An Apache Campaign in the Sierra Madre / An Account of the Expedition in Pursuit of the Hostile Chiricahua Apaches in the Spring of 1883

by John Gregory Bourke

The gratitude of these poor, ignorant, broken-down creatures welled forth in praise and glorification to God. “Praise be to the All-Powerful God!” ejaculated one. “And to the most Holy Sacrament!” echoed her companions. “Thanks to our Blessed Lady of Guadalupe!” “And to the most Holy Mary, Virgin of Soledad, who has taken pity upon us!” It brought tears to the eyes of the stoutest veterans to witness this line of unfortunates, reminding us of our mothers, wives, sisters, and daughters. All possible kindness and attention were shown them.

The reaction came very near upsetting two, who became hysterical from over-excitement, and could not be assured that the Chiricahuas were not going to take them away. They did not recover their natural composure until the expedition had crossed the boundary line.

“Hieronymo” had another interview with General Crook, whom he assured he wanted to make a peace to last forever. General Crook replied that “Hieronymo” had waged such bloody war upon our people and the Mexicans that he did not care to let him go back to San Carlos; a howl would be raised against any man who dared to grant terms to an outlaw for whose head two nations clamored. If “Hieronymo” were willing to lay down his arms and go to work at farming, General Crook would allow him to go back; otherwise the best thing he could do would be to remain just where he was and fight it out.

“I am not taking your arms from you,” said the General, “because I am not afraid of you with them. You have been allowed to go about camp freely, merely to let you see that we have strength enough to exterminate you if we want to; and you have seen with your own eyes how many Apaches are fighting on our side and against you. In making peace with the Americans, you must also be understood as making peace with the Mexicans, and also that you are not to be fed in idleness, but set to work at farming or herding, and make your own living.”

“Hieronymo,” in his reply, made known his contempt for the Mexicans, asserted that he had whipped them every time, and in the last fight with them hadn’t lost a man. He would go to the San Carlos with General Crook and work at farming or anything else. All he asked for was fair play. He contended that it was unfair to start back to the San Carlos at that time, when his people were scattered like quail, and when the women and children now in our hands were without food or means of transportation. The old and the little ones could not walk. The Chiricahuas had many ponies and donkeys grazing in the different cañons. Why not remain one week longer? “Loco” and all the other Chiricahuas would then have arrived; all the ponies would be gathered up; a plenty of mescal and pony-meat on hand, and the march could be made securely and safely. But if General Crook left the Sierra Madre, the Mexicans would come in to catch and kill the remnant of the band, with whom “Hieronymo,” would cast his fortunes.

General Crook acknowledged the justice of much which “Hieronymo” had said, but declined to take any action not in strict accord with the terms of the convention. He would now move back slowly, so as not to crowd the young and feeble too much; they should have time to finish roasting mescal, and most of those now out could catch up with the column; but those who did not would have to take the chances of reaching San Carlos in safety.

“Hieronymo” reiterated his desire for peace; said that he himself would start out to gather and bring in the remnants of his people, and he would cause the most diligent search to be made for Charlie McComas. If possible, he would join the Americans before they got out of the Sierra Madre. If not, he would make his way to the San Carlos as soon as this could be done without danger; “but,” concluded he, “I will remain here until I have gathered up the last man, woman, and child of the Chiricahuas.”

All night long the Chiricahuas and the Apache scouts danced together in sign of peace and good-will. The drums were camp-kettles partly filled with water and covered tightly with a well-soaked piece of calico. The drumsticks were willow saplings curved into a hoop at one extremity. The beats recorded one hundred to the minute, and were the same dull, solemn thump which scared Cortés and his beleaguered followers during la Noche triste. No Caucasian would refer to it as music; nevertheless, it had a fascination all its own comparable to the whirr-r-r of a rattlesnake. And so the song, chanted to the measure of the drumming, had about it a weird harmony which held listeners spell-bound. When the dance began, two old hags, white-haired and stiff with age, pranced in the centre of the ring, warming up under the stimulus of the chorus until they became lively as crickets. With them were two or three naked boys of very tender years. The ring itself included as many as two hundred Indians of both sexes, whose varied costumes of glittering hues made a strange setting to the scene as the dancers shuffled and sang in the silvery rays of the moon and the flickering light of the camp-fires.