OUR FIRST FIGHT WITH APACHES
On October 5, 1879, at midnight, Pablo Mejia brought Lieutenant Baylor,
from Captain Gregorio Garcia of San Elizario, a note stating that a
band of Apaches had charged a camp of five Mexicans who were engaged in
cutting hay for the stage company fourteen miles north of La Quadria
stage station and killed them. As first sergeant I was ordered to make
a detail of ten men and issue them five days' rations. I detailed
Second Sergeant Tom Swilling, Privates Gus Small, George Lloyd, John
Thomas, George Harold, Doc Shivers, Richard Head, Bill Rutherford, and
Juan Garcia for the scout, and myself made the tenth man. It required
an hour to arouse the men, issue the rations and ammunition and pack
the two mules, so it was 1 o'clock a.m. when we finally left Ysleta.
By daylight we reached Hawkins Station, near where Fabins Station
now is. Here we were told we would find the survivor of the terrible
massacre. Riding up to the door of the stage house we had to thump some
time before we had evidence that anyone was alive on the premises.
Finally the door opened about an inch very cautiously and a Mexican
peeped out. Lieutenant Baylor asked him if he had been one of the
grameros or hay cutters.
"Si, senor," replied the sleepy Mexican.
Asked for an account of the massacre, the native said it was nearly
dark when the Indians, numbering from twenty-five to fifty, charged
the camp and uttered such horrid yells that everyone took to his heels
and was soon in the chaparral. The speaker saw his pobrecita papa
(poor papa) running, with the Indians about to lance him, and knew
that he and the remainder of the party were killed. He himself only
escaped. As he mentioned the tragic death of his beloved parent the
tears rolled down his cheeks. Lieutenant Baylor comforted the weeper as
best he could and asked if the Mexican would not guide the rangers to
the raided camp, but the survivor declined with thanks, saying he must
stay to help the station keeper take care of the stage mules, but he
directed us to the ranch where some of the dead men's families lived
and at which a guide could be obtained.
When we arrived at the ranch below Hawkins Station it was sunrise and
we halted for breakfast after a night ride of forty miles. The people
at the ranch were very uneasy when we rode up, but were rejoiced when
they realized we were Texas Rangers and learned our mission. They
showed us every attention. Among the first to come out to us was an
old Mexican who had been in the hay camp when it was attacked. He gave
a lurid account of the onset. His son had been one of the grameros, and
when he mentioned this the tears began to flow.
"Ah, hijo de mi cara Juan. I shall never see him again," he lamented.
"All were killed and I alone escaped!"
Lieutenant Baylor then explained to the weeping father that his son
was very much alive and that we had seen him that very night bewailing
the death of the father he thought killed. And it now developed that
all the dead men were alive! When the camp was attacked each Mexican
had scattered, and the Apaches had been too busy looting the stores
to follow the fugitives. Moreover, those ranchers would fight and the
Indians did not care to follow them into the brush.
A bright young Mexican went with us to the hay camp, which was about
six miles toward Comales, where Don Juan Armendaris now has a cow
ranch. The Apaches had made a mess of things in camp sure enough.
They had broken all the cups and plates, poured salt into the sugar,
this combination into the flour and beans and the conglomeration of
the whole on the ground, as the sacks were all they wanted. The
Indians smashed the coffee pot, the frying pan, the skillet and the
water barrels with an ax. Then taking all the blankets, the raiders
started eastward as though they intended to go to the Sierra Priela,
but after going a mile the trail turned south. We found the redskins
had come from the north by way of Los Cormuros and were probably from
Fort Stanton, New Mexico, on their way to raid Old Mexico. They were
in a dry country and making for the Rio Grande, fourteen miles to the
south. When they discovered the hay camp on their route they charged
it and fired on the hay cutters. The Mexicans scattered and made their
escape in the darkness, each thinking himself the sole survivor and so
reporting on reaching his home, though as a matter of fact not a single
life was lost.
Our guide went back to give the alarm to the ranches below and we
followed the trail down the mesa until opposite Guadalupe. There we
crossed the overland stage route near the present Rio Grande Station
and found our guide waiting for us. He had discovered the trail, and
fearing the Indians might ambush the road below, he had awaited our
arrival. The trail made straight for the Rio Grande, crossing about
one mile west of the Mexican town of Guadalupe. From the pony and mule
tracks Lieutenant Baylor judged there were fifteen to twenty Indians
in the band. We had some trouble following the trail after we got to
the river bottom, where loose horses and cattle ran, but a few of us
dismounted and worked the trail out, crossed the river and struck camp
for dinner.
