HIKING APACHERIA
"So Many Tigers"
Tracing the last arc of Geronimo's freedom, from Cañon de los Embudos in Mexico to Skeleton Canyon on the Arizona-New Mexico border.
Story and photos by Jerry Eagan
"On a cold day in February 1909, [Geronimo] had ridden to Lawton [Oklahoma, near Ft. Sill], sold some bows and arrows, and gotten drunk. Heading home after dark, he fell off his horse and lay all night on the ground. Now 85 years old, he contracted pneumonia, and lingered in a delirium for several days. In this state he thought he saw a young Chiricahua who had recently died; the boy approached Geronimo and begged him to become a Christian, but he refused, saying he had been unable to 'follow the [Christian] path' in his life, and now it was too late. Geronimo died on Feb. 17."
— Once They Moved Like the Wind by David Roberts
The drive from Douglas, Ariz., to the Apache surrender site at Cañon de los Embudos, across the border in Mexico, follows a gravel road across a vast mesa deep green with creosote and an occasional agave. Our guide, Bill Cavaliere from Animas, said it was known as "Snake Mesa." Several times he stopped to identify landmarks for members of our little tour group: Bonito Creek (dry as a bone) and los Escuela ("the Box") mountains. Finally, after half an hour of winding around various dirt roads in bottom land, we descended into a tributary to Cañon de los Embudos ("The Funnels"). After several abortive attempts to find the right road, we came to the spot that Monchi Nieblas, one of the landowners, said was "it." Temperatures were already in the 90s at 11:30, when we got out of our vehicles and began wandering the slopes of what was purportedly the Apache rancheria where Geronimo and his warriors had camped, prior to their March 1886 surrender.
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The first of two Apache surrender
sites, Los Embudos, "the Funnels," in Mexico. |
In one of his comments about the surrender site, General George Crook had described Spanish Bayonets (yuccas) naturally positioned as a deterrent for anyone who wanted to rush in against a single wickiup. The slope now was mostly creosote, with more prickly pear cacti than yucca. There wasn't a single juniper or piñon for shade. It was difficult to imagine how the Apaches lived under the direct, unremitting Sonoran sun, back in late March 1886. I couldn't imagine being in the open at such a spot, under the sun, but I also couldn't imagine being cooped up in a wickiup in such heat!
Some of our group found glass sherds; one a cartridge; another, an 1881 penny. I found a small stone, which was purple, blue, red and lavender. One end had been "worked" — chipped — which revealed a beautiful glassy appearance, like obsidian. I photographed many stone implements, tools, broken mano or metate halves scattered over the slopes as I descended into Cañon de los Embudos. Ever the "pointman," I was the only one to enter "the Funnels" at this time, while everyone else stayed up high, searching the mesa for surrender "signs."
Later, after lunch, when the entire group walked into the canyon, the majority followed Bill and his friend, Monchi. When we reached a relatively large pool of water, I told them the Apache rancheria was just above us. No one bought it; Bill refused to agree. I knew what I knew. I knew the land I'd just come down and went up. I told him to look for a "way up" just ahead, and then Monchi said, "There's the staircase." It was exactly what I'd suggested lay ahead, but even when I showed him the digital camera time stamp on the photos I'd taken two hours earlier, he remained unconvinced. I'd gone back up to the rancheria site on the west side of a relatively new barbed-wire fence. I thought only American ranchers strung such straight wire in such difficult spots, but I was wrong. In fact, much of the wire in Mexico was very new, still shiny, spiked in the ground with new metal posts and strung taut.
Trudging on, the group strung out over a hundred yards of canyon bed. It was nearly 3:30 or 4 p.m. by then. Many in the group were wearing down. It had to be 100 degrees at least. Bill apologized for not yet reaching the "council site," where Geronimo had held his surrender talks with General Crook. Only a few said they'd go on to that site. The rest were whipped. A consensus developed that we'd return in the fall. With that, the obligatory "group photos" were taken, and we piled in our SUVs and headed back to Agua Prieta/Douglas.
In "The Eloquence Of Surrender" (see May 2007), I wrote about the first phase of surrender that "renegade Apaches" made at Cañon de los Embudos, at the end of March 1886. The night before the surrendered Apache were to head back to Fort Bowie, Geronimo and 13 other men, plus 20 women and children, escaped and went some 350 miles south into Mexico, to avoid what they believed would be executions, for the men, by hanging. Having seen several Apaches hanged after the "Cibicue incident" in 1883, Geronimo and his fellow Apache leader Naiche wanted no part of that form of death.
