Cochise's Son

THE LAST CHIEF

Young Naiche, the final Chiricahua Apache chief and son of Cochise, relied on Geronimo's advice

Text by Sharon S. Magee

PEOPLE SAID Naiche looked very much like his father, Chiricahua Apache chief Cochise-reserved and elegantly handsome. Gen. Nelson A. Miles remembered him as "a tall, slender young warrior, whose dignity and grace of movement would become any prince." And reporter William Ballou said Naiche was "magnificently handsome, a great chief... by descent from ancestry so old that when he's asked about it, points to the rocks and says: 'They are infants beside my fathers.'"

Although he was Cochise's son and the maternal grandson of Mangas Coloradas, Naiche's temperament was not that of a leader. Apache Sam Kenoi, who had been a young boy in Geronimo's band, explained, "He liked his Indian dancing, and he liked his fighting, and he liked his drinking. You could make a good soldier out of him, and that was all."

Naiche came by this laid-back attitude honestly. Born circa 1856, he grew up in the shadow of his father and his older brother, Taza, who was being groomed to succeed Cochise. James Kaywaykla, a boy in the Naiche-Geronimo band, remembered being told by his mother that "[Naiche] had not been trained" to become a leader "because Cochise wanted him to be loyal to Taza." When Cochise died in 1874, Taza waselected chief. Two years later, when Indian Agent John Clum was ordered to close the Chiricahua reservation, Taza and Naiche led their people to San Carlos, keeping their deathbed promise to their father to honor the peace he'd made with the White Eyes.

"[Naiche] became one of the most determined, intractable and defiant of the hostiles; more so than even Geronimo himself."

Calm reigned for a time, but when Taza died of pneumonia while visiting Washington, D.C., in 1876, "Naiche [became] decidedly hostile to Clum," said Geronimo biographer Angie Debo.

Kaywaykla said Naiche went to Clum for an explanation of Taza's death, and "for three days he stood at the door and Mr. Clum refused to see him." When Clum finally explained the circumstances to him, "Naiche did not believe a word of it" and felt certain Taza had been poisoned.

Soon after, Naiche was elected chief, but the feeling that the youthful warrior was too inexperienced persisted. "When Taza was poisoned, Naiche was too young to become the leader," Kaywaykla's mother said, and Lt. Britton Davis, Army commander of the Apache scouts, agreed, "[He] was consid ered too frivolous."

One fact remains, however. While Naiche was a hereditary chief by virtue of descend ing from Cochise, he did not inherit his title; he was elected by his people. Asa Daklugie, Geronimo's nephew and son of Juh, another Chiricahua war chief, said, "Naiche may have followed his brother because the Chir icahua thought Taza was murdered. But Naiche [was] elected."

After the death of Cochise, the Chiricahuas drifted aimlessly with no strong force to guide them until Geronimo assumed a leadership role. Perhaps he stepped in when he saw a young, inexperienced chief trying to control difficult, older Apache warriors, but, according to Apache historian Woody Skinner, Geronimo never challenged Naiche for tribal chieftainship.

The young chief accepted the strong-willed Geronimo as a powerful mentor and deferred most of his leadership and decision-making to him. Kenoi said that Naiche "was always influenced by Geronimo." According to Daklugie, "Naiche... needed Geronimo as Geronimo needed him. Geronimo directed the fighting but scrupulously required the warriors to render to Naiche the respect due a chief." It was a "relationship of general to commander-in-chief."

When Geronimo himself commented on their relationship in his autobiography, he remarked, "Had Naiche been older, experienced in warfare and a medicine man as I was, he'd never have depended upon me to exercise many of his prerogatives." Abundant evidence shows that the Chiricahua Apaches accepted and respected Naiche as their chief; a slight wave of his hand could quiet his excitable warriors, and his word was unquestioned. Lt. Charles B.

