by Jon E. Lewis
After the Bannocks, it was the turn of the Utes. In 1879 Colorado citizens elected a governor whose platform was “UTES MUST GO”. And so they did, forcibly banished to a strip of land in Utah that the Mormons thought too barren for human habitation.
All the Indians of the north and the plains were now on the White man’s reservations. Only in the Southwest were there still Indians to be reckoned with.
Geronimo, Apache Tiger
The Invincible Leader
Five years had passed since the Chiricahua Apache under Cochise had entered the reservation. And gradually, imperceptibly, the peace had come undone.
When Cochise died in 1874 his son Taza became chief, tribal leadership being hereditary amongst the Apache. But Taza, if likeable, lacked authority, and larger numbers of Chiricahua warriors came under the influence of Geronimo, the warrior leader of the sub-band of Bedonkohe Apache who had become assimilated into the Chiricahua. The son of a Nednai chief who had renounced his chieftainship to marry into the Bedonkohe, Geronimo had been born One Who Yawns (Goyahkla). He had been given the name Geronimo by the Mexicans, for he had once fought them at Arispe – after they had murdered his family – with such terrifying ferocity that they prayed to St Geronimo for salvation. The name had stuck, and was used by Apache, Mexicans and White alike. Geronimo had the Power; it had visited him when he had grieved for his slain family. “No gun can ever kill you,” the Power had told him. He was invincible.
Geronimo had grown tired of the monotony of reservation life, and begun to sneak off to indulge his old habit of raiding Mexico. The Mexicans complained bitterly, and in 1876 the Arizonans joined the outcry when two stagecoach attendants and a rancher were killed by drunken Apaches. (That the stagecoach attendants had gotten the Apaches drunk and tried to cheat them was conveniently ignored.) The Governor of Arizona, Anson P. Safford, demanded that Washington replace Thomas Jeffords as Apache Agent, while Tucsons’s Arizona Citizen declared: “The kind of war needed for the Chiricahua Apaches is steady, unrelenting, hopeless, and undiscriminating war, slaying men, women and children, until every valley and crest and crag and fastness shall send to high heaven the grateful incense of festering and rotting Chiricahuas.”
The murder of the three White men gave Washington a pretext to close the Chiricahua reservation, something it wanted to do anyway as part of its 1875 policy of “consolidation” of the reservations. The Apaches were all to be forced onto one overcrowded reservation at San Carlos. On learning of the consolidation plan, Geronimo, now aged 46, fled across the border to Mexico.
This first stint as a holdout was inauspicious. Early in 1877 he came out of Mexico, driving a herd of stolen horses, to visit the agency at Warm Springs (Ojo Caliente). The regime at Warm Springs was lax, and the place was used frequently as a refuge by “renegades” in their cross-border raids. News of Geronimo’s whereabouts reached the Commissioner of Indian Affairs, who wired John Philip Clum, the young agent of the San Carlos reservation, and ordered him to arrest Geronimo. Clum immediately set out on the 400-mile journey to Warm Springs, accompanied by about 100 of his Apache Indian police.
After reaching Warm Springs, Clum sent a message to Geronimo and other “renegade” warriors, like Chief Victorio who had jumped the reservation, that he desired to talk. Having no reason to expect confrontation, the Apache rode the three miles to the agency accompanied by their wives and children. Geronimo found Clum sitting on the porch of the adobe agency building, a dozen of his police around him. Clum opened the proceedings by accusing Geronimo of killing men and violating the agreement made between Cochise and General Howard. He told Geronimo he was taking him to San Carlos. Geronimo answered defiantly: “We are not going to San Carlos with you, and unless you are very careful, you and your Apache police will not go back to San Carlos either. Your bodies will stay here at Ojo Caliente to make food for coyotes.” To emphasize the point, Geronimo hitched his rifle up in his arms.
At this moment Clum gave a prearranged signal, a touch of the brim of his hat; the doors of the commissary building burst open and 80 police charged out. Geronimo’s thumb began to creep towards the hammer of his rifle, but he thought better of it and stood stock-still. Clum stepped forward to disarm the Apache. This was the only time that Geronimo was ever captured, and then it was by a trick.
