The Life and Adventures of Kit Carson, the Nestor of the Rocky Mountains, from Facts Narrated by Himself

by De Witt C. Peters

The mansion which belongs to Maxwell would be an ornament to any country. At one time, it was used as a garrison for American troops, and on it, the soldiers made many improvements. It is built one story high, in the shape of a hollow square, and has the size of an ordinary block in a city. Around the whole runs a fine veranda. With its lofty ceilings, large and airy rooms, and its fine yard in the centre of the square, which is well stored with its fowls, pigeons, and other pet animals, with appropriate kennels; with antlers of noble buck and elk; hams of venison, buffalo meat, wild turkeys, etc., and near by a fine vegetable garden; altogether, it presents a picture of sumptuous living rarely seen within the pale of civilization. Maxwell counts his steeds and cattle by hundreds, while his flocks of sheep are enumerated by thousands. Near by stands Kit Carson's ranche, which, though more modest, yet, when the hunter occupies it, in dead game and comfort, it fully rivals its compeer. Around these two hunters live a handful of Mexican friends, who are either engaged in agricultural pursuits for themselves, or else in the employ of the "lords of the manor," Carson and Maxwell.

In this his residence at Rayado, Kit Carson is only kept from spending his whole time by business for which his tastes are more suited. Soon after the commencement of the settlement, and while he was engaged in his vocation as farmer, news reached him that the Apaches had been committing a most wicked murder, the details of which are horrible in the extreme. A merchant by the name of White, who was engaged in business at Santa Fé, had been into the United States for the purpose of purchasing goods. With his train of wagons and his small escort of men, traveled his private carriage, in which there were, as passengers, his accomplished but unfortunate lady and her only child. On arriving at a point where he anticipated no further danger, Mr. White started on ahead of his caravan, in order that he might reach Santa Fé as soon as possible, and thus relieve his family from the privations of camp life. He had proceeded but a few miles when he was attacked by some Indians who had concealed themselves in the rocks on either side of the road. The savages, as the carriage neared their hiding-place, fired with such accuracy of aim that they killed, by their first volley, all of the men who were with the carriage before they were aware of the danger which surrounded them. Mrs. White and her child were reserved for a worse fate. They were carried off into captivity. The child proved to be a source of annoyance to the blood-thirsty savages, and its angel spirit was released from earth by their cruel ferocity. Before the eyes of its captive mother the fatal tomahawk was raised, and by one dastard blow its keen edge was made to mingle with its brains. The horrid work failed not to bring the bitter woes and anguish of despair to the breast of the unhappy mother. It was then thrown into Red River, which was the stream nearest to the scene of the bloody tragedy.

Red River and its great cañon has always been to the Apache Indians a favorite haunt of refuge, either when pursued, or after the committal of some terrible crime. There are several streams in the West called by this name. The one here referred to is the Red River of the plains, and is one of the upper tributaries of the Arkansas River. In olden times it went by the name of the Canadian River. Several sharp conflicts have occurred on this stream between the Apache Indians and parties of United States troops. It has also formed the stage of many an Indian tragedy in conflicts between the mountain Indians and the Indians of the plains. Quite recently, attempts have been made by whites to use its banks for grazing purposes, but every enterprise which has been set on foot to establish ranches in its vicinity, have been warmly contested by the Camanches, who have killed several persons who have dared to essay such attempts.

