I
know exactly what Sergeant John R. McDonald was thinking that
afternoon of Tuesday, 30 August, 1881. He had just pulled the saddle
and blanket from his cavalry mount when the first burst of gun fire,
produced a stabbing pain which tore his right leg out from under him,
dropping both saddle and the Irishman to the ground.
However,
drowning out the searing agony, were the orders from his 51 year old
commander, Colonel Eugene Asa Carr (above). Under no circumstances, the
Medal-of-Honor winner had told him, should his prisoner be allowed to
be rescued. So without examining his own wound, McDonald instantly
searched for the Apache medicine man (above). Seeing Nakaidoklini - or
Nock-ay-det-kline - scurrying toward the underbrush on all fours, the
Sergeant dutifully pulled his big Navy revolver and shot the Apache through
both legs.
Under
orders from Brevet Major General Orlando Willcox 200 miles to the
south-west in Tuscon, the 85 troopers of the 6th Cavalry under
Colonel Carr's command, along with 23 Apache scouts, had left the
White Mountain stronghold of Fort Apache the day before.
After a 45
mile, over night ride across this southern reach of the Colorado
Plateau, they arrived that afternoon at the wickiups of Nakaidoklini's
village, near Cibecue Creek (above), in the upper Salt River Canyon. Their stated goal was to bring the
medicine man back to Fort Apache for a talk. But everyone - including
the Apache scouts - knew the U.S. Army was not going to allow this
leader to ever return to his people.
Nakaidoklini's
offense was that he had been providing guidance to the warrior
"He-who-yawns", aka by the Mexican and Americans as
"Geronimo" (above, right), and to the another clan chief, Miguel. And
lately the independent medicine man had also been preaching a fresh
blend of traditional Apache religion and Christianity. Nakaidoklini
was predicting he could, Christ like, raise dead chiefs from their
graves. And that was what inspired General Wilcox to order Colonel
Carr to arrest and detain the moral leader of the Cibecue band of
Apache.
Carr's
problem was he did not trust his Apache scouts on this mission. Centuries of life in the deserts and mountains had forced the Apache into small
bands, even more suspicious of each other as they were the Americans
or Mexicans. But a decade of luring all Apache bands into the White
Mountains of northern Arizona with the promise of food and clothing,
had eroded those divisions. And the racism of the Americans did not help. So Carr asked General Wilcox for more
troopers. The General replied that this summer of 1881, he was
anticipating trouble with the Cow Boy elements between Tombstone and
the Mexican border, and could spare no more men for the subjugated
Apache. Carr would have to carry on with his suspect Apache scouts.
Once
they had arrived at his village, Carr assured Nakaidoklini the army
only wanted to talk to him, and he seemed agreeable enough. But once
the lead elements had started back, the medicine man decided he
wanted to ride his own horse. This delayed his escort about 15
minutes, which proved just long enough to set up the ambush by the
Cibecue band at the crossing of Verde Creek. The Apache scouts knew
what was coming. In fact, they were the first to fire, just as the
column was setting up camp.
The first volley was so close
it killed 6 soldiers, and wounded 2 more, including McDonald. The
Irish sergeant signaled his trumpeter, Corporeal William O. Benites,
to make certain the prisoner was dead. Benites crawled close to
Nakaidikini, and stood just long enough to draw a bead on the Apache.
He shot the medicine man in the neck, before ducking down below the
barrage that followed.
With nightfall, Colonel
Carr decided to run for the safety of Fort Apache before sunrise. But
he decided to send his adjunct, 29 year old Lieutenant William Giles
Harding Carter (above), to double check the dead prisoner. Carter wrote
later he discovered, , "...not withstanding his wounds,
(Nakaidikini) was still alive. The recovery of this Indian if left to
the hands of his friends, would have given him a commanding influence
over these superstitious people, which would have resulted in endless
war. General Carr then repeated his order for his death, specifying
that no more shots should be fired." One of the guides, named
Byrnes then "...took an ax and crushed the forehead of the
deluded fanatic, and from this time forward every person murdered by
these Apaches was treated in a similar manner."
What
followed should not be dignified by calling it a "war". The
74 warriors and 300 women and children of the Cibecue Creek band were left trying to escape after their Pyrric victory at Verde crossing.
Before the end of the month they would fail. But across Arizona,
Europeans panicked.
