Chapter D: R. Diffendorffer, merchant in Juarez (2)

Before my arrest I had written my brother Emmett, who was employed on the overland stage line west of Mesilla, that there would be fighting between the Texas and United States troops, and suggested that he come in and report to the commanding officer at Fort Fillmore. He came, but received no encouragement at Fillmore, and learning of my arrest and being in danger of rebels at Mesilla, he attempted to make his way toward California. He went in the mail coach with a party of six other young men, all well armed.

At Cook’s canyon, about one hundred miles west of Mesilla, they were attacked by a large body of Apache Indians under Mangas Coloradas, “Bloody Sleeves,” and one of the most desperate frontier fights on record ensued. It appears that our friends had time to gain the top of a little hill and build a stone breastwork about two feet high, inclosing a space about twelve feet square. A freighter, Mr. Deguere, who passed the scene a few days later with his wagons, found and buried the bodies and found everywhere the evidences of a terrible struggle. Under a stone, on the top of the wall, he found a pencil note, dated July 23d, 1861, stating that they had been fighting two days; had killed many Indians; that all were now killed or wounded except two; that they were out of water and would try to escape that night. I have visited the scene of this conflict. A tree, not more than ten inches in diameter, about one hundred yards from the fortification, has many marks of bullets evidently discharged from inside the wall. I give a list of the names of these brave men, the extent of whose daring and suffering can never be known in this strange life of ours. They were: Emmett Mills, Freeman Thomas, Joe Roacher, M. Champion, John Pontel, Bob Avlin and John Wilson. _All were killed._ The Indians who sold their arms and watches in Mexico said that they lost forty warriors in the fight. The newspaper containing this sad account was thrown to me through the window of my prison.

It was about this time that I stood at the door of the guard house and saw Colonel Baylor with less than three hundred poorly armed Texans start on his march to capture Fort Fillmore, then garrisoned by seven hundred and fifty regular troops, the flower of the United States army, and I knew and said that he would succeed. That history is a short one. Baylor took possession of the town of Mesilla unopposed, Major Lynde made a show of attempting to dislodge him, and a skirmish ensued in which Lieutenant McNally, not yet knowing that it was only mimic war, exposed himself and was wounded.

Lynde retreated in good order(?) and that night abandoned the post and fled in the direction of Fort Stanton. A show was made of destroying the stores at the post, but very little damage was done. All was confusion and demoralization. A patriotic quartermaster, Lieutenant Plummer, left some government drafts in his pockets at his quarters. These were sent to Washington indirectly by the rebels, and the money collected.

The command marched, or straggled, to San Augustine Springs, eighteen miles east of Fillmore, where being overtaken by Colonel Baylor with about two hundred men, they surrendered unconditionally without firing a gun. No sooner was the surrender an accomplished fact than the same subordinate officers who had aided to bring it about, some by indifference, some by sympathy and some by treachery, united in charging the whole responsibility upon poor old Lynde.

Major Lynde was dismissed from the service, but was reinstated after the war. He was not treacherous, he was weak, and he was deceived to his ruin and the disgrace of his flag. I have never doubted but that had he been properly supported and encouraged the result would have been different. Of his subalterns some resigned, some joined the enemy and some went into the recruiting and quartermaster’s service, none, so far as I know, except McNally ever did much fighting. I do not censure all of them, but I thought, and still think, that there should have been one among them who would have assumed command, arrested Lynde, and won a colonel’s eagles.

When Colonel Baylor returned to Fort Bliss he sent to me and proposed to release me on parole. I refused to give my parole, and he informed me that I was released from close confinement and given the limits of the post. “But,” said he, “if you attempt to escape to the enemy’s lines I will capture and hang you.”

The secret of my release was that General Canby had arrested at Santa Fe a prominent secessionist, General Pelham, and, placing him in prison, threatened him with the same treatment that I should receive, and Canby was a man of his word.

At the request of my friends, McGarvey, Craig and others, the “limits of the post” were enlarged as to me, so that finally I drifted to the Mexican side of the river. I had been confined about thirty days, in July and August, 1861.

The nearest United States troops were at Fort Craig, one hundred and seventy-five miles north of El Paso, but I determined to make the journey. I obtained a horse from Craig and bought another, and secured the services of a Mexican who claimed to be a guide.

