Jerome A. Greene
Page 43
The next morning, before Captain Applegate started to Camp Yainax with his party, he, with the old chief and Littlejohn, his Klamath interpreter, went into the peace commission tent at military headquarters to say good-bye to the commissioners, who were all seated around a table. Mr. Meacham, evidently wishing confirmation of his own views, said to Captain Applegate: “Oliver, can you give us any hope?” The answer was not encouraging. It was that the commissioners were in great danger, dependant as they were upon the caprice of Indians already proven treacherous and having an evident advantage. The meeting with Captain Jack and his cabinet passed that day without unusual incident, but Winema, who was sent with a message to Captain Jack after he had returned to his stronghold, was secretly intercepted on her return by Faithful Williams, one of Jack’s Men, an old-time friend of hers, with the statement that the Modocs had already decided to kill the commissioners, and if they should go to the place of meeting that day it would surely be their death. This dread news she immediately communicated to the commissioners, and she and her husband plead[ed] with them vehemently not to go.
The morning of the fatal day, April 11, 1873, General Canby and Reverend Dr. Thomas, being still unconvinced, the entire party went as before, and with them Bogus Charley, one of Jack’s men who had remained overnight in the military camp with the soldiers, professing warm friendship. The council opened peacefully as usual, General Canby distributing cigars among the party and expressing his hopes for peace. As the council proceeded, however, signs of an approaching crisis appeared and finally Kientpoos, springing up and drawing his pistol shouted, “Otwe Katuck”—“Now it ends”—and shot General Canby in the face at a distance of probably not over eight feet. The attack on all the commissioners began at once, each Modoc knowing beforehand who his victim was to be. Other warriors appeared armed from the surrounding rocks. General Canby and Dr. Thomas were soon killed and their clothing stripped from them. Colonel Meacham, bleeding from several wounds, was prostrate and unconscious among the rocks.
Mr. Riddle succeeded in escaping to a rugged lava field near the lake shore, and Mr. Dyer ran toward the military camp through the rocks, pursued by Hooker Jim, who fired at his intended victim as he ran. Mr. Dyer expected momentarily to be killed, but marvelously escaped being shot by one of the best marksmen in the hostile band. At a distance of probably a hundred yards from the place of attack, he turned toward his pursuer, menacing his foe with the Derringer, but not firing, as the books have it, for it would have been impossible with such a weapon to have harmed his foe at a distance of fifty yards. The menace was effectual and Jim threw himself on the ground to escape a possible shot, while Mr. Dyer gained distance enough to meet the relief party of soldiers from Colonel Gillem’s camp, who had been notified from the signal station on the cliffs above the camp of the attack on the commissioners. Winema remained on the ground where the murderous attack occurred, was once knocked down by an Indian gun, and prevented one Indian from shooting Mr. Meacham through the head and another from scalping him while he was yet unconscious. At last she cried out in the Modoc tongue, “Sojers capcopila” (“soldiers are coming”) and the Modocs stopped the bloody work and soon disappeared in the rugged fastnesses of the Lava Beds.
The noble Canby, famous as a major general in the War of the Rebellion, and Reverend Dr. Thomas, peace-loving divine as he was, lay prone and naked among the rocks, and Alfred B. Meacham, enthusiastic and almost fanatical friend to the redman, lay bleeding where he had risked his life rather than desert his companions, who could not realize the danger with him. He slowly recovered from the awful ordeal and lived for several years, and until his death remained a friend to the Indian.
Mr. Dyer’s escape was marvelous, for both Black Jim and Hooker Jim had been selected to kill him, but their bullets went wild and, as he claimed, the menace with the little pistol had saved his life. Captain Applegate made him a present of it. After more than fifty years, when Mr. Dyer finally passed away, his daughter, Miss Helen Dyer, of Ontario, California, sent the little pistol by mail to Captain Applegate at Klamath Falls, Oregon. It is only a month ago that he received it, and you may be sure that he prizes it as one of his most interesting souvenirs of the tragic drama of the Modoc War.
