Climbing Baboquivari

ARIZONA HIGHWAYS HISTORY FORT BOWIE SENTINEL AT APACHE PASS

Brooding adobe ruins perched on a slope at the foot of Bowie Peak today mark the site of a military outpost that profoundly shaped the course of Southwestern history. Cattle graze on the cramped parade ground, where cavalry patrols once assembled to set out in search of the elusive Apache enemy. Within the now crumbling walls of the sutler's store, the great Apache chieftain Cochise spent his declining years gulping the white man's firewater. In a two-story house whose stone foundations are still visible, Generals George Crook and Philip H. Sheridan plotted campaigns against the Chiricahua renegades in the Sierra Madres of Mexico.

And in the center of the parade ground, where the white flagpole once rose, the regimental band of the Fourth Cavalry played "Auld Lang Syne" as Geronimo and his people climbed into buckboards for the journey to the railroad and, ultimately, imprisonment in Florida. From the collection of mud buildings that was Fort Bowie, generals and privates alike played leading roles in the drama of opening the Southwest.

Crowded on all sides by steep slopes covered with rock and desert vegetation, Fort Bowie lay in the foothills of the rugged Chiricahua Mountains, a lone-ly sentinel guarding the east entrance to Apache Pass. Soldiers dreaded assignment to the post. It offered few comforts, fewer diversions, and almost uniformly bad food. Day after day, the sun beat down without mercy. The only inhabitants within miles were rattlesnakes and Apaches. The fort's garrison could look forward only to constant, arduous field service against one of the most wily and ruthless opponents that any soldier ever faced.

Apache Pass early on acquired a sinister reputation for itself. It had become the most dangerous point on the southern overland route to California, a cemetery filled with rude monuments to pioneer courage and Apache savagery. The emigrants bound for the California goldfields and, later, stagecoaches of the Butterfield Overland Mail followed the trail up the rocky slopes of Apache Pass.

The lure that drew them to the dangerous defile lay in Apache Springs, which afforded water in a country that boasted few water holes. The springs had also long been a favorite watering place of the Chiricahua Apaches. For a time, their leader Cochise was nominally at peace with the United States. But early in 1861, a young Army lieutenant with more courage than discretion tried to arrest the proud chief for a crime he probably did not commit. The attempt failed disastrously, but so embittered Cochise that for 12 years he waged a bloody war against the white man.

With murder, robbery, and pillage, Cochise's Apaches terrorized the region until even in Tucson the white man felt insecure. At Apache Pass, they all but choked off traffic on the road to Tucson.

But the Civil War was about to move into Cochise's domain. A force of Texans invaded the Mesilla Valley of New Mexico, proclaimed the Confederate Territory of Arizona, and sent a detachment to occupy Tuc-son. From the west came Brig. Gen. James Henry Carleton and 1,800 California Volun-teers to drive the Confederates back to Texas. The Californians recaptured Tucson in May, 1862, and paused to prepare a thrust toward the Rio Grande. In the path of their advance lay Cochise and Apache Pass.

On July 15, Cochise and his ally, Mangas Coloradas, ambushed an advance party of Californians under Capt. Thomas L. Roberts in Apache Pass. Roberts pushed forward into the deadly fire and succeeded in reaching the springs. Warriors gathered behind rock breastworks on the hills above the water hole. "They seemed very loathe to let me have wa-ter," he later reported.

But the captain had a trump card. He ran two mountain howitzers into position, bring-ing the enemy fortifications under fire. Bursting shells scat-tered the warriors over the hills, and Roberts took posses-sion of the springs.

The main body of Californians reached Apache Pass on July 27. As General Carleton later reported, he found it "in-dispensably necessary to estab-lish a post in what is known as Apache Pass." His order direct-ed 100 men from Companies G and A, Fifth California Infantry, to remain at the pass and build a fort, which was to be named for George Washington Bowie, colonel of the Fifth. Major T.A. Coult, of the same regiment, was to supervise construction and serve as the first post com-mander. When the fort was completed, Major Coult's mis-sion would be to escort travel-ers, mail couriers, and supply trains through the pass, and to "cause the Apache Indians to be attacked whenever and wherever he may find them near his post."

The fort was completed in the record time of two weeks. Situated on a hill above the ravine in which the springs were located, Coult's fort consisted of stone breast-works enclosing rows of canvas tents. Since Carleton rotated the garrison frequently, few im-provements were made.

Despite bad living condi-tions, Fort Bowie accomplished Carleton's purpose. Never again were the Apaches to control the strategic pass. The fort became less a guardian of the pass and more a base for operations against Cochise and his Chiri-cahuas. But never could they bring on a decisive engage-ment. When, more than a year after Appomattox, the Califor-nians were at last relieved by regulars, Cochise was still at large and, if anything, more hostile than ever.

