by 1864-1898 Indian War Veterans: Memories of Army Life;Campaigns in the West
All at once I saw, or thought I saw, one of these sizable buttes distant a half mile or more, actually moving toward me. I said to myself, “You are a sane man and you know perfectly well that it is your thirst that plays this illusion upon you, and if you will summon all your will power and command that butte to be fixed in the ground where it belongs, it will obey you.” Thus my intellect spoke, but when I summoned all my resolution and commanded that butte to “stand still,” I did not have the luck that Joshua had with the sun, for the butte continued to come on, although fortunately it never reached me. All the buttes in sight by this time were moving toward me in like manner. I did not yield my mind to the illusion for a moment, and believe that the buttes did move, but I could not make my vision see them otherwise than as moving.
By this time, I was leading my horse, but I did not stop and continued to keep Cross Mountain in view, determined to keep on as long as could be. And so, without hardly knowing it, we passed out of the region of those buttes and into an area where the trees grew more thickly. Then, right on the edge of the new ground, we found water! A little spring welled up and a small rivulet led its water away, and around it were plenty of signs that animals of many sorts resorted here for water. It was difficult to control either my horse or myself, but I did have resolution enough to take the water very slowly, and if possible get perspiration started over our bodies before becoming gluttons. I did not like to take chances, but I did loosen the saddle girth, which several times I had tightened, to give the horse the best breathing possible, for it was necessary after a moderate rest and safely filling up with water. But it was astonishing how the water rejuvenated us. We actually moved away in mid-afternoon with some evidence of strength and spirit.
I estimated that if we could go in a straight line from this point to our destination I would not have more than twelve to eighteen miles to go and I hoped to get over that distance without trouble, although I was now nearing the old reservation of the Hualapais and almost anything might happen, for even General Crook did not know anything save that they had become restless because of other sub-tribes of Apaches being off their reservations. There could be no secrecy about my movements. It was a clear case of assuming that the Indians hunting trouble just were not there. And if they were off the reservation, obviously they were not on it, and there was little prospect of accomplishing killing or torture in its vicinity to tempt them to linger about. The only thing I had to fear was a chance encounter with a straying band of independent Indians, and that is just what I did run into.
I was pushing along at quite a fast walk, mounted this time, when as I was passing through a bit of low ground with a rising slope on my right, suddenly there appeared on its crest and leisurely coming toward me five Indians. Seeing me clearly was a great surprise to them. They had no squaws with them, which looked bad for me, as it might be a war party. They also had lots of paint on, but they seemed uncertain and somehow gave the idea they were footsore. They were about 300 yards away when I first saw them, and I motioned them with my hand to stop, and they did for the moment, but I did not stop and kept quietly urging my horse along to try to get beyond the point where they would cut me off if they continued in their present direction. I would have been glad to get away without any closer knowledge of them, and if they really were footsore I felt that my horse could outrun them into Camp Beale Springs.
But suddenly as I was quietly moving my horse along and thinking over these things, one of the Indians without any previous indication stepped out from his companions and took a quick shot at me, the bullet striking the ground near my horse. I already had my Winchester lying in the hollow of my left arm, and almost as quick has he fired, I pumped two shots, not at any single Indian but at the group of them as they stood in consultation, and they being on my right, I had to twist in my saddle to get in the shots I did. Evidently one of my shots at least struck something, for instantly they were dragging one at least apart, and in a moment each Indian was covered by a tree [sic]. It is a most remarkable thing why they did not, like any other Indians I ever saw,…at once seek cover and begin shooting at me. My horse was perfectly gun-shy and stood like a rock while I fired my two shots, but immediately after firing I was not interested in anything more there, and before the Indians could think or do very much shooting or anything else, I had started up my good horse for a race from there to Camp Beale Springs if they wanted it.
