by 1864-1898 Indian War Veterans: Memories of Army Life;Campaigns in the West
Although I made no entry of some of the incidents of our first camp, I remember distinctly how the fellows yanked off their shoes, good old heavy regulation government brogans, and began doctoring blisters and sore spots, and that night how we gathered around the campfires, some laughing, some singing, and some, especially the recruits (we had a bunch of raw ones with us) casting furtive glances at the dark woods surrounding us and up at the towering bluff, as though expecting any moment to hear the crack of firearms and the war-whoop of hostile Indians. But most of us gave no thought to such things, and we grouped about the fires exposing ourselves as openly and brazenly as though there were no Indians within a thousand miles.
Once a “rookie” voiced aloud his thought. “I wonder if we will get to fight any Indians?” Sergeant Maguire, happening to overhear him, said, “Don’t worry, me bucko, you’ll get plenty of fighting before this thing is over; and if you’ll take my advice, you’ll write to your best girl and your mamma this very night, and tell them goodbye while you have a chance.” Down in our hearts, we older soldiers wished only that he was right.
Everything in this world goes by contrast. Sometimes you conclude you are having it pretty hard unless you happen to think of a time when you had it much harder. Up in those mountains it gets exceedingly cold at night, even in midsummer, and while I was on guard I could hear the fellows turning and groaning as they tried to keep warm under a blanket or two and find a soft spot on which to rest their weary bones. But the rocks of New Mexico are not noted for being soft. I couldn’t help but think, listening to the occasional growl of some poor rookie, about the time some nine months previously, in the dead of winter with snow and ice piled all around me, I had made camp with several other soldiers in that identical spot. We were then on an expedition from Fort Wingate to Fort Craig, New Mexico, and had followed the backbone of the Rockies through snow and ice all the way.
Finally, some of the rookies could stand it no longer, and out they piled and joined me at the campfire. One of them had a small photo at which he gazed intently, and by the firelight I caught a glimpse of a tear bedimming his eye. “Your sweetheart, Buddy?” says I. “Sweetheart, hell,” says he. “That’s my mother.”
Private George Gould Whitaker successively served between 1882 and 1891 in the Twenty-first Infantry and First Infantry regiments. He was stationed in Arizona when he posed with his Springfield rifle. Editor’s collection
Although Geronimo was not a regular Apache chief, being more of a “medicine” man, he had a great influence over the members of his tribe—the Chiricahua Apaches—and over a period of some ten or twelve years had frequently led bands of these Indians on raids through Arizona, New Mexico, and Old Mexico. One of his favorite tricks was to dash into Old Mexico, murder Mexicans right and left, stampede herds of their horses and other stock, and drive these up into Arizona. These exploits were both amusing and profitable to the Indians, but to those who were raided and who lived to tell the tale, they were anything but funny.
In May, 1885, having no doubt run out of supplies and feeling that it was about time to replenish the larder, Geronimo and several other so-called chiefs of the tribe organized another band of malcontents, several hundred in all, counting the squaws and papooses, and leaving the reservation behind again headed south toward the land of plenty. Thus began the historic Apache Campaign of 1885-1886, which was not brought to a close until September 4, 1886, when the hostiles surrendered to Brigadier General Nelson A. Miles at Skeleton Canon, not far from Fronteras, Old Mexico. Geronimo and all his followers were then placed on a train and taken to Florida.
During the period of the entire campaign, over two hundred citizens— ranchmen, miners, prospectors, women and children—were murdered in cold blood by these Indians. Very few soldiers were killed or even injured. Their engagements with the hostiles were few and far between and usually took place only when the Indians had everything in their favor or were forced to give combat. The truth of the matter is that the hostiles kept as far away from Uncle Sam’s men as possible. They did not want to fight us—they knew better. So the campaign of 1885-1886 developed into a marching campaign, and I have no doubt that in this respect it was the greatest campaign of all time. General Miles had superseded Brigadier General George Crook in April, 1886, and he immediately started all available troops in hot pursuit of the hostiles, sometimes selecting for exceptionally long marches only such men as had been proved by experience to have the necessary stamina and courage to endure such an ordeal.
Here is what the general himself telegraphed the War Department September 6, 1886, concerning the troops and their marches: “Too much credit cannot be given to the troops for their courage, fortitude, and tireless endurance. Those gratifying results of the campaign, fraught with extreme hardships and difficulties, are due to their most laborious and dangerous service. The Indians have been pursued over two thousand miles in the heart of Arizona and Mexico, through the most rugged mountain regions. Captain Lawton’s command alone has followed the hostiles over sixteen hundred miles, over mountains from 2, 000 to 10, 000 feet high, and through canons where every boulder was a fortress.” Most vivid of all in my memory are those long grueling marches, often with no water, and sometimes with mighty little to eat—marches that exacted the last ounce of a man’s strength, where literally a man had to do or die. For to be left behind on some of those vast stretches of burning sand would have meant certain death; a slow, lingering, horrible death, with the sun flaming above you like a ball of molten brass; and perhaps a few buzzards winging their indolent way across your field of vision, waiting, waiting, patiently waiting.