Conveyed to San Carlos in shackles, Geronimo found the reservation worse than he had feared. Situated alongside the Gila River, much of it was low-lying, reaching temperatures of 110 degrees in summer. White settlers were already beginning to squat the best land. There were outbreaks of malaria and smallpox.
John Clum who, despite his deceit in the capture of Geronimo, was well-liked by many Apache, believed he could work with the People and keep them peaceful on the reservation. The Army, however, because of the concentration of Apache leaders at San Carlos, sent the cavalry to guard the reservation. John Clum was forced to disband his self-regulating Apache police. He resigned in protest, and went on to edit the Tombstone Epitaph.
Victorio fled San Carlos almost immediately, moving back with his people to Warm Springs. The Army harassed them, and Victorio declared he would “make war forever” against the USA. He was killed in 1880 in a fight with Mexican soldiers.
Geronimo endured the reservation for a year. He had little choice, for much of the time he was incarcerated, an experience he thought “might easily have been death to me.” As soon as he was able to he escaped to Mexico with a few other Chiricahuas. He returned voluntarily in 1880 following a bitter winter of starvation in the mountains, but again he did not stay long.
“The Apaches Are Out!”
During the spring of 1881, a religious movement arose among the reservation Apache which preached the end of the White man and the raising again of the old Apache order. In August, the agent sent a detachment of soldiers to arrest the spiritual leader of the movement, Noch-ay-del-klinne. His followers attacked the troops; a pitched battle ensued, with dead on both sides. Army reinforcements were rushed in, and the rumour began to circulate that the Apache leaders would be arrested. More specifically, the rumours said that Geronimo – who had been sceptical about the new religion – was to be hanged. In September of 1881, in response to these rumours, Geronimo and the Nednai chief, Juh, along with 70 warriors, jumped the reservation and made for the Sierra Madre. Their route took them past Tombstone, where a posse including three of the Earp brothers tried to head them off, to no avail.
Six months later, in April 1882, Geronimo and his band returned to the reservation but not, this time, as captives. They rode in as self-declared liberators, and persuaded most of the remaining Chiricahuas and Warm Springs Apaches to leave with them for Mexico. Near the border, at Horse Shoe Canyon, pursuing cavalry caught up with them. The warriors fought a stiff rearguard action, allowing the main body of women and children to cross into Mexico. Then disaster struck. A Mexican infantry regiment stumbled upon the Apaches, killing most of the women and children who were riding in front.
Among the warriors and chiefs who managed to escape were Naiche (a son of Cochise), Loco, Chato, and Geronimo himself. Embittered, they joined up with old Nana, chief of the Mimbrenos after the death of Victorio, to form a united guerrilla band of 80 warriors.
Over the next two years, Geronimo and the united band raided Mexican towns and villages with near impunity. The raiding life of the band was later described by Jason Betzinez, a young Chiricahua, in his memoir I Fought with Geronimo:
Preparations for the raid deep into Sonora consisted of making extra pairs of moccasins, cleaning our hair, sharpening knives, and cleaning and greasing guns. We had no tomahawks, arrows or spears. The Apaches never did have tomahawks and by 1882 arrows and spears were rarely used.
We established most of the young boys, women, and children on top of the mountain where they could keep a good lookout and take care of themselves. Mother and I went with the men at least part of the way. Our job was to bring back stolen beeves to our camp so that the women and child
ren would have plenty to eat while the men were away.
After crossing a mountain range we bivouacked for the night. The next morning our leaders told us to travel close together because of the dense timbers, briars, and cactus. The trip was to be dangerous and difficult; it would be almost impossible to travel at night. We were nearly among the enemy now but kept on going to the vicinity of the nearest town. Then our men began scouting around for horses and mules while mother and I together with five young boys, waited on a hill top where we could see the surrounding country and watch out for signs of the enemy.