Gatewood, who tracked the Apaches deep in the Sierra Madre range of Mexico, said he would never have entered the Apaches' lair "had not word come also from Nachez [sic], who was the real chief assuring me I'd be safe." When, during that same meeting, Geronimo issued his ultimatum, "Take us to the reservation or fight," it was Naiche who reassured a justifiably nervous Gatewood "that whether they continued to war or not," he would be allowed "to depart in peace." Even in captivity, Naiche was reported to "possess a quiet influence over his people."

Naiche lived peaceably on the reservation until 1881. Then, frightened by the killing of an Apache prophet, Nochaydelklinne, and the sudden appearance of a large military force, Naiche, Geronimo and others bolted for Mexico. For the next five years, he and Geronimo led raids throughout the Southwest, returning to and jumping from the reservation whenever it suited their pur-poses.

It took little more than a scout drawing his hand across his throat or a rumor of imminent arrests to spook them.

Kaywaykla remembered Naiche during this time as "a superb fighting man." Davis agreed. "He became one of the most determined, intractable and defiant of the hostiles; more so than even Geronimo himself." With 140 Apaches, Naiche and Geronimo "jumped" the Fort Apache reservation for the last time in May 1885, but they were grow-ing weary. Pressured by the ever-increasing encroachment of the Americans, and the inevitability of surrender, the Chiricahuas sought peace. In March 1886, with Geronimo and other Apache leaders at tree-shadowed Cañon de Los Embudos just south of the Mexican border, Naiche surrendered to Gen. George Crook, saying: "When I was free, 1 gave orders, but now I surrender to you. I think now it's best for us to not remain out in the mountains like fools.... I hope from this day on you will see I am in earnest, and will believe what I say."

Grand words of surrender, but the reality was somewhat less impressive. A trouble-making whiskey trader named Tribolet plied the wild, excitable Apaches with whiskey and whispered that the soldiers had orders to kill them when they crossed the border. During the night of March 28, 1886, Naiche and Geronimo stampeded with 36 of their followers, including men, women and children, and fled into the Sierra Madres.

"Tribolet well understood that no one, even when cold sober, was more suspicious than an Apache, and no one 'spooked' as quickly as a drunken Apache," wrote historian John Upton Terrell.

It was during this drunken frenzy that Eclahheh, one of Naiche's wives, learned of the impending breakout. Tired of their mean existence, she ran for the safety of the soldiers' encampment. Naiche stopped her with a bullet through the knee before she could reach the Apache scouts. Still, her wish was granted, for Naiche left her and a daughter behind. Years later, when General Crook visited the Apache prisoners at Mount Vernon, Alabama, he asked Naiche: "How did you come to leave that night?"

"I was afraid I was going to be taken off somewhere I didn't like.... I thought all who were taken away would die."

For the next six months, this small band of guerrillas (only 18 of the 38 were warriors) raged throughout the Southwest. More than 5,000 U.S. and 2,500 Mexican troops chased them without catch-ing sight of a single man, woman or child. Running took its toll, though, and their families already in captivity weighed heavily on their minds.

of guerrillas (only 18 of the 38 were warriors) raged throughout the Southwest. More than 5,000 U.S. and 2,500 Mexican troops chased them without catch-ing sight of a single man, woman or child. Running took its toll, though, and their families already in captivity weighed heav-ily on their minds.

In August, Gatewood located the band deep in the Sierra Madres. According to Davis, Naiche became "quiet and depressed" when Gatewood told him his mother and daughter had been sent to Florida-in fact, they hadn't yet gone-and leaned toward Gatewood's entreaties to surrender, while Geronimo continued to argue for war. Gen. Nelson Miles, who had assumed command from Crook, realized he had a carrot to dangle and asked Lt. Col. James F. Wade, commander of Fort Apache, to send Naiche's mother to Fort Bowie to entice him to come in. Apparently she was fed up with her son, for Wade reported, "She never wants to see him again, [he] is an ungrateful son, and she has done with him."

War-weary and longing for their families, the Naiche-Geronimo band of Apaches surrendered for the final time to General Miles on Sept. 4, 1886, although Miles reported that "Naiche was wild and suspicious and evidently feared treachery."

