Cochise Stronghold

Cochise STRONGHOLD BY WELDON F. HEALD

When the sun goes down the soaring granite turrets and pinnacles of the Dragoon Mountains glow crimson as if with inner fires. On cloudy days they gleam pale ivory, hard and cold. Again, they are warm and radiant against the blue Southwestern sky. These are rocks of many moods-sometimes inviting, often repelling, but always detached, secretive, mysterious.

One man is responsible for their mystery and their fame. His name is Cochise, greatest leader of the most ruthless and warlike Indians in Arizona history.

Far back in the fastnesses of the Dragoon Mountains, deep among the beetling cliffs and canyons, this Chiricahua Apache chief reigned supreme. And from his natural rock fortress he waged relentless, implacable war against the intruding white men. For almost twelve years-from 1861 to 1872-settlers, ranchers and prospectors lived in mortal terror of this red-skinned Attila. Day and night his scouts sat atop lofty lookouts, scanning the valleys below. At sight of the enemy the deadly Apaches swept down out of the mountains like devastating tornadoes-raiding, pillaging, kidnaping, murdering. No white man, woman or child within a hundred miles was safe from Cochise and his braves. And death at their hands meant fiendish burning and torture.

So the stronghold of Cochise grew in dreaded fame,drenched in the blood of many massacres. There the great warrior lived; there he died. Somewhere in that rocky, rugged wilderness of the Dragoons Cochise lies buried. The mystery is, where? No white man knows the answer. But his spirit still seems to rule the domes, cliffs and canyons, holding them as a last bulwark against the hated despoilers of his homeland.

The giant rocks gain in fame as they stand in memory of one of Arizona's truly great, but the mystery of his hidden grave will be protected forever by their silent loyalty.

Cochise ranks among the world's top generals as a com-mander and strategist. He was never vanquished in battle. But in 1886, twelve years after his death, white men finally conquered the savage Apache. Today, their descendants live peacefully in the San Carlos Reservation along the Gila River. However, the memory of Cochise is still strong in southeastern Arizona: a county, a town and a mountain bear "FROM THE STRONGHOLD" BY RAY J. MANLEY. Cochise Stronghold is on the west slope of the northern part of the Dragoons. Here the Forest Service has set up Cochise Memorial Park, in honor of the great Apache chieftan who lived and died there. Photographer used a Graphic View Camera, Daylight 4 x 5 Ektachrome, 1/10th second at f.16, with meter reading averaging 250 Weston. A long climb up a trail from the picnic grounds put him in position to take the picture. The view of the Sulphur Springs Valley made him realize what a strategic place Cochise had selected for a protective base of operations against the U. S. Cavalry.

his name. And the towering rocks and deep canyons of his stronghold are now within Cochise Memorial Park in the Coronado National Forest. Administered by the United States Forest Service as a recreation area, the park has a magnificent setting of wild natural beauty well worth the short detour to reach it. Besides its fascinating historical background, the wooded amphitheater walled by 1800 foot cliffs make Cochise Stronghold one of the most scenic spots in southern Arizona which can be reached by car.

The Dragoon Mountains are one of the many north-south parallel ranges which rise like green oases above the widesweeping grasslands of the state's southeastern corner. They stretch for twenty miles between the San Pedro and Sulphur Springs valleys, south of Benson and Willcox. The Stronghold is on the eastern slope in the northern part of the range.

Cochise Memorial Park may be reached by way of paved U. S. 666 either from Douglas to the south or Willcox on the north. The route traverses broad, grassy Sulphur Springs Valley, famous cattle range country, where hundreds of whitefaced Herefords and humpbacked Brahmans graze. Three miles north of the old mining town of Pearce a good dirt road leads nine miles directly east to the Stronghold. Ahead the great rocks tower into the sky. As you enter the Dragoon Mountains, smooth granite cliffs close in around you, topped by domes and pinnacles. The rock is a delicate pink, contrasting sharply with the dark green of gnarled oaks, junipers and pinons which cling to crevices in the cliffs. The road follows up the wooded canyon, arched by cottonwoods and sycamores, and ends in a huge natural basin among the sky-piercing pink rocks. There, in a shady oak grove, is a Forest Service picnic ground with outdoor grills, tables and piped water.

If you feel the urge to explore the inner recesses of the Stronghold you may follow Cochise Trail which winds up the canyon west of the picnic grounds and threads a maze of fantastic rocks to the summit of the Dragoons. It is an easy trail and traverses a weird but beautiful unspoiled wilderness. At every turn, as you ascend, rise new granite castles, domes, towers and steeples-rocks piled everywhere in labyrinthine confusion. Down the wooded canyons little streams come tumbling over the boulders in miniature waterfalls, shaded by the arms of huge Arizona cypresses. At the top of the Dragoons, over 6000 feet elevation, the Stronghold spreads out before you on both sides of the range, and beyond are vast carpets of grasslands stretching to distant blue mountains.