Incident in the Charge on the Modocs, January 17, 1873 (By Jasper N. Terwilliger, formerly of Troop F, First U. S. Cavalry. From Winners of the West, April 30, 1926)
We all remember the cold dismal foggy day, the fog being so thick we could almost cut it with a knife. Captain Oliver C. Applegate with his [militia] command on our extreme right could hardly be discerned for the fog. Several of F Troop, First Cavalry, were wounded as the line advanced. [Privates] Guttermuth and Hollis, close to myself, were victims. We took Hollis under cover, took off his belts, gave him a drink of water, and as he was badly wounded we signaled the hospital corps, and two men were shot in attempting to reach him. The bugle sounded to the left and we were to cover the position occupied by Captain John O. Fairchild of the California volunteers, whom the Indians were picking off. As we were advancing along, Paddy Doyle, who was just ahead of myself, raised his hand and said, “See the white flag the Indians have raised?,” which was a false move on the part of the Indians. Just then two shots were fired so close together that they sounded like one. Paddy was shot in the arm and, dropping his carbine, jumped down and said, “I’m shot all to paces.” Captain David Perry said, “Terwilliger, get that carbine and smash it,” and I did.
We then crossed over to the lines of G and B troops, where the wounded were attended to by the surgeons. In crossing this open space, Captain Perry and Corporal Iseman were wounded. After the wounded were taken care of, we then moved back a few miles to the temporary camp of B and G troops, where we had coffee and what there was to satisfy hunger. We rested and had a few hours sleep and then, with the wounded upon horses, we started back on a twenty-mile hike to the permanent camp of B and G, everybody good and tired. Being acquainted with the cook of G Troop, I sauntered down to the cook’s tent and, I tell you, I surely did enjoy the meal. In the meantime, the cook took an axe and broke open a cracker box. It sounded just like a shot, and every trooper was out of his tent with his carbine, but it was a false alarm. The next morning we were separated from the rest of the troop under Sergeant Coppell and had a sixty-mile hike to get back to F Troop headquarters….
E. Southwest
Southwestern campaigns took place in West Texas, New Mexico, Arizona, and southern Utah, where pressures by settlers and miners aroused the native peoples to offer resistance to the intruders. Campaigns against the Indians began soon after conclusion of the War with Mexico and carried intermittently through the Civil War, and especially involved the large tribe of Navajos and smaller and more diverse groups of Apaches. Again, many of these peoples were physically forced onto reservations, and their resistance to this control, both initially and sporadically thereafter, proved the root of much of the conflict that proceeded well into the 1880s and beyond. In many ways, the Apache wars were the most difficult of all the Indian wars, for the troops labored over grueling deserts and tortuous mountain terrain in pursuit of incredibly smart and elusive people as the warriors and their families successfully evaded the army time and again. The following veterans’ statements offer insights into this difficult warfare, describing actions and personal tragedies and experiences regarding Utah’s Black Hawk Indian War and the various Apache conflicts that permeated Arizona and New Mexico throughout the 1870s and early 1880s. Most of the accounts relate aspects of the famed Geronimo Campaign of 1885-86, providing highly personal views of the pursuit and surrender of the famed Chiricahua leader, while a single remembrance describes the exhausting effort to subdue the Apache Kid in the 1890s.
Men of Company H, Tenth Infantry, stand with their officers at parade rest before their barracks. They wear dress uniforms and hold their Springfields in this image taken at Fort Union, New Mexico Territory, ca.1890.
Pursuing Indians during Utah’s Black Hawk War, 18
65 (By Joseph S. McFate. From Winners of the West, February 15, 1926)
About the middle of December, 1865, the Indians made a raid on Kanab, Kane County, Utah [Territory], and drove off a bunch of horses. About the same time they drove off horses and cattle from the St. George country. I was living at Virgin City. As soon as we got word, several of us left home to join the boys from St. George who were ahead under James Andrews, while we went with Sextus Johnson. It had been raining several days when it turned to snow, which was eighteen inches deep when we got to Pipe Springs ranch. Dr. James M. Whitmore and Robert McIntyre had been killed before the snowfall on an alkali flat of over one hundred acres, with not a bush or spear of grass on it.
