THE IRONY OF VICTORIO

VICTORIO AMERICA'S GREATEST GUERRILLA FIGHTER

MILITARY COMMANDERS and historians have called him “the greatest Indian general who ever appeared on the American Continent”; “a great military genius”; “Amer-ica's greatest guerrilla fighter.” Yet few today have heard of Victorio, “the victorious one,” whose band of only 75 Mimbres Apache warriors, in a period of 14 months, foiled more than 1,000 Anglos and Mexicans while eluding a combined force of three cavalry regiments, two infantry regiments, Mexican troops, and a contingent of Texas Rangers more than 4,000 experienced and determined men.

Victorio's story is one of great irony, for juxtaposed with an amazing talent for waging war was a surprising capacity to understand the dynamic realities of the American West in the 1800s. His understanding and patient willingness to accept the inevitable led historians to conclude that had Victorio been dealt with fairly by government officials, he would have been a bulwark of peace instead of a monument to mayhem.

“Any man of discretion,” wrote one commander who opposed him, “empowered to adjust Victorio's well-founded claims, could have prevented the bloody and disastrous outbreaks of 1879.” But no one did. Instead, from 1861 to1879, raids and counter-raids, unprovoked attacks, false accusations, exploitation by rapacious traders, scalping for bounties, and bloody battles with both Union troops and the invadingrebel armies of the Confederacy drove the wedge of hatred even deeper.

All of these were aggravated by an irrational insistence by government officials that Victorio and his Mimbres Apaches, a branch of the Eastern Chiricahuas, be driven from their chosen tribal settlement in New Mexico to the San Carlos reservation in Arizona Territory.

There they were forced to coexist with traditional enemies in lands that offered poor hunting, where food rations provided by the government were pitiably inade-quate, and malaria and smallpox sapped their strength and numbers.

What made Victorio stand out from other tribal leaders is difficult to determine, but he did. He had only one wife (Geronimo had nine); he named his eldest son Washington after the first Great he was intent on settling and developing the band's traditional lands in New Mexico and Arizona. The conflict between the Apaches and the multitude of American settlers, traders, miners, and desperados led to con-frontations and horrible bloodshed.

And the Apaches were not guiltless. Hunting was essential to their existence, an integral part of their culture. Raiding was a learned quality adopted later in the life of the tribe. Nor could Victorio be portrayed as a saint. Like all Apache boys, Victorio had practiced the arts of war and survival in a grueling training program, and he became a fierce, cunning, and uncompromising warrior.

But in his mature years, Victorio understood that change was inevitable, that compromise was the only possible path for the survival of his people. He was eventually

The trapped 78 Mimbres braves and their women and children fought fiercely that day of October 15, 1880, but at midnight the death song was heard from the hill's summit.

White Father; he negotiated with calmness and quiet dignity; he was never known to have indulged in alcohol, and he commanded extraordinary respect from his followers.

And Victorio was known for an uncanny ability to locate his enemy through some sixth sense. His "power" was purported to be second only to that of his sister, Lozen, who had been courted repeatedly but who always refused marriage. She had been raised to ride and rope and could outrun most of the boys and men. Lozen chose to ride beside the men, fought just as fiercely, and was a full-fledged member of the council of warriors.

But even more valuable was Lozen's ability to divine the direction and distance of the enemy, a knack that on several occasions saved the lives of her brother and his warriors. (See Arizona Highways, Feb. '96.) Victorio was born about 1825, at the time the Santa Fe Trail opened, growing up in an era dominated by conflict with the Mexican and American immigrants. For many years, the Mexicans, who suffered equally from Apache raids, offered a bounty on Indian scalps. Later, after the Americans took control of Apacheria following the Mexican-American War of 1846-1848, Victorio's people had a new enemy that willing to settle down and maintain peace-ful ways, asking only that his people be al-lowed to do so at Ojo Caliente, an isolated valley south of the San Mateo Mountains in New Mexico.

"That is a good country," one Mimbres recalled. "There are springs in that valley, fine grass, and plenty of timber around. It is a healthy place for man and beast."

But the American government, in its cost-cutting policy of reducing the number of reservations, disregarded the advice of its own Indian agents. The government was determined that the tribe had to be moved somewhere else. There was little logic in the decision to move them to San Carlos, but Victorio, tired of the seemingly inter-minable conflicts over this "concentration policy," finally agreed because "the Great White Father wills it."

The individual assigned to take the Mimbres to San Carlos was a cocky little man named John Clum, who in 1874, at age 22, had arrived in Arizona fresh from Rutgers, where he had played in America's first inter-collegiate football game against Princeton.

Appointed Indian agent for the San Carlos reservation, he was called "Turkey Gobbler" by the Apaches because of his vain strutting. But Clum also was wily, and when he approached Ojo Caliente in April of 1877, he tricked Geronimo into capture and put him in chains along with several other warriors.

