Across America; Or, The Great West and the Pacific Coast

by James Fowler Rusling

"You mean that for a fair comparison of Arizona, with Montana?"

"Sartin! Thet's about it naow, you bet! Our fellers, who come down yer with me last fall, most all gone; others leavin' every week. I'm goin' to vamose, too, 'fore long, you bet!"

These placer mines were scattered over a district of ten or twelve miles around Prescott, and the truth seemed to be, that as a general thing they had produced poorly. It appeared, there were two or three hundred men, in all, engaged in them still, but these were making only indifferent wages, and many were quite discouraged. The quartz mines covered a much wider area, and beyond question were very rich in the precious metals; but the ores were sulphurets, of the most refractory character, and there was no known "process" to work them at a profit. Eleven mills, of from five to twenty stamps each, had been erected, at mines whose ores assayed from one hundred to two hundred or more dollars per ton—an excellent yield, of course. But, of all these, only one five-stamp mill was then running—the Ticonderoga—and that was reported as only about paying expenses. Instead of two hundred dollars, or more, per ton, as per assay, the mills in fact could only stamp out and save from ten to twenty dollars per ton; and this was a losing business. A new "process" was just being tried at the Eureka Mill, which did excellently well, as per assay in the laboratory; but it was uncertain what would be the result, when applied to large quantities of ore in the mill. The Bully-Bueno and Sterling lodes seemed to be the most in favor. Specimens from the Sterling, that were shown, were indeed wonderful in richness, and there seemed to be no doubt that the ledges around Prescott abound in mines, which will yield very largely, if only a process can be found to treat successfully such obstinate and refractory sulphurets. For the present, however, mining operations about Prescott were very "sick," with poor prospect of speedy recovery. The region had indeed two advantages, very rare in Arizona, to wit, good fuel, and sufficient water. The breadth of timber here, however, had been much overstated. An area of ten miles square or so embraced the bulk of the pine, which was an exceptional growth just there; the rest consisted chiefly of scrawny juniper and scraggly cedar, fit only for fuel and fencing.

The Territorial capital was still at Prescott, but its permanent location was yet to be decided on. Maricopa Wells and Tucson were both contending for the honor, and the latter it seems has since won it. Ultimately, however, it is probable, the Territory will divide on the line of the Gila, and Prescott again become the capital of the northern part of it. Arizona naturally and geographically subdivides on that line, and the interests of the two sections are usually quite divergent. The population of the territory was variously computed at from three to four thousand only, of whom the major portion by far were Mexicans and their descendants. The other whites were mainly Arkansans and Texans, many of them no doubt exiles from the East, "for their country's good." Of course, this was not a very promising basis for a commonwealth, and the Territory, it appeared, was about at a stand-still. As evidence of this, there was not then a bank, or banking-house, or free-school, or Protestant church, or missionary even, throughout the whole of Arizona—a region some four or five times as large as the great State of New York. The Indian population was estimated at about twenty thousand, of whom ten thousand were regarded as friendly, five thousand as hostile, and five thousand as half and half—that is, sometimes friendly, and sometimes hostile, depending on circumstances. To offset and antagonize these, the Government had then about twenty-five hundred regular soldiers in Arizona, which would seem sufficient, if well handled, though the people of course were clamoring for more. The great controlling tribe in Arizona, and extending into New Mexico, and the terror of the Mexican border, were the Apaches. Those that we saw gave one the impression of a fierce, sinewy, warlike race, very different from the Plains Indians, and it was plain there would be no peace in Arizona, nor much hope for its development, until these Apaches received a thorough chastisement. This they had never yet had, from either Mexicans or Americans, and consequently they despised and hated the Pale Faces, as we hate (or ought to hate) Satan himself. They inhabited the mountains chiefly, though they often descended into the plains, and in bands of two or three, or more, scoured the country far and near, as it suited them. About Tucson and Tubac they stole stock, and occasionally killed travellers, often within a mile or two of the towns. Sometimes, for months together, they would leave a road unmolested, and then, suddenly, attacking it at different points, clean out all the ranches. A few miles from Camp McDowell, on the road between there and Maricopa Wells, they infested a rocky cañon on the Rio Salado, and mockingly defied all attempts to expel them. A fortnight before we reached Maricopa Wells, en route to Tucson, a party of them crossed the Salado and Gila, and stole ten head of stock from a ranch only three miles from the Wells. About the same time, another party of three lurked around the station at Blue Water, on the road to Tucson, some fifty miles south of the Wells, and, failing to find anything they could steal, vented their spleen by shooting an arrow into a valuable horse that was stabled safely from their reach. This done, the same night they struck across the country, some fifteen or twenty miles, to the peaceable Pimo settlements on the Gila, where they each stole a couple of horses apiece, and made good their escape with them to the mountains.

Some of their exploits were very amusing, as well as very daring, worthy of the best days of Osceola or Tecumseh. We heard one of a party, that had just preceded us in Arizona. They camped at a station for the night, and thought their animals thoroughly secure, when they had put them into an adobe corral, with a wall four or five feet high by two thick, and then lay down themselves across the only entrance, with their rifles by their sides. The stealthy Apaches waited until their pale-face friends were well asleep, and then with a piece of dry cow-hide, hard and thin, sawed out a section of the adobe wall, at the other end of the corral, and in the morning Los Americanos found themselves horseless and muleless. We may "fancy their feelings," when they discovered the opening! Just then, I fear, they would have made poor Peace Commissioners! Especially, as they had to foot it fifty miles, back to the next station, for new animals!

