblo before noon.
We set out, therefore, at four o'clock next morning. Sergeant
Cunningham asked permission to accompany the expedition, and I allowed
him to do so, leaving Sergeant Mulligan in charge until our return.
We were a party of thirteen, mounted on every available animal in
camp. Henry was left behind, but Frank accompanied us, mounted on the
recently captured Sancho, proud of his horse and proud to be included
in the detachment.
We passed through an interesting country, filled with wind-carven
pillars and minarets, eroded shelves and caverns, and lunched at
noonday beside a dozen boiling sulphur springs. We also passed
Cañoncito, the little village which was the home of José Cordova.
As we came in sight of the tinned spires of the church at Jemez, we
heard a distinct murmur, and halted at once. In a moment the murmur
swelled into an unmistakable Indian war-whoop. It was plainly evident
the Dominicans had arrived before us.
As soon as I heard the war-whoop I told Sergeant Cunningham to bring
up the men as rapidly as possible, sticking to the travelled road,
and, accompanied by the agent and Corporal Frank, I put spurs to my
horse and dashed towards the town.
Our route was through the cultivated land, while that of the soldiers
was on the hard ground along the foot-hills. Ours was in a direct
line, over deep, soft earth, frequently crossed by irrigating ditches,
while theirs, although nearly treble the distance, was over firm soil
without a break. We struck directly for the church spires, which I
knew rose from the central plaza.