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CHAPTER XVII. THE COLORADO RIVER INDIAN RESERVATION. |
Up: Contents Previous: CHAPTER XVI. EARLY SURVEYS. Next: Index
METHODS OF INDIAN AGENTS—C. B. GENUNG'S ACCOUNT OF JOURNEY TO ARIZONA—PRESENTS GIFTS TO INDIANS—PLACED IN CHARGE OF RESERVATION—TAKES OUT DITCH AND ENCOURAGES INDIANS IN AGRICULTURAL PURSUITS—RESIGNS—GOES TO CALIFORNIA TO PURCHASE HORSES FOR INDIANS—PLACES YAVAPAIS ON SAN CARLOS RESERVATION—ABANDONMENT OF DITCH.
The following, contributed by C. B. Genung, shows the difficulties confronting the traveller from California to Arizona, and also gives an account of his experiences as a Deputy Indian Agent, The treachery shown by the Indian agents in general to their wards proves that had the government been careful in the selection of agents and paid them a decent salary, much of the difficulty surrounding the Indian question might have been obviated. At this late day we can, of course, impartially, review the situation, and it is the general opinion of those who look over the past from an entirely unprejudiced standpoint, that General Crook was right when he said that the Indians always respected their treaties, and that the white man never did. The story of the treatment of the Indians upon the reservations in those early days will probably never be truthfully recorded. Men were sent out to take charge of these reservations as they were created, and paid a meager salary of fifteen hundred or two thousand dollars a year in greenbacks,
then worth from fifty to sixty cents on the dollar, and it goes without saying that men who would take such a position did so, not for the salary paid them, but for the little things that a gentleman might pick up in the way of contracts and general grafting.As this history progresses there will be many incidents related going to show the wrongs practiced upon the Indians by the agents of the government.
Mr. Genung's story is as follows:
‘‘“While in San Francisco in the winter of 1866-67, Mr. R. W. Gird, with whom I had been acquainted in Arizona in 1863-64, called upon me at my mother's home, and told me that Mr. George W. Dent, who had just been appointed Superintendent of Indian Affairs for the Pacific Coast, wished to meet me and would like to have me call upon him at his hotel, the Cosmopolitan. The following day I called upon Mr. Dent, made myself known, and was introduced to his secretary, Mr. Charles Hutthings. Mr. Dent told me that he was preparing to go to Arizona, and had been told by Mr. Gird that I was familiar with the road and was going to the Territory myself. I told him that I was only waiting to have a still finished and crated, and was in hopes to get off on the next steamer that sailed for Wilmington or San Pedro. It was arranged that we would go together, and that day I accompanied Mr. Dent to Kimball's carriage factory and we picked out a suitable wagon for desert travel. We also went to Main & Winchester's harness shop and bought harness for four horses; and we all got off on the next steamer, my
still being about the last freight loaded before sailing.“On the steamer I met Levy Bashford and his family, which was composed of Mrs. Bashford and their son Coles, a boy of about ten or eleven years old.
“Arriving at Los Angeles, Mr. Dent asked me to buy four good horses for him to work to the Territory, and I bought four good ones. Bashford, whom I had met in Arizona in 1864 when he came to where Prescott now is with the troops (I bought a pair of boots from him, as he had several cases of boots that he had brought from the East, and that is how we became acquainted), had expressed a desire to accompany us to the Territory. I was in a hurry, but decided to wait for Bashford to get ready as Dent was willing. So we waited two or three days for Bashford to find an outfit that would suit him. I then started by stage for San Bernardino, where my horses were on pasture sinee the year before, when I came from Arizona.