After we had been there several days, some of the boys went out and captured a young Indian, brought him to camp, but he would not talk. After trying several days, I—who spoke the language well—was told by Captain James Andrus [Utah Militia Cavalry] to tell him that if he would tell where the men were that were killed [Whitmore and McIntyre] we would not hurt him but set him free, otherwise he would be killed. He then said if we take him and seven or eight men on horses to the flat about four miles from the ranch we would find them. He took us to the northeast corner and pointed west, had us ride about twenty-five rods west, four or five feet apart, all abreast. Then he had us turn to the south, back to the place of starting. Then he had us go on the north side. When we went about half the distance, about ten feet to the right I discovered the feather end of an arrow above the snow. It was shot into one of the men’s bodies (do not remember which) after he was killed and stripped of his clothing. As soon as that was seen, the Indian turned his pony’s head, would not look that way. I told him to turn, but he would not. When I asked him where the other man was, he asked me if that was the man with whiskers. After telling him, he pointed to the other about ten or twelve feet from the one just found. Sextus Johnson then asked Hyram Morris and myself to go to camp and get a wagon to take [the] bodies home. It was about four miles, all up grade. About a mile off, we looked back, saw James Andrus coming from the southeast with his men that went out that morning. They had seven Indians, took them to where the dead men were, showed them what they had done, and [they] were shot right there. When we returned, we put the bodies of Whitmore and McIntyre in the wagon, covered them with snow, and took them to St. George, getting home about 10th or 12th of February.
The little village of Kanab was in peril as the Indians from the extreme north to south were all on the warpath. The Utes under Black Hawk, all the different tribes with their leaders,…and Paiutes, with the Navajos hissing [cheering?] them on. When the settlement in Long Valley was not considered strong enough to protect themselves, I with about fifteen others went as guard about the middle of May and were there until about the middle of July, when James Andrus came with another bunch of about twenty-five men and guarded them into larger settlements. At the same time, the settlements on the upper Sevier had to leave their homes and take their families to better protection. Their good crops was their only show for bread. I went again as guard and to help gather the crops….
An Apache Fight near Camp Bowie, Arizona Territory, 1871 (By John F. Farley, formerly of Troop K, Third U. S. Cavalry. From Winners of the West,September 30, 1935)
My army service dates from March 1, 1867, to March 1, 1872, when I was honorably discharged at expiration of service. The first two months after my enlistment were served at a military school at Carlisle, Pennsylvania, after which I was attached to a group of 300 recruits who went from Carlisle to Fort Leavenworth, Kansas, for assignment to the Third United States Cavalry, located in various forts in New Mexico. After a few weeks delay at Fort Leavenworth, we were equipped with arms and mounted. We started on the march over the plains over the Santa Fe Trail, some 800 miles of a march. On reaching Fort Union in New Mexico, we were assigned to our various troops in our regiment. With some twenty other recruits, I was assigned to Troop K, located at Fort Seldon, some 400 miles from Fort Union, where we arrived one month later.
I served with my troop at Fort Seldon for two and one-half years, during which time I was in several Indian engagements in New Mexico and western Texas. After two and one-half years in New Mexico, our regiment was transferred to Arizona, my Troop K being located at Camp Bowie. On July 19, 1871, my Troop K was stationed with one infantry company of the Twenty-first regiment at Camp Bowie. On July 16th there occurred near Camp Bowie an Indian depredation which caused Major Andrew W. Evans, the commander of Fort Bowie, to issue orders to Captain Gerald Russell, the captain of Troop K, to take all the men who could be spared from the post from Troop K and go in pursuit of these Indians. Captain Russell acted accordingly, taking about seventy men from the troop, leaving some twenty men to do escort duty for daily mail carrying in and out of the post. These men were subject to my orders as first sergeant of the troop under order of Post Commander Major Andrew W. Evans. About 3:00 p.m., July 19, 1871, a report reached the post that the post cattle herd of about 150 head located near the post had been stampeded by hostile Indians, and that one of the herders had been killed and the other desperately wounded. On receipt of this report, the commanding officer of the post sent his orderly to me with orders to take all the cavalrymen of Troop K I had in the post and take after the Indians, and that in event that we caught up with the Indians to try and hold them engaged until the infantry company which he would order out to our assistance would reach us. I acted upon this order of the commanding officer at once, but found that I could muster only six men, including myself, to take after the Indians on horseback.
