The Apaches at Mount Vernon eagerly expressed a desire to join the army. By late May 1891, Wotherspoon had forty-six Chiricahuas inducted, in addition to eighteen Tontos, eleven San Carlos Apaches, and two White Mountains brought from San Carlos Agency. In September another contingent from San Carlos brought the total to seventy-six, the largest Indian company in the army. Among the Chiricahuas were Naiche, Sam Hauzous, Chatto, Dutchy, Fatty, Fun, Kayatena, Martine, and Perico. Three white sergeants drew assignment to the company. Geronimo wanted to enlist also, but Wotherspoon considered him too old to adapt and rejected him. This greatly offended Geronimo, but Wotherspoon thought he had placated him, and he continued to perform well as justice of the peace.22
Wotherspoon (promoted to captain in April 1893) performed wonders in transforming prisoners into regular soldiers. Uniformed, equipped, and paid the same as white soldiers, they began to drill, march, camp, learn weapons and fortifications, and take long practice marches. Soon they were drilling and parading with the white battalion at the barracks. Wotherspoon believed they compared with the best white soldiers. Only two events marred their excellence. In March 1892, convinced that his young wife was unfaithful, Corporal Fun shot and wounded her before turning his rifle fatally on himself. He had been one of Geronimo’s relatives and best fighting men, and so impressive a soldier that Wotherspoon promoted him to corporal. A year later, in March 1893, two enlisted men (one the renowned Dutchy, recently court-martialed and dishonorably discharged) got into a drunken row with two white soldiers and beat them to death. The case clogged the courts in Mobile for months, but it further scarred the otherwise exceptional company of Indian soldiers.23
The Apache children looked up to the soldiers, as Sam Kenoi remembered:
We played soldier all the time. The big boys used to work us plenty. Sam Hoazous and James Nichols were leaders. One would command one company and one another. We’d march to the swimming place. There were about forty of us. Sometimes one would fight the other, the two boys. Those two would make us fight. They’d have clubs and say they would club us if we didn’t. They would make us fight with fists, one from one side and one from the other. But it was good. You didn’t get lonesome with those boys. We were always having fun.24
Geronimo’s roles as school disciplinarian and justice of the peace appeared to have satisfied his wish to regain prestige and authority. He impressed visitors as pleased with himself and the attention he had attracted and with his adaptation to white civilization. In 1893 a captain at Mount Vernon Barracks became well acquainted with him and invited him to his quarters. The officer “learned to like and respect the old warrior. I used to have him and the interpreter, Mr. Wrattan, at my house quite frequently, and over pipes and tobacco, for the old man scorned cigars and cigarettes, we had many chats. He told me much of his life as a boy and as a young man, but would have nothing to say of the later years.”25
A couple visiting their daughter, the wife of an officer, had a similar favorable view. Writing a long description of the Apaches to his hometown newspaper in New York, Joseph Edgerton named Geronimo as the leading character, “no longer a savage in appearance or dress.” During their two months’ visit, the couple had met frequently with the Apache. A Sunday or two before, he had called on the Edgertons, “with his wife, a young woman, and their child. All had a holiday look, and Geronimo, a man of sixty or more, instead of making his wife carry the baby, a clean, good-looking one, in the usual papoose cradle or hamper on her back, was hauling it himself, in a child’s little express wagon, and seemed quite proud of his employment. He is a large and well-formed man with a good head and strong Apache features, a certain dignity and bearing, indicating a man of authority and self-respect.”26
“Authority and self-respect” is what he had appeared to receive, together with status (or fear) among the Chiricahuas and the confidence of Captain Wotherspoon. In February 1894, in ill health, the captain left Mount Vernon to take station on Governor’s Island, New York, as aide-de-camp to General Howard. Daniel C. Lamont, secretary of war in the second Cleveland administration, visited Mount Vernon a month later. Contradicting the persona that seemed to have emerged, Geronimo directly approached the secretary and asked him to discharge George Wrattan—the man most responsible for guiding Geronimo and the Chiricahuas since their surrender, and probably the most influential man in lifting Geronimo to “authority and self-respect.” He gave no reason, and Lamont ordered the post commander, Major George W. Russell, to conduct an investigation.