“Bashford came through to San Bernardino with two horses, and there bought another pair from a brother of Charles D. Poston, who had the first mail contract from San Bernardino to La Paz. The first day our train reached Newt. Noble's ranch—thirty miles—where we stayed all night. At San Bernardino Dent had hired a man to drive his team through, and had promised him and his partner work after they got to the Colorado River Reservation, but at Noble's ranch we heard that the Apaches had been depredating on a large scale in the Territory, so the driver of Dent's wagon struck for higher wages. Dent asked me what to do about it, and I told
him to let them both go, and I would drive his team through.“The team was full of life and hard to handle, and the driver thought he had Dent in a tight place, but he was mistaken. I tied my horses behind Bashford's wagon, and got up on to the driver's seat in Dent's wagon after Dent had settled with his driver. The two men were holding the leaders when I got up there to take the lines, and as soon as I picked up the lines I noticed that the two men had buckled the lines into the halter rings on the leaders instead of into the bridle bits. I covered them with my forty-five, and they quickly put the lines where they belonged. Had I not noticed the trick, we would have had a smashup, for the horses started on the jump. Noble's house was on the edge of a canyon which the crooked road led down into, and it was a rough place to handle a running team.
“We had a pleasant trip to La Paz, and there we first heard the news of the killing of Leihy, his clerk and two friendly Indians, in Bell's Canyon, near Kirkland Valley. Dent was coming to relieve Leihy, who had been superintendent for several years.
“We also heard at La Paz that the Indians had made a raid on Prescott and carried Mrs. Governor McCormick into captivity, besides killing many people, which was absolutely false. Still the report caused delays in travel, and Bashford would not undertake the journey without a strong escort; consequently, we were delayed for nearly one month waiting for teams to come that were on the road from San Bernardino.
“Before leaving San Francisco Dent had shipped, via the Gulf of California and the Colorado River a large consignment of annuities for the Indians—the first they had ever received—and soon after we reached La Paz the goods arrived.
“About the first man that I met when I got off the wagon at La Paz was an Indian that I had known at Peeples' Ranch, whom we called Tom. He was a brother of Jack, who rendered such good service when he accompanied King Woolsey at the time when Woolsey made the Pinole Treaty. I told Tom that Mr. Dent was bringing a lot of presents from the Great Father for all the friendly Indians, and that he had better send word to the nearby Yavapais to come and get their share.
“Here I will say, for the benefit of the newcomer, that what are now known as ApacheMohaves, or Apache-Yumas were, before the treaty of 1863 at Agua Caliente between the Mohaves, Yumas, Pimas, Maricopas and Yavapais, on the one side, and John Moss and Pauline Weaver in behalf of the Americans on the other side, known as Yavapai-Apaches. (More about the treaty later.)
“Tom accordingly sent out word to the Indians who lived within sixty or eighty miles, and quite a number of the men came to La Paz in time to share in the big eat and the distribution of the annuities. There were blankets, shoes, red flannel, calico, domestic articles, needles, thread, clothing, cotton handkerchiefs, butcher-knives, shirts, beef, beans, flour, sugar, coffee, and tobacco, to be distributed, and Dent asked me to stay and take charge of the whole
works, which I did. A few of the Yavapais arrived a few days before the day of distribution, and I had a beef killed and given out with other rations that none might want for food while waiting for the great event.“Of the Mohaves there were eight captains: Iritaba, whom we called ‘General,’ as he was the head chief; Quat-ho-co-rowa, a son of Iritaba; Mockneal, Moqutta, Tomaspa, Athe-he-malya, and Jose Chappo, and one more whose name I do not recall.
“Of the Yavapais there were: Quashacamo, the head chief; Potamkay, the great medicine man; Ah-hotch-ah-cama, Ah-hot-cutchawalka, Meal-yac-a-tuma, and three more whose names I do not remember at present. There were none of the people from the Ah-ha-seyampa (Wickenburg), Walnut Grove, or Humbug Creek, and only Tom from Peeples' Valley. So I made up a bundle of red flannel, gaudy colored red handkerchiefs, etc., as presents to them, and sent them by Tom, as well as a pair of pants that would about fit Jack, and a red shirt and pocket handkerchief, not forgetting to put some needles and thread into the bundle that I sent by Tom to Peeples' Ranch or Valley.
“After the distribution, there having come to La Paz several trains, some of which had travelled on to overtake people who were waiting at or near Culling's Well for re-enforcement, the Bashfords and I started for Prescott. We made stations every night, and at Culling's Well I left the party and overtook Joseph R. Walker and Jake Lind, who had a mule pack-train and were camped about twelve miles from the well.