After a long and anxious wait, toward evening we were relieved to see our men coming, driving some horses. It had been a risky adventure for us. Even one Mexican cowboy spotting us would have meant serious trouble, we being without weapons.
The next day the men killed several head of cattle, which we cut up and loaded on horses. Late in the afternoon mother and I, together with five boys, started back toward the rest of our band. We traveled part of the night through the thick timber. In the morning we resumed our journey, our horses heavily laden with meat, arriving late in the afternoon within sight of camp. Some of the women came out to help us carry in the beef. As we climbed up the mountainside we were very careful not to leave tracks that would show. After we got to camp and unloaded the animals some of the boys drove the horses down to the river away from camp. We now had enough dried beef to last us for at least a month.
Meantime our men went on west to where a main road passed between several towns, south towards Ures, the then capital of Sonora. Where the road ran along the river through the timber was the locality in which the Apaches were accustomed to lie in wait for travelers especially pack trains laden with drygoods.
Our men were gone about fifteen days. Meanwhile we lived very quietly at camp. One day a woman standing in front of her tepee saw a white object approaching us in the distance. The women and children immediately became very excited and fearful, thinking that the enemy were coming. Two of us boys going out to investigate found that it was our warriors coming home with great quantities of dry goods, bolts of cloth and wearing apparel. When they arrived at the foot of the mountain they called up to us whereupon all the people in camp hurried down to meet them. We surely were glad to see them and they to see us. One thing we didn’t see was scalps. The Apaches did not practice the custom of scalping a fallen enemy. There may have been exceptions to this but they were very, very rare. Concerning Geronimo I never knew him to bring in a scalp. Much nonsense has been written about this.
After our warriors returned, we hiked farther up the Yaqui River, camped for awhile, then again moved upstream. Here we had plenty of food and nothing to worry about. Nevertheless we were very careful not to disclose our presence because we were quite near a number of Mexican towns. Every day our men stationed lookouts on the hills. Our camp at this time was at the junction of the Bavispe and Yaqui Rivers.
The leaders decided to raid toward the northwest. This time we started off on foot leaving all the animals in the valley near the Bavispe River where there was plenty of good grass. We concealed in caves our saddles and the loot which the men had brought back from the earlier raid, as well as all our camp gear which we could not carry on our backs. We took only one mule, my big mule, on which Geronimo’s wife and baby rode.
Our band moved straight west toward a Mexican town. Just when it appeared that we were going right on into the village the leaders stopped a few miles to the east. The plan was to avoid stealing any horses or mules while we were sneaking around in between these towns, two of which lay to the west and one to the east of our route.
From the last campsite the band turned northwest toward the mountains. Since we were about to cross the main road we were especially careful not to be seen or leave any sign that would put the soldiers on our trail. Our men knew that each town contained a garrison of troops. So we carefully covered our tracks.
We camped at the foot of a mountain a few miles from the road running between Buenavista and Moctezuma. Early next morning Geronimo told the men that they could now go out to look for horses and mules. They should drive in all that they could find, as we needed them for the expected move north into the mountains. About noon our men drove in quite a number of animals stolen from the Mexicans. We had a great time roping them and breaking them for the women and children to ride. My cousin roped a mule but it broke away from him. I chased it out into the prairie for nearly two miles. I nearly went too far. Suddenly I saw Mexican soldiers only a short distance away.
As I galloped back to the group of Apaches I heard my cousin shouting to me to hurry up, the enemy were coming along behind me. Meanwhile the Indians were taking up a position from which to attack the soldiers. As I sped over a low ridge I heard the shooting start. The Indians charged so fast toward the enemy that they failed to notice one soldier who was hiding in the bushes. This man shot and killed the last Apache to ride by him. The warriors, hearing the shot, came dashing back just in time to shoot the Mexican.
The band felt dreadfully sad over losing a warrior. He was a Warm Springs Apache who had no near relatives in the band with us.
