June 25, 1898,] 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
BOB 
My Only Indian Massacre* 
BY ELtJOTT COUES. 
In Arizona days of 1864-65 I hunted Apaches some- 
times, and sometimes I was hunted by these Indians. 
Once we came to terms, which were those of a bloody 
massacre, as I will relate. 
The Indians made things red hot for the white citizens 
and soldiers in those years. I was a youthful army sur- 
geon, fresh from college, on duty with troops at Fort 
Whipple, close by Prescott. There was not a trail lead- 
ing into either the fort or the town that had not been 
reddened with blood; travelers were killed and stock 
was run off within sight and sound of both places. Dur- 
ing the winter of 1864-65 we hunted Indians like any 
other large wild game, and had killed a good many, when 
another expedition was made against them, and I asked 
and was granted permission to join it — such was the 
foolishness of extreme j^outh, fancying there would be 
fun in killing Indians, besides being needlessly curious 
in such beastly business. In later years I attended such 
performances when it was my duty to do so, certainly 
never from choice. 
I have before me aii old Journal which reminds me 
that on Sunday evening 
about dusk of Jan. 8, 
1865, I rode alone about 
five miles from Fort 
Whipple to Jake Miller's 
ranch to join the party 
there bivouacked. It 
consisted of Capt. John 
Thompson, of the Cal- 
ifornia Volunteers, in 
command — a red-head- 
ed, red-whiskered, blue- 
e y e d, freckle-faced 
Irishman, of renown as 
a hard swearer, hard 
drinker, hard rider and 
hard Indian fighter; 
myself, an uncertain fac- 
tor inthisaflfair; George 
Cooler, citizen guide, a 
tall, lank fellow, who 
knew all about the 
country and Indians; 
two scouts, one of them 
a tame Indian boy, and 
twenty-three soldiers — 
total twenty-eight. We 
had an alarm the first 
night, tumbled out of 
blankets and charged 
into the brush; but it 
amounted to nothing. 
On the gth and loth 
we made long marches 
through Mint and 
Williainson's valleys in 
search of a trail leading 
to a rancheria we were 
to attack; part of the 
march by night. It was 
intensely cold; my can- 
teen burst and let a 
stream of water down 
my leg, instantly freez- 
ing; and we stumbled 
over very rough coun- 
try in the dark till we 
came upon the scouts, 
camped in the rancheria 
we were going to jump; 
it was deserted, and we 
rolled in our blankets 
on the spot, about i 
A. M. of the nth. 
At daylight the scouts 
went ahead again, and 
meanwhile we exam- 
ined the rancheria, con- 
sisting of twenty-one 
wickiups, representing, 
as we supposed, some 
100 Indians. The 
scouts returned soon, 
reporting that the 
whole body of them 
had moved off slowly, 
neither in fright nor in 
mischief, but simply 
changing camp. We 
shifted camp also, in- 
tending to take up the 
trail next da.y. This 
was in the vicinity of 
Walnut Creek and on 
the edge of the Juniper 
hills, a few miles from 
that spot on the Whip- 
ple to Mojave road 
which in after years became the location of Camp Hua- 
lapais. 
On the morning of the 12th we took up the broad, plain 
trail, and it soon grew "hot." The sign was plenty, 
where the Indians had moved along, stopping every few 
minutes to warm themselves by setting fire to clumps 
of grass. Presently we found on a bush a slip of paper 
trom Cooler: Go slow; Indians must be very near" 
A few minutes later he appeared in person with some 
news I will condense in the Arizona vernacular- 
^ ' Game jus' over the hill thar— all-fired big gang of 
em— more'n a hundred, squattin' tergether, eatin' that 
steer they stole from Jake Miller. They ain't got no idea 
we re round— can jus' sneak up 'n' wade in 'n' whale 
hell outen em— corrall the whole kerboodle slicker'n 
greased lightnin'." 
Thompson gave his orders, very quietly; he was a good 
soldier, always coolest when things were hottest. He 
hustled the cavalry horses and pack mules into a thick 
clump of cedars, where four men were detailed to hold 
them, andtoldmeto stay there. I expostulated that I hadn't 
come out for that, when he said, "Well, come along 
then if you want to," no doubt adding to himself, "if 
you want to be a durned fool." We dispensed with 
unnecessary clothing, and I could notice some white 
faces and set teeth among the soldiers as they waited 
for the word. "Forward!" said Thompson, in a low 
voice, and the twenty-four of us crept quickly in silence 
up the hill. 
The woods ceased on its crest, and there was the 
rancheria down in an open hollow about 8oyds. off, the 
wickiups strung along a little space, and among them 
men, women and children, unconscious of danger. For 
a moment I wished myself anywhere else. I was armed 
with a double-barreled shotgun, lo-gauge, muzzleloader 
— we had no breechloaders in those days. My ideas were 
not agreeable — about equally divided between imagining 
my helplessness as soon as I should have fired twice, and 
the miserable butchery we were about to commit. Then 
a dog barked in the Indian camp. We were discovered. 
But the men had meanwhile deployed in line of battle 
on the crest of the hill in the edge of the woods. "Fire!" 
shouted Thompson. The volley rang out. "Forward — 
double-quick — charge!" And we made the rush with 
a yell. 
I was pretty lively on my pins in those days, and there 
were only two who got in ahead of me. One was our 
INDIAN WARRIOR. 