“The next day the whole wagon train came along about noon, the team that had my distillery with the rest, and we moved on without any trouble from the Apaches, Joe Walker and I scouting the country until we got to Kirkland Valley, where I left the party and went to Walnut Grove, where my distillery was to be established.
“While in La Paz Mr. Dent, the superintendent, had made me several propositions for the purpose of getting me to remain with him and take charge of the Indians in order to induce them to go on to the reservation. The Mohaves at that time were scattered from Bradshaw's Ferry on the California side of the Colorado, to Cottonwood Island, above Hardyville, in Mohave County. I declined his offer, but after I had reached Walnut Grove I received several letters from him, and in July following, C. W. Beach brought me a letter in person from Dent in which he proposed to give me the trading-post on the reservation if I would undertake to collect all of the scattering Indians of the two tribes of Yavapais and Mohaves, and get them to go on the reservation and dig an irrigating ditch, promising to give the Indians soldiers' rations, and pay them by the day for their work; also to pay me one thousand dollars a year as head farmer. After consulting with my partner, Elijah Smith, I decided to accept the offer, and started to La Paz.
“I arrived at La Paz on July 24th, 1867, and at once commenced my work of getting the Indians together. I sent runners out among the Yavapais who lived along Williams Fork, the Santa Maria, and as far as Peeples' Valley; also
to the Ah-ha-quahala, Ah-ha-cawa, and across the Ah-ha-seyampa to the Bradshaws, to induce the indians to come to the reservation. I instructed the runners thoroughly as to the promises that Dent had made to me, and also promised them to stay on the reservation and look out for the interests of the Yavapais myself. I also gathered up what scattering Indians there were on the California side of the river and around La Paz, and moved them up the river about forty miles where there was some very desirable land to plant and quite a number of Indians located and doing a little planting.“July 27th I arrived on the ground with two men, Linsey and Murray, with a four-horse load of supplies and seeds, and made my first camp at a point about four miles below where Parker now is, and began my farming on the Colorado as head farmer. There had been a very high water that year in the fore part of July, and there was plenty of damp ground ready for the seed after the ground was cleared of more or less brush, I had the Indians at it as fast as I could get them located, and each one marked off as much as he wanted to plant, in irregularshaped pieces, and wherever he chose, each being careful not to encroach upon his neighbor who had come before him. I issued a large variety of seeds, but with the exception of pumpkins, squash, and melons, I had to use a considerable amount of persuasion to get them to plant just a little. I induced one old fellow to plant quite a large patch of large white Dent corn. I think he did it through courtesy to me, for the other Indians said it would not make corn, and it did
not—only large stalks and cobs with a few scattering kernels.“With a few exceptions the Yavapais did not arrive until it was too late to plant. Consequently, as they had brought very little, if any, food with them, I had to get rations pretty fast. That year there was a bountiful crop of mesquite beans, and the Indians got along pretty well for a while, as they made a bread, as well as a very palatable drink, out of the beans.
“No provision had been made for storing supplies, and, in fact, there was not much except beans, flour, and strong salt pork to store and distribute. So soon as the Mohaves were through with their planting, I started to work on the ditch that had already been surveyed by a man named P. Waldemar. At all events, the survey had been made, and I started to work with all the Indians that came on an appointed day. If I remember right, about eighty went to work the first morning. A few had their own shovels, and a few had axes. Those having no tools I supplied from a stock that I had brought when I came. Dent had promised to send me some help as timekeepers, more tools, and a lot of small rope to mark the line of the ditch on both sides, but he failed to keep his promise in this as he did in all other matters.
“I had looked over the survey carefully and concluded to start work at the point where the water would come to the surface when there was four feet in depth of water in the ditch. At that point there was but little brush or trees for about a quarter of a mile, and by working there the Indians could make quite a showing each day, while if I had started at the intake, I should have
had to employ men who could handle powder, and perhaps run a tunnel through the point of a mesa.“I gathered up about a hundred feet of rope and stretched it along one side of the ditch, and placed as many of the Indians along the line as could work without crowding. On the other side I made a mark and put the balance that did not have axes on that side. I put Murray in charge of the axe gang, and I tried to look after the diggers, while Linsey was left to do our cooking and keep camp.
