THE GREAT YAVAPAI

THE GREAT YAVAPAΙ

In this land of opportunity, the success story of some itinerant immigrant who has come to our shores or some boy from the farm who has made good has often thrilled and encouraged millions of his fellow Americans. If a list was compiled of these successful people, Arizona would have a native son whose name would rank high upon such a roll of honor. His name was "Wassaja."

It is true that he did not achieve greatness in our national political life, nor was he a great industrial genius, but in his own tribe and among his people he was recognized as one of the greatest of his race, for Wassaja was an Indian. His life story is more dramatic and thrilling than the wildest fiction. He is known to the world as Dr. Carlos Montezuma.

ord straight. Possibly the reason for the confusion in his tribal ancestry is that the Yavapais are sometimes called "Yuma Apaches" or "Mojave Apaches," but actually the Yavapais are members of the Yuman family of tribes and are wholly unrelated to the Apaches.

The story of Dr. Montezuma's life, as related here, was compiled through correspondence with his wife, who is now living in Illinois, and who furnished me with many of his writings, including his book, "Indian of Yesterday." I also interviewed many of his relatives living on the Indian reservation at Fort McDowell. The Fort McDowell Reservation is a Federal reserve which was set aside for the remnants of the Yavapai tribe soon after their release from military custody at San Carlos. My chief informant was old Susie Dickens, who died recently at the age of 108. She was a sister of Dr. Montezuma's father and was present in the camp at the foot of Superstition Mountain the night he was captured.

Our story takes us back nearly a century ago when Arizona was our last frontier and white immigration was being bitterly opposed by many of the Indian tribes of the Territory. It begins with a night attack of savage Indian warfare. In the massacre that followed, a little Indian boy was captured and later sold to a white man through whom he was given an opportunity to graduate from the University of Illinois and Chicago Medical School, finally gaining a place of national prominence as a leader among the Indian people. The details are as follows: In the fall of 1872 a band of Yavapai warriors made a raid on the Pima villages along the Gila River. This was not an uncommon occurrence, for both the Yavapai and the Apaches made occasional raids on the Pimas, especially around harvest time. The Pimas were a peaceful people but, when attacked, were strong, courageous fighters and a strong tribe numerically. In this fight the Yavapais were outnumbered and were driven off. They retreated to their camp at the base of the peculiar rock formation known as Weaver's Needle at the north end of the Superstition range of mountains. Susie Dickens told me that the Yavapai camp was somewhat fearful that the Pima warriors might follow the raiders. The following evening some of the Yavapai families ventured to build camp fires but she and her husband, who were at the north end of the camp near a big rock, did not build a fire. She thinks the Pima scouts saw the camp fires, then planned the night attack. When it came, she and her husband and brother slipped out into the brush and escaped. There were only a few members of the camp who were so fortunate. The Pimas attacked with their war clubs, clubbed to death all the men and women they could find, and set fire to the camp. The following day, after the Pimas had gone, Susie says she returned and found men and women scattered all over the camp site where they had been killed. The Pimas had captured about fifteen children and had carried them back to the Pima villages. Among these children was a little boy six years old named Wassaja. He was taken along with other children to be sold as slaves to the Mexicans. This was a common practice among several tribes in the Southwest who sold captive children to the Mexicans. Mexican or white captives were often sold or traded to other Indian tribes. After little Wassaja had been kept in a Pima village for a few days and had been taunted and jeered at by the people, his captors started to take him to Florence where he was to be sold. He was claimed jointly by three of the Pima warriors. On the way up the Gila River, Wassaja was taken through the old town of Adamsville, which had a history of being one of the wild and roaring spots of this section of Arizona in the early days. It had one of the first flour mills in Arizona, a few stores and, of course, the inevitable saloons. As they passed through Adamsville, a Mexican whom little Wassaja described as a big man with long black hair on his face wanted to buy the boy. His captors thought they could get a better price at Florence and took him on, much to the relief of the boy who was badly frightened for he had never before seen a man with a beard. When they arrived at Florence, Wassaja was sold for $30 to an Italian by the name of C. Gentile. Gentile was a prospector and photographer and it is said that upon learning the boy's Indian name, he said, "Hereafter you shall be Carlos Montezuma." I have been told that Gentile had the boy christened at the Catholic church in Florence under this name, but the good Fathers there have searched their records back to 1870 and neither the name Wassaja nor Carlos Montezuma appears thereon. The boy found that his two sisters were still in Florence, evidently having been purchased by someone there; and after telling them "goodbye" for the last time he would ever see them, he and Gentile set out on their long journey to the east.