Five months passed between Geronimo's abortive surrender at "the Funnels" and his final surrender in September 1886 at Skeleton Canyon, on what's now the Arizona-New Mexico line. Geronimo followed Lieutenant Charles B. Gatewood to Skeleton Canyon. But Gatewood couldn't have even gotten close to Geronimo were it not for two Apaches — Martine and Kayitah — who climbed up rocky slopes of a mesa to initiate the final discussion. Geronimo would finally capitulate to General Nelson Miles, who would ultimately send the Chiricahua Apaches to imprisonment in Florida.
In the earlier, March surrender talks, General Crook had told the Apache that he would either hunt them for as long as it took to capture them or kill them all. He made no attempt to hide his contempt for what he felt was Geronimo's lying nature. Crook was often castigated as "soft" on the "Apache question," but he felt he "could not lose sight of the fact that the Apache Indians represented generations of warfare and bloodshed. From his earliest infancy," Crook wrote in his 1885 "Resum‚ of operations against the Apache Indians, 1882 to 1886," the Apache "has had to defend himself against enemies as cruel as the beasts of the mountains and forest. His own nature differs but little from that of the wolf or coyote; in his brief moments of peace he constantly looks for attack or ambuscade, and, in his almost constant warfare, no act of bloodshed is too cruel or unnatural."
In another account, "A Detailed Record of the Official Occurrences attending the Close of the Campaign against the Chiricahua and Warm Springs Apaches," Crook wrote, "I found them very independent and fierce as so many tigers. Knowing what pitiless beasts they are themselves, they mistrust everyone else."
Many of the Apache felt Crook was one of their most trusted friends. He wanted to teach them to farm or raise cattle, as a way of integrating them into less violent, more sedentary ways of life. He was convinced they would be exterminated otherwise, and he did not want to see that happen.
When Crook's attempt to bring in the Apaches, in March 1886, failed, he submitted his resignation. He knew he had lost the confidence of his commander, General Phillip Sheridan, and most likely, of President Grover Cleveland. In Crook's place came General Nelson Miles, who had lusted after Crook's job for years, convinced he could do better. Among those who study the Apache, I think, a consensus has developed that Miles was pompous, arrogant and a constant schemer who always fancied that he, not Crook, would ultimately take Geronimo's surrender. I'd reckon he considered Crook's sentiments about the Apache a weakness. Miles denigrated Crook's efforts to use Apache warriors turned into Army Scouts as the best way to run Geronimo down.
Clearly, Miles had none of Crook's empathy for the Apache:
"Headquarters Division Of The Pacific, Presidio of San Francisco, Cal., July 22, 1886: The following telegram just received from General Miles: Captain Lawton reports through Colonel Royall, commanding at Fort Huachuca, that his camp surprised Geronimo's camp on the Yongi [sic — Yaqui] River, about 130 miles south and east of Campas, Sonora, or nearly 300 miles south of Mexican boundary, capturing all Indian property including. . . dried meat and 19 riding animals. This is the fifth time within three months in which the Indians have been surprised by the troops. While their results have not been decisive, it has. . . reduced the numbers and strength of the Indians, and given them a feeling of insecurity even in the remote and almost inaccessible mountains of Old Mexico."
On Aug. 18, 1886: "Dispatches were sent by Governor Torres, in Hermosillo, Sonora, Mexico, to Colonel Forsyth in turn to Miles, which confirmed that: Geronimo with 40 Indians was endeavoring to make terms of peace with Mexican authorities of Fronteraz [sic] district. One of our scouts, in returning to Fort Huachuca from Lawton's command, met him, Natchez, and 13 other Indians on their way to Fronteraz [sic]; had a long conversation with them. . . they wanted to make peace. . . looked worn and hungry. Geronimo carried his right arm in a sling, bandaged. . . . Should hostiles not surrender to the Mexican authorities, Lawton's command is south. . . and will be there by 20th."
Several days later, on Aug. 23, 1886, President Cleveland let his sentiments on the matter be known: "While some deference should be paid to the opinions of General Miles, I do not think that these Indians should be treated otherwise than as prisoners of war. . . their removal can now be successfully accomplished. . . . I hope nothing will be done with Geronimo which will prevented our treating him as a prisoner of war, if we cannot hang him, which I would much prefer. Consult Lamar and Sheridan, and, if they agree with these views transmit them to Miles."