“I did not know at that time that the Mohaves never stole or touched anything that did not belong to them. This I learned in due time. The only thing that I lost through theft in my seven and a half months' stay on the reservation, was a large loaf of bread baked in a Dutch oven. It was taken one night out of the oven, which had been left by the camp fire a short distance from the shade where I slept with the other men, by a Fort Mohave Indian who had been down to the reserve on a visit, and had captured the heart of one of the young girls of the tribe. As he did not have the cash or other negotiable asset to pay for the girl, he had stolen her, and took my bread to eat on the road, which it would take two or three days to travel. When the cook missed the bread, as soon as he was up in the morning and raised a hubbub, I told an Indian boy to took for tracks. In about two minutes he read the sign: ‘One Injun, one squaw took it. He gone up river.’ Later in the day I learned of the elopement.
“About the third day after I started work on the ditch, the four-horse team arrived from La
Paz with tools and provisions, and with it came H. H. Carter, then a smooth-faced boy, and now living at or near Prescott, and young Fred Dent, son of G. W. Dent, and not more than eighteen or nineteen years old, They came as timekeepers and assistants to help me to manage and learn eight or nine hundred Indians how to farm and do other work.“I had promised the Indians, by Dent's instructions, fifty cents a day, they to have their pay every night. I had no money to pay the Indians when the first day's work was done, but gave each one a slip of paper with his number on it. Very few of the Indians had names that I could get them to tell, hence the numbers. Each day I would make an additional mark on the piece of paper, but when the wagon came and no money to pay off, I was up against a hard proposition. I explained to the Indians that the money had not come to La Paz when the team left, but that Mr. Dent would send it as soon as it arrived from California. This story partly reconciled the Indians, and they continued work, but not with the heart and cheerfulness that they had started in with. My force of diggers did not increase any until the money came, only the older ones replenishing the ranks as the young and strong Indians dropped out, more or less disgusted. Some of those who took the places of the younger men were not really able to work, but I could make no distinction under the circumstances, and was glad to have them as they were setting a good example for the young men.
“Finally, after a long delay, money came in the shape of silver and small currency. Some of the Indians knew the value of the bills, that is,
they knew a one dollar bill from a two dollar bill, but when it came to five, it looked to them just the same as a two, and I, together with the other white men, was called upon at all times to determine the value of a two or five dollar bill.“From the pay day I told the Indians that I should only pay the money once a week—on Sunday. I had been instructed by the God-fearing officials not to work on Sunday, and the Indians to this day believe in keeping the seventh day sacred—from work!
“After about one month from the time it was promised me, there was an oven built and a man named Thomas Bidwell sent to bake bread for the working Indians. One loaf a day was promised to each Indian, besides the fifty cents.
“As soon as I had begun to pay them, the Indians gained confidence and began to swell the ranks of my working force, and with the loaf of bread and cash weekly payments, and the arrival of some Apaches from the nearer mountains where they lived, I had all the hands that I had tools for. All the Apaches that were able to work were anxious and willing to work, and although they knew absolutely nothing about the use of tools, they soon proved themselves much the better workers. The loaf of bread was a great stimulus to them, as they came without food, and the rations issued to them were rather light when it came to filling up an entirely empty stomach. I will say here that some of the old and sick Apaches died on the trail while trying to reach the reservation.
“The Apaches would not eat fish, and came too late to plant, and, the Mohaves having gathered
nearly all of the mesquite beans before the Apaches arrived, they were entirely dependent on what was issued to them.“Late in the fall I was instructed to build some houses, and a crew of men was sent from La Paz to do the work. The Indians made the adobes, and Fred T. Williams, now of Prescott, and a man named Morgan, laid them. The buildings are still in use at the agency.
“About the 1st of January, 1868, I was having considerable trouble with the Apaches. They were complaining of being hungry, which I knew was a fact, and I wrote Dent asking for a more liberal allowance of provisions, but to no purpose. As I was responsible for the Indians being there, I felt it my duty to see that they got what was promised to them. So in February I went to La Paz to consult with Dent. I had investigated the matter closely, and had learned that in some of the companies the rations did not amount to more than four ounces of food per day per capita.