The intelligence of this terrible butchery having been carried to New Mexico, a command was organized in hot haste, which had for its object the immediate rescue of Mrs. White from her bondage, worse than death. Two men went with this party as guides, named Leroux and Fisher. Watkins Leroux is an old and famous trapper and mountaineer, whose reputation and skill as a guide in the far West, is second only to Kit Carson's. A few of his warm partisans, who are ever very warm in their praise of their friend, at one time considered him superior even to Kit Carson; but, when the skill of the two men came to be tried in the same cause, the palm was yielded to Kit Carson. Leroux has guided several parties over new routes with meritorious success. His knowledge of Indian character is nearly equal to that possessed by Kit Carson, and he is endowed with a wonderful amount of forethought and prudence; but, in an Indian fight, or on any great emergency, his faculties appear to be less active, and his judgment less certain, than those exhibited by the great Nestor of the Rocky Mountains. It is a well well-understood maxim, that there are more or less narrow-minded persons who are ready and eager to pull down any and every rising man; and, for this purpose, such must choose a champion. Kit Carson's association with Colonel Fremont had won him so great renown, as a mountaineer and guide, that an opposition party was formed to detract from his merits and capabilities. Leroux, owing to his popularity, was chosen for the leader of this party, and whenever the name of Kit Carson was mentioned, the friends of Leroux always saw fit to compare the deeds of the two men together. This strife, of course, could not be lasting, and now it is almost forgotten. It is a just tribute of praise due to both of these brave men, to say that they do not sanction, by word or deed, either party to the controversy. They could but appreciate each other, and, as friends, ever felt elated, the one at the success of the other, and vice versâ. They mutually considered that every fresh laurel of glory added a measure-full of honor and renown to their common brotherhood of mountaineers, among whom the good reputation of their cloth was as dear as it was among the knights attached to the orders of chivalry. Their ranches are located in the same valley, and in the same town; where, having lived together as fast friends in life, in all probability they will find their last resting-places in the same graveyard. Few men can say aught against the character of Watkins Leroux, but in this estimate of his actions, we are only reviving what has already been given to the public.

With Leroux and Fisher employed as guides, the expedition for the rescue of Mrs. White set out on its route, and, on its journey, passed by Rayado. Kit Carson immediately proffered his services for the expedition. They were accepted, but, much to the surprise of many of the party, instead of being at once placed in the position which his great experience demanded, he was assigned to an inferior position under the command of Leroux. Kit Carson, however, was too good a soldier to exhibit the conduct which the little buzzing talkers so anxiously looked for from their supposed kindling of his jealousy, and quietly took the post assigned him, eager to lend a helping hand, which might even thus be instrumental in saving a valuable life. It is proper, however, that we should add, that this slight upon his reputation and experience wounded his feelings. But, especially, as the life in jeopardy belonged to a woman, he would not, and did not, think of allowing his actions to partake of his feelings. We have reason to believe that this slight, at least on the part of the commanding officer of the expedition, was not intentional. That gentleman was an honorable man, and would not have committed an act which he considered would have resulted otherwise than for the best; and, in appointing Leroux his chief counsellor, he had selected a good man, but, one whom he afterwards learned, to his sorrow, was every way the subordinate of Kit Carson in managing Indian affairs.

A few years subsequent to the transpiring of this murder and the skirmish which succeeded it, we traveled near to the spot under the same officer who had the command of the above expedition. He reverted to the affair with much feeling, and from his actions and remarks, we could plainly see that his sympathies had been, perhaps, too greatly enlisted in behalf of his unfortunate countrywoman, and that his better judgment had been overcome by giving way to the urgent advice of others. If it had been a battle where either scientific attainments or manly courage could have succeeded, he would, doubtless, have been himself, and carried everything through with success. This is no mere assertion, for his long and well tried military career warrants us in this belief. We have the greatest respect for this gentleman, and consider him a very able man; but, as a biographer, we are called upon to narrate the facts as they come to us. If he had succeeded, everything would have been considered as well done; but he failed, and the cause of his failure is plain.

