Old Nana's Struggle

The old Apache chief glares at the teachers standing before him. He has spoken long of his people's yearning to return to their beloved homeland in Arizona but senses the futility of his plea. His eyes, now rheumy and faded, flash with forgotten passion as he roars, "Do you love your own home?" Holding a globe out to him, one of the teachers tries to explain through an interpreter that people from around the world are coming to the United States, and that the Indians can no longer roam the land as before. He buries his head in his gnarled hands, sighs heavily, and says, "I am too old to learn that." (OPPOSITE PAGE) The soldiers dismissed Nana, believing the old chief no longer played a role in the Apaches' affairs. His people knew better. COURTESY ARIZONA DEPARTMENT OF LIBRARY & ARCHIVES Later one of the teachers writes that of all the Apaches sent to Florida as prisoners of war in 1886, "only old Nana refused to be reconstructed." From earliest recollection, he was known as Old Nana (nay-nay). He was ancient, a grandfather to all the children in the band. Geronimo biographer Angie Debo described him as "the most uncompromising of all Apaches in their wars against the white man, but to his people he was a wise, kind, grandfatherly figure.

Many white people mistook Nana's age and his seeming frailnesshe limped, the result of an accident years before - as a sign of weakness. Lt. Charles B. Gatewood, a key player in the Apaches' surrender in 1886, saw him as a "palsied, aged and decrepit chief, who was barely able to accompany the squaws and children in their forays.

A picture of the tense surrender negotiations in March, 1886, between the Apaches and Gen. George Crook shows an attentive Nana, obviously in a position of power, hunkered close to Geronimo, who acted as the Apaches' negotiator. While the Apaches regarded Nana's counsel highly, the soldiers generally ignored him. Except for Crook, who according to the late Apache historian Dan Thrapp - considered Nana "the brains of the Apache operation," the consensus was that he was senile. Capt. John G. Bourke, General Crook's aide, said, "Nana toddled after them, but he was so old and feeble that we did not count him." Nana was aware of this and it angered him, but he hid his emotions from his bitter enemies.

In reality Nana was far from frail either mentally or physically. It is said he killed more people than any other Apache, but he gets much less notice for his exploits than his more flamboyant contemporaries, such as Geronimo and Cochise. He could ride as many as 90 miles without stopping, sleeping in the saddle when he needed to. James Kaywaykla, his grandnephew, told historian Eve Ball, "His endurance seemed endless, his patience effortless. No young man in the tribe could spend more hours in the saddle without rest than he."

Nana was an imposing figure, a cobrough character of no great beauty. Almost six feet, he was taller than most Apaches. He had a large head and small hands and feet. Jason Betzinez, whose father was Nana's first cousin, said of him, "In his youth Nana was a tall, well-built man, so strong that he could shoot an arrow clear through a steer."

Many characteristics made Nana a trusted and respected leader. Although much older than Warm Springs Chief Victorio, Nana acted as his first lieutenant, and Victorio often sought and followed his counsel. Kaywaykla said, "He was considered the shrewdest in military strategy, surpassing Victorio himself."

His honesty was beyond question. Apaches' reminiscences as told to Ball are punctuated with, "The word of Nana was not to be questioned," and "Nana never lied." The second half of the 19th century proved devastating for the Apaches. Settlers continued to push into the Southwest, forcing the Apaches onto reservations.

During the summer of 1879, the Warm Springs Apaches were living on the Mescalero reservation in New Mexico Territory when word reached Victorio that "a paper was out against him" for murder. Bolting with 75 warriors and encumbered with 375 women and children, he led more than 4,000 American and Mexican troops on a wild chase.

Betzinez remembered, "At the time of this outbreak both Victorio and Nana were well along in years, Nana being quite an old man. But together they caused more fear among the settlers and killed more people in a shorter time than any other Apaches."

An officer who discovered the carnage from one attack later wrote, "I dreamed of it for weeks afterwards."

By October of 1880, Victorio's band was worn out, depleted, its supply of ammunition exhausted. Although this small band had won every battle, it was losing warriors, and to lose even one was a major blow; the American and Mexican supply of soldiers and ammunition seemed inexhaustible. The Apaches retreated deep into Chihuahua, Mexico, to Tres Castillo, a series of three small hills, to recuperate and raid for ammunition.

Here they were attacked by Mexican soldiers. With little ammunition, they had no chance, and most were killed or taken prisoner. The Mexican Army rewarded the slayer of Victorio with a new rifle, but, according to Apache tradition, Victorio fell on his knife rather than be captured. A few escaped. Nana was one of them.