But I never saw any of them again and just about sundown I rode into Camp Beale Springs, inquired for the commanding officer, saluted, and said I had a packet that was directed to him for which at his leisure I would be glad to get his receipt. His response was: “Where on earth did you come from; how did you get through, and where is your escort?”
The Fight at Cibicu, 1881 (By Anton Mazzanovich, formerly of Troop F, Sixth U. S. Cavalry, relating the account of Sergeant John A. Smith, Troop D, Sixth U. S. Cavalry. From Winners of the West, April, 1925)
In 1871, General Grant, then president of the United States, called a council and powwow of some Indian chiefs and medicine men of the Southwest at Washington, D. C. Each Indian in attendance at that powwow was presented with a medal commemorating the occasion after smoking the pipe of peace. Among the medicine men who received one of these medals was Noch-ay-del-klinne, of the White Mountain Apaches. This same medal…was loaned to me by Sergeant John A. Smith, late of Troop D, Sixth U. S. Cavalry, who in 1881 was stationed at Fort Apache, Arizona. The medal was secured by Sergeant Smith under thrilling circumstances.
In the spring of 1881, affairs at the White Mountain Apache Reservation were becoming very serious. Medicine Man Noch-ay-del-klinne was going from camp to camp on the reservation telling the Indians that in August of that year all the Indians who had gone to the happy hunting grounds in the past would return to earth again and then the entire tribe were to meet in the Tonto Basin and start from there to wipe the hated paleface from the land. At every camp where the medicine man stopped the Indians held war dances, and nearly all of the bucks joined in as he went about endeavoring to foment trouble. At that time of year the agent would issue passes to the White Mountain and Chiricahua Apache tribes located at the White Mountain and San Carlos reservations, granting them permission to hunt in the Tonto Basin.
The Indians were holding nightly dances, which started at Apache then circulated to Cedar and Careisco creeks, eventually winding up at Cibicu Creek, which was located some fifty miles from Fort Apache. The regimental headquarters of the Sixth Cavalry were at Fort Apache, [and] Colonel Eugene A. Carr received orders from the department commander to start out and locate the troublesome medicine man of the White Mountain Apaches and bring him in as a prisoner. Colonel Carr was an officer with a most gallant record of long and distinguished service in the United States Army, having been conspicuous in the Civil War…. After the Civil War he participated in many campaigns against the Indians in Kansas, Nebraska,…Colorado[, ] Wyoming, Montana, Dakota, and Arizona. He was conspicuously presented to the attention of the country by a gallant and successful defense against the attempted massacre of his command by the White Mountain Apaches at Cibicu Creek in August, 1881, because of the arrest and subsequent killing of the medicine man and prophet, Noch-aydel-klinne.
Colonel Carr started to attempt the capture of this troublesome Apache with Troops D and E, Sixth Cavalry, and one company of Indian scouts. Troop D was commanded by Captain Edmund C. Hentig, noncommissioned sergeants John E. Blackburn and John A. Smith, and Corporals Burton and Bowman. Troop E was in command of First Lieutenant William Stanton and Second Lieutenant Thomas Cruse. Company A, Indian scouts, was commanded by Lieutenant Cruse, noncommissioned officers Dandy Jim, Dead Shot, and Skitashe and Mose. First Lieutenant William H. Carter was acting adjutant. The balance of the command consisted of Post Surgeon George McCreery; sixty-five enlisted men; twenty-five Indian scouts; Nat Nobles, boss packer; George Hurle, interpreter; Colonel Carr’s son, Clark Carr, who was on his summer vacation, also was with the command.
After a vigorous march, this small column overtook the medicine man and his followers, who were camped on Cibicu Creek. They were just on the point of starting to hold a council when Colonel Carr’s command arrived. Without wasting any time or mincing words, the medicine man was placed under arrest and three noncommissioned officers from the company of Indians scouts—Dandy Jim, Dead Shot, and Skitashe—were detailed to guard him.