The regulars had no more success than the volunteers in bringing Cochise to terms. Elsewhere in Arizona, other tribes of Apaches went on the rampage. Citizens and officials of the new Territory of Arizona cried for more soldiers, but none were sent.

Instead, peace negotiators came out from Washington to parley with the Indians.

JUST AS FORT BOWIE HAD BEEN THE FOCAL POINT IN OPERATIONS AGAINST COCHISE, NOW IT WAS TO PLAY A VITAL ROLE IN THE SUBJUGATION OF GEROΝΙΜΟ.

President Grant appointed Maj. Gen. Oliver O. Howard as emissary.

The general wanted to settle all Apaches on a reservation in New Mexico, but Cochise had another idea. "Why not give me Apache Pass?" he asked. "Give me that and I will protect all the roads. I will see that no-body's property is taken by Indians." As conference followed conference, Howard saw that he would have to give in. He promised the Indians a reservation embracing a large part of the Chiricahua Moun-tains and the adjoining Sulphur Springs and San Simon valleys. "Hereafter," said Cochise in conclusion, "the white man and the Indian are to drink of the same water, eat of the same bread, and be at peace."

As long as the old chief lived, he kept his word. Tom Jeffords was appointed agent, and the Chiricahuas settled down to life on the reservation. The agency finally wound up in Apache Pass, where a pile of rubble near the ruins of Fort Bowie today marks the site of agency headquarters.

But Cochise died in 1874, and fresh troubles broke out. Jeffords, who had never gotten along with his superiors in the Indian Bureau, was at last dis-missed. The Chiricahuas, in 1876, were forced to move to the San Carlos Reservation, where they settled in the vicin-ity of Fort Apache.

Fort Bowie, however, had not seen the last of the Chiricahuas. A few bands of renegades remained behind in the Chiricahua Mountains from which they terrorized settlements in Mexico. Leading one of these bands was a rising young war-rior named Geronimo. Just as Fort Bowie had been the focal point in operations against Cochise, now it was to play a vital role in the subjugation of Geronimo.

Although Geronimo sur-rendered in 1879, the reser-vation could not hold him for long. Two years later, in Sep-tember, 1881, he broke loose. With Natchez (younger son of Cochise), Chato, and Juh, he led 74 people in a dash for the Sierra Madres in Mexico.

Confronted with another Apache outbreak, Washington and Mexico signed an agree-ment that permitted regular troops of either country to cross the international boundary when in close pursuit of hostile Indians. On September 4, Brig.

Gen. George Crook was told to hasten to the Southwest and as-sume command of the Depart-ment of Arizona.

Crook was no stranger to Arizona or to the Apaches. His historic campaign of 1872-73 in the Tonto Basin had firmly established his reputation as an Indian fighter.

Early in May, 1883, troops crossed the border and headed south into Mexico. Two weeks later, Crook surprised Chato's camp and killed nine warriors. The skirmish did the hostiles little damage, but it came as a frightening revelation to them that the mountains of Mexico no longer offered a secure refuge. One by one, Geronimo, Natchez, Chato, and other renegade leaders appeared at Crook's camp and declared their readiness to be forgiven and returned to the reservation.

On the reservation, however, they became increasingly difficult to manage. On May 15, 1885, the climax finally came. Following a glorious tizwin drunk, Geronimo, Natchez, and Nana, accompanied by 42 warriors and 92 women and children, fled the reservation and once more headed for Mexico.

Crook reacted promptly. He hastened to Fort Bowie and set up his headquarters. Two striking columns, composed almost entirely of Apache scouts, were fitted for operations in Mexico. The two scout columns struck deep into Mexico. Several times, the scouts surprised the hostile camps in the Sierra Madres. In each engagement they destroyed much equipment, but the wily renegades always managed to escape. The exhausted scout Columns finally called off the chase and reported to Crook at Fort Bowie in October, 1885.

A month later, they were in the saddle again. Capt. Emmett Crawford's column picked up the hostile trail some two hundred miles below the border. Suffering from bitter cold and exhaustion, the scouts followed it to the hidden renegade camp.

The hostiles scattered to the mountains, but sent an emissary to say that Geronimo wanted to talk peace.

Geronimo made arrangements with Lt. Marion P. Maus, Crawford's successor, for a personal conference with General Crook in two moons. On March 25, 1886, Crook met Geronimo at Cañon de los Embudos. Seated on the ground in a wooded ravine, Crook and his party listened patiently while the renegade leaders declaimed mightily on the wrongs done them by their former agents.

Geronimo endlessly protested his complete innocence of any responsibility for the war. Crook became so exasperated that his patience finally gave way, and he bluntly declared: "You must make up your own mind whether you will stay out on the warpath or surrender unconditionally. If you stay out, I'll keep after you and kill the last one, if it takes 50 years."