“At this point I will explain that the rations were issued once a week to each captain, regardless of the number of his people. All got the same amount; whether he had twenty followers or forty, it was just the same.
“The Apaches had left their country voluntarily; had given it up to the white men without a struggle, and had come on to the reservation with the understanding, through my promises, that they were to be amply provided for until an irrigating canal could be dug, so that they could make homes for themselves, and a living. They had endured great hardships at the hands of the whites in the mountains around. Prescott and
Weaver; had been murdered by the score when they were sticking fast to the treaty that they had made with the Pimas, Maricopas, Yumas, and Mohaves on the side of the Indians, and Pauline Weaver and John Moss, who represented the whites. This treaty was made near the Agua Caliente on the Gila River in June, 1863. This tribe was small, not having more than four hundred souls, and the Eastern Apaches preyed upon them, never allowing them to have a horse or any other kind of stock, and frequently capturing their young women and girls and making slaves of them. That was why they were glad to make friends with the whites, and assisted the white men in raids against the Tontos or Eastern Indians.“This, and much more, I explained to Dent, but I could get no satisfaction out of him. So I resigned, and that was just what he wanted. He had used me to get the Indians together, with a promise that I should be made post-trader, and now that the Indians were there, he had another party that he could make more out of, and who would make any kind of an affidavit that was wanted. This party had already sent several tons of goods to the reservation, and started a store, and was taking in all kinds of money. As there were sometimes as many as two hundred and eighty Indians at work at fifty cents a day, a lot of money was going into the Indians' hands.
“There was a fine growth of six weeks' grass on the overflowed land, and when it was in good condition, I had a lot of it cut and put into a stack, which, when it was well settled, I measured and found there was thirty tons of it. I so reported to Dent. Later on, the hay caught fire
and burned, and Dent sent me an affidavit to sign in which the hay was claimed to have been eighty tons. In my controversy with Dent I put that up to him. I had not signed the false statement, and Dent did not like it.“Well, after I had my voucher, I went to the reservation and had a talk with my partner, Elijah Smith, who had rented our ranch at Walnut Grove, and come down and gone to work, driving team on the reservation.
“When I told the Apaches that I was going, it created a great hubbub, and they had a big powwow that night; wanted to know where I was going, and I told them to California, which Smith and I had concluded to do. The next day there were no Apaches at work. They came to me and offered to go with me if I could give them work, which, of course, I could not do.
“I remained at my camp that day, and Smith and I got everything ready to go to La Paz the next day. That night the Apaches asked if I could not get them some young horses—one-year olds, and 2 year olds, which I undertook to do. So it was arranged that a man named Ayers and I should go to San Bernardino, and bring out a band of colts to sell to the Indians. Twenty-five dollars to thirty dollars was about what they would pay for colts.
“We went to the San Jacinto Ranch and bought a lot of colts at seven dollars a head, and some good saddle horses as well, and started back to Arizona with them. At the Smith ranch in the San Gorgonia Pass, where we held the colts a few days to get them gentle to corral and drive, we saw Dent, who was coming to California. The Smith station was a trade station where they
changed horses and had meals. Dent inquired there what I was doing, and, when told, he at once wrote a letter and sent it back to Colonel Fuge, the agent at the reservation. I learned this when I got to a place on the Colorado River bottom, where I was met by a Mohave Indian who had been sent to meet me by Iritaba, the head man of the Mohaves. The Indian told me that Dent had instructed Colonel Fuge to have me arrested if I brought horses to sell to the Indians, as I was going to mount the Indians so they could go on the warpath against the whites. As soon as Dent learned that I had promised to bring the Indians horses from California, he had a lot of soldiers stationed near the reservation buildings. I believe they were brought up from Fort Yuma on a boat.“Dent had his troubles in getting the soldiers there for nothing, for the first night after we left Smith's ranch, we lost all of the colts while trying to corral them at White Water Station. They became frightened at something and stampeded and scattered on us, and we had all we could do to hold the gentle horses, two of which were packed. We spent three days trying to find the colts, but succeeded in finding only seven head, which I traded to Carl Smith, son of Dr. Smith for two saddle ponies, and came on to Arizona pretty well disgusted with the wild colt business.