Some days prior to this, it had been deemed advisable to withdraw the ammunition carried by the Indian scouts. Colonel Carr, however, thought it more judicious to have a plain talk with them and assume an air of confidence. No overt act had been committed by any of them, and in past years they had accompanied the troops on innumerable scouting expeditions, showing at all times courage, untiring energy, and vigilance. The object of the present expedition being explained to the scouts, their ammunition was returned to them. Chiefs Juh, Nana, and Sanchez asked Colonel Carr why the medicine man, Noch-ay-del-klinne, was placed under arrest. The colonel replied that his orders came from the War Department. He also advised the chiefs to go to their different camps on the reservation [and] settle down and behave themselves.
After making the arrest, Colonel Carr moved down the creek with Troop D to locate a good camping place for the night, leaving Troop E as rearguard to keep the Indians from crowding in. After crossing the creek a few miles below, the colonel located a good spot to bivouac. The horses of Troop D and the pack mules were sent out on herd. Meantime, many Indians had gotten past Troop E on the right and left flank and crowded in close. Captain Hentig thereupon ordered the interpreter to tell the Indians to keep away. They were in an ugly mood, however, and paid no attention to the order but continued crowding in closer than ever. It looked as if trouble was imminent and a fight likely to start at any moment. The Indians were coming to camp on horseback and on foot, all armed with the best of weapons.
Captain Hentig again ordered them away from his camp. He gave his orders in a loud and businessman-like tone of voice. He was standing near an Indian scout sergeant by the name of Mose. The latter exclaimed, “I am a soldier.” The captain ordered him to move once. Mose slipped around behind the captain and shot him through the heart, killing him instantly. That single shot was the signal for the first volley, which was fired by most of the Indians, including the scout company, directly into the ranks of the small command. Troop E came dashing to the scene of actions, after which the troopers started hunting for cover. During the excitement, Dandy Jim and Skitashe tried to smuggle the medicine man away, but a bugler [trumpeter] from Troop D named William Ahrens pumped three bullets into his head from an army Colt.
Other troopers dashed in and disarmed the three scouts and placed them under arrest. The firing lasted about an hour. Sergeant Smith told me that Colonel Carr’s son was in the thick of the fight and seemed in his element—a “chip off the old block”—and that he fought like a seasoned trooper. Those killed at the first volley included Captain Hentig and Privates Henry C. Bird [sic—Bird was wounded but died later], John Sullivan, William Miller, Edward D. Livingstone and Sonderegger. Those wounded were Sergeant John F. MacDonald and Privates Ludwig Baege and Thomas J. F. Foran [both of whom died later]. One man was reported missing. The horses of Troop D and also the pack train mules were stampeded and captured by the Indians. Colonel Carr assembled the officers under him and held a council of war. They decided to start for Fort Apache under cover of night. It was not learned if any Indians were killed during the fight or even wounded.
Sergeant Smith said that at the first volley the firing was at close range, and that undoubtedly some of the Apaches were killed. The first shot was fired at about 5 p.m. Scouting parties were sent out, composed of volunteers from each troop, in an effort to locate the Indians. Meantime, guard was mounted. Sergeant Smith was sergeant of the guard. A detail was burying the dead. The scouting detail returned with the information that the Indians were camped five miles south of the command. They were engaged in rounding up their stock from the creek bottoms.
Just as the men were placing the last body in the grave, Sergeant Smith observed the medicine man crawling about on the ground. He had not been killed, despite the fact that he had three bullets through his head. Not daring to shoot for fear of alarming the command, Smith grabbed an ax which had been carried along by the pack train and dispatched the wounded Apache. The sergeant said that it was a rather unpleasant method of sending the medicine man to the happy hunting grounds, but that it was the only way under the circumstances. As the sergeant knelt beside the body to make sure that life was extinct, he observed a beaded necklace and a large medal around the medicine man’s neck. This medal and necklace he appropriated. The medicine man was then buried in the same shallow grave with the dead troopers.