Events transpired quickly after that. Lieutenant Gatewood had led White Mountain Apache scouts against Chiricahua warriors for years. He'd also served as the military officer at the Fort Apache Reservation. Consequently, he'd earned the respect of both groups of Apaches. In the end, it was Lieutenant Gatewood's long and personal connection with Geronimo, Naiche and Chihuahua, as well as the two brave Apache who'd agreed to enter the lion's len to broker Geronimo's final surrender, that settled this long war.
Besides Kayitah and Martine, Gatewood took along a mule packer, a rancher-courier, several soldiers and two men who both spoke Chiricahua Apache, George Wratten and Tom Horn. The former would voluntarily go "into exile" with the Chiricahua, and follow them from Florida to Alabama to Ft. Sill, Oklahoma. Tom Horn, besides being an Apache speaker, was also an expert with mules; he'd be hanged later in Wyoming.
Between General Miles' direction to find Geronimo and convince him to surrender or die, and President Cleveland's order to hang Geronimo if possible, Gatewood and company had set off to meet with Geronimo, a hundred miles into Mexico. Days later, Martine and Kayitah found Geronimo. Climbing to his stronghold, they entered discussions with their Apache brothers and friends — albeit, after nearly being ordered killed by Geronimo. They told Geronimo that Gatewood was below, waiting to talk surrender. As a sign of good faith, Geronimo compressed some mescal, the sweet, honey-like food the Apache took from the agave plant and loved as a staple, and molded it into an edible gift at least as large as, if not the actual shape of a human heart. He told Martine to take it back to the lieutenant and assure Gatewood he was safe. No Apache would attack him or his men if he was serious about talking peace.
A day later, surrounded by 24 Apaches warriors, Gatewood met with Geronimo and the others in a shady bend in a river. They brewed coffee, Gatewood distributed some of the 15 pounds of tobacco he'd brought, and as they smoked and drank, they talked. Apache women helped American soldiers cook a hearty meal whose menu items crossed both cultures. In his later memoirs, Gatewood wrote: "Geronimo appeared through the canebrake about 20 feet from where I was sitting, laid his Winchester rifle down and came forward offering his hand and repeating their salutation, 'Anzhoo,' which [means] how are you? [We] shook hands. He remarked about my thinness and apparent bad health and asked what was the matter [Gatewood had a painful bladder infection]. After this. . . Geronimo took a seat alongside [me] as close as he could get (gentle reader, turn back, take another look at his [Geronimo's] face, imagine him looking me square in the eyes and watching my every movement, 24 warriors sitting around fully armed, my small party scattered in their various duties incident to a peace commisioner's camp, and say if you can blame me for feeling chilly twitching movements)."
Probably the clearest indication of how the Apaches felt about Gatewood's character is in these words Geronimo put to him after hours of discussion with him and amongst themselves: "We want your advice. Consider yourself one of us and not a white man. Remember all that has been said today [Aug. 21], and as an Apache, what would you advise us to do under the circumstances. Should [we] surrender, or should [we] fight it out?"
"It did not take me long to make up my mind as to that," Gatewood wrote later. "This was a peace commission, a regular Quaker outfit, and the very thought of war was exceedingly distasteful." He told Geronimo, "I would trust General Miles and take him at his word."
As Miles later wrote General Sheridan, "Lieutenant Charles Gatewood and two Apaches, Martine and Kayteah, persuaded Geronimo to finally surrender. In those meetings, Gatewood told the last holdouts that their families were on the other side of the continent, already exiled to Florida." Heartbroken at the prospect of never seeing their families again, the Apaches folded. The fierce Apache, like "so many tigers," had a deep love for their wives and children, and knew the end had come for their nomadic way of life. The heads and hearts of the Apache, after that moment, had already started on their bleak journey into captivity. Their days of roaming were over and they knew it in their hearts, and I am sure, their melancholy of leaving this land was profound. On Sept. 4, 1886, Geronimo and his remaining band surrendered for good.
(The stone monument that now stands along the highway from Rodeo, NM, to Douglas, Ariz., is not the true surrender spot. That place resides upon private land. In recent months, the gate to the county-maintained road, which leads into Skeleton Canyon and is surrounded by the federal lands of Coronado National Forest, which is in both Arizona and New Mexico, has been blocked with a gate, padlock and a "Stop" sign.)
Back in the safety of Ft. Bowie, Miles wouldn't immediately hear the news of Geronimo's surrender. Miles' use of technical innovations such as the heliograph ("talking mirrors") hadn't done much more than amuse the Apache, who'd been using mirrors for signaling before Miles introduced them to southwestern military operations.