The Indians decided to come in. That night, however, the renegades bought mescal from a man named Tribolet. Roaring drunk, they struck for the mountains.

The escape of the renegades profoundly discouraged Crook, and he promptly requested relief from his command.

Brig. Gen. Nelson A.

Miles would take over Crook's command.

Miles, vain, pom-pous, and unabashedly ambitious, loved nothing more than playing to a packed grandstand. He gloried in martial panoply and made the most of the privileges due a brigadier general. Miles also believed that native scouts were not to be trusted and that regulars ought to be given a chance to run down the renegades. With 5,000 regulars at his command, Miles faced the task of destroying or forcing the unconditional surrender of a mere handful of Chiricahuas.

Early in May, 1886, the troops set out for Mexico.

But the campaign failed to produce the spectacular results

FORT BOWIE SENTINEL AT APACHE PASS

with two friendly and influ-ential Chiricahuas to Mexico with instructions to put out peace feelers. The renegades, worn down by the relentless pursuit, were in a mood for peace. Gatewood found them late in August. He could only promise that, although their lives would be spared, they would have to be imprisoned in Florida. "Take us back to the reservation or fight," was Geronimo's reply. Then Gatewood played his high card. At that very mo-ment, he explained, the res-ervation Chiricahuas were being moved to Florida. If the renegades went back to the reservation, they would be living among strange and unfriendly Indians. This news dealt a heavy blow to the hos-tiles, and they backed down far enough to agree to a confer-ence with Miles. Gatewood could do nothing but consent. Although he had difficulty persuading the gen-eral to meet with Geronimo, an appointment was at last ar-ranged. Accompanied by his aide and a cavalry escort, Miles left Fort Bowie on September 2, 1886. The next evening he reached the Army camp at Skeleton Canyon, 65 miles southeast of Fort Bowie. The Apache lead-ers were pleased with the new soldier chief and agreed to surrender to him on condition that they be sent to Florida with their families. Miles realistically granted these terms. Nearing Fort Bowie on Sep-tember 5, Geronimo looked at the Chiricahua Mountains and remarked, "This is the fourth time I have surrendered." Miles replied, correctly as it turned out, "And I think it is the last time you will ever have occa-sion to surrender." With the final surrender of Geronimo, Fort Bowie ended its usefulness. Although sol-diers stayed on for another six years, they busied themselves mainly with routine garrison duties and with hunting down an occasional diehard rene-gade who had eluded capture. Finally, on October 17, 1894, Troops B and L, Second Cavalry, marched out of the fort, leaving it to the ravages of time and souvenir hunters. Today the soldiers are gone, and the Apaches are at peace. The gaunt, crumbling walls of the old fort, however, still keep vigil at the entrance to Apache Pass. They stand as monuments to the blue-clad soldier of the frontier and to his Apache enemy. But they have a larger meaning, too, for in their very shadows, after almost three decades of bloody conflict, the final barrier to the advance of the Southwestern frontier had at last disappeared. Truly, these mounds of melting adobe make up one of the most sig-nificant historic sites in the Southwest.

HISTORY JOSEPH MULHATTON MONARCH OF MENDACITY

His name was Joseph Mulhatton. And among historians of journalism, his name came to symbolize the answer to slow news days back in the latter half of the 19th century. Strangely enough, this be-whiskered little man's particu-lar talent as a number of newspaper editors discovered after the fact had nothing to do with the truth. He excelled in telling tall tales in print believably. Mulhatton's stories never violated the rules of logic or the laws of consistency, and his literary touch made them compelling, entertaining, and believ-able. He was the most artistic, beautiful, and consistent liar ever turned loose on a nation. Not only did hundreds of his news hoaxes make front page copy for most of the pres-tigious big city newspapers of the time, but by the turn of the century he no longer had to bother calling or wiring in his so-called "stories." Editors sought him out.

While many of Mulhatton's pieces originated in Arizona, his first hoax occurred in Penn-sylvania, where he lived at the time, earning his way as a hard-ware drummer. The astounding story carried by newspapers across the coun-try had to do with a certain species of African monkey that had been found to be superior to the field worker in the cul-ture of hemp. For some work-ers, their fears soon came true when many were discharged by the hemp growers of Kentucky to make room for the monkeys that would shortly arrive. After the initial story was broken to the public, follow-up articles added new information about the simians, and editors of various influential papers took a stand on the propriety of the whole matter. Late of Leitchfield and Louis-ville, Kentucky, Mulhatton was born in Maryland about 1851, later moving to Pennsylvania, where some of his family live today. For 40 years, he strove to bring laughter and fun into