At 11 o’clock that night, after everything had been put in good order and the wounded troopers placed in as comfortable positions as was possible, the march to Fort Apache was begun. It was a terrible journey, as the hostiles followed the small command all the way in, harassing them at every opportunity. It must be remembered that half the command were on foot, taking turns about at riding with those of the command which were mounted. The command reached the post without any further casualties. Private Foran of Troop D, who had been seriously wounded, died a few hours after reaching the post. Sergeant John A. Smith is now [1925] living in Burnett, Washington. He is sixty-nine years of age and the only white man in possession of a medal…[as described.] The dies for the medal were engraved by Paquet, who at that time (1871) was assistant engraver at the United States Mint in Philadelphia….
Notes on the Cibicu Creek Fight and the Fight at Fort Apache (By William Baird, formerly captain, Sixth U. S. Cavalry. From Winners of the West, April, 1925)
I am seventy-three years old, and the hardships and exposures of the service in Arizona and all over the West in the “early days” have left me not very robust…. I brought into old Fort Apache the bones of Captain Edmund C. Hentig and the men who were killed in the Cibicu Creek fight with him. That was about a year after the battle. The bodies had been dug up by the Indians, as they had been buried hurriedly when the command under Colonel Eugene A. Carr had to retreat to Fort Apache to look after the women and children, as very few troops had been left there. The bodies had been buried under the picket line, hoping the tramping of the horses would hide their graves and prevent the Indians from mutilating them. But you know you can’t fool an Apache. Afterwards they were buried again. I think the Indians dug them up twice. I took out a small detachment of B Troop, Sixth U. S. Cavalry, and we brought the bones in on pack mules, using gunny sacks to carry the remains in to the post, where they were again interred with full military honors in the post cemetery….
[Regarding the fight at Fort Apache on January 9, 1876, ] William Gurnett belonged to Captain William S. Worth’s Company K, Eighth U. S. Infantry, in 1875, when I first joined from West Point. He could write you a story about that fight on January 9, 1876, in which both he and myself were “among those present.” Indeed, I helped to get him recognition after many years for his part in it. He shot Diablo when the Indians fired into the post. My duty consisted in rallying and leading a part of the command up the hills against the renegades, as I was the only officer in the post when the sudden outbreak occurred down at the Indian scouts’ camp, all the other officers having gone down there. D Troop, Sixth Cavalry, was hurried down in their stable clothes with their carbines from the afternoon stables when the first shot was fired. All officers were cut off from the post for quite a while. The commanding officer’s horse came galloping back covered with blood, so things were pretty lively for a while.
Major General William H. Carter of Bluemont, Virginia, who was [then a second lieutenant] in the Sixth Cavalry, was acting adjutant at the Cibicu fight. He received a Medal of Honor for rescuing men in that fight. His wife was with Mrs. Mary Carr at Fort Apache when the general outbreak occurred. There were very few troops left at the post and Colonel Carr had to r
etreat back there in a hurry to protect women, children, and settlers.
Campaigning in Arizona in the 1880s (By John E. Murphy, formerly of Company C, Twelfth U. S. Infantry. From Winners of the West, June, 1924)
I have a horrible recollection of Indian disturbances, having served three years in Arizona after going through the Sioux Campaign in 1876, where we lost more men in one battle in less than one hour’s fighting than the New Hampshire troops lost killed outright in battle during the World War. I refer to what is known as the Custer Massacre.
Speaking now of the years I spent in Arizona, one might say it was three years of continuous war. The first thing I got was a 500-mile walk from Fort Yuma in the southwest to Fort Apache in the northeast. How is that for a hike in the Arizona sun in the summer month of July? At that time the Apache chief Victorio was overrunning New Mexico and the eastern part of Arizona. Troops were brought in from surrounding sections and he and his followers took flight down into Old Mexico, where the American troops were [mostly] barred from entering.
