THE OLD SANTA FE TRAIL, COLONEL HENRY INMAN [well read books .txt] 📗

Monotony Save A Few Skirmishes With The Indians; But

No Casualties Occurred in these Insignificant Battles, The Savages

Being afraid To Venture Too Near On Account Of The Presence Of The

Military Escort.

 

 

 

On The 18Th Of July, The Caravan Arrived in the Vicinity Of Fort

Larned.  There It Was Supposed that The Proximity Of That Military

Post Would Be A Sufficient Guarantee From Any Attack Of The Savages;

So The Men Of The Train Became Careless, And As The Day Was Excessively

Hot, They Went Into Camp Early In the Afternoon, The Escort Remaining

In Bivouac About A Mile In the Rear Of The Train.

 

 

 

About Five O'Clock, A Hundred and Fifty Painted savages, Under The

Command Of Little Turtle Of The Brule Sioux, Swooped down On The

Unsuspecting Caravan While The Men Were Enjoying Their Evening Meal.

Not A Moment Was Given Them To Rally To The Defence Of Their Lives,

And Of All Belonging To The Outfit, With The Exception Of One Boy,

Not A Soul Came Out Alive.

 

 

 

The Teamsters Were Every One Of Them Shot Dead And Their Bodies

Horribly Mutilated.  After Their Successful Raid, The Savages

Destroyed everything They Found In the Wagons, Tearing The Covers

Into Shreds, Throwing The Flour On The Trail, And Winding Up By

Burning Everything That Was Combustible.

 

 

 

On The Same Day The Commanding Officer Of Fort Larned had Learned

From Some Of His Scouts That The Brule Sioux Were On The War-Path,

And The Chief Of The Scouts With A Handful Of Soldiers Was Sent Out

To Reconnoitre.  They Soon Struck The Trail Of Little Turtle And

Followed it To The Scene Of The Massacre On Cow Creek, Arriving

There Only Two Hours After The Savages Had Finished their Devilish

Work.  Dead Men Were Lying about In the Short Buffalo-Grass Which

Had Been Stained and Matted by Their Flowing Blood, And The Agonized

Posture Of Their Bodies Told Far More Forcibly Than Any Language

The Tortures Which Had Come Before A Welcome Death.  All Had Been

Scalped; All Had Been Mutilated in that Nameless Manner Which Seems

To Delight The Brutal Instincts Of The North American Savage.

 

 

 

Moving Slowly From One To The Other Of The Lifeless Forms Which

Still Showed the Agony Of Their Death-Throes, The Chief Of The Scouts

Came Across The Bodies Of Two Boys, Both Of Whom Had Been Scalped

And Shockingly Wounded, Besides Being Mutilated, Yet, Strange To Say,

Both Of Them Were Alive.  As Tenderly As The Men Could Lift Them,

They Were Conveyed at Once Back To Fort Larned and Given In charge

Of The Post Surgeon.  One Of The Boys Died in a Few Hours After His

Arrival In the Hospital, But The Other, Robert Mcgee, Slowly Regained

His Strength, And Came Out Of The Ordeal In fairly Good Health.

 

 

 

The Story Of The Massacre Was Related by Young Mcgee, After He Was

Able To Talk, While In the Hospital At The Fort; For He Had Not

Lost Consciousness During The Suffering To Which He Was Subjected

By The Savages.

 

 

 

He Was Compelled to Witness The Tortures Inflicted on His Wounded and

Captive Companions, After Which He Was Dragged into The Presence Of

The Chief, Little Turtle, Who Determined that He Would Kill The Boy

With His Own Hands.  He Shot Him In the Back With His Own Revolver,

Having First Knocked him Down With A Lance Handle.  He Then Drove

Two Arrows Through The Unfortunate Boy'S Body, Fastening Him To The

Ground, And Stooping Over His Prostrate Form Ran His Knife Around

His Head, Lifting Sixty-Four Square Inches Of His Scalp, Trimming

It Off Just Behind His Ears.

 

 

 

Believing Him Dead By That Time, Little Turtle Abandoned his Victim;

But The Other Savages, As They Went By His Supposed corpse, Could Not

Resist Their Infernal Delight In blood, So They Thrust Their Knives

Into Him, And Bored great Holes In his Body With Their Lances.