Then, with 110 of Geronimo's Chiricahua followers and 342 of Victorio's Mimbres, Clum and his 102 Indian police set out for San Carlos. Victorio tagged along, proba-bly to ensure the safe delivery of his peo-ple. They arrived 20 days later those, at least, who had not succumbed to an out-break of smallpox. Many more died later at San Carlos.

Clum at once notified the Pima County sheriff of his captives, promising to furnish evidence "to convict each of the seven chiefs on many counts of murder," and offering to deliver his prisoners, including Victorio, to Tucson. But no action was taken, and a miffed Clum resigned and hit the trail to Tucson. He was later elected the first mayor of Tombstone, and he cofounded and edit-ed the newspaper The Epitaph.

Meanwhile Victorio became exasperated with the miserable conditions at San Carlos, and in September of 1877 bolted with more than 300 of his tribe. Pursued by troops from both Arizona and New Mexico, citizen volunteers from San Carlos and Indian police, Victorio followed wilderness trails to avoid open battles, making his way to-ward their home, Ojo Caliente. And when his frustrated pursuers were forced to give up the chase, Victorio somehow negotiated a peaceful return to his beloved valley.

But the reservation had been closed. Government officials discussed sending the Mimbres to Fort Stanton with the Mescaleros; to Fort Wingate with the Navajos; to Fort Sill in the Indian Territory of Oklahoma. Finally they ordered them back to San Carlos with the White Mountain Apaches. When Victorio heard the news, he gave an anguished yell and dashed into the San Mateo Mountains.

While the Army herded 169 of his people into wagons and plunged through mud and snow to San Carlos in 1878, Victorio and a band of warriors roamed and raided. But with six companies of the 9th Cavalry and others continuously on their trail, many of the warriors grew tired of the fugitive life and gradually drifted onto the Mescalero reservation at Fort Stanton. The agent there, Samuel Russell, sent word to Victorio that if he gave himself up, they would all be protected and cared for. Victorio, although justifiably suspicious, again came in peacefully. Russell reported that Victorio wanted "peace and quiet and only asks that he should not be sent to San Carlos."

But the fates were again to work againstVictorio. Although he was never known to have killed a white man to this point, indictments for murder and horse-stealing were issued against him. Convinced that he would never receive a fair trial, Victorio fled, finally to launch an all-out war of survival against the Americans and Mexicans.

During the next 14 months, Victorio withstood the onslaughts of vastly superior forces, evading, outwitting, and defeating them. He had only 40 warriors at the breakout, but the numbers later swelled to as many as 150. But this was still a meager army compared with the thousands of troops that opposed him. He was further encumbered by the more than 300 women and children he refused to leave at the mercy of his enemies.

Time and time again, Victorio routed the attacking forces, or vanished to avoid their ambushes. Gen. Edward Hatch, commander of the District of New Mexico, grudgingly marveled at Victorio's skill.

"The Indians select mountains for their fighting ground and [make their) positions almost impregnable," he wrote, "usually throwing up some rifle pits where nature has not provided them, and skillfully devising loopholes."

Victorio also provided psychological support for his braves. Lt. Charles Gatewood, who commanded a company of scouts against him, said that during a lull, "the only noise was the tom-tom beaten by Victorio, himself, all during the fight, accompanied by his high keyed, quavering voice in a song of 'good medicine.'"

But Victorio realized that the odds against him were too great even for his brilliant leadership. His son Washington was killed,

VICTORI0

and Victorio was wounded. His enemies multiplied, and as he headed south into Chihuahua, Mexico, the Mexicans orga-nized an army of experienced Indian fighters under Joaquin Terrazas, a tough bounty hunter with many scalps to his credit.

Terrazas finally cornered Victorio when the chief committed himself to a stand at Tres Castillos, three minor rock protrusions some 150 miles southeast of El Paso.

Victorio had made two uncharacteristic mistakes: He had been forced to take a position from which escape was impossible, and he had sent some of his warriors in search of ammunition, which had run short. Among them was his sister, Lozen.

The result was inevitable. Two Mexican columns pinned down Victorio with heavy American reinforcements following. The trapped 78 Mimbres braves and their women and children fought fiercely that day of October 15, 1880, but at midnight the death song was heard from the hill's summit.

By 10 o'clock the following morning, Victorio and his warriors had met their deaths. Precisely how Victorio died is unknown, but women who survived said he had taken his life with his own knife rather than give his enemies the satisfaction. While the Mexican troops claimed an Indian scout named Mauricio killed the already wounded Victorio, a Tarahumara mercenary received 2,000 pesos and a nickel-plated rifle for the deed.

Victorio died defending his people. But the man who became America's greatest guerrilla fighter would rather have led them in peace.