Later, Crook asked Naiche, "How did you come to surrender? Were you afraid of the troops?" The chief answered, "We wanted to see our people."

But this reunion did not happen immediately. The 18 warriors were promised that they would join their families for two years' imprisonment at a lush, green Florida reservation with farms, animals and equipment. Instead, they spent their time isolated on a spit of sand at Fort Pickens, Florida, while their families were held about 400 miles away in St. Augustine at cold, damp Fort Marion. Eight long months passed before they were reunited.

Although a fierce adversary, once Naiche surrendered, his behavior was exemplary. Visitors to Fort Pickens and then to Mount Vernon, Alabama, where all the Apache prisoners were finally moved, found him "gentlemanly, though dignified and reticent" with "an air of superiority about him, as though upholding the dignity of his chieftainship . . . not deigning to notice in any way the presence of visitors."

Reporter Ballou was impressed when Naiche greeted him while carrying a baby girl, who "was kissing and hugging him, and cooing for joy." According to Ballou, there was "no pipe of peace, no squatting on the ground. He spoke as a lawyer and with great acumen."

While at Mount Vernon, the Apache warriors were encouraged to join the U.S. Army, and Naiche enlisted as Pvt. Christian Naiche of Company 1, 12th Infantry-ironically, a soldier for the very government that was continuing to hold him as a prisoner of war. As time went on, these fiercely proud people became distressed at not receiving the farms they'd been promised, and Naiche often pleaded their case. "We live just like white people, have houses and stoves just like them and we want to have a farm just like other white people," he'd said earnestly.

"[It would be good to] work so I could buy my own clothes with money I would make myself."

In 1894, the Apaches were moved from the unhealthy climate of Alabama to Fort Sill in Indian Territory, Oklahoma. They were finally given land to farm, and it was here that Naiche's artistic talents emerged.

A painting, done by him on a piece of deerskin, was called "the most beautiful decorative thing I've ever seen" by a visiting French artist. Elbridge Burbank, famous for his Indian portraits and careful representations of tribal traditions and costumes, proclaimed Naiche to be "by far the best" and pronounced a hand-carved cane to be "beautifully executed." Debo wrote, "In another culture he would have been a creative artist."

During this time, Naiche embraced Christianity and became an elder in the Dutch Reformed Church. His granddaughter, Elbys Naiche Hugar, said, "My grandfather Naiche . . . wrote an Apache hymn that the people still sing here at the Reformed church."

By 1911, the Apaches had been prisoners 24 years longer than promised. Naiche no longer looked the dashing young warrior. His slender, almost skinny frame stooped, and his face was lined with hard work and worry as he pleaded with his old friend, the former commander of Fort Sill, Hugh Scott. "All we want is to be . . . released as prisoners, and given land and homes that we can call our own," he implored. "This is all we think about . . . You have held us long enough."

In 1912, his wish was granted at last and the Apaches were freed. Naiche, his wife Haozinne and five children, along with the many Apaches who chose to leave Oklahoma, moved to the Mescalero Apache Indian Reservation in New Mexico, the closest they would ever come to their old haunts in the Chiricahua Mountains. In the Fort Sill cemetery, Naiche left behind wives Nahdeyole and Eclahheh and eight children.

Naiche died in 1921, not in glorious battle defending his ancestral lands, but from influenza. So ended the life of a man who cared deeply for his people, but whose accomplishments were often overshadowed by characters with personalities more flamboyant than his.

From an immature, inexperienced chief, he'd persevered, enduring perhaps more hardships, more changes in tradition and culture, than any Apache chief before him. In the final analysis, Naiche proved to be not only the last chief, but a great chief as well. AH ADDITIONAL READING: Read more about the fascinating figures of the Apache wars in Double Cross: Treachery in the Apache Wars, by Leo W. Banks, and Geronimo! Stories of an American Legend, by Sharon S. Magee. To order, call toll-free (800) 543-5432 or go online to arizonahighways.com.