Most history books will tell you that the last “battle” of the American
Indian Wars was at Wounded Knee on
December 28, 1890 when troopers of the 7th
Cavalry opened fire on captured
“renegade” Lakota. It was more of a massacre than a battle in which more
than 150 men, women, and children were killed in the snow and some troopers died in their own cross fire. It was certainly the bloodiest of late Indian war battles. But not the last. The Drexel
Mission Fight occurred a day later between fleeing Lakota and elements of
the 7th and 9th Cavalry.
Those may have been the biggest
engagements, but over nearly the next 30 years there were skirmishes between the Army and small groups of Native Americans across the West.
The final battle was fought on January 9, 1918 at Bear Valley near the Arizona
border with Mexico.
The episode was actually a spillover from a long war within a war by the Yaqui people of Sonora for an independent
homeland in Mexico. That war had
essentially been going on for decades and had been enveloped by the larger Mexican
Revolution. Many Yaquis routinely crossed the porous border into the United States to work on the cotton farms of southern Arizona where
they were prized workers noted for
their diligence and endurance under brutal heat. The Yaqui would
pool the money they earned and buy firearms—mostly Winchester 30.30s or imported German
Mausers—and ammunition to take
back into Mexico to continue the fight.
Late in 1917 the military governor of Sonora, General Plutarco Elías Calles,
informally requested help from the
United States government to quash the cross border arms trade. At the same time local ranchers were complaining that Yaqui bands were trespassing on their lands and
sometimes slaughtering stray cattle
for food, or simply for their hides
to make quick, crude sandals for
crossing the rugged desert terrain.
Most of the US Army, of course, was
in or on its way to France. But not the Buffalo Soldiers of the 10th
Cavalry. After seeing how British cavalry had been cut to ribbons by machine gun fire early in the Great
War, the Army had decided not to deploy
cavalry in the American Expeditionary
Forces (AEF). Despite the fact that the AEF was commanded by a former Buffalo Soldier
Cavalry officer, General John J.
“Blackjack” Pershing, the tough and storied American Cavalry was stuck in
remote western posts guarding against a vanishing threat of Indian
uprising. It was a bitter pill for both the white
officers and Black troopers.
None the less, when The Nogales, Arizona subdistrict
commander, Colonel J.C. Friers
of the 35th Infantry ordered his men
and the 10th to take up a string of
positions along the border to try and interdict
the arms smugglers, the cavalrymen dutifully followed orders. At the far end of the line of bivouacs was a position at Atascosa Canyon, a natural border
crossing within Bear Valley. It was wild
and remote country, considered a no-man’s land where local ranchers and
their families took precautions when traversing. Frequent reports of slaughtered cattle in the
area indicated relatively heavy usage by the Yaqui.
Early in January 1918 Captain Frederick H.L. “Blondy” Ryder
and 30 men of Troop E took up the
Bear Valley position. They camped by an
abandoned rancho on a high
ridge. A rock formation provided a sweeping panorama of the surrounding, flat desert land. Ryder posted signalmen with high powered binoculars
on the summit to keep watch.
On January 8 a local cattleman rode
into camp and reported that a neighbor had found a fresh beef kill, only parts
of its hide stripped for sandals. The
Yaqui were in the immediate area and on the move. First
Lieutenant William Scott and a detail reinforced
the observation post. About mid-day on
the 9th Scott used hand signals to
show that the Indians were in sight and moving less than a quarter of a mile
away. By the time troopers in camp
saddled up they had vanished but Scott used hand signals to show the direction
of their movements.
When the Troopers thought they were
near their objective they dismounted and advanced in a skirmish line through a rugged draw. Capt. Ryder decided that they had lost
contact and decided to return to the horses, returning to them down a different
route. He soon stumbled on a bunch of abandoned packs. He knew he must be right on top of the
Yaqui. He reformed his skirmish line the
troops advanced again. They soon came
under rifle fire.