We started at 11 p. m. from Juarez. We crossed the river below Concordia and traveled north on the east side of the Organ Mountains, avoiding all roads. When we thought we had reached a point nearly east of Fort Craig, we rode west across the mountains. The journey was not so easy as I supposed. The guide did not know the country, and, the weather being cloudy, we were lost in the mountains. When the sun came out we traveled west, knowing that we must strike the river somewhere. The fifth morning out from El Paso we heard the band play guard mount at Fort Craig, and rising a little hill my heart was gladdened by the sight of the flag of my country.

This post, Fort Craig, was then commanded by Col. B. S. Roberts, of the regular army, a brave and true soldier, who was concentrating a force to resist General Sibley, who was then (December, 1861) en route from San Antonio with a force of thirty-five hundred Texans to capture and hold New Mexico. Colonel Roberts received me very kindly, and after I had made a written report of what I had seen and learned, offered to procure me a captain’s commission in the New Mexican volunteers (Kit Carson’s regiment) or to get me a commission as first lieutenant and place me on his staff as aide-de-camp. I chose the latter.

Early in February, 1862, General Sibley arrived before Fort Craig with his whole force and a battery of six guns, Major Teel’s. Roberts had collected, to oppose him, one thousand regulars, two regiments of Mexican volunteers (natives), under Colonels Carson and Peno, and two companies of Colorado volunteers. Two companies of our infantry had been detached and trained to a battery of six guns, under the brave, unfortunate Captain McRae. On a Sunday evening the Texans appeared in force in front of the post, and we marched out to fight them in the plain, but they retired.

That night they crossed to the east bank of the Rio Grande, below Fort Craig, and next morning commenced to pass round the post by a road which our engineers had declared impassable. Their advance reached the river five miles above the post at 9 o’clock a. m. at Valverde, since changed to San Marcial. General Canby, who had arrived at Fort Craig, ordered Colonel Roberts to check them with the cavalry, and I went with him. We drove their advance back from the water, and Roberts sent me back to report to General Canby that the enemy’s whole force would reach the river before noon, and to ask for re-enforcements. Canby sent Major Selden’s column of infantry, six hundred strong, McRae’s battery, Carson’s New Mexico volunteers and the two Colorado companies.

When we reached the scene of action the enemy had arrived at the foot of the hills, about a mile east of the river, there being between them and the river a level plain studded here and there with cottonwood trees, but in places the ground was open. Our right and their left rested on a round mountain on the east bank of the river. This was February 21st, 1862.

-----

Footnote 1:

“All of which I saw and a part of which I was.”

Footnote 2:

Did Arnold experience similar regrets and wishes?

------------------------------------------------------------------------

THE BATTLE OF VALVERDE.

This peaceful valley, which had scarcely before echoed to the report of the sportsman’s fowling piece, was now to resound to the thunders of artillery and become the scene of bloody conflict. The west bank of the river where we first took position, was an open, level plain. The Texans had advanced their battery and support into a clump of trees about three hundred yards from the bank of the river and almost in the shadow of the mountain. They were in position when McRae arrived. McRae unlimbered on the very brink of the river, and this fierce artillery duel commenced. It did not last more than thirty minutes.

Though McRae’s loss was heavy, his victory was complete. Teel’s battery was rendered useless for that day. When the artillery fight was nearly over Roberts sent me across the river with an order to Capt. David H. Brotherton to charge the enemy’s battery with his two companies of infantry, and to bring Major Duncan’s cavalry to his support. Brotherton prepared to obey promptly, but as Duncan refused to obey the order I took the responsibility of recalling Brotherton and was commended for so doing. The enemy had now advanced toward the river in force, and Roberts ordered Selden with his infantry to cross the river, advance into the wood and attack with the bayonet if necessary. The men received the order with a shout and plunged into the river, which was cold and reached up to their armpits. Right gallantly did they obey the order, but they encountered double their number, strongly posted, and were compelled to retire, which they did in good order. Meantime our two Colorado companies had done good service on our left. They were dressed in gray like our militia, and the Texans, mistaking them for Mexicans, charged them recklessly. The Colorado men reserved their fire for close quarters, and emptied many saddles at the first fire. The remainder retired in disorder.