Lieutenant Baylor sent Pablo Mejia into town to inform the president
of Guadalupe that we had followed a fresh Apache trail to the Rio
Grande going south into Mexico, and asked permission to follow the
Indians into his country. The scout soon returned and reported that the
president was not only pleased that we had pursued the redskins, but
would willingly join us himself with all the men he could muster. Just
after we crossed the river we came across a Mexican herder with a flock
of goats. As soon as he heard we were trailing the Apaches he began
yelling at the top of his voice and soon had the goats on the jump for
town, though the Indians had passed the night before. We were quickly
in saddle again, and as we rode into the pueblo we were kindly received
by the people. We found a mare the Apaches had killed just on the edge
of town and from which they had taken some of the choice steaks.
After leaving Guadalupe the trail went south, following closely the
stage road from Juarez to Chihuahua. Not long after leaving town we
met a courier coming to Guadalupe from Don Ramon Arrandas' ranch, San
Marcos de Cantarica, twenty-one miles distant, who informed us that the
Apaches had killed a herder on that ranch and had taken four horses
and sixteen mules of the stage company. We hurried onward and reached
Cantarica at sunset, having traveled seventy-eight miles since 1 a.m.
that morning. Both men and horses were rather tired.
All was confusion at the ranch. The Mexican herder had been shrouded
and laid out with a cross at his head and several little lighted
candles near the body. Many women were sitting around the room with
black shawls pulled up over their heads. The Apaches, numbering sixteen
well armed and well mounted warriors, had slain their victim and
captured the stock near the ranch just about noon. Mexican volunteers
from Guadalupe and San Ignacio began to ride in until our combined
force numbered twenty-five or twenty-six men. Everyone was excited at
the thought of a brush with the redskins responsible for the murder.
Accompanied by our volunteer allies we left the ranch at daylight next
morning and picked up the trail at once. It led off south along the
base of the Armagora Mountains or Sierra Bentanos. As the Mexicans
were familiar with the country they took the lead and followed the
trail rapidly. About 11 o'clock the trailers halted at the mouth of the
Canyon del Moranos, an ugly black hole cut in the mountains, looking
grim and defiant enough without the aid of Apache warriors. When we
had joined the Mexicans--we were traveling some half a mile behind
them--Lieutenant Baylor and Captain Garcia held a short conference.
The lieutenant turned to me and said that Captain Garcia declared the
Indians were in the canyon among the rocks, and ordered me to detail
two men to guard our horses while we scaled the mountain on foot and
investigated it. I could not bring myself to believe that a band of
Indians that had killed a man and driven off all the stage stock the
day before had gone only thirty miles and was now lying in wait for us.
"You don't know the Apaches," Lieutenant Baylor declared when I voiced
my thoughts. "They are very different from the plains Indians, the kind
you have been used to following. These Apaches delight to get into the
rocks and lay for their enemies."
At the conference the Mexicans suggested that Lieutenant Baylor should
take nine of his men and ten of their volunteers and follow the trail
up the canyon, but the lieutenant declared that this would never do,
as the Apaches had no doubt anticipated just such a move and hidden
themselves in the cliffs where they could kill their attackers without
exposing themselves in the least. He proposed scaling the mountain and
following them down on top of the ridge in the Indians' rear. And this
was the strategy finally adopted.
The Mexicans dismounted and started up the mountainside about one
hundred yards to our left. Lieutenant Baylor and his eight rangers
marched straight forward from our horses and began the ascent. As we
went along the lieutenant pulled some bunch grass and stuck it all
around under his hat band so his head would look like a clump of grass
and conceal his head and body if he should have to flatten himself
on the ground. He counselled us to follow his example. I had taken
some Mexican cheese out of my saddle pockets and was eating it as we
marched carelessly up the mountain. Honestly, I did not believe there
was an Indian within a hundred miles of us, but it was not long before
I changed my mind. Suddenly there came a loud report of a gun and then
another. I looked up to where the Mexicans had taken position behind a
ledge of rocks and saw where a bullet struck the stones a foot above
their heads. I did not want any more cheese. I threw down what I had in
my hand and spat out what I had in my mouth.