There was another story told of a gallant army officer, who had been out on a scout the year before, and was determined not to lose a favorite horse he had along. The Apaches were about thick, and the night before had stolen several animals, in spite of the utmost vigilance. To guard against what he supposed even the possibility of loss, the officer picketed his horse with a lariat to a tree, and then spreading his blankets camped down under the tree—at the same time posting a sentinel over his horse, with strict orders to watch faithfully. Toward morning the sentry thought the horse was a little farther from the tree than he should be; still, as he saw nothing suspicious, he supposed he must be mistaken as to the length of the lariat. After walking a few more beats, he thought the horse was still farther off; but it seemed so little, and the horse was so quiet, he did not think it right to make an alarm. A few beats more, however, convinced him that something must be wrong, as the horse was evidently still farther away. But now, simultaneously with his challenge, lo! an Apache sprang lithely upon the steed, and in a twinkling he was galloping off through the chaparral and cactuses, with a yell of defiance at the astonished Blue Coat! Creeping stealthily up in the dark, with a more than cat-like caution and silence, he had severed the lariat, and edged the horse off little by little, until at last his capture was sure.

If a party were strong, or not worth cleaning out, or killing, the Apaches usually gave them a wide berth. But woe to those whom they marked for their prey, if not well armed, and ceaselessly vigilant. They would dog a party for days, with the tireless energy of the sleuth-hound, watching for an unguarded moment in which to attack, and then suddenly pounce upon them, like fiends, as they were. As a rule, they used bows and arrows still; but many had fire-arms, and knew how to handle them with deadly effect. We were shown several of their children, captured in different fights, and they were the wiriest, fiercest little savages imaginable. Sullen, dogged, resolute little Red Skins, they lacked only maturity and strength to "make their mark" on somebody's head; and this they seemed quite likely to do yet, unless their Apache natures were thoroughly "reconstructed." They had a peculiar and pleasant penchant for setting fire to hay-stacks and ranches, and on the whole were a species of population, that nobody but an Arizonian would care much to fancy. They were held as servants in different families, and their service in too many instances approximated to downright slavery—so much so, indeed, that the attention of the Territorial authorities was already being directed to the matter.

As if to give us some proof of their enterprise and audacity, a band of these Apaches made a raid near Prescott, the very day we arrived there. They attacked a ranch only three miles east of "this New-England-like" village, and seized several cattle and drove them off. A mounted scout was at once sent out from Fort Whipple, and though they marched seventy-five miles in twenty-four hours, they failed to come up with the Red Skins. The officer in command reported the bold marauders as strong in numbers, and fleeing in the direction of Hell Cañon—an ugly, diabolical-looking place, some forty miles east of Prescott. Gen. Gregg, then commanding the District of Prescott, immediately ordered out two fresh companies of cavalry, and, himself at their head, made a forced march by night, in order to surprise them in their reported stronghold. Next morning at daybreak, he was at Hell Cañon, but no Apaches were found there, nor any traces of them. After a brief halt, he ordered the cavalry to follow down the cañon to its junction with the Verde, and after scouring all the cañons centering there, to return by a wide detour to Fort Whipple. The General himself now returned to Prescott, and I cheerfully bear witness to his vigor and chagrin, having accompanied him out and back. A detachment of the cavalry, a day or two afterwards, succeeded in finding a rancheria of Apaches in a villainous cañon, miles away to the southwest of the Verde—a thin curling smoke in the mountains revealing their presence. The troops pushed boldly in, and came suddenly on the rancheria, or village, before they were discovered. Dismounting from their horses, they poured in a rapid volley from their Spencer carbines, that killed five Apaches, and wounded twice as many more. The rest fled, but in a few minutes bravely rallied, and soon came swarming back, down the cañon and along its rocky cliffs, in such numbers and with such spirit, that the officer in command deemed it prudent to fall back on the main column. This he succeeded in doing, but it required a march of several miles, as the column had moved on; and when he rejoined, it was thought best for the whole command to return to Fort Whipple, as their rations and forage were about exhausted. Subsequently, Gregg sent them out again, and this time they succeeded in damaging the Apaches very considerably; but it was not long before they were lurking about the country again.

The rough ride to Hell Cañon and back, despite occasional snow-squalls, was not unpleasant, and not without its interest. Our route in the main was down the valley of Granite Creek, and past the site of old Fort Whipple, now called Postle's Ranch. Here was a fine plateau of several hundred acres, with acequias and a petty grist-mill, the whole used formerly by the troops; but occupied now by only a family or two. The truth is, population was too sparse, and the Apaches too plenty, to make farming an agreeable occupation just there. We saw several men at work in the fields, as we rode along, all with rifles slung across their backs, and the infrequent settlers protested they meant to quit the country, as soon as their harvests matured. The last ranch eastward—the one most remote from Prescott, and, consequently, the very edge of the frontier there—was owned and occupied by what may justly be called a typical American emigrant. Born in New Jersey, the nephew of an eminent minister there, he early emigrated to Canada, and thence to Michigan. Here he married, and soon afterwards emigrated to Illinois. Thence he went to Kansas, and thence to New Mexico. Subsequently, he emigrated to California, and when he grew weary there, as he could "go west" no farther, concluded to remove to Arizona. Here he had been for two years, with his family, on the very edge of the border; but was now tired of the West, and meditating a return East. He said his children were growing up, and needed school-houses and churches, and he meant to sell out and leave as soon as practicable.