 

 

 

After The Savages Had Done All That Their Devilish Ingenuity Could

Contrive, They Exultingly Rode Away, Yelling as They Bore Off The

Reeking Scalps Of Their Victims, And Drove Away The Hundreds Of Mules

They Had Captured.

 

 

 

When The Tragedy Was Ended, The Soldiers, Who Had From Their

Vantage-Ground Witnessed the Whole Diabolical Transaction, Came Up

To The Bloody Camp By Order Of Their Commander, To Learn Whether

The Teamsters Had Driven Away Their Assailants, And Saw Too Late

What Their Cowardice Had Allowed to Take Place.  The Officer In

Command Of The Escort Was Dismissed the Service, As He Could Not

Give Any Satisfactory Reason For Not Going To The Rescue Of The

Caravan He Had Been Ordered to Guard.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter XXI (Fooling Stage Robbers)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Wagon Mound, So Called from Its Resemblance To A Covered army-Wagon,

Is A Rocky Mesa Forty Miles From Point Of Rocks, Westwardly.

The Stretch Of The Trail From The Latter To The Mound Has Been

The Scene Of Some Desperate Encounters, Only Exceeded in number

And Sanguinary Results By Those Which Have Occurred in the Region Of

Pawnee Rock, The Crossing Of The Walnut, Pawnee Fork, And Cow Creek.

 

 

 

One Of The Most Remarkable Stories Of This Wagon Mound Country Dealt

With The Nerve And Bravery Exhibited by John L. Hatcher In defence

Of His Life, And Those Of The Men In his Caravan, About 1858.

 

 

 

Hatcher Was A Noted trader And Merchant Of New Mexico.  He Was Also

Celebrated as An Indian Fighter, And His Name Was A Terror To The

Savages Who Infested the Settlements Of New Mexico And Raided the Trail.

 

 

 

He Left Taos, Where He Then Resided, In the Summer, With His Caravan

Loaded with Furs And Pelts Destined for Westport Landing; To Be

Forwarded from There To St. Louis, The Only Market For Furs In the

Far West.  His Train Was A Small One, Comprising about Fifteen Wagons

And Handled by About As Many Men, Including Himself.  At The Date

Of His Adventure The Indians Were Believed to Be At Peace With

Everybody; A False Idea, As Hatcher Well Knew, For There Never Was

Such A Condition Of Affairs As Absolute Immunity From Their Attacks.

While It Might Be True That The Old Men Refrained for A Time From

Starting Out On The War-Path, There Were Ever The Vastly Greater

Number Of Restless Young Warriors Who Had Not Yet Earned their Eagle

Feathers, Who Could Not Be Controlled by Their Chiefs, And Who Were

Always Engaged in marauding, Either Among The Border Settlements

Or Along The Line Of The Trail.

 

 

 

When Hatcher Was Approaching The Immediate Vicinity Of Wagon Mound,[66]

With His Train Strung Out In single Column, To His Great Astonishment

There Suddenly Charged on Him From Over The Hill About Three Hundred

Savages, All Feather-Bedecked and Painted in the Highest Style Of

Indian Art.  As They Rode Toward The Caravan, They Gave The Sign

Of Peace, Which Hatcher Accepted for The Time As True, Although He

Knew Them Well.  However, He Invited the Head Men To Some Refreshment,

As Was Usual On Such Occasions In those Days, Throwing a Blanket

On The Ground, On Which Sugar In abundance Was Served out.

The Sweet-Toothed warriors Helped themselves Liberally, And Affected

Much Delight At The Way They Were Being Treated; But Hatcher, With

His Knowledge Of The Savage Character, Was Firm In the Belief That

They Came For No Other Purpose Than To Rob The Caravan And Kill Him

And His Men.

 

 

 

They Were Comanches, And One Of The Most Noted chiefs Of The Tribe

Was In command Of The Band, With Some Inferior Chiefs Under Him.

I Think It Was Old Wolf, A Very Old Man Then, Whose Raids Into Texas

Had Made His Name A Terror To The Mexicans Living On The Border.

 

 

 

While The Chiefs Were Eating Their Saccharine Lunch, Hatcher Was

Losing No Time In forming His Wagons Into A Corral, But He Told His

Friends Afterward That He Had No Idea That Either He Or Any Of His

Men Would Escape; Only Fifteen Or Sixteen Men Against Over Three

Hundred merciless Savages, And Those The Worst On The Continent,

And A Small Corral--The Chances Were Totally Hopeless!  Nothing But

A Desperate Action Could Avail, And Maybe Not Even That.[67]  Hatcher,

After The Other Head Men Had Finished eating, Asked the Old Chief

To Send His Young Warriors Away Over The Hill.  They Were All Sitting

Close To One Of The Wagons, Old Wolf, In fact, Leaning against The

Wheel Resting On His Blanket, With Hatcher Next Him On His Right.