In summer Cochise Stronghold is green and verdant, with ferns and wildflowers in deep canyon recesses. High-piled white clouds build up into the sky, trailing gray-blue curtains of rain across the hills. The valley grasslands below are green as giant golf courses.

During the winter, the great rocks are sometimes shrouded in snow. Then they sparkle with blinding brilliance in the crystal-clear air.

The mile high elevation of the Stronghold gives it a delightful climate the year round. As a rule, it is neither too hot in summer nor cold in winter. So each season has its special charm and fascination. But southeastern Arizona is at its very best in the Fall. From mid-September to the first of November nature stages a color parade over the valleys, hills and mountains. The grass turns golden, aspen groves are splashes of lemon yellow on the mountainsides, while flaming maples and russet oaks outline the high canyons. Then, the road into the Dragoons becomes a tunnel through brilliant foliage, and even the great rocks seem friendlier and more mellow in their colorful setting.

But whatever the season, the Stronghold of Cochise is now a place of peace. Today, the silence is broken only by the song of birds, running water, wind in the trees or the distant barking of coyotes. But one feels the spirit of the Great Red Chief still dominating his earthly abode. One can see in mind's eye the signal fires of the Apaches and hear in imagination the victory chant of painted warriors as they dance around their campfires. Once these canyon walls echoed with shouts of welcome to the returning conqueror “Cochise, Cochise, Cochise, Cochise!” Perhaps the vibrations of the echo still linger to animate the rocks, trees and streams of his impregnable stronghold.

For savage and barbarous as he may have been, Cochise was one of the great characters in American history. He was mentally and physically superior to most of the white men pitted against him. And it was the perfidy, cruelty and stupidity of so-called civilized men which turned him from a warm friend into a vengeful enemy.

Up to 1860 Cochise had been friendly to the Americans. He was then a wise and peaceful chief who believed diplomacy rather than warfare was better for his people. On several occasions he had prevented Apache tribes from molesting wagon trains and stage coaches. But in October, 1860 a band of Pinal Apaches raided the ranch of pioneer John Ward on the Sonoita River, ran off cattle and kidnaped the son of a Mexican woman with whom he was living. Ward reported to the commanding officer at nearby Fort Buchanan, blaming Cochise and the Chiricahua Apaches for the outrage. The fort was short on mounted men and it was not until the end of January, 1861 that a patrol of twelve soldiers were dispatched to recover the child. The commander was a recently-graduated West Pointer, George N. Bascom.

There is nothing fundamentally wrong with second lieutenanttenants. But when a green, inexperienced shavetail is sent out to do a colonel's job anything is like to happen. Had a wise and understanding senior officer dealt with Cochise the subsequent history of Arizona might have been different.

Bascom and his men found the chief camped near the Butterfield stage station at Apache Pass between the Chiricahua and Dos Cabezas mountains. The lieutenant invited Cochise and his subchiefs to confer with him under the white flag of peace. When they were assembled in his tent, Bascom preemptorily demanded that Cochise return the stolen boy and cattle taken from the Ward ranch.

Cochise replied with dignity that the Chiricahua Apaches were at peace with the Americans. For more than five years they had taken no cattle or children belonging to Americans. But he would dispatch warriors to the Pinal, Mescalero, Tonto and other Apache tribes in an effort to have the boy and cattle returned to Mr. Ward. The discussion went on for an hour. but was suddenly terminated by Lieutenant Bascom.

“Cochise, you are a liar,” he said. “You and your chiefs are my prisoners until the Ward boy is returned.” With an American oath, Cochise jumped to his feet.

“I am no prisoner of yours,” he shouted. From his breech-clout he whipped out a knife, slashed the rear of the tent and escaped. Soldiers of the patrol fired at the fleeing chief and wounded him in the leg, but he zigzagged up the hill behind rocks and trees and disappeared, leaving a trail of blood. The other unarmed Indians were quickly subdued by the soldiers, one being knocked down by a gun butt and another stabbed with a bayonet. And still the white flag of peace fluttered over Lieutenant Bascom's tent.

With rage in his heart, Cochise made for his stronghold, thirty-five miles away. There he gathered warriors and re-turned to Apache Pass. Two Americans were captured and offered in exchange for the imprisoned Indians. Bascom re-fused. A little later Cochise captured Wallace, the station agent. Then accompanied by a hundred armed, mounted war-riors in war paint, he brought the three American prisoners within sight and hearing of the stage station.

Wallace and the other two white prisoners begged Bascom to make terms with the Apaches. They had already been tortured, they said, and this was Cochise's last offer of peace. The lieutenant ignored the desperate appeals of his countrymen; he would exchange the Indians only if the Ward boy was released. That was final. Infuriated, Cochise ordered Wallace to be tied behind his horse. Then in full sight of Bascom and his men, he put the horse to a gallop and dragged the station agent to his death over the sharp rocks. The other two Americans were tortured and hanged. In retaliation, the lieutenant hanged his Indian prisoners.