These old Apache warriors, high in the cliffs above us, then turned
their attention to our little band of eight rangers and fired
twenty-five or thirty shots right into the midst of us. One of these
big caliber bullets whizzed so close to my head that it made a noise
like a wild duck makes when flying down stream at the rate of fifty to
sixty miles an hour. Lieutenant Baylor ordered us to charge at once.
In running up the mountain I was somewhat in advance of the boys. We
came to a rock ledge three or four feet high. I quickly scaled this,
but before I could straighten up an Indian rose from behind a rock
about fifteen to twenty yards ahead and fired point-blank at me. The
bullet struck a small soap weed three feet in front of me and knocked
the leaves into my mouth and face. I felt as if I had been hit but it
was leaves and not blood that I wiped out of my mouth with my left
hand. I turned my head and called to the boys to look out, but the
warning was unnecessary,--they had already taken shelter under the
ledge of rock.
Just as I turned my head a second shot from the Apache carried away
the entire front part of my hat brim. I saw the warrior throw another
cartridge in his gun and brought my Winchester quickly to bear upon
him. When he saw that I was about to shoot he shifted his position and
turned sideways to me. We both fired at the same instant. My bullet hit
the redskin just above his hip and, passing straight through his body,
broke the small of his back and killed him almost instantly. This old
brave was a big man, probably six feet tall, with his face painted in
red and blue paint. He used an old octagon barrel Winchester rifle and
he had with him an old shirtsleeve tied at one end in which were two
hundred and fifty Winchester cartridges.
Some Indians fifty yards up the mountain now began to shell our
position, so I took shelter behind the ledge of rock. Fifteen or twenty
feet to our left and a little higher up the mountain, Lieutenant Baylor
was sheltered behind some boulders. He raised his head slightly above
his parapet for a peep at the Indians and those keen sighted warriors
saw him; a well directed shot cut part of the grass out of his hat. Had
the bullet been six inches lower it would have struck him full in the
face.
"Darn that old Indian," exclaimed Baylor, ducking his head. "If I had a
shot gun I would run up and jump right on top of him."
The lieutenant was mad now and ordered a charge. The boys hesitated,
and George Harold, an old scout, said, "Lieutenant, if we leave this
shelter and start up the mountain the Indians hidden behind those rocks
seventy-five yards above will kill us all."
"Yes, I suppose you are right; they would be hard to dislodge," replied
Baylor.
The Apaches evidently had plenty of ammunition, as they kept up a
desultory fire all day. Seeing we were not going to fall into their
trap they turned their attention to our horses. Although the animals
were four or five hundred yards from the foot of the mountain they
killed Sergeant Swilling's horse, the bullet passing entirely through
the body just behind the shoulders. When his horse, a large white one,
staggered and tumbled over, Swilling began to mourn, for he had the
horror of walking all Western men have. John Thomas, however, got the
laugh on him by saying, "Sergeant, you had better wait and see if you
are going back to camp." We could see the Indians' bullets knocking up
dust all around the horses and the guard replying to the fire. Baylor
now sent a man and had the guard move the horses out of range.
During the afternoon the Apaches moved up higher toward the crest of
the mountain, and in doing so one of the Indians exposed himself. The
Mexicans to our left spotted him and killed him with a well directed
shot. The warrior fell out in open ground where he was literally shot
all to pieces.
We had been without water all day and when night came Lieutenant Baylor
and Captain Garcia decided it was useless to continue the fight any
longer, so we withdrew toward our horses. After reaching the animals
we could still hear the Indians firing on our positions. We might have
captured the Apaches' horses by a charge, but we would have had to go
down the side of the mountain and across a deep canyon where we would
have been compelled to pick our way slowly under a constant cross fire
from the concealed riflemen, and neither Baylor nor Garcia thought the
horses worth the sacrifice required to capture them.
As the nearest water was thirty miles away and our men and horses
weary and thirsty, we rode back to our hospitable friend, Don Ramon
Arrandas' ranch, where our horses were fed and we ourselves supplied
with fresh milk and cheese. On our return to Guadalupe we were most
kindly entertained by Mr. Maximo Arrandas, custom house officer at
San Elizario, and brother to Don Ramon. We reached our headquarters
at Ysleta after being out five days and traveling two hundred and
twenty-two miles, sustaining no other damage than a few bruises
from scaling the mountain and the loss of Sergeant Swilling's horse.
This first brush with Apaches, however, was but a prelude to other
expeditions after this tribe, and we were soon hot on the trail of
Victorio, the Apache Napoleon.