Major Russell took great care to ensure fairness. He held no council but called Geronimo, then each of his witnesses, into separate meetings. Geronimo’s allegations: One night last winter Geronimo and his wife were at Wrattan’s house. Geronimo said he told Wrattan that some of the Indian soldiers were misbehaving, and Wrattan refused to listen. Geronimo also informed Wrattan that his salary came from him, not the government. He claimed, moreover, that General Miles, in granting his request to allow Wrattan to come east with the surrendered Apaches, had told him that whenever he wanted Wrattan to go away, he would go away. To these allegations, Geronimo added rudeness and brutality to all the Chiricahuas, both men and women. Russell referred these charges to Wrattan, whose written reply refuted each one. Russell also interviewed each of Geronimo’s witnesses, and none offered anything bearing on the case. Both Russell and Wotherspoon’s successor declared that Wrattan’s honesty, patience, and fidelity were beyond question and that his removal would be a gross injustice to him and a grave loss to the government. If the secretary needed further commentary, he should call on Captain Wotherspoon in New York.
He did, and in reply received a glowing testimonial to the abilities and achievements of George Wrattan. As for Geronimo, the captain reported that Geronimo forever wanted to hold “pow-wows” to enhance his prestige. Wotherspoon allowed this only once. Geronimo gathered about him as many Apaches as he could and declared that Wotherspoon had failed to stop the Indians from drinking and that he should employ Geronimo at a salary to do this. When Wotherspoon refused, the next day Geronimo got drunk and wound up in the guardhouse. Wotherspoon conceded that he made a big mistake in restoring Geronimo’s stature. To demonstrate the absurdity of the affair, the captain added that, according to Geronimo, General Miles had promised that whenever he wanted to visit Washington or New York, he was to have his expenses paid and someone to show him around.
On May 14 Major Russell received Secretary Lamont’s decision: tell Geronimo his complaints were frivolous and that Wrattan would be retained as long as his services were required.27
How to explain Geronimo’s contradictory persona—based entirely on white sources? They may have existed within his psyche, one of his occasional mood swings, a streak of paranoia that had surfaced at times in the past. That he was acting one role and suppressing the other seems far-fetched. At root may have been a struggle to diminish Wrattan’s power and influence among all the Indians. Geronimo may have been trying to enhance his own power. The incident again, as in the past, points to Geronimo’s contradictory personality—feats of brilliance followed by flawed leadership.
Since the legislative failure in 1890, the drive to move the Chiricahuas had subsided, but not entirely. The health issue remained, especially as Dr. Reed left Mount Vernon for another station and the need arose for a replacement. In the summer of 1892, Lieutenant Wotherspoon received instructions to report on the health and mortality for the full year of 1891–92. He had to concede that mortality remained high, but he urged that the living conditions at Mount Vernon, including diet, exercise, and sanitation, be given a chance. He was so proud of his achievement that he “deprecates agitation to remove these people for the present. It would only make them discontented and uneasy.” He failed to see how a change would be beneficial as long as they were well fed, clothed, comfortably housed, and making “steady progress.” He wanted to see where this progress led.
Wotherspoon’s lengthy analysis worked its way up the chain of comma
nd until it hit the desk of the surgeon general of the army, Doctor Charles Sutherland, a distinguished medical officer since the Civil War. His astute endorsement contradicted Wotherspoon and once more made a solid case for relocating the Chiricahuas.
These excessive [death] rates are not due to climactic influences but to change of habits. The history of all Indian tribes that have come under white civilization is that they become decimated by consumption as soon as they give up their mode of life in the so-called wild state, and these Apaches are no exception to the rule. … If they were permitted to live at will on a larger reservation, preferably in mountain country, the death rate would probably fall to the normal of 40 or 50 per thousand. But so long as they are confined in close limits as now, they will continue to be more than decimated annually.28
Two years later the issue again arose, this time driven by the full force of the War Department. It wanted to abandon Mount Vernon Barracks as no longer needed for military purposes. General Howard seized the opportunity to urge the removal of the Chiricahuas to Fort Sill. All officers united on that place and no other—until General Miles once more inserted himself into the matter. This time his advice made political sense. In 1890 part of the Indian Territory had been carved into the Territory of Oklahoma, which had an elected delegate in the Congress. By naming Fort Sill, which he himself had first proposed in 1886, the measure to move the Apaches there might fail. The army appropriations bill thus provided that the secretary of war could locate the Chiricahuas at any military installation he chose. Debate raged from spring well into summer as the delegates from Arizona and Oklahoma fought fiercely to block any move to Fort Sill. Even so, the appropriations bill emerged with the provision intact, which effectively superseded the 1879 law against settling Apaches in the Indian Territory. Early in August 1894, President Cleveland signed the bill into law.