Thus began Cochise's war of vengeance against all white men. For the next eleven years hundreds of Americans were shot, burned alive or tortured and thousands of dollars worth of American property was destroyed to pay for the mistake of one callow, young second lieutenant.

In the late 1860's and early 1870's Apache atrocities mounted to a climax of terror and bloodshed. The scattered outposts of the United States Army were powerless against the wily, sagacious red general and his ruthless warriors. They struck again and again in surprise attacks and retreated to their impregnable stronghold before soldiers could be organ-ized to pursue them over miles of rough, empty, arid country. Arizona's Apache troubles finally became a national affair.

In 1872 President Grant sent Major General Oliver O. Howard to the Southwest as a special commissioner to treat with Cochise and make peace. The general spent four months searching for the elusive Apache Chief in New Mexico, he had the good luck to meet the only white man who could lead him to Cochise. That was Thomas L. Jeffords.

Jeffords was a remarkable man. Over six feet tall, with flaming red hair and beard, he was every inch a frontiersman. He came to Arizona in 1860 at the age of twenty-nine and had been Union Army scout, Indian trader, miner, and stage driver on the Butterfield line. After the close of the Civil War the government employed Jeffords as superintendent of mail service between Fort Bowie and Tucson. He hired his drivers for $125 a month but rarely had to pay them-the Apaches were responsible for killing twenty-two of Jefford's drivers in sixteen months! Applicants became fewer and fewer, finally dwindled to nothing.

The United States mails through southern Arizona would have to be abandoned unless Cochise could be brought to terms. Jeffords was not a man to give up what he had started and he resolved to have it out with the red chief. He learned that the Chiricahua Apaches were encamped at the base of the Pinaleno Mountains. So, sending up smoke signals to indicate that he came on a peaceful mission, he rode alone all one day toward the camp of Cochise. The Indians silently watched the approach of the solitary white man.

Towards evening Jeffords rode into the Apache encampment. He quietly dismounted and handed his weapons, cartridge belt and horse's reins to a squaw. Then he approached the chief and sat down beside him. Not a word was spoken for several minutes. Then Jeffords talked in his fluent Apache.

The two men conferred for several hours. The red haired white man's bravery and straightforwardness won Cochise's respect. Jeffords left the camp twenty-four hours later with the promise that henceforth the stagecoaches and mail would not be molested. Although the Apaches continued to ravage, pillage and murder Cochise kept his word. Tagliato, the red beard, as the Indians came to call Jeffords, was the one white man with whom the Apaches were at peace. Through the years, a strong friendship grew between Jeffords and Cochise, and they ultimately underwent the mystic Apache ceremony of becoming spiritual brothers through the commingling and quaffing of each other's blood. The story of this unique friendship on the savage frontier is beautifully told by Elliott Arnold in his "Blood Brother." It is one of the finest historical novels of the Southwest ever written.

When General Howard met Jeffords in 1872 he asked to be taken to Cochise's Stronghold.

"Will you go there with me, General, without soldiers?"

"Yes," Howard answered, "if necessary."

"Then I will take you to him."

It was late September when they set out. Accompanied by two young Apache chiefs and Captain Sladen, the General's aide, Howard and Jeffords rode for several days down through New Mexico and into Arizona. When within a hundred miles of the Stronghold, the young Apaches began making smoke signals. As the great granite rocks of the Dragoons came into sight on the western horizon, they met some ofCochise's scouts, then a party of warriors on outpost duty. The five men camped at the entrance of the Stronghold and waited.

Cochise and his sub-chiefs rode into their camp the next morning. He dismounted and embraced his friend, Jeffords. Then he turned and grasped Howard's hand.

"Buenos dias, Señor," he said.

Howard and Cochise seated themselves on a folded blanket and a small circle formed around him. The Chief asked Howard the purpose of his visit.

"The President sent me to make peace between you and the white people," the General replied.

"Nobody wants peace more than I do," said Cochise.

"Then, as I have full power, we can make it."

For ten days Jeffords and Howard remained at the Strong-hold. Cochise summoned his chief warriors and a council was held. The Chief stipulated two conditions without which there could be no peace: the Apache reservation must include the mountains and valleys of their homeland adjacent to the Stronghold; and Jeffords must be appointed Indian agent. The General finally agreed and Jeffords reluctantly accepted.

The last night a solemn ceremony was held for guidance from the spirits. The signs were favorable and Cochise announced the decision of the Chiricahua Apaches: "Hereafter, the white man and the Indian are to drink of the same water, eat the same bread, and be at peace."

Cochise kept the peace to his death, two years later. Other Americans came and broke their word. Indians and white men once again became bitter enemies. But now as we look back through the years we realize that the story of the Great Red Chief, Cochise, is one of the epics of the Southwest. It will endure like the mighty granite rocks of his Stronghold as long as men admire courage, character and integrity.