Camel expedition from photo of diorama in Arizona Historical Society Exhibit Hall on “Camels in Arizona” (Courtesy of Western Postal History Museum, Tucson)
BIBLIOGRAPHY
Eldon Bowman, “Beale’s Historic Road: By Camel from the Zuni Villages to the Rio Colorado,” Arizona Highways, July 1988, pages 9–18.
James E. Cook, “Riddle of Red Ghost Tormented Ranchers,” The Arizona Republic, Sunday, April 17, 1988, E-2.
Sharlot Hall, “The Camels in Arizona,” Land of Sunshine, March 1897, pages 122–123.
Sharlot Hall, “The Camels in the Southwest (A Forgotten Experiment),” Out West, XXVI, April 1907, pages 302–314.
Lewis Burt Lesley, “ Uncle Sam’s Camels ,” Cambridge, Harvard University Press, 1929.
Olive Oatman and a Massacre
Every nation at some point in time dreams of its future destiny.
In the mid-1800s America had such a dream. A dream that one day the country would double in size to span the territories between the Atlantic and Pacific oceans. With the Oregon Treaty of 1846 and the Mexican Cession of 1848, this vision became a reality.
Suddenly, from all over the United States, pioneers, with adventure in their hearts, began moving west. These settlers hoped to carve cattle ranches and farms from the wilderness, discover great treasures of mineral wealth, and build new lives. This is the story of one pioneer girl and her family as they traveled from Illinois to the newly opened areas of the Southwest.
Olive Ann Oatman lived with her parents, four brothers and two sisters on their small Illinois farm. Her father, Royce, was a good farmer and the family prospered until the failure of speculative banks and a depressed economy pushed them toward bankruptcy. The self-reliant Oatmans worked long and hard to overcome these difficult times, yet all their efforts were barely enough to make ends meet.
Then one desperate day, an overtired Royce Oatman did something that a man shouldn’t do. He tried to lift a burden that was far too heavy for him. His back was so severely damaged that he had to spend several weeks in bed. In time, he seemed to get better, but the recurring cold of the Illinois winters triggered an inflammation in his back, which left Royce crippled up in pain and unable to work. During the summer, the pain would go away, but Royce’s inability to work in cold weather further added to the family’s hardships.
One day, while visiting a neighboring town, the Oatmans found a handbill announcing the formation of a wagon train going to the new territory of the Southwest. The handbill described vast tracts of land, perfect for farming and cattle ranching, available to anyone brave enough to make the journey and claim a homestead. In addition, it was prominently noted that the weather in these new territories was warm all year round. The family reasoned that if they could get Mr. Oatman to the Southwest, the warm climate would relieve him of his winter bouts of pain and a new homestead would give them the chance of future prosperity.
With the prospect of a new beginning, the Oatmans decided to join the wagon train. They sold their farm for $1,500 and bought a covered wagon, supplies and some cattle to take with them. In the summer of 1850, they departed for the Southwest.
At first, the trip was everything the Oatmans could have hoped for. The scenery was lovely; the weather was perfect, and every day was like a new adventure. As the families visited with each other, friendships formed and a feeling of confident expectation prevailed.
When the wagon train reached New Mexico, conditions changed. The land became a bleak, harsh, mountainous desert; it was harder to find water and grass for the overworked animals. Daily travel slowed to a crawl. In addition, several of the men were injured during raids by hostile Indians who badgered the wagon train, trying to steal horses and cattle.
With supplies dwindling, confidence in the expedition’s success collapsed. Some of the families became discouraged and decided to turn back, but the Oatmans, determined to start a new life in the Southwest, pushed on.
As the pioneers crossed New Mexico and entered Arizona, more and more families deserted the expedition. When the settlers reached Tucson, their party had been reduced to eight families. With desperation showing in the eyes of many, and the realization that continuing the journey meant further hardships, only the Oatmans and two other families elected to go on. The now-shrunken expedition struggled northward along the Gila River.
When they reached a small Pima village near Maricopa Wells, the families stopped, exhausted, their food supplies dangerously low, their cattle lean and weak. The kind and gentle Pimas, who had been experiencing a drought, could share little food with the pioneers and their cattle. The families had to make a decision. Should they stay in the bleak conditions of the Pima village and nearly starve, killing their cattle to feed themselves, or should they push on across the desert to Fort Yuma, an area that promised the possibility of good grazing and farming land?
Their future lives at stake, the decision to stay or go on weighed heavily on the minds of the settlers. With the news that Indians, hostile toward the land-grabbing white man, were attacking pioneers along their proposed route, the two families accompanying the Oatmans decided to stay in the Pima village.
Night after night, after the children had been put to bed, Mr. and Mrs. Oatman sat by their small campfire and talked about what to do. Every option was a calculated risk. Over and over they discussed the same issues: their lack of supplies, the rugged terrain to be crossed, the threat of Indian attacks. But was starving in the Pima village much better? There had been no Indian raids in over a month; was it now safe to cross the desert?
In the end it was not logic but hope which made the decision for the Oatmans. They chose to risk the trip to Fort Yuma with the same faith and optimism which had started them on their journey in the first place. The hope, the dream, the wish, that on the other side of struggle and hardship was a better life for themselves and their children.