Colonel
Harold B. Wharfield, a historian of the 10th Cavalry,
wrote after interviewing both Army and Yaquis participants in the fight:
…the fighting developed into an old kind of Indian
engagement with both sides using all the natural cover of boulders and brush to
full advantage. The Yaquis kept falling back, dodging from boulder to boulder
and firing rapidly. They offered only a fleeting target, seemingly just a
disappearing shadow. The officer saw one of them running for another cover,
then stumble and thereby expose himself. A corporal alongside of the captain
had a good chance for an open shot. At the report of the Springfield, a flash
of fire enveloped the Indian's body for an instant, but he kept on to the rock.
The troops slowly advanced and firing was hot and heavy for
about half an hour, although casualties were very light because both sides were
fighting under good cover. Finally the
troopers overwhelmed a small rear guard covering the retreat of the rest of the
band successfully into Mexico.
There were 10 captives. Ryder later wrote:
… It was a courageous stand by a brave group of Indians; and
the Cavalrymen treated them with the respect due to fighting men. Especially
astonishing was the discovery that one of the Yaquis was an eleven-year old
boy. The youngster had fought bravely alongside his elders, firing a rifle that
was almost as long as he was tall. ...Though time has perhaps dimmed some
details, the fact that this was my first experience under fire—and it was a hot
one even though they were poor marksmen—most of the action was indelibly
imprinted on my mind. After the Yaquis were captured we lined them up with
their hands above their heads and searched them. One kept his hands around his
middle. Fearing that he might have a knife to use on some trooper, I grabbed
his hands and yanked them up. His stomach practically fell out. This was the
man who had been hit by my corporal's shot. He was wearing two belts of
ammunition around his waist and more over each shoulder. The bullet had hit one
of the cartridges in his belt, causing it to be exploded, making the flash of
fire I saw. Then the bullet entered one side and came out the other, laying his
stomach open. He was the chief of the group.
Ryder’s men treated the chief’s wounds as well as they were able. The Captain sent a messenger to try to obtain an automobile
to use as an ambulance to transport
the gravely wounded man to a hospital.
When none was found the Chief and others were mounted on spare horses
for the return to base at Nogales. The
Chief stoically endured the
agonizing 20 mile trip and even the uninjured captives suffered because not
being as Ryder said “horse Indians” they could barely stay on and suffered bloody chaffing on bare legs or through thin
cotton trousers.
Under questioning the Yaqui told
their captors that they had only fired on them because they thought they were
Mexican and that they would have surrendered immediately if they had known that
their pursuers were American.
The Yaqui captives were held for
weeks at Nogales while the Army tried to decide what the hell to do with
them. They adapted well. In fact with
three meals a day of the same rations
as the troopers, warm tents and blankets they were probably more comfortable than any had been for
years. They adapted well to camp life
and were soon doing clean up duty
and other chores around the base
with little or no supervision. They were exceptionally clean and orderly
and one observer marveled.
At the corral nearly any droppings were allowed to hit the
ground. During the day the Indians would stand around watching the horses.
Whenever a tail was lifted, out they rushed with their scoop shovels and caught
it before the manure could contaminate the ground. It certainly helped in the
decline of the fly population.
The troopers and the Indians
reportedly became very friendly and admired each other. All of the survivors—the Chief had died from
his wounds—including the 11 year old volunteered
to enlist in the Army.
But it was not to be so. Orders came down from Washington and the
Yaqui were transported in chains to Tucson
for trial in Federal Court where they were charged with “wrongfully, unlawfully,
and feloniously exporting to Mexico certain arms and ammunition, to wit: 300
rifle cartridges and about 9 rifles without first procuring an export license
issued by the War Trade Board of the
United States,” the Yaquis plead
guilty and the men were sentenced by Judge
William Henry Sawtelle to only thirty days in jail. Charges against the boy were dismissed.
The Yaquis were happy with the
outcome. They were afraid they would be deported to Mexico where they would
surely have been executed. Upon release, they vanished from history. Some
undoubtedly melted back across the border.
Perhaps they even renewed their cross border activities. Others may have stayed in the growing
community of Yaqui exiles in
Southern Arizona.
If this were a last hurrah for the Cavalry, it was not for the Yaqui. Their fight in Sonora continued until 1928
when the Mexican Army finally crushed the last holdouts in an offensive that
employed heavy artillery, machine guns, armored cars, and aircraft.
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