Then around 80 years old, Nana assumed command and led his 17 remaining warriors on one of the most incredible campaigns of the Apache wars.

In a blood-red rage fueled by four days and nights of "fierce dancing," his small band, which may have swelled to 40 warriors at one time, swept out of Mexico and into New Mexico Territory, attacking more than a dozen ranches and towns and capturing scores of cattle and horses. In two months, they traveled more than 3,000 miles, sometimes up to 70 miles a day, often in rugged territory, and fought at least seven major battles against more than 1,000 soldiers and 300 to 400 civilians. The final body count was as high as 50 soldiers and civilians dead and many more wounded, while Nana's casualties appeared to be nil. Not one dead or wounded Apache was ever found.

Some historians question vengeance as a motive for Nana's raid. It was Mexicans who precipitated the Tres Castillo killings, not Americans. There are reports that the decimated band was on its way to the Mescalero reservation to surrender and that Nana made repeated attempts to contact the agent but was driven away. Thrapp had another theory: "It was a normal Apache outbreak, a dashing adventure that developed with no plan and proved more successful than the Indians had any right to hope."

Kaywaykla, however, was adamant that vengeance motivated Nana. "Ussen [the Apache god] had not commanded that we love our enemies," he said. "Nana did not love his; and he was not content with an eye for an eye, nor a life for a life. For every Apache killed he took many lives. That was our custom, the custom of a primitive people who had been taught that revenge is obligatory."

In the years following the raid, Nana often rode with Geronimo, retiring to the reservations only when the soldiers became too persistent.

Like most Apache men, Nana was proud and temperamental and used to obeying only the Apaches' and Ussen's laws. While on the reservations, he and the other warriors resented military intrusion into their personal lives. On one occasion, Lt. Britton Davis, agent at Fort Apache, lectured a group of warriors for drinking and beating their wives (not to keep one's wife "in line" was to lose respect). Nana jumped up and roared to an interpreter before stalking off, "Tell the Nantan Enchau ['stout chief' - Davis was stocky] that he can't advise me how to treat women! He is only a boy. I killed many men before he was out of baby grass."

While Nana was fierce and uncompromising, he had a softer side. He had several wives, one of whom was Geronimo's sister, and many children and grandchildren. It was common to see him sitting on the ground with several small children climbing on him. Kaywaykla said, "There was no one kinder than he. When he took my little sister in his arms no one could have believed him to be the fiercest and most implacable of all Apaches."

In the spring and fall of 1886, the inevitable capitulation came when the last of the free Apaches surrendered. Nana and 76 other men, women, and children were among the first of the train-loads of prisoners of war who made their way slowly across the United States to begin a captivity that would last 27 years. When this first group of Apache prisoners reached Fort Marion in St. Augustine, Florida, a Pensacola paper reported, "Part of Geronimo's band of red-handed Apaches headed by the hoary devil Nana are now safely enclosed within the walls of Fort Marion." (See Arizona Highways, August '95.)

Old NANA

This notoriety made him an attraction. When he strolled into St. Augustine, straw hat perched precariously on his head, the townsfolk stared, speculating on the terror he had instilled in settlers. At Mount Vernon Barracks, Alabama, a group of tourists "shook hands affectionately with the chief, and mentally calculated how many white men he had slaughtered."

During the early years of the Apaches' captivity, Nana was a voice of hope. A fellow prisoner, Eugene Chihuahua, told Eve Ball how the old warrior maintained the morale of the Chiricahuas: "Nana went about telling us to remember that we were Apaches, that we had been trained to suffer, and should never complain," because "every day brought us one step closer to the time we could go home." But his incorrigibility, his underlying hatred of the white man, were apparent to his people. He told them they should "not let anybody know how we hated the white eyes, because to antagonize them would only make things worse for us."

It was only after his confrontation with the teachers that Nana apparently realized the hopelessness of the Apaches' situation.

As the years went by, Nana, although never completely cowed, settled down to life in captivity. He even made the list of "worthy, deserving and reliable men" at Mount Vernon Barracks. When debates raged over moving the Apache prisoners to Fort Sill, Oklahoma Territory, where they would be given land to farm, Nana conceded to an Army officer that he might be "too old to work," but he hoped "to see all the young men have a farm," so he could "go around and talk to them and get something to eat."

Old Nana died in 1896, at Fort Sill. Still a prisoner of war, close to 100 years old, and nearly blind, he remained at heart unrepentant and unassimilated.

Kaywaykla caught the essence of this complex man, whose only wish was to go home, in these few words: "Nana deeply and sincerely wanted peace, but he wanted his own country, his freedom, and that of his people to enjoy living in their own land."