After seven years—six for Geronimo and his followers—the Chiricahuas finally gained liberation from the Alabama pine barrens. The secretary quickly selected Fort Sill. Although still prisoners of war, the Indians would live in a land combining mountains, arable soil, ample water, and dry climate, a land such as Surgeon General Sutherland had diagnosed as essential to reducing mortality.29
TWENTY-SEVEN
GERONIMO’S FINAL HOME, 1894–1909
AS THE CHIRICAHUAS LEFT Mount Vernon for a new life at Fort Sill, they did not know what to expect. They had led a miserable life in the Alabama pine barrens for seven years. Except for occasional drunkenness, they had apparently lived an exemplary life. Captain Wotherspoon had sought, like Captain Pratt at Carlisle Indian School, to “civilize” them. But could the transformation they and other officers sought be achieved in seven years or less—or ever? To what degree had the Indians surrendered their old traditions and way of life? What went through their minds as they did what they were told? The sources name only Nana as clinging to the old attitudes. The dances and other ceremonies that figured so crucially in the old way could not be performed without the officers knowing it. Could other Apache ways of thinking and believing have gone underground while the veneer of white ways concealed them? Did Usen, the supreme deity, still speak to the people? And what torment did they suffer when the white officers commanded thought and action that violated Usen’s dictates or assurances?
A clue that confuses rather than clarifies may be discerned in a letter Geronimo wrote to his son Chappo, who had been at Carlisle for six years and was now thirty years old, when he asked his father to allow his brother Fenton to join him in school. George Wrattan would have written Geronimo’s reply, June 6, 1894, here paraphrased. Chappo’s letter found Geronimo well and also Chappo’s brother and sister. Geronimo understands what Chappo said about Fenton going to school and is willing for him to go. Geronimo wants him to learn something and be a smart man. He would not say no because he wants to do what is right, and he thanks Chappo. When is Chappo coming to get him? All are here still and belonging to the government, but we do not all think the same. Geronimo has talked until he is tired and so he does not talk to the Indians anymore. They are not his relations, so they do not mind [obey] what he says. They have a captain here, and what he says Geronimo does. He will not say no to him. He would be ashamed to do wrong after he has been treated so well. He thinks good all the time and always tries to do right. From his loving father.1
Geronimo’s letter seems to reveal that he had come to terms with the reality of his new life. He would do whatever the captain said. Interviewed in September by his old antagonist, Captain Marion P. Maus, Geronimo expressed his resignation. He did not consider himself an Indian anymore. He was now a white man.2 Still, according to Geronimo, the people thought in varying ways. Like Geronimo, almost all the people did whatever the captain said, even Nana, so much of the old thinking may have persisted despite their obedience.
Two months after Geronimo’s letter, on August 7, 1894, Captain Pratt discharged Chappo for illness and returned him to Mount Vernon. During September, as the Apaches packed their belongings for the rail journey to Fort Sill, consumption wasted Chappo in the post hospital. The doctor listed him as “very sick.” By the time the people boarded the cars for the new land, Chappo had died of tuberculosis.3
Escorted by Company I, Twelfth Infantry, 305 Chiricahuas—compared with 389 counted at Mount Vernon in 1888—reached Fort Sill, Oklahoma Territory, on October 4, 1894. They had traveled by rail as far as Rush Springs and ridden wagons west the final thirty miles. Second Lieutenant Allyn Capron had commanded the Indian company for a year, and the soldiers liked and respected him. The Indians now came under the supervision of another officer, who had interviewed them at Mount Vernon but otherwise was a stranger: First Lieutenant Hugh L. Scott, Seventh Cavalry. The usual crowds did not turn out to gawk at the Apaches as they had in Florida and Alabama. A throng of Kiowas and Comanches, curious to see their new neighbors, gathered to watch and try to converse, succeeding only when Carlisle students were brought forth. Whites had not settled this country yet, and the Kiowa-Comanche Indian Reservation entirely surrounded the Fort Sill Military Reservation, which itself belonged to these tribes.