“We bought the colts from the Estudillo Brothers in San Jacinto Valley, and one evening while sitting around a big camp fire, a big Indian walked up to the camp. He said nothing, but stood back a little, and when one of the Estudillos said, ‘Buenas tardes,’ the Indian did not answer
him. I spoke to him in the Mohave language, and he answered me promptly. I sized him up by his long hair as being either a Mohave or Yuma. The Indian had gone to California from Fort Mohave with two white men who had taken him along to see the country, and expected to bring him back to Fort Mohave. They had gone from San Bernardino to San Diego; then in coming back they had taken the Los Angeles road, which had forked off of the road that they had travelled in going to San Diego.“It being cold in the morning the Indian had started out to walk, and when he got to where the road forked, he took the San Bernardino road and, as he was out of sight of the wagon, got lost! Who said an Injun never gets lost
“I gave Mike (that was his name), something to eat, and some blankets, and told him who I was, and what I was doing there, and asked him if he wanted to go with us to the reservation, which pleased him wonderfully. Mike was a curiosity to the people there, and I had to explain the whole business to them, for our conversation had all been carried on in the Mohave language. What a strange piece of luck that Indian had. I doubt if there was another man in California who could talk the Mohave language, and if he had not met us there, the chances were good for him to have walked back to Fort Mohave.
“While Mike and Tex were looking after the horses at Smith's Ranch, I went to San Bernardino and bought a light saddle for Mike to ride, and if we had not lost the colts he would have been of great help to us in bringing them across the desert. As it was he was a good witness to
the loss of the colts when I got among the Indians, and they were to be made to understand what had happened. They tried to have me go back and get more horses. My excuse for not going after more was that I had no money to buy. In a short time an old Indian named Ah-the-he-malya came to me with an old hat in which were several hundred dollars in silver, and told me to take that and go and get horses. Then others came and offered me more silver, but I had had enough of handling wild colts on the desert, and declined their offers.“The more I thought of what Dent had done and tried to do, the madder I got, and as soon as I got to La Paz and disposed of some of the gentle horses that I had brought, I went to the reservation. The Indians met me several miles below the agency buildings and warned me not to go there. Finally, Iritaba, the head man, met me and told me that the Indians were going to have a big talk that night, and wanted me to be present. So I concluded to camp with them that night, and they surely did have a big talk, most of which was rehearsing the shortcomings of the white men who had been sent among them by the Government; and they wound up by saying that Etho-co-sceelia, meaning me, was the only white man that acted square with them. When the conference broke up and I started to go where I had camped, Iritaba walked along beside me a little way, and then pulled my sleeve and said in an undertone, in his broken way:
“‘Spose Colonel Fuge put you in calaboose to-morrow morning; him heap cry!’
“During the big talk the Indians had talked freely of the possibility of the outcome of the
matter in case I was arrested in the morning by the soldiers, expressing the belief that I should be put into a tent at their camp which was on the bank of the river where the pumping plant now is, and that I should be killed and thrown into the river. Then it would be reported that I had tried to escape and been shot while swimming the river. What grounds they had for their suspicions I never learned, but I had a Henry rifle in the agency building which I was there to get, and just before sunrise I rode up to the kitchen door and reached over my horse's head and knocked on the door. A man, a friend of mine named Tom Otterman, who was working there when I quit, and with whom I had left the Henry rifle, opened the door with his right hand and passed the gun to me, and his only remark was, ‘She's full!’ Then he threw the door wide open and stood there with his left hand hid behind the door casing.“I had no more than rested my gun across my saddle when Colonel Fuge stepped out of his door at my left. I spoke to him, and told him I understood he had orders to arrest me and that I was there to see about it. He denied everything, and then I asked him what those ten soldiers and a sergeant were doing in that room, the door of which was between him and me. He said there were no soldiers there, upon which I told him he was a d—d liar, for I had just got a glimpse of one's cap at the window which was not more than ten or twelve feet from me. He dared not make a move or motion, for in walking out of his door he had gotten right in range of my rifle.