The New Mexican volunteers were keeping the enemy from the water and skirmishing briskly at times. There was now, at 2 o’clock p. m., a lull in the fighting. Some of us had lunch and talked of the prospects. So far all was favorable to us except the repulse of Selden.

We had kept them from the water, McRae had beaten their battery, and the Coloradans had gained an advantage. We were well posted and provided; their animals and men were weary and without water—they could not retreat; they must surrender or starve or fight quickly and desperately. During this lull Roberts crossed our battery to the east bank and placed Selden in support of it.

At 3 o’clock that afternoon General Canby appeared on the field and was received with cheers by the troops. After a brief consultation with Roberts he advanced our battery about five hundred yards, withdrew Selden from its support, leaving only two companies to protect it, and opened fire. Carson’s Mexican regiment had been moved to our right and advanced, and with one company of regulars repulsed a charge of Texas cavalry with some loss. I observed Carson closely. He walked up and down his line, quietly encouraging his men with such words as “Firme, muchachos, firme” (steady, boys, be firm).

The Texans now rapidly concentrated all their available force at the foot of the hills in front of our battery for one last desperate charge. On they came, on foot, a mass of wild men, without order and apparently without command, with rifles, shotguns, pistols and all kinds of arms, and yelling like demons. Colonel Roberts saw the danger and ordered me to bring all the strength possible to charge their flank as they neared the battery. I found Major Duncan with his cavalry in an advantageous position, and gave him the order, but again he failed to obey. Turning to Captain Wingate, with his two companies of infantry, he responded promptly and was immediately on the jump. But he was soon mortally wounded, and Stone, his second officer, being killed, the movement was checked.

I returned to the battery. The small support was giving away; Canby, whose horse had been shot, was on foot. He had taken a musket from a retreating soldier and was urging the men to re-form and charge. It was too late. The battery worked on to the last moment. Captain McRae and his first lieutenant, Michler, were killed at their guns. Bell, the second lieutenant, was wounded. Of the ninety-three men belonging to the battery less than forty escaped. The contest was now ended, but notwithstanding this disaster, we retired to the post “with the regularity of a dress parade.”

Considering the numbers actually engaged, Valverde was one of the best fought and one of the most sanguinary conflicts of the war, the mortality on either side being near one hundred. Five officers of the regular army, McRae, Michler, Wingate, Stone and Bascom, were killed in that fight. I admired General Canby (since treacherously murdered by the Modocs) alike for his courage as for his amiable character, but I believe that if Colonel Roberts had been left to carry out his plans that day Valverde would have been a Union victory and the campaign closed. General Sibley, although present, did not seem to develop during the day. The fighting was done mostly by Green, Scurry, Lockridge and Pryon. The day after the battle a flag of truce was borne into the post by Colonel Scurry, Major Ochiltre and another. Scurry being an acquaintance inquired for me, and I was present at the interview. They demanded a surrender of the post, which Canby of course refused. Some time was spent in refreshment and conversation, and they retired.

To condense and conclude this story, the Texans reconsidered their threat of taking Fort Craig and took up their march for Santa Fe. We followed, leaving a sufficient garrison in the post, but it was not Canby’s intention to bring on a decisive engagement. He had other plans.

The Texans took possession of Santa Fe, the capital of the Territory, without opposition; but their good fortune allured them too far. They determined to attempt the capture of the Government supply depot, Fort Union, east of Santa Fe. Colonel Scurry commanded this expedition. At Pidgon’s ranch (Glorietta) they met Colonel Slough’s command of Colorado volunteers, and the regulars from Fort Union under Colonel Paul, who had united. Another battle took place almost as desperate and fatal as Valverde. In numbers they were about equal, but the result was favorable to the Federals, chiefly because during the day a detachment was sent to the Texan’s rear, which under the direction and lead of Colonel Collins, a brave citizen, utterly destroyed their supply train. They slept hungry that night and then retreated in haste to Santa Fe. Meantime Canby had from Albuquerque opened communication with Paul and Slough, and a junction was effected at Tejaras, thirty miles east of Albuquerque.

Sibley had now commenced his retreat to Texas. Our combined forces under Canby by a silent forced march overtook them at 2 o’clock one morning at Peralto, the home of the loyal Governor Connolly. We camped within two miles of Peralto without being discovered. We could hear the sounds of revelry at the governor’s house, then Sibley’s headquarters. A brief consultation was held. Roberts proposed to “go in at daybreak and wake them up with the bayonet,” and, of course, the whole command would have voted to do so but Canby’s policy was to drive them out of the county without further loss of life—to “win a victory without losing men,” he said, and perhaps he was wise.