By A. p. Proctor. 
boy of an Indian scout, racing like a deer; next was tall 
George Cooler with his immense strides ; Thompson was 
next to me, and the rest well in together at our heels. 
In a few moments we were in the camp; the shots rang 
out again and again; yells, shrieks and groans resounded; 
the peculiar smell of blood and burnt gunpowder was 
wafted past my nostrils. There was no resistance; I do 
not think an arrow was fired; there was no fight; it 
was a massacre. After momentary confusion the Indians 
broke away. _ Some had been killed at the first fire; 
others, especially women and children, as soon as we 
got among them; for the rest it was a race through the 
woods for half a mile, devil take the hindmost with them, 
kill as can catch with us. I tried my best to kill an In- 
dian and am happy to say I failed. The only good shot 
I got dropped before I pulled trigger, with a piercing 
scream, and a pappoose rolled off the back of its dying 
rnother. I was blown with running, and could not have 
hit a barn door. The chase had meanwhile swept on 
beyond me, when I heard Thompson call out at my 
elbow, "Watch out. Doctor, for that big buck!" I 
turned my head, and there was a tall Indian — he looked 
about loft. tall— dra-<ving his bow about loft. oflf; at the 
,1 
instant Thompson shot him dead with his revolver, else 
probably I should not now be writing. 
The killing was all over in probably five minutes. 
Thompson called it off promptly, and then the looting 
and firing of the wickiups was in order. This miserable 
business included shooting some babies in the head with 
revolvers as they lay helpless in their wicker cradles. 
My expostulation about this with one of the soldiers 
was met by the undeniable remark, "Nits will breed 
hce, you know, Doc." (This soldier shortly afterward 
murdered in cold blood his first sergeant, in the Whipple 
barracks, in the face of the whole company.) My share 
of the plunder was the bow and arrows of old Red Shirt, 
the chief, who had intended to shoot me with them; 
some trinkets off the dead body of his squaw, who was 
lying by his side, and all the buckskins I could carry. 
We counted twenty-eight dead bodies, mostly of 
women and children; not one of us got a scratch. There 
were doubtless some killed or wounded we never knew. 
When we jumped this rancheria we knew nothing of 
a second one, quite as large, only a few hundred yards 
down the little valley, but concealed from our view. This 
was evacuated at the first alarm, and no Indian was 
killed there; but we looted and destroyed it like the 
other. As we drew off 
from this sad scene of 
carnage the Indians 
gathered in the woods 
at a distance, yelling 
defiance, but no fur- 
ther demonstration was 
attempted. This was 
perhaps fortunate for 
us. We must have 
jumped at least zoo In- 
dians in the two ranch- 
erias, and they could 
have made it hot for us 
if they had had the 
courage and any sort of 
a fair show. I know that 
Thompson was more 
worried after than be- 
fore or during the fight. 
He ordered a promnt 
retreat, and we made 
forced marches back to 
Whipple. On the way 
we murdered one In- 
dian — an old man, who 
was returning to the 
rancherlas we had de- 
stroyed, and ran into us 
before he discovered us. 
We turned him prison- 
er over to the guard, 
with orders to shoot 
him if he tried to es- 
cape, and the column 
moved on. Not five 
minutes afterward a 
shot was heard, and the 
sergeant rode up and 
saluted Thompson. 
"Well, what is it. Ser- 
geant?" "Prisoner tried 
to escape, sir." "Well, 
what did you do?" 
"Shot him, sir." And 
we rode on. 
I shall never cease 
to regret my participa- 
tion in this atrocious 
affair. I was perfectly 
innocent, to be sure, 
and had no suspicion we 
were not hunting hos- 
tile Apaches. Whether 
or not Capt. Thompson 
and George Cooler 
knew beforehand that 
these were friendly or 
at least not hostile In- 
dians I was never sure. 
But I think there was 
reason enough for wor- 
ry when Thompson dis- 
covered that it was Red 
Shirt he had killed. I 
was afterward given to 
understand these In- 
dians were chiefly, if 
not entirely, Hualapais. 
I know the affair led to 
a series of bloody mur- 
ders in reprisal, which 
cost more lives of 
whites than we took at 
the time of Indians, to 
say nothing of the hun- 
dreds of Indians killed 
. in the Hualapais war of 
later years. I have nowhere seen, and do not think 
that there exists in print at least, any fair account, such 
as I have given, of the Juniper Mountain massacre. 
Sixteen years afterward, in 1881, I rode out from 
Camp Hualapais in company with my friend, Mr. Frank 
Gushing, to look at the spots so deeply branded in my 
memory. A settler's cabin was in the valley, and a 
cornfield waved its tassels over the ground once red- ' 
dened vvith the blood of those inoffensive men, women 
and children. I picked up a relic or two of the 
slaughter on the exact spot where I had taken the bow 
and arrows from the stiffening hands of the dead chief. 
Red Shirt. 
The atrocious massacre so graphically described by 
Dr. Coues is only one of many which took place in the 
old days. We imagine that massacres were perpetrated 
only by Indians, but the fact is that in our Indian wars 
the whites have killed a far greater number of non-com- 
batants—women and children — than the Indians ever did. 
This particular "fight." was never officially reported to 
the War Department, is not of record, and the account is 
an absolutely new contribution to Indian history, 