The daily escorting of the mail in and out of the post every afternoon was a longstanding order by the commanding officer of the post and could not be dispensed with. This was a detail of twenty men, leaving only six men, including myself, to take after the Indians on horseback. It will be noted that the Indians stampeded the cattle herd of the post at the time of day when our force at the post was the weakest. On leaving the post with my small squad as per commanding officer’s orders, I confined myself to following the trail of the Indians and the cattle herd which was very broad. This we followed, very rapidly for about five miles from the post, when we came to a small hill over which the trail led us. Our horses having been ridden so rapidly to this point, each of our squad dismounted including myself and started leading our horses up this hill in single file. I was in advance when we had reached about half way up this hill and one single gun shot from the top of this hill took effect in my left hip. Immediately after this shot was fired it was followed by a volley of several shots aimed at us which for the most part went over us doing no damage. I immediately tried to mount my horse, but found that the gunshot had disabled me so that I was unable to do so. Following the volley fired at us, the Indians who were mounted on ponies rushed down on both sides of us, intending to cut us off from the post. Fortunately for me, three of my men abandoned their horses and the four of us without horses aimed to reach a deep arroyo some few hundred yards distance with a heavy growth of brush which would enable us to make a dying fight by getting together. We succeeded in reaching this arroyo after many narrow escapes from being shot down by armed Indians all around us.
Our fight was with a bunch of dismounted Indians as all those mounted Indians for the time were drawn from us in trying to head off two of our party from making their escape to the post. When they failed to head our two men off from the post, the mounted Indians returned and joined the bunch of dismounted Indians who were trying to dislodge us, but they finally gave up their efforts to get us out of the arroyo. This was about 6:00 p.m. The July sun was generally intensely hot; this increased the pain of the wound received in my hip which was bleeding very profusely. At about seven o’clock a heavy thunderstorm passed over with heavy rain which was a great relief to my wound, which was becoming much inflamed and intensely painful. I of course thought that my wound was a fatal one.
We remained in the arroyo until ten o’clock expecting relief from the post and wo
ndering why it had not reached us sooner. At that, I noted in the darkness approaching us on horseback, a man. When near enough, I challenged, “Who comes there” and received in reply, “A friend.” This man was in charge of a squad from the post which had come to our rescue. The rescue party had an ambulance and was looking the ground over for our dead bodies, not expecting to find any of us alive.
We arrived in the post about midnight where I was taken to the hospital. My wound was examined by the doctor, who gave it as his opinion that it would not be fatal if I would keep up my courage. For the first two weeks while I was in the hospital, I suffered intense pain from my wound before it commence to heal. The only medical attention that could be applied to the wound was a wet cloth laid over it to keep down the inflammation. I came out of the hospital at the end of five months.
While I was confined in the hospital, my regiment had been transferred to Fort Robinson [sic—Fort McPherson], Nebraska, and it then being within a few months time of the expiration of my service, I remained at Camp Bowie. I received my discharge from the service on March 1, 1872, and did not return to my regiment again. On the return of Captain Russell from his pursuit of the Indians who had been committing depredations mentioned above, he came at once to the hospital to see me. He was very much interested in my report and escape from death. When I reached the part where I mentioned about the two men who had made their escape to the post and who were followed by all the mounted Indians until they safely reached the post, the captain disapproved their action in leaving the party in that way and especially so when they knew I was wounded. He advised that they should be prosecuted on charges of cowardice, but after hearing my further report and my reasons for disapproval of charges against them, he finally agreed with my views that no charges should be preferred against them. I explained to him that those escaping to the post from our party drew all the mounted Indians away from myself and the others with me for about one hour’s time so that we had only a few dismounted Indians, about six or eight, keeping us under fire until the mounted Indians returned to where we were located. On their return, the four of us were together in a good position in the arroyo to defend ourselves. There were about twelve or fifteen mounted Indians who followed the two men into the post and I gave it as my opinion that if they had not been drawn away from us as they were in pursuit of those two we would have all been killed, as the Indians were all well-armed with up-to-date guns and they outnumbered us by at least three to one. The captain agreed with me then that no charges should be preferred against the two men who had made good their escape to the post.