Famous Indian Chiefs / Their Battles, Treaties, Sieges, and Struggles with the Whites for the Possession of America

by Charles H. L. Johnston

Courtesy of the Bureau of American Ethnology, Smithsonian Institute.

GERONIMO.

Geronimo, in his native wilds, wore no clothing save a narrow piece of calico, or buckskin, about his loins, a headdress also of buckskin, crested with the plumage of the wild turkey and eagle, and long-legged moccasins, held at the waist by a string, and turned up at the toes by a shield which protected him from stones and from the "cholla" cactus. If he felt thirsty when on the warpath, he knew where to find the tiny springs and brooks of the arid wastes, or, if he could find no water, he would put a stone or twig in his mouth in order to induce a flow of saliva. With this as a stimulus, he would journey onward for hours.

This crafty warrior would pitch his bivouac by nightfall at some distance from any spring, where his pursuers would be least likely to look for him. Generally it would be upon the side of some rocky mountain, along which no trail would be left, and up which no pursuing band of United States cavalrymen could ascend without making so much noise that they would wake him long before they were near enough to do any damage. He was familiar with every ravine, cavern, cañon, defile, gorge, and place which was inaccessible to horses. When on a raid, his followers often lived upon rats, mice, rabbits, and coyotes, and, if very hard pressed, killed and ate the horses which they were mounted upon. No wonder that they held out against the white men for months after any other Indian tribe would have been annihilated.

As the whites took up ranches and settlements in Arizona and New Mexico, there was continuous difficulty with the Apaches. Various causes led to a final outbreak, and, much as one may regret the fact, the actions of some United States officers who were on the frontier were mainly the reason for Indian hostility. The Apaches soon instituted a reign of terror in the Southwest, and there seemed to be no cruelty too atrocious for them to commit. They made sudden and daring raids upon the scattered ranch houses, burning them to the ground, killing the inmates, and carrying off the sheep, cows, and horses.

One day a ranchman of New Mexico was returning from a distant search for a stray heifer, when, upon mounting a hill just beyond his ranch house, he saw flames issuing from the roof and windows of his home. Putting spurs to his horse, he galloped up to the front yard, anxiously looking for signs of his family. As he did so, a wild yell came to his ears, and gazing across the plain, he saw a band of four Apaches, with his little son in their arms. Waving their hands at him defiantly, they soon disappeared beyond the sloping hillocks, while he, terrified and horrified at this unlooked-for assault, hastened to the garrison of United States troops, ten miles away, to warn them of the raid and ask assistance. Not long afterwards a squad of cavalry was in hot pursuit of the redskins, guided by the heartbroken parent, who urged his horse at top speed in the endeavor to overtake the marauders. But knowing that pursuit was almost certain, the Apaches had rested their ponies, and, as they were fresher and tougher than those upon the trail, they soon left the latter far behind. Plunging into a shallow river, they wheeled about, and, while one held the little boy in his outstretched arms to let the heartbroken father know that they still had him, the other shouted defiantly at the United States soldiers. Then, turning suddenly, they were soon lost in the mountains.

This was but one of many such raids, so when General Crook took command of the United States troops of Arizona, in June, 1871, the settlers of the border country were in a frenzy of delight. At once this skillful Indian fighter enrolled a number of friendly savages as scouts. They were under a chief named Miguel, who was perfectly familiar with the mountain haunts of the Apaches, and, like bloodhounds upon the trail of criminals, were perfectly able to hunt down the followers of Geronimo to their last resort. In December the American troops gathered in the Tonto Basin, a mountain plateau surrounded by high ridges of the Mogollen, the Mazatal and the Sierra Ancha ranges, heavily timbered slopes deep with the winter's snow. For the first time since they had been striving against the whites, the Apaches found themselves matched in their own game. The allied scouts of Crook's army were as keen, as daring, and as untiring as the followers of Geronimo, and piloted the men in blue uniforms to the very heart of the bad lands, where was the lair of these enemies of the border.

Splitting into small detachments, the United States soldiers scoured the barren wastes in search of their human quarry. The Apaches skulked, like mountain lions, in the crevasses and coulies of the hills, and, seeing that they were being surrounded, concentrated in their strongholds, three of which were almost impregnable. These were the fortress at the summit of Turret Butte, the cliffs of the Superstition Mountains, and the cave in the cañon of Salt River.