Taking into consideration the topography and extent of the territory covered, the extreme climatic conditions, the number of troops engaged, the length of actual service in the field and distances marched, the campaign of which I am writing should go down in history as one of the great epics of the ages. And I hope that my readers will not consider me egotistic if I suggest that it would be a most gracious and fitting gesture on the part of the government if it should bestow a distinguished service medal on each and every survivor of the campaign. For surely, no human beings ever rendered a greater service to humanity and civilization than the boys in blue who followed their leaders so faithfully through the trying years of 1885-1886 over the sun-baked plains and icy mountains of the Southwest….
Immediately upon taking charge of the campaign, General Miles ordered out all available troops and dispersed them in such a way as to form a veritable ring of steel around the hostiles. The territory assigned to the companies of the Thirteenth Infantry was the northeast segment of this circle, the southwestern part of New Mexico Territory, the birthplace and former habitat of the notorious Geronimo. In guarding this section, our companies were shunted back and forth like the shuttle of a sewing machine. Upon consulting my diary, I find that we marched close to one thousand miles and made some fifty-six camps, sometimes camping at the same place five or six different times. Thus, we became pretty well-acquainted with the territory covered, and became quite expert in the matter of making and breaking camp.
When word would come that the hostiles were headed in our direction, detachments consisting of a non-com and five or six men would be sent out to protect the ranches in the vicinity. And there they would be welcomed with open arms and shown every courtesy. At most of these ranches the men would be given at least one meal a day, dinner usually, and surely the cooks must have enjoyed seeing them eat, for never were good meals more appreciated. Along in the spring of 1886, Geronimo headed for his old stamping ground, the Mogollon Mountains…. If Geronimo had concluded to go a little farther north instead of turning back to Old Mexico, the prophesy of Sergeant Maguire might have been fulfilled, and there would have been plenty of fighting for us. But I assure my readers that had he and his followers shown any signs of wanting to start something they would have met with a warm reception. For by this time we were thoroughly hardened soldiers, and almost every man was eithe
r a marksman or a sharpshooter. I am pretty sure that I myself was about the worst shot in the company, as I had never become even a marksman, but even at that I don’t think Geronimo would have cared to have me draw a bead on him.
Besides shooting at targets, we had by this time had much experience in shooting at moving targets such as deer and antelope. And those old single-fire Springfield rifles, with their long bottle-necked [sic] .45 caliber cartridges could certainly send a ball a-whizzing. It was goodbye to anything it happened to hit. Each man carried a web belt of fifty of these death-dealers. And although we scarcely feared a night attack, we nevertheless, when in the immediate vicinity of the hostiles, slept with these belts encircling our waists and the good old trusty Long Tom snuggling beside us at the edge of our blankets.
When Geronimo and his followers surrendered at Skeleton Canyon in September, 1886, and allowed themselves to be bundled on a train and hustled out of the territory, the curtain fell on the most picturesque and stupendous drama that was ever enacted on the American continent…. On the 16th of September, 1886, we arrived, three companies of us, on the western slope of the Zuni Mountains overlooking Fort Wingate. About 150 of us in all, and the only way you could detect that we were Regular Army soldiers was by examining our arms and equipment. Aside from that, I must say that we looked more like tramps than soldiers. We went out dressed in blue flannel shirts and trousers, with the regulation campaign hats, boots, or shoes. We returned almost literally covered with buckskin, scarcely a patch of blue to be seen, and had on all sorts of hats, boots, or shoes, or what was left of them. Keeping ourselves well shod had been one of our greatest difficulties. One thing we had in plenty was whiskers, for it had been anything but easy to keep well shaved under such conditions. And sunburned?—don’t mention it. We were as dark as Mexicans. As we sat there on the sun-backed mountainside, travel-weary and glum, looking down at the roofs of the fort, our features suddenly relaxed into a broad smile as we caught a glimpse of the glittering instruments of the band and knew that they were coming out to meet us. And this they did, marching toward us playing a welcoming air, and O how sweet that music sounded! For a long, drab year no such sounds had fallen upon our ears.
The command was given to fall in, and down the side of the mountain we went with a brisker and more cheerful step than for many a day. And as the band played, “Johnny Comes Marching Home,” we swung along to the handkerchief waving and the cheering of the “stay-at-homes.” Once again we were in front of the old familiar quarters, and [the] band had passed on. The command, “Break ranks, March,” rang out, and the memorable Apache Campaign of 1885-1886 was at an end.
Service in Arizona, 1885 (By John P. Gardner, formerly of Companies E and K, Eighth U. S. Infantry. From Winners of the West, January 30, 1926)
Late in December, 1885, Company E, Eighth U. S. Infantry, was stationed at Fort Halleck, Nevada, and our captain, Egbert B. Savage, received orders to go to Arizona. In less than thirty minutes we were on our way to a railroad station some fifteen miles away. We were under light marching orders, and arrived at Bowie Station, Arizona, in the heart of the San Simon Desert, on New Year’s Day, 1886. A few inches of snow covered the desert, the winds and sandstorms were fierce. We were allowed a tent to each two men and had to sleep on the ground. We remained here with other troops until April 7, and by that time twenty-seven of the thirty-two men of Company E were on sick report with lumbago, pleurisy, and rheumatism.
