[CHAPTER XIV]
THE PLAINS IN THE CIVIL WAR
That the fate of the outlying colonies of the United States should have aroused grave concerns at the beginning of the Civil War is not surprising. California and Oregon, Carson City, Denver, and the other mining camps were indeed on the same continent with the contending factions, but the degree of their isolation was so great that they might as well have been separated by an ocean. Their inhabitants were more mixed than those of any portion of the older states, while in several of the communities the parties were so evenly divided as to raise doubts of the loyalty of the whole. "The malignant secession element of this Territory," wrote Governor Gilpin of Colorado, in October, 1861, "has numbered 7,500. It has been ably and secretly organized from November last, and requires extreme and extraordinary measures to meet and control its onslaught." At best, the western population was scanty and scattered over a frontier that still possessed its virgin character in most respects, though hovering at the edge of a period of transition. An English observer, hopeful for the worst, announced in the middle of the war that "When that 'late lamented institution,' the once United States, shall have passed away, and when, after this detestable and fratricidal war—the most disgraceful to human nature that civilization ever witnessed—the New World shall be restored to order and tranquility, our shikaris will not forget, that a single fortnight of comfortable travel suffices to transport them from fallow deer and pheasant shooting to the haunts of the bison and the grizzly bear. There is little chance of these animals being 'improved off' the Prairies, or even of their becoming rare during the lifetime of the present generation." The factors of most consequence in shaping the course of the great plains during the Civil War were those of mixed population, of ever present Indian danger, and of isolation. Though the plains had no effect upon the outcome of the war, the war furthered the work already under way of making known the West, clearing off the Indians, and preparing for future settlement.
Like the rest of the United States the West was organized into military divisions for whose good order commanding officers were made responsible. At times the burden of military control fell chiefly upon the shoulders of territorial governors; again, special divisions were organized to meet particular needs, and generals of experience were detached from the main armies to direct movements in the West.
Among the earliest of the episodes which drew attention to the western departments was the resignation of Albert Sidney Johnston, commanding the Department of the Pacific, and his rather spectacular flight across New Mexico, to join the confederate forces. From various directions, federal troops were sent to head him off, but he succeeded in evading all these and reaching safety at the Rio Grande by August 1. Here he could take an overland stage for the rest of his journey. The department which he abandoned included the whole West beyond the Rockies except Utah and present New Mexico. The country between the mountains and Missouri constituted the Department of the West. As the war advanced, new departments were created and boundaries were shifted at convenience. The Department of the Pacific remained an almost constant quantity throughout. A Department of the Northwest, covering the territory of the Sioux Indians, was created in September, 1862, for the better defence of Minnesota and Wisconsin. To this command Pope was assigned after his removal from the command of the Army of Virginia. Until the close of the war, when the great leaders were distributed and Sheridan received the Department of the Southwest, no detail of equal importance was made to a western department.
The fighting on the plains was rarely important enough to receive the dignified name of battle. There were plenty of marching and reconnoitring, much police duty along the trails, occasional skirmishes with organized troops or guerrillas, aggressive campaigns against the Indians, and campaigns in defence of the agricultural frontier. But the armies so occupied were small and inexperienced. Commonly regiments of local volunteers were used in these movements, or returned captives who were on parole to serve no more against the confederacy. Disciplined veterans were rarely to be found. As a consequence of the spasmodic character of the plains warfare and the inferior quality of the troops available, western movements were often hampered and occasionally made useless.
The struggle for the Rio Grande was as important as any of the military operations on the plains. At the beginning of the war the confederate forces seized the river around El Paso in time to make clear the way for Johnston as he hurried east. The Tucson country was occupied about the same time, so that in the fall of 1861 the confederate outposts were somewhat beyond the line of Texas and the Rio Grande, with New Mexico, Utah, and Colorado threatened. In December General Henry Hopkins Sibley assumed command of the confederate troops in the upper Rio Grande, while Colonel E. R. S. Canby, from Fort Craig, organized the resistance against further extension of the confederate power.
Sibley's manifest intentions against the upper Rio Grande country, around Santa Fé and Albuquerque, aroused federal apprehensions in the winter of 1862. Governor Gilpin, at Denver, was already frightened at the danger within his own territory, and scarcely needed the order which came from Fort Leavenworth through General Hunter to reënforce Canby and look after the Colorado forts. He took responsibility easily, drew upon the federal treasury for funds which had not been allowed him, and shortly had the first Colorado, and a part of the second Colorado volunteers marching south to join the defensive columns. It is difficult to define this march in terms applicable to movements of war. At least one soldier in the second Colorado took with him two children and a wife, the last becoming the historian of the regiment and praising the chivalry of the soldiers, apparently oblivious of the fact that it is not a soldier's duty to be child's nurse to his comrade's family. But with wife and children, and the degree of individualism and insubordination which these imply, the Pike's Peak frontiersmen marched south to save the territory. Their patriotism at least was sure.
As Sibley pushed up the river, passing Fort Craig and brushing aside a small force at Valverde, the Colorado forces reached Fort Union. Between Fort Union and Albuquerque, which Sibley entered easily, was the turning-point in the campaign. On March 26, 1862, Major J. M. Chivington had a successful skirmish at Johnson's ranch in Apache Cañon, about twenty miles southeast of Santa Fé. Two days later, at Pigeon's ranch, a more decisive check was given to the confederates, but Colonel John P. Slough, senior volunteer in command, fell back upon Fort Union after the engagement, while the confederates were left free to occupy Santa Fé. A few days later Slough was deposed in the Colorado regiment, Chivington made colonel, and the advance on Santa Fé begun again. Sibley, now caught between Canby advancing from Fort Craig and Chivington coming through Apache Cañon from Fort Union, evacuated Santa Fé on April 7, falling back to Albuquerque. The union troops, taking Santa Fé on April 12, hurried down the Rio Grande after Sibley in his final retreat. New Mexico was saved, and its security brought tranquillity to Colorado. The Colorado volunteers were back in Denver for the winter of 1862–1863, but Gilpin, whose vigorous and independent support had made possible their campaign, had been dismissed from his post as governor.