By Sept. 6, 1886, Captain Lawton, hailed by Miles as the officer most responsible for Geronimo being hounded into surrender, was ordered to take 20 men of Troop B, Fourth Cavalry, and "take charge of the surrendered Chiricahua Indian prisoners of war and proceed with them to Fort Marion, Fla."
A telegraphic message on Sept. 11, 1886, from the secretary of war to General Miles indicated he and the president wanted "a detailed statement of the hostile Apache Indians in your custody, giving name, age, sex, condition as to health and otherwise of each person; also any facts touching the character and conduct of each person in your care or within your knowledge." As requested, a telegraph reply was sent on Sept. 12 that enumerated the names and ages of Geronimo's last holdouts, who were also a group of his relatives or those of the last hereditary chief of the Chiricahua, Naiche:
"His Wife, 28, female; Fun, Geronimo's 1st Cousin, 20, male, married; His Wife, 19, female; Abnandria, 26, male, married; His Wife, 21, female; Nahi, 45, male, married; His Wife, 35, female; Yahnsza, 33, male, married; His Wife, 26, female; Tishnolth Touzee, 22, male, married; His Wife, 14, female; Rishi, 20, male, married; His Wife, 35, female; Chappo, Geronimo's son, 22, male, married; His Wife, 18, female; Lazaiyah, brother of Nahi, 46, male, married; His Wife, 37, female; Molzes, 35, male, unmarried; Kilthdigai, 35, male, unmarried; Sephonne, 20, male, unmarried; Lonah, 19, male, unmarried; Skayocoarnet, 11, male, unmarried; Garditha, 10, male, unmarried; Eslichinauntoya, 7, male, unmarried; Laeswani, 8, female, unmarried; Nahi's infant, 2, female, unmarried; Chappo's baby, month, female, unmarried."
In one of several acts of petty duplicity that has hung around his historical neck ever since, General Miles made certain that even the Chiricahua Apaches who had so ably assisted Lieutenant Gatewood in finding Geronimo were deported to Florida as well. Those enlisted Apache were: "Kayetna (Kateah), 33, male, married; Martine, 27, male, married." When none of Miles' methods had brought Geronimo to bay any better than Crook's, in a desperate bid to ensure his place in history, General Miles had persuaded these two men to aid Lieutenant Gatewood in finding Geronimo. Before Geronimo's surrender was sealed, however, Miles knew the wives of the scouts and the scouts themselves would be sent to Florida.
Miles lied to them, promising them homes, grassland, water and freedom, if they helped bring Geronimo in. Miles was an arrogant man with a petty mind. He had to best the accomplishments of "Indian Lover Crook."
The Apache had fought until they just could not fight any longer. When they went away to Florida, and later, Mount Vernon, Alabama, and ultimately, Ft. Sill, Oklahoma (in Geronimo's case), they never fought or killed again. They learned as much of the "white man's ways" as possible, and they behaved.
In fact, Geronimo, deeply longing for those mesas and canyons of the Gila River he'd left behind, wrote this letter to then-President Theodore Roosevelt shortly before he died. He asked that he and his people be allowed to return to this country that lies all around us, here in Southwest New Mexico, to live out their days: "It is my land, my home, my father's land, to which I now ask to be allowed to return. I want to spend my last days there, and be buried among the mountains. . . . I know that if my people were placed in that mountainous region around the headwaters of the Gila River they would live in peace and live according to the will of the President."
Teddy Roosevelt would have none of it. Geronimo died on Feb. 17, 1909, still a prisoner of war.
The surviving Apaches did not regain their freedom until 1913, longer than any other POWs.
I know many people here today who love these lands with a deep passion. How many of us would have fought and died if someone had marched in, fenced off what had once been one vast range, and not fought back?
This is our history, not someone else's. There's no way to change this past. How we deal with a planet that shrinks by the hour, and adds billions of new humans who inhabit it? Do you feel crowded? Do you have a favorite mesa or canyon or range that's now plastered with "NO TRESPASSING" or "STAY OUT" signs? Go away from a good hike, and return two months later to find those signs, locked gates and new barbed wire strung taut? How does THAT feel? Hopefully, we can approach each other and ask permission to hike, walk or ride, and appeal to an owner's good graces. But, if not, WE accept that OUR own days of roaming, and freedom as roamers, are being foreclosed on? There's been far too much violence, committed by all, in the name of every rationale devised, to get back what we've lost, or fear losing.
This is the ninth of Jerry Eagan's accounts of "Hiking Apacheria." He is a retired civil servant who writes, sells his photography at A Daily Practice yoga studio, 104 N. Texas St. in Silver City, and hikes twice a week into Apacheria.