The party being thus constituted, and no delay having been occasioned by any unforeseen accident, the party arrived in good season at the place where the cold-blooded murder had been consummated. Around the spot, there was strewn, in great confusion, boxes, trunks, pieces of harness, and many other things, which had belonged to the unfortunate party, and which the villains did not fancy and carry away with them. The path taken by these Indians was soon found, and on it, the command traveled in full chase for twelve days, without seeing the outline of a savage. Carson describes this as being the most difficult trail to follow he remembers ever to have undertaken, for the rascally Apaches, on breaking up their camps, would divide into parties of two and three, and then scatter over the vast expanse of the prairies to meet again at some preconcerted place, where they knew water could be had. In several of these camps the pursuers found remnants of dress and other articles, that were known to have belonged to Mrs. White. By these signs, they were led to believe that she still lived. Although these things would be trifles on ordinary occasions, yet, at the present time, they were the cause of stimulating the white men to their utmost exertions; and, as they grew fresher, the excitement among the party increased. At last, the camp, and even the persons of the savages, became visible to the foremost of the pursuers; and, among the first to get a glimpse of them was Kit Carson. At the time the discovery was made, Kit Carson was considerably in advance of most of the men. Turning to those near him, he shouted to have the command come on as fast as possible, for he saw at once that there was no time to be lost in consultation as to the best mode of assaulting the Indians. They, already, were in commotion, and were making hurried preparations to decamp. Riding on at full speed for some distance, Kit Carson again turned his head and saw, to his dismay, that he was not followed; but instead, the command had halted. The cause of this curious order being given, at such a precarious moment, was, as he afterwards learned, brought about by the advice of the chief guide, who told the commanding officer that the Indians wished to have a parley. On seeing what was transpiring behind him, Kit Carson had no alternative but to rein up his horse also; for, to ride on alone into the midst of the savages, would have been unjustifiable rashness, and might, perhaps, have destroyed the plans his superior officers were concocting. So, he stood paralyzed and confounded at the inactivity of his companions. Just about this time, a bullet, fired from the Indian camp, struck the commanding officer in the breast, and bent him forward. Those around him, for a little while, supposed that he had received a mortal wound. Still, he retained his seat in the saddle, but could not speak. Thus again was precious time lost, as the party, during this time, were virtually without a leader, and did not seem to be inclined to make one. Fortunately for this officer, just before he received the shot, he had taken off his thick buckskin gauntlets and crowded them into a breast pocket. The ball had struck this bundle; and, as its force was somewhat expended by the distance it had come, it was unable to more than penetrate the mass and contuse the soft parts of the chest.

This accident assisted in preventing this well known military man from inflicting such a blow on these savages, that they would have been long in recovering from it. He had undoubtedly seen, soon after he had halted, that Kit Carson was right in recommending a charge; for, as quick as he recovered sufficiently from his injury to be able to speak, he commanded the men to make the attack, and leave him to himself. Unfortunately, the time had passed to accomplish the desired effect when this order was given, for, on arriving among the lodges, the men found only one warrior. He, as a matter of course, was slain. The body of Mrs. White was also found in the camp. Life was extinct, though her soul had but just flown to heaven. There was still warmth in the corpse when the men first discovered it. An arrow had pierced her breast. Evidently she had been conscious that friends were near, and was trying to make her escape when the missile of death produced the fatal wound.

Much has been written and said about this sad affair, and much unjust calumny has been heaped upon the head of the leader of the expedition; therefore, the opinion of Kit Carson in reference to the matter may not be out of place; hence, we give it word for word. "I am certain" says Kit Carson, "that if the Indians had been charged immediately on our arrival, Mrs. White would have been saved. At first, the savages were much confused at our approach, and I do not hesitate to say that she saw us as quick as any one of the redskins did, for it undoubtedly was the all absorbing topic of her mind that her rescue would be attempted by her friends and countrymen. On seeing us coming, she had attempted to run towards us, when she was shot down. Had she been liberated, she could not have long survived the brutality, hardships and vicissitudes she had experienced. Words cannot describe the bitter cup that she had been obliged to drink during her captivity. It was the will of Providence that, having suffered like a martyr on earth, she should be taken to himself before we arrived to where her remains lay; upon coming upon which, we shed tears at thus being defeated in what had been our cherished hopes even had it cost some of us our own lives."