On the Border with Crook

by John Gregory Bourke

An ex-army-officer, writing on this subject of scouting in the southwestern country, to the Republican, of St. Louis, Mo., expressed his opinion in these words:

“It is laid down in our army tactics (Upton’s ‘Cavalry Tactics,’ p. 477), that twenty-five miles a day is the maximum that cavalry can stand. Bear this in mind, and also that here is an enemy with a thousand miles of hilly and sandy country to run over, and each brave provided with from three to five ponies trained like dogs. They carry almost nothing but arms and ammunition; they can live on the cactus; they can go more than forty-eight hours without water; they know every water-hole and every foot of ground in this vast extent of country; they have incredible powers of endurance; they run in small bands, scattering at the first indications of pursuit. What can the United States soldier, mounted on his heavy American horse, with the necessary forage, rations, and camp equipage, do as against this supple, untiring foe? Nothing, absolutely nothing. It is no exaggeration to say that these fiends can travel, week in and week out, at the rate of seventy miles a day, and this over the most barren and desolate country imaginable. One week of such work will kill the average soldier and his horse; the Apache thrives on it. The frontiersman, as he now exists, is simply a fraud as an Indian-fighter. He may be good for a dash, but he lacks endurance. General Crook has pursued the only possible method of solving this problem. He has, to the extent of his forces, guarded all available passes with regulars, and he has sent Indian scouts on the trail after Indians. He has fought the devil with fire. Never in the history of this country has there been more gallant, more uncomplaining, and more efficient service than that done by our little army in the attempt to suppress this Geronimo outbreak.”...

In the month of November additional scouts were enlisted to take the place of those whose term of six months was about to expire. It was a great time at San Carlos, and the “medicine men” were in all their glory; of course, it would never do for the scouts to start out without the customary war dance, but besides that the “medicine men” held one of their “spirit” dances to consult with the powers of the other world and learn what success was to be expected. I have several times had the good luck to be present at these “spirit dances,” as well as to be with the “medicine men” while they were delivering their predictions received from the spirits, but on the present occasion there was an unusual vehemence in the singing, and an unusual vim and energy in the dancing, which would betray the interest felt in the outcome of the necromancy. A war dance, attended by more than two hundred men and women, was in full swing close to the agency buildings in the changing lights and shadows of a great fire. This enabled the “medicine men” to secure all the more privacy for their own peculiar work, of which I was an absorbed spectator. There were about an even hundred of warriors and young boys not yet full grown, who stood in a circle surrounding a huge bonfire, kept constantly replenished with fresh fagots by assiduous attendants. At one point of the circumference were planted four bunches of green willow branches, square to the cardinal points. Seated within this sacred grove, as I may venture to call it, as it represented about all the trees they could get at the San Carlos, were the members of an orchestra, the leader of which with a small curved stick beat upon the drum improvised out of an iron camp-kettle, covered with soaped calico, and partially filled with water. The beat of this rounded stick was a peculiar rubbing thump, the blows being sliding. Near this principal drummer was planted a sprig of cedar. The other musicians beat with long switches upon a thin raw-hide, lying on the ground, just as the Sioux did at their sun dance. There were no women present at this time. I did see three old hags on the ground, watching the whole proceedings with curious eyes, but they kept at a respectful distance, and were Apache-Yumas and not Apaches.

The orchestra thumped and drummed furiously, and the leader began to intone, in a gradually increasing loudness of voice and with much vehemence, a “medicine” song, of which I could distinguish enough to satisfy me that part of it was words, which at times seemed to rudely rhyme, and the rest of it the gibberish of “medicine” incantation which I had heard so often while on the Sierra Madre campaign in 1883. The chorus seconded this song with all their powers, and whenever the refrain was chanted sang their parts with violent gesticulations. Three dancers, in full disguise, jumped into the centre of the great circle, running around the fire, shrieking and muttering, encouraged by the shouts and singing of the on-lookers, and by the drumming and incantation of the chorus which now swelled forth at full lung-power. Each of these dancers was beautifully decorated; they were naked to the waist, wore kilts of fringed buckskin, bound on with sashes, and moccasins reaching to the knees. Their identity was concealed by head-dresses, part of which was a mask of buckskin, which enveloped the head as well as the face, and was secured around the neck by a “draw-string” to prevent its slipping out of place. Above this extended to a height of two feet a framework of slats of the amole stalk, each differing slightly from that of the others, but giving to the wearer an imposing, although somewhat grotesque appearance. Each “medicine man’s” back, arms, and shoulders were painted with emblems of the lightning, arrow, snake, or other powers appealed to by the Apaches. I succeeded in obtaining drawings of all these, and also secured one of these head-dresses of the “Cha-ja-la,” as they are called, but a more detailed description does not seem to be called for just now. Each of the dancers was provided with two long wands or sticks, one in each hand, with which they would point in every direction, principally towards the cardinal points. When they danced, they jumped, pranced, pirouetted, and at last circled rapidly, revolving much as the dervishes are described as doing. This must have been hard work, because their bodies were soon moist with perspiration, which made them look as if they had been coated with oil.