Late that afternoon we started off to the west then camped at the foot of the mountains for supper. While we were thus engaged, a sentinel ran in to report that the enemy were at the skirmish ground of that afternoon, not far behind us. We moved out hastily into the foothills where we remained in concealment during the night. In the morning we saw the soldiers following our tracks and approaching our hill. At once the warriors took up positions ready for a fight. But the Mexicans didn’t attempt to follow our trail up the mountainside.
Finally our men got tired of waiting, so we moved on, traveling very fast right on into the night. We came to a short steep canyon where we made camp and enjoyed a good night’s rest.
In the morning we set a course across the wide valley of the Bavispe. Although our horses and mules were in good shape we traveled slowly, enjoying the trip and the pleasant surroundings. That night we camped beside the Bavispe River. The chiefs told the men not to shoot any deer because the Mexicans might hear the firing.
This country looked as though it belonged to us. For some days owing to the wise leadership of Geronimo we had not been disturbed by an enemy. We crossed the river and moved through the woods discussing the fact that the country seemed to be full of deer and other game. In fact the deer just stood and watched us pass. It seemed that they had never been disturbed by anyone hunting them. A person living in this favored spot would never have to go hungry. There were plenty of wild animals and other food, easily obtainable. But at this time the men all obeyed Geronimo and didn’t fire a shot. Besides, we still had plenty of dried beef.
Arriving at our next objective we again settled down for an indefinite stay. It was just like peacetime. We had plenty to eat, good clothing taken from the stolen stocks, and no enemies nearby. We were about thirty miles southeast of Fronteras.
During this period the women, assisted by some of the boys, were gathering and drying the fruit of the yucca, preparing for a winter to be spent in the Sierras. It was in the late summer or early fall of 1882.
As well as raiding into Mexico, the Geronimo band attacked American settlements and ranches.
To stop the outrages, the Army once again called on George Crook (“Grey Wolf” to the Apache). On 4 September 1882 Crook assumed command at San Carlos and, on talking to the Apaches on the reservation, found that their grievances were justified. The reservation Apaches, he concluded, “had not only the best reasons for complaining, but had displayed remarkable forbearance in remaining at peace.” He began a reform of the corrupt practices of White contractors and suppliers and set about re-establishing John Clum’s Apache police.
Crook also gave much thought to the band of Apaches free in Mexico. He did not want another guerrilla war with the Apaches, especially in the rugged terrain of the sierras. Crook decided that he should meet with Geronimo and the other leaders, and t
hat the best place to do this was in Mexico. But in order to cross the border, he had to wait for the Apaches to make a raid in the US. By international agreement, he could go into Mexico only in pursuit of renegade Apaches.
His justification came on 21 March 1883, when a renegade war party raided a mining camp near Tombstone. A few days later the same raiders killed federal judge H. C. McComas and his wife, and abducted their son. Crook, together with 50 soldiers and 193 civilian Apache scouts, trailed the renegades into Mexico. After searching for several weeks, the scouts located Geronimo’s camp and captured the women and children, the men being on a raiding party. The Apache had believed that they were safe inside Mexico; Crook’s capture of the camp was a stunning blow. Geronimo agreed to parley, and found Crook generous. Grey Wolf even allowed the Apache leader another two months of freedom, while he rounded up the rest of the Chiricahuas.
True to his word, Geronimo crossed the border voluntarily, although he stretched the two months to eight, arriving in February 1884. Before him he drove 350 head of cattle, stolen from the Mexicans. This seemed proper to Geronimo, who felt he was only supplying his people with meat. At San Carlos, Crook took a different view and confiscated the herd, ordered it sold and returned the proceeds to the original Mexican owners.
For more than a year things were quiet on the reservation, and Crook could proudly say that “not an outrage or depredation of any kind” was committed by the Apaches. Outside San Carlos, however, the citizens of Arizona were stirring up trouble. Newspapers contained lurid, and fabricated, stories about atrocities committed by Geronimo and called upon vigilantes to hang him. There was criticism of Crook for being too easy on the Apaches; some even suggested that he had surrendered to Geronimo in Mexico, and was now providing him with an easy life in return for the keeping of his scalp.