Having made what modest preparations they could, the Oatmans offered assurances of a future reunion to their fellow travelers and departed for their destination. The trip was hard, but then they had known it would be; the terrain was rugged, but then it had been for several months. If there was anything which had changed for the Oatmans, as they struggled out across the desert, it was the expectation that this would be their final journey.
Still, as the miles of scorched, arid, desert land inched by, the family was pushed to the very limit of their endurance. At times the going was so rough that their wagon had to be fully unloaded in order to get it over or around some obstacle. Then began the arduous task of retrieving all their belongings, carrying them forward, and then putting them back into the wagon.
Despite the drudgery and feelings of total isolation, the Oatmans continued to persevere. Then on February 18, 1851, about ninety miles from Fort Yuma, the family was startled to see a group of Indians appear from behind a small hill. Uncertainty turned to alarm as the pale-faced Mr. Oatman watched the Indians approach.
At first these native Americans seemed friendly. They sat and gestured to him to join them in smoking a pipe. Speaking a few words of Spanish, they asked Mr. Oatman for food. Royce replied that his family of seven children and a pregnant wife did not even have enough to complete the trip to Fort Yuma. At this, the Indians grew angry, showing with gestures their need for food. Fearing for the safety of his family, Mr. Oatman gave the Indians half of his small supply. The Indians ate hungrily.
After they finished eating, they became angry again and demanded more food. Before Mr. Oatman could respond, one of the Indians grabbed two of his daughters, Olive who was thirteen years old and Mary Ann who was just seven, and dragged them over to some nearby shrubs. In front of the horrified girls’ eyes, the other Indians took out clubs, hidden beneath their skin clothing, and began to attack the rest of the family.
Olive and Mary Ann, guarded by the Indian, were forced to witness the deaths of each member of their family. Some of the Indians rifled the wagon for food and a few light articles that appeared to
take their fancy. Then the Indians turned toward the two girls. “This is the end,” thought Olive. “Now it is our turn. Oh, God, please, let them get it over with quickly, I cannot bear to go on.”
Rather than killing them, the Indians took the girls and fled the scene of the crime. The girls, numb with shock, were forced to run mile after mile into the desolate desert. Soon little Mary Ann became so fatigued she could run no further. She fell to the ground in complete exhaustion. One of the Indians began to beat her, but the fragile seven-year-old could not move. Traumatized from the brutal assault on her family, life had become meaningless; blow after blow fell unheeded on the fainting child. “This is it,” thought Olive. “Now they will kill us. Please, God, let them get it over with.”
Instead, the Indian threw Mary Ann over his shoulder and continued to run. Unsure of her sister’s condition and now alone in her misery, Olive followed behind, her bare feet bleeding from the sharp rocks and thorns of the desert.
They continued to run for several days, stopping only for brief periods of uneasy rest. Exhausted beyond caring and having traveled over one hundred miles, the girls reached the Indians’ village. Immediately the entire tribe surrounded them. Numb from the experiences of the last few days, Olive and the now revived Mary Ann were subjected to the tribe’s anger. A fearful war dance began. The Indians spit on them, yelled at them, and made threatening motions toward them. “Now, they are finally going to kill us,” thought Olive. “Finally, finally, it will be over.”
Instead the Indians used the girls as slaves, making them forage for roots, cactus and seeds, carry water, and gather huge bundles of firewood. Whenever the girls did not understand the directions given them in the tribe’s language, they were beaten. For food, they were forced to eat worms, grasshoppers, lizards, snakes, roots and only rarely were they given a bit of quail, rabbit or deer.
From the very beginning of their captivity, the girls made plans to escape. They would try to save food for the journey, but it was never enough. Soon Mary Ann, always the frailest of all the Oatmans, became too weak to make the attempt.
After a year of living a pathetic, hopeless existence, the girls’ fate was unexpectedly changed. A strange group of Indians came to visit the tribe to trade for skins. Accompanying them was a tall beautiful Indian woman who seemed to be their leader. They were Mohaves. Before the girls realized what was happening, they were traded to the strangers for two horses, some beads, blankets and vegetables.
The Mohaves wrapped the girls’ feet in skins for the long journey to their village. They traveled at a slow pace so that the girls could keep up and they fed them along the way. Such unexpected kindness during the ten-day trip made the difficult journey bearable.
When they arrived at their destination, the girls saw before them a beautiful valley near the Colorado River. They could see stalks of corn gently swaying in the breeze, the leaves of tall cottonwoods winked in the sun, and many of the hogans had thin streams of smoke rising invitingly from them.
Olive and Mary Ann discovered that the young woman who had led them over the desert was in fact the chief’s daughter, and they were to live with the chief and his wife. Although they were still required to do much work for this Mohave family, they began to have hope for a better and kinder future. Indeed, the chief’s squaw soon began to treat them like daughters. She assigned them their own plot of land to farm and she encouraged them to grow their own maize, melons and corn like other young Mohave women.