Hatcher Was So Earnest In his Appeal To Have The Young Men Sent Away,

That Both The Venerable Villain And His Other Chiefs Rose And Were

Standing.  Without A Moment'S Notice Or The Slightest Warning,

Hatcher Reached with His Left Hand And Grabbed old Wolf By His

Scalp-Lock, And With His Right Drew His Butcher-Knife From Its

Scabbard And Thrust It At The Throat Of The Chief.  All This Was

Done In an Instant, As Quick As Lightning; No One Had Time To Move.

The Situation Was Remarkable.  The Little, Wiry Man, Surrounded by

Eight Or Nine Of The Most Renowned warriors Of The Dreaded comanches,

Stood Firm; Everybody Was Breathless; Not A Word Did The Savages Say.

Hatcher Then Said Again To Old Wolf, In the Most Determined manner:

"Send Your Young Men Over The Hill At Once, Or I'Ll Kill You Right

Where You Are!" Holding On To The Hair Of The Savage With His Left

Hand And Keeping The Knife At His Throat.

 

 

 

The Other Indians Did Not Dare To Make A Move; They Knew What Kind Of

A Man Hatcher Was; They Knew He Would Do As He Had Said, And That If

They Attempted a Rescue He Would Kill Their Favourite Chief In a Second.

 

 

 

Old Wolf Shook His Head Defiantly In the Negative.  Hatcher Repeated

His Order, Getting Madder All The Time: "Send Your Young Men Over

The Hill; I Tell You!"  Old Wolf Was Still Stubborn; He Shook His

Head Again.  Hatcher Gave Him Another Chance: "Send Your Young Men

Over The Hill, I Tell You, Or I'Ll Scalp You Alive As You Are!"

Again The Chief Shook His Head.  Then Hatcher, Still Holding On The

Hair Of His Stubborn Victim, Commenced to Make An Incision In the

Head Of Old Wolf, For The Determined man Was Bound To Carry Out His

Threat; But He Began Very Slowly.

 

 

 

As The Chief Felt The Blood Trickle Down His Forehead, He Weakened.

He Ordered his Next In command To Send The Young Men Over The Hill

And Out Of Sight.  The Order Was Repeated immediately To The Warriors,

Who Were Astonished spectators Of The Strange Scene, And They Quickly

Mounted their Horses And Rode Away Over The Hill As Fast As They

Could Thump Their Animals' Sides With Their Legs, Leaving Only Five

Or Six Chiefs With Old Wolf And Hatcher.

 

 

 

Hatcher Held On Like Grim Death To The Old Chief'S Head, And Immediately

Ordered his Men To Throw The Robes Out Of The Wagons As Quickly As

They Could, And Get Inside Themselves.  This Was Promptly Obeyed,

And When They Were All Under The Cover Of The Wagon Sheets, Hatcher

Let Go Of His Victim'S Hair, And, With A Last Kick, Told Him And His

Friends That They Could Leave.  They Went Off, And Did Not Return.

 

 

 

Some Laughable Incidents Have Enlivened the Generally Sanguinary

History Of The Old Santa Fe Trail, But They Were Very Serious At

The Time To Those Who Were The Actors, And Their Ludicrousness Came

After All Was Over.

 

 

 

In The Late Summer Of 1866, A Thieving Band Of Apaches Came Into The

Vicinity Of Fort Union, New Mexico, And After Carefully Reconnoitring

The Whole Region And Getting at The Manner In which The Stock

Belonging To The Fort Was Herded, They Secreted themselves In the

Turkey Mountains Overlooking The Entire Reservation, And Lay In wait

For Several Days, Watching For A Favourable Moment To Make A Raid

Into The Valley And Drive Off The Herd.

 

 

 

Selecting an Occasion When The Guard Was Weak And Not Very Alert,

They In broad Daylight Crawled under The Cover Of A Hill, And,

Mounting Their Horses, Dashed out With The Most Unearthly Yells And

Down Among The Animals That Were Quietly Grazing Close To