On 10 September, General Wilcox (above) ordered the
release for sale of 50 war surplus carbines, with 1,000 rounds of
ammunition to any community which felt the need, This was the same
day Pete Spence and Frank Stillwell were arraigned in Tombstone on
charges of robbing the Bisbee stage, released on bail, and then
re-arrested on Federal charges of interfering with the U.S. Mail.
Tombstone
could afford the weapons the army was offering , and a militia company
was instantly formed, electing County Marshal Johnny Behan as their
captain and Federal Deputy Marshal Virgil Earp as First Lieutenant.
The company included Wyatt and Morgan Earp, Mayor John Clum, deputies
Billy Breakenridge and George Parsons. It almost seemed as if both
sides of the Cow Boy/Law Man, local territorial, Democratic
Republican divides joined the militia to keep an eye on each other.
And now armed, they set out to defend the region from marauding
Apache.
Except
they did not ride north, toward the White Mountains and site of the
uprising. Instead the Tombstone Militia headed in exactly the opposite
direction, southwest, across the Sulphur Springs Valley. Their first
day out they were caught in an afternoon monsoon cloud burst and were
forced to seek shelter on a local ranch. Luckily for the militia's
reputation, the owner - a Mr. Edwin "old man" Frink - had just suffered an
Apache raid. The "savages" had made off with 20 horses. Not
that the Tombstone Militia ever bothered to look for the missing
mounts. The equine would eventually be discovered 20 miles to the
east, in the Chiriahua mountains, in Horse Shoe Canyon. So perhaps
the thieves were white raiders out of one of the Mexico - old or
New.
Instead,
the next morning the posse - er, militia company - rode further west,
stopping for brunch at the McLaury ranch. The lawmen were greeted by
outlaw leader Curley Bill Brocius, "Arizona's most famous outlaw
at the present time." George Parson noted that Virgil Earp and
Curley Bill shook hands "warmly." Shortly there after
Brocius rode off to attend to some business, pausing just long enough
to steal a pair of spurs from Wyatt Earp. They party stopped that
night at Soldier's Hole, where they met up with a patrol of 6th
cavalry out of Fort Huachuca. After a night spent drinking, the
militia company returned to Tombstone, dusty and weary, but certain
they had made the region safe from an Apache attack that was never
contemplated.
The
town they returned to seemed to have settled into a slightly bizarre
normal. On 15 March, 1881, the Arizona Telephone Company began to
installing poles and wires between the Mining Exchange building, the
mines and the stamping mills in Charleston and Fairbank. That spring
Episcopal minister Endicott
Peabody challenged a Methodist minister to a public boxing match. The
Episcopalian won. Bartender Frank Leslie, ranch owner in the distant
Chilihaura Mountains, became renown for drawing his lady friends'
silhouette's on walls - with bullet holes. And at any time, day or
night, the most infamous characters could be found strolling up and
down Allen Street - named for baker, John "Pie" Allen,
whose shop sat at Fourth and Allen Streets.
East
of Sixth Street on Allen, was the red light district, whore houses
run by Blond Marie, Irish Mag, Crazy Horse Lil, China Mary, Madame
Mustache and Big Nose Kate. West of Third Street on Allen were the
opium dens of "Hop Town". In between, in a town where a
quarter would buy you a warm beer, a chip in a faro game, 2 buckets
of water or a single egg, the most frequented shops in town were the
saloons, The Oriental, The Crystal Palace, The Eagle and The
Alhambra. As a local historian writes, along Allen Street, "...the
sweet odor of opium hung in the air. Chips clinked and roulette
wheels whirred..." It seemed as if the energy generated in
Tombstone might go on forever, always bigger, always richer.
But
underneath, the town was facing a growing crises. Late in 1880, the
Tough Nut Mine had begun to suffer seepage. And in March of 1881 the
Sulphuret Mine, half a mile south of Tombstone, had struck water at
520 feet below the surface. With silver still worth a dollar an
ounce, the decision was to keep digging. It was even imagined the
water could be pumped to the surface to drink and to power stamp
mills on site, avoiding the expensive transport to the San Pedro
River. But not enough water seeped into the mine to justify such
investment. And besides, as the Sulphuret's name implied, the water
proved not potable. However, as each mine reached below the water
table, each in turn encountered seepage. It was clear that eventually
large pumps would have be brought in - raising the cost of mining the
silver, eating into the profits that justified the entire, bizarre
desert oasis of greed that was Tombstone, Arizona.
It first occured to the most fervent of Tombstone's boosters, that
the end of the boom might be in sight.
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