With winter approaching, the Chiricahuas moved temporarily into canvas-covered wickiups sheltered by timber about a mile from the fort. They did not yet know what Lieutenant Scott had in mind for their future, but they could foresee the possibility of a better life in a land more to their liking. As the lieutenant reported, the Apaches seemed delighted with the change from Mount Vernon. Their conduct had been excellent, and their health was already improving.4
What Lieutenant Scott had in mind would unfold over the next three years.
The Chiricahuas had been fortunate in their new overseer, in January 1895 to be promoted to captain. Like Captain Wotherspoon, Captain Hugh L. Scott would rise to chief of staff of the army. Like Wotherspoon, he devoted himself to caring for the Apaches and leading them toward self-support—as farmers and cattlemen, however, rather than wage-earners in the white world. Unlike Wotherspoon, Scott did not believe in entirely suppressing old Apache ways. In 1890–91, when the Ghost Dance swept the western plains, he had charge of the Kiowas and gained credit for keeping them quiet as other tribes threatened war. By 1894, he had won the trust and friendship of the Kiowas and Comanches as well as a reputation as an expert on Indians and Indian ways, especially the sign language. Where Wother-spoon had dedicated himself to destroying Apache ways, Scott respected the Apaches as Apaches. Where Wotherspoon had sought to break the power and influence of traditional leaders such as Geronimo and Naiche, Scott saw the value of restoring their stature if not their influence.
Despite a cold, stormy winter, the Apaches worked six days a week plowing land for spring planting, cutting logs for permanent homes, quarrying stone for chimneys, and chopping firewood to ward off the freezing temperatures. Construction of houses—two rooms with a breezeway as in Alabama—began in January and proceeded slowly but steadily. In the summer of 1895, as the agricultural effort progressed, Scot
t bought a herd of five hundred cattle and began to train Apaches how to herd them. Except for skilled carpenters, George Wrattan taught the Indians most of their new work, especially cattle herding. They had never cared for cattle and knew only how to eat them. They made poor herders.5
Scott’s most innovative plan in building homes was to scatter them in twelve villages around the reservation west of the fort, each to have sufficient acreage that every family had ten acres to cultivate as a vegetable garden. In a move Wotherspoon would not have approved, Scott appointed a headman for each village. Each was enlisted and paid as an army scout and issued an army uniform. They were given no authority, but they exerted their influence. Wrattan chose the men, and their names resonated in Chiricahua history from the old days of war and raiding: Geronimo, Naiche, Chihuahua, Chatto, Mangas, Perico, Noche, Kayatena, Martine, Toclanny, Loco, and Tom Chiricahua.
Such a reminder of the old days suggests that the old ways had not died entirely in Alabama. In truth, they had not. Scott never reported ceremonies and dances, but as Geronimo wrote in his autobiography, the people revived them. In his adult years, Sam Kenoi remembered the revival clearly:
There were many ceremonies at this time, but the boys did not attend. It was too common to bother. They were familiar with the customs of the people and didn’t pay much attention. It was pretty hard for the younger people to attend. There were always restrictions on whoever was there. For some ceremonies you couldn’t scratch, for some you couldn’t leave before it was all over, for some you couldn’t sleep. So they didn’t care much about being there. But they always went to the tepee ceremony, for you always had a good time there.6
As the Chiricahuas made a new and better life for themselves at Fort Sill, one pain continued to rankle: their relatives held captive in Chihuahua. At the end of December 1894, George Wrattan composed a letter to Captain Scott naming forty-two Chiricahuas captured by the Mexicans ten or fifteen years in the past and believed still to be held in Chihuahua City—as they probably were, as servants in family households. On the list were relatives of Geronimo, Chatto, Mangas, and Kayatena. The Apaches, wrote Wrattan, said this: “We are settled now, in a good country, where we would all like to be together, have our farms and stock, together and be happy.” As many times in the past, this request crawled up the chain of command, leaped to the State Department, and came back from Mexico with the reply that Chihuahua held no Apache prisoners.7
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