One day several of the members of the tribe, perhaps jealous of the attention given to the girls, accused Olive and Mary Ann of trying to escape. The Mohave medicine man tattooed each girl on the chin with marks similar to those worn by the women of the village. The Indians reasoned that this would permanently identify the girls as belonging to the tribe.
Even though they still felt fearful and alone at times, their lives were much better for well over a year. Then a severe drought occurred which caused much suffering and hardship among the Mohaves. The small stream that fed the farmland dried up. The corn stalks withered. The melons shriveled on the vines. At first the old people died and then the very little ones as food grew more and more scarce.
The chief’s wife tried to help the girls when she could, by sharing what little food she had, but it was still not enough for the slight, fragile Mary Ann. Olive watched her sister slowly waste away. As little Mary Ann lay dying, she would sometimes sing the songs she had learned from her mother so very long ago. These sad little tunes touched the heart of the chief’s wife and daughter, and when her sister died Olive asked to have her sister buried rather than burned in a pyre of dried wood, Mohave style. The request was granted. The Indians helped dig a tiny grave in the plot of land the girls had been given to cultivate. In an added gesture of generosity, Olive was given a blanket in which to wrap her sister’s body.
Now sixteen years old, Olive was alone. As far as she knew, she was the only white girl for hundreds of miles. As the months passed by she wondered if she would ever see a white person again or ever know other people besides the Mohave Indians.
The drought ended after three years. The Colorado River flooded, filling the land and arroyos with rushing water. The melons and corn grew well and provided a fine harvest. A big feast to celebrate the return of better times was planned by the village.
Shortly after this time, a Yuma Indian messenger came to the tribe. He had a letter from the authorities at Fort Yuma. The commander of the fort wrote the chief saying that he had heard tales of a white girl being held captive by the tribe. The commander said that if there were any truth to the rumor he wanted the girl to be returned to her people.
This caused much consternation among the Indians and a council of the tribe’s wise men was called to decide what to do. Should the white girl be returned for the gifts of blankets and horses? Would the white man come and attack them if they refused? Some said, “She is ours, we paid for her.” Others said, “Let’s kill her and pretend that we never had her.” Olive’s life hung in the balance as the tribe’s council argued through the night. Finally it was decided to send Olive to Fort Yuma. But the Mohaves did not trust the Yuma messenger and sent the chief’s daughter to accompany her on the long journey to the fort.
Many emotions tore at Olive Ann during the twenty days they walked, swam and floated along the Colorado River. It was a journey of over three-hundred miles. The tribe refused to allow her to take anything as a remembrance of the village. She found a few nuts and hid them in her skirt to try to keep something as a recollection of her life among these people, of the kindness of the chief’s wife, and of the small plot of land where her dear sister lay. Those tiny, tiny nuts were to be treasured over many years.
As they neared the fort, the Yuma messenger sent a young Indian boy to announce that they were approaching. The boy explained to the authorities that the two young women were tired from the journey and could go no further. They had also requested clothes to dress themselves before entering the fort as they wore nothing but skirts of cottonwood bark.
After clothing and horses were sent with the young boy, people at the fort waited with apprehension for the girls to arrive. Many made murmurs of disappointment as they watched the two young women ride into the fort. Some said, “What charade is this?” Before them stood two Indian squaws, their dark faces showed clearly the Mohave tattoos. Then Olive Ann, who had kept her face downcast, raised her almost unbelieving eyes to look for the first time in five years at white people. The bright blue eyes peering out from the sunburnt face dispelled any doubt that she was anyone other than a young white woman. The occupants of the fort rushed excitedly to her side.
Much to Olive’s delight and surprise, she learned that her older brother, Lorenzo, whom she thought had been killed along with the rest of her family, was alive and waiting for her. Lorenzo had suffered only a head injury at the time of the massacre and had been left for dead. He had managed to find help from some friendly Indians and had survived.
Only Henry Grinnell, a carpenter at Fort Yuma, believed that the girls had a chance of survival. He made friends among the Indians and encouraged them to visit his cabin and share their news. Then one day, an Indian told him of a large celebration feast far north among the Mohaves and of seeing a white girl among them. Grinnell contacted Lorenzo and the commander of the fort.
In March of 1856, Olive was once again united with her brother and among her own people. The story of Olive’s capture and rescue was the sensational news story of the day. Newspapers throughout the country wrote glowingly and romantically of her story.
Many believed that Olive survived only because she was strong from having lived an outdoors life as a farming girl. She was therefore able to withstand the hardships of living for so many years in primitive surroundings. Others felt that in those early years, the Indians had not yet suffered the extreme relentless destruction of their lives and lifestyle by the settlers. Had Olive been captured in later years, when the bitterness between these clashing societies had congealed into hatred, her fate would have been much different.
Olive and her brother left Fort Yuma and traveled to California, where they were able to attend school in the Santa Clara valley. A clergyman from the area, Reverend Stratton, wrote a book about her experiences. The book was an immediate success which gave Olive and her brother funds to continue their education. In March of 1858, Olive went east for further studies and to live with relatives in Rochester, New York. There she met and fell in love with tall, handsome James Fairchild. They were married in November of 1865.
Arizona Legends and Lore Page 2