“Klashidn,” the young man who had led me down, said that the orchestra was now singing to the trees which had been planted in the ground, and I then saw that a fourth “medicine man,” who acted with the air of one in authority, had taken his station within. When the dancers had become thoroughly exhausted, they would dart out of the ring and disappear in the gloom to consult with the spirits; three several times they appeared and disappeared, at each return dancing, running, and whirling about with increased energy. Having attained the degree of mental or spiritual exaltation necessary for satisfactory communion with the denizens of the other world, they remained absent for at least half an hour, the orchestra rendering a monotonous refrain, mournful as a funeral dirge. At last a thrill of expectancy ran through the throng, and I saw that they were looking anxiously for the incoming of the “medicine men.” When they arrived all the orchestra stood up, their leader slightly in advance, holding a bunch of cedar in his left hand. The “medicine men” advanced in single file, the leader bending low his head, and placing both his arms about the neck of the chief in such a manner that his wands crossed, he murmured some words in his ear which seemed to be of pleasing import. Each of the others did the same thing to the chief, who took his stand first on the east, then on the south, then on the west, and lastly on the north of the little grove through which the three pranced, muttering a jumble of sounds which I cannot reproduce, but which sounded for all the world like the chant of the “Hooter” of the Zunis at their Feast of Fire. This terminated the great “medicine” ceremony of the night, and the glad shouts of the Apaches testified that the incantations of their spiritual advisers or their necromancy, whichever it was, promised a successful campaign.

Captain Crawford, whose services, both in pursuit of hostile Apaches and in efforts to benefit and civilize those who had submitted, had won for him the respect and esteem of every manly man in the army or out of it who had the honor of knowing him, met his death at or near Nacori, Sonora, Mexico, January 11, 1886, under peculiarly sad and distressing circumstances. These are narrated by General Crook in the orders announcing Crawford’s death, of which the following is an extract:

“Captain Crawford, with the zeal and gallantry which had always distinguished him, volunteered for the arduous and thankless task of pursuing the renegade Chiricahua Apaches to their stronghold in the Sierra Madre, Mexico, and was assigned to the command of one of the most important of the expeditions organized for this purpose. In the face of the most discouraging obstacles, he had bravely and patiently followed in the track of the renegades, being constantly in the field from the date of the outbreak in May last to the day of his death.

“After a march of eighteen hours without halt in the roughest conceivable country, he had succeeded in discovering and surprising their rancheria in the lofty ranges near the Jarras River, Sonora. Everything belonging to the enemy fell into our hands, and the Chiricahuas, during the fight, sent in a squaw to beg for peace. All arrangements had been made for a conference next morning. Unfortunately, a body of Mexican irregular troops attacked Captain Crawford’s camp at daybreak, and it was while endeavoring to save the lives of others that Crawford fell.

“His loss is irreparable. It is unnecessary to explain the important nature of the services performed by this distinguished soldier. His name has been prominently identified with most of the severest campaigns, and with many of the severest engagements with hostile Indians, since the close of the War of the Rebellion, in which also, as a mere youth, he bore a gallant part.”

The irregular troops of the Mexicans were Tarahumari Indians, almost as wild as the Apaches themselves, knowing as little of morality and etiquette, the mortal enemies of the Apaches for two hundred years. While it is probable that their statement may be true, and that the killing of Crawford was unpremeditated, the indignities afterwards heaped upon Lieutenant Maus, who succeeded Crawford in command, and who went over to visit the Mexican commander, did not manifest a very friendly spirit. The Government of Mexico was in as desperate straits as our own in regard to the subjugation of the Chiricahua Apaches, which could never have been effected without the employment of just such wild forces as the Tarahumaris, who alone would stand up and fight with the fierce Chiricahuas, or could trail them through the mountains.