Evidently they passed through Fort McDowell for, according to little Carlos, they proceeded toward the northwest and were soon in territory where the Indians spoke the same language as the boy. He mentions stopping one place where an Indian tried to persuade him to steal some ammunition with which to shoot the commanding officer, but Carlos said he had begun to like the three square meals he received each day and was afraid this might come to an end if he got into trouble, so he refused to become involved. He and Gentile soon moved on in their wagon to Camp Verde, then over to Fort Apache, on through the Zuñi villages, Albuquerque, and finally reached Santa Fe. Here they sold their wagon and horses and took the stage for Pueblo, Colorado, where they reached the railroad. Doctor Montezuma later described how frightened he was at his first sight of a locomotive. Gentile told him that it was an "iron horse" and he wondered if eating horses gave it its great strength and power. After riding for a few days in the coaches he found that his journey was quite pleasant and exciting.

Carlos spent the winter in Grand Rapids, Michigan, and, according to Mrs. Montezuma, this was made necessary by the Chicago fire which had devastated that city the previous year. It will be remembered that on October 8, 1871, Mrs. O'Leary's cow kicked over the lamp that started a fire which almost wiped out the windy city.

In the spring of 1873, Carlos entered school in Chicago. Sometime later, he went to Brooklyn, New York, for a short time, then returned to Chicago and in 1880 entered the preparatory school of the University of Illinois and graduated from that school four years later. He then entered Chicago Medical College, from which he received his degree of Doctor of Medicine in 1888. In 1889 he was appointed physician in the Indian Service, being stationed at Fort Stevenson, North Dakota, and later serving as physician at Western Shoshone, Nevada, Colville Agency, Washington, and the famous Carlisle Indian School in Pennsylvania. He resigned from the Indian Service in 1896 and went back to Chicago to engage in private practice. In 1913 he was married to Marie Keller.

During his service with the Indian Bureau, Dr. Monte-zuma had become embittered at what he considered the ill treatment of the Indian people. It became a cause with him to which he devoted much of his time and talent throughout the remainder of his life. He published a small paper under his Indian name, "Wassaja," and his watchword was, "Let My People Go." He felt that the Indian Bureau did not give the Indian the opportunity to develop into the good citizen that all other groups in the nation enjoyed. To what extent he was correct at that particular time, it is difficult to say, but the Indian Reorganization Act of 1934, under which the Indian Department now operates, has incorporated many of the things which Dr. Montezuma strove to attain.

Dr. Montezuma made frequent visits to his people on the Fort McDowell Reservation during the time he practiced medicine in Chicago. These were his vacation trips. His cousin, Charlie Dickens, tells of how the doctor would ride around the reservation dressed in only a breechcloth, such as the Indians wore, and that he slept on the ground, refusing the luxury of the white man's bed. During this time he became a prominent figure in the Society of American Indians and was nationally known as a lecturer on subjects pertaining to Indian matters. In the fall of 1922, Dr. Montezuma's health failed and his physician pronounced his trouble tuberculosis. He wound up his affairs in Chicago and returned to his people in Arizona. Through his wide acquaintance throughout the country he was offered hospitalization and all the care that his white man's medicine had taught him cases such as his would require. He refused them all and went to the home of George Dickens, his relative, where he remained until he died. He said he wanted to be with his people and talk to them. Even in his illness he refused to lie in bed, but clad only in the overalls and cotton shirt, now commonly worn by Indians, he lay on the earthen floor of his uncle's house and awaited the call of the Great Spirit. He died in February 1923 and is buried with his people on the reservation. Dr. Montezuma was the most brilliant and outstanding member of the Yavapai tribe-truly the Great Yavapai.