“When I had had my say I turned my horse's head and rode around the corner of the building, and a few jumps put me behind the mesquite trees which had not been cleared away. The road led down through the heavy mesquite and a dense growth of arrow weed, and there I met the whole fighting force of both the Mohaves and Apaches, all armed with whatever arms they were possessed of.
“I firmly believe that if there had been a shot fired that morning, the Indians would have killed all the white men on the reservation, me among the rest probably.
“The Indians had told Tom Otterman that I would be there early that morning for my gun, which accounted for his promptness in putting it into my hands.
“As I rode away old Qua-shackama followed after me and asked me to stay one more sleep. I was desirous of talking to the Apaches, so I told him that I would go down the river that day and return that evening and talk with the Apaches, warning him that I did not want the soldiers to know anything about it as they might make trouble. The old man said he would have his men on guard in case any soldiers came around.
“I went that day to where my partner Smith was camped on a slough near the river, and that night I went to the place agreed upon in the morning with Qua-shackama. I knew the Apaches were dissatisfied and hungry, but I wanted them to stay where they were, and did all that I could to prevail upon them to stick it out. I suggested finally that part of them stay and work, telling them that they could get sufficient
money with what they were receiving from the government to live on, but all my arguments availed not. They said they would rather go to the mountains and be killed than stay there hungry all the time; in the mountains sometimes they had plenty to eat, but there they were hungry all the time.“I told them that I was going to California; that the next year I was going to the mine that I had found on the Ah-ha-seyampa, and described the place where I should live, and I believe they always kept track of me and my movements when I came back the next winter to work the Montgomery mine. They certainly must have kept watch of my movements, for the next winter after I had moved to Peeples' Valley, a bunch of them appeared at the bedroom window where my wife was dressing a baby, and scared her pretty badly, but when they called my name she realized who they were. I was gone that day to Kirkland Valley after our mail. The Indians soon left the place and went to the hills.
“A short time after that I met two of them while on my way to Camp Date Creek—at that time a two company government post—and induced them to go to the post with me. They were afraid of the soldiers, but I told them that I would not allow the soldiers to molest them, and would take them home with me the next day, which I did. That was the starter of getting all the Yavapais into the Date Creek post, and finally on to the San Carlos Reservation, and was the means of ending the Apache war.
“On the way from Date Creek to my ranch, Tom, one of the Indians, told me why the Indians were go dissatisfied about the River Reservation.
He said that as soon as I left to go after the horses and a new man was put in charge of the work, the new man did not dig the ditch as deep as I was digging, it by the length of a shovel handle, about four and a half or five feet, and that some of the white men—Tom Otterman among the rest—said it was no good and that the water would never come down, which was the truth. The ditch was never used and to this day there are marks of the old workings to be seen—monuments to graft.” ’’The foregoing shows the difficulties under which Mr. Genung labored in attempting to teach seven hundred or eight hundred Indians how to farm under the general direction of a superintendent inclined to peculation.
When Mr. Genung took charge of the Indians on this reservation, he was successful in gathering upon the reservation the Yavapais and the Mohaves, and, had time been given, there is little doubt but what the Wallapais would also have been induced to abandon their nomadic life and make homes upon the reservation, and had the Indian Agent kept the agreements made with the Indians, there is no doubt but what a useless and bloody war would have been avoided. As it was, the old men and women of the Mohaves remained on the reservation, while the young men, the most of them, went on foraging expeditions and the Yavapais and Wallapais went upon the warpath, with the result that in the year 1867, and, indeed, up to the time when General Crook took charge of the military in Arizona, some four years later, there was a succession of Indian outrages. It is said that between Williamson Valley and Prescott, in the
year 1868, there were eighteen men killed by the Indians. In the western part of Yavapai County, and the whole of Mohave County, there was a continual robbing of trains, and murdering of whites. One can hardly blame the Indians because they were forced, through starvation, to seek food wherever they could find it. There is no evidence that the annuities granted by the government were distributed before this time. Leihy, the former Indian agent, complained that there was no money to pay the freight. Whether Dent succeeded in securing these some twenty thousand dollars of supplies for the Indians, together with those granted annually during his administration, is a question.As this history progresses it will be readily seen that much of the trouble with the Indian tribes in Arizona was the result of maladministration on the part of the Indian Agents.
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