At this time they brought in a crowd of Indians to be transported to St. Augustine, Florida. The officers drew straws to see who the lucky company would be to escort the Indians, and our captain won, and the next day we set out for Florida with two coaches full of Indians, numbering in all seventy-six. It took us six days to make the trip, and the people at New Orleans went wild when we stopped there. We were a sight, with our dirty redwood jumpers and overalls and unshaven faces, but they had never seen an Indian before, and because of this they treated us royally and told us to stop over a day on our return trip. This we did and we had the time of our young lives, as the town was wide open to us and everything free.
We arrived back at Bowie on April 21st, having been just fourteen days in making the trip. The troops here had all left to head off Geronimo. Several companies, each of the Fourth and Sixth cavalry, several troops of colored cavalry, and Companies B, D, E, H, and K of the Eighth U. S. Infantry, were scattered out in all directions under General Nelson A. Miles. Renegades had tried to capture a supply train and in that fight Captain Crawford was killed [sic] and several men wounded. After taking the body to the station, we marched twenty-five miles away to guard a water hole in Apache Pass. The bacon that we got must have been left over from the Civil War, and the hardtack shot full of holes and bugs inside. The water we had to drink killed David Lahey of Company E. We were all hankering for fresh meat, so I started out one day to get a deer. I brought down a large buck, and while going through the thick brush to get him I saw four red devils going around a turn in the bottom of the ravine. I want to go on record as giving them the run of their lives. I showed them what a “Walk-a-Heap” could do when he got scared, and they were not even in the race. I was leading all the way to the camp. I surely lost my appetite for deer meat, and anyway I think he was too tough and so I left him for the redskins.
Rattlesnakes were thick and made life miserable, being almost as much dreaded as the Indians. We camped one night at an old abandoned blacksmith shop. The forge was all tumbled down; nothing was left of it but cinders and rocks, and as it made the ground higher, the boys laid their heads toward the forge. We were awakened during the night by groans, and lighting a stump of a candle we discovered one of the boys of Company B of the Eighth Infantry had been stung behind the right ear by a rattler. The rattler was under his coat, which he used for a pillow, and by turning in his sleep [he] must have pinched the rattler, which immediately stung him. He was at once taken to Fort Bowie, and lingered several months before passing away, and was then buried at the fort. We had lost our appetite for sleep that night and dug up the old forge and found five more rattlers, which we scalped pronto.
In October [September], Geronimo and his warriors were captured and also taken to St. Augustine, Florida, by Company K, Eighth U. S. Infantry. I will close with the war whoop poem of Company E, Eighth U. S. Infantry, of the wild and wooly West:
Oh, we came to Arizona,
To fight the Indians there;
We thought we’d get baldheaded,
But they didn’t get our hair.
As we lay among the briars,
In the dirty yellow mud;
We never saw an onion,
A turnip or a spud.
They brought in Chief Chiwawa [Chihuahua],
Likewise old Chief Nan-Nai [Nana];
We transported them to Florida,
Where they had no more to say.
This was the year of’ 86, boys,
With Company E, the hungry Eighth;
We came back to get Geronimo,
The dirty, pesky skate.
We had bunions on our feet;
We had corns upon our toes;
Lugging a gun in a red hot sun,
Put freckles on our nose….
Trailing Geronimo by Heliograph, 1886 (By William W. Neifert, formerly a private in the U. S. Signal Corps. From Winners of the West, October 30, 1935)
Early in 1886 the Chiricahua Apaches had again broken loose to renew their old life of plundering, stealing, burning, and murdering. They were destroying ranches and torturing the inhabitants for sport, and finding shelter in their former mountain fastnesses. Of this tribe, Geronimo was the great war chief. His biographer says that his Indian name was Go-khla-Yeh, but the Mexicans at the battle of Kaskiyeh, Mexico, called him “Geronimo,” a name that continued ever after, both among Indians and white men. He was born in No-do-yohn Canon, Arizona, in June, 1829, a son of Mangus Colorado, who was a villainous old genius for Indian warfare. Geronimo in the early raids of plunde
r was at first led by old Cochise, the hereditary chief of the tribe, and one of the most daring old renegades of the Southwest. He died in 1876, when his son, Naiche, became the head chief, and Geronimo finally succeeded him.
Early in April, Brigadier General Nelson A. Miles was ordered to Arizona, and with as little delay as possible proceeded to Fort Bowie, assuming command of the department on April 12, 1886. He had in previous Indian campaigns made efficient use of the heliograph, and soon after taking command of this section decided to make prominent use of the Signal Service. He so notified the chief signal officer, who promised to furnish twelve men with appliances for making such service useful and effective. Miles directed that signal detachments be placed upon the highest peaks and prominent lookouts to discover the movements of Indians, and to transmit messages between headquarters and the troops on the march or in camp. Six men were to be selected by competitive examination in the use of the heliograph apparatus from the two classes of young men then undergoing the regular courses at the Signal Corps School of Instruction at Fort Myer, Virginia.