We skirmished all that day, with advantages in our favor, but neither commander seemed disposed to bring on a general engagement, and that night Sibley, with the full knowledge of Canby, continued his retreat down the Rio Grande, a portion of our troops following them as far as El Paso.

Of the thirty-five hundred Texans who entered New Mexico only about eleven hundred returned to Texas. The others were dead, wounded, sick, prisoners or deserters. Many were buried on the west side of El Paso street, near where the Opera House now stands.

This was a disastrous expedition. They were brave men, but their management, discipline and at times their food, was not good, and the mortality from disease was great.

I accompanied Colonel Roberts to Santa Fe, where he detailed me as post quartermaster, but learning that, while I was a prisoner at Fort Bliss President Lincoln had appointed me collector of customs at El Paso, and not intending to follow the profession of arms, I resigned and returning to the home from which I had been driven, took possession of that office.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

CAPTAIN MOORE.

While serving at Fort Craig, as above related, and when the Texans were advancing from El Paso nearer to Fort Craig, we had an outpost of two companies at a village called Alamosa, thirty miles south of Craig, on the Rio Grande, under command of Capt. —— Moore of the United States cavalry. One morning General Roberts said to me: “Take an escort and go and see what is going on at Alamosa.” That was all the order I had. I went and met the younger officers, who told me that their captain was “in a bad way” and had been for several days. Going to Captain Moore’s quarters I found him in a hopeless state of intoxication. After interrogating him until I was thoroughly satisfied of his condition, I demanded his sword and ordered him to go with my escort and report to General Roberts in arrest.

I charged the sergeant to take good care of him but did not think of his pistol. When they arrived in view of Fort Craig Captain Moore drew his pistol and “_blew out his own brains!_”

Captain Moore had the reputation of being a good officer, with only that one fault, and of course the tragedy, and my connection with it made me sad—but what else could I have done? My action was approved and commended.

After this campaign General Roberts, being in Washington and testifying before the Congressional Committee on the conduct of the war, said: “One young man, W. W. Mills, who had the courage to stand up at El Paso and Fort Bliss against the secessionists, was thrown into prison there and kept in confinement and in irons for a long time and his life threatened. He succeeded in making his escape and in reaching Fort Craig, having undergone great hardship, being three days without anything to eat and without water.

“Because of his loyalty and services General Canby appointed him an acting lieutenant. He was my aide-de-camp at the battle of Valverde, and his conduct there was not only meritorious, it was highly distinguished for zeal, daring and efficiency.”—(Report of Committee, part 3d, page 271.)

I believe every young American of spirit has a natural desire for some romantic adventure requiring unusual exertion and involving some danger. I possessed this desire and it was fully gratified. That the Confederate soldiers manifested magnificent courage and devotion I freely grant. They once preserved my life from what General Scott termed “the fury of the non-combatants;” but I am glad that my feeble efforts were put forth in behalf of a cause which the civilized world has approved and the righteousness of which no one now questions, I believe. I have met many bitter partisans in my time, but I have never heard any one attempt to defend or excuse the actions of Twiggs or Loring or Sibley or Garland or any of the officers who connived at or assisted in and about the disgraceful surrender of Major Lynde as related in these pages. Few young men ever came home from the perils of camp, prison and battlefield more victorious or better vindicated than did the writer to El Paso with the Federal forces in 1862.

The very _charge_ against me then was that I had been the leader of the Union people of this frontier.

While the advocates of secession had been more active and boisterous in their display of power than the friends of the Government had been, there was a strong latent Union sentiment even among the Americans, and with the Mexicans it was universal; so that a large majority approved of my course and rejoiced at my safe return.

Some who had bitterly opposed and even wronged me came to make peace (and promises), and I repulsed no man, because I felt that I could afford to be generous and desired to live in peace with my neighbors.

There were a few who still cherished the hope and belief that the Confederate cause would ultimately succeed, and that the El Paso Valley would be recaptured, and I would fare even worse than before; and the very few of these latter who are yet living, while they do not now, as then, denounce me as a “Union man” or as being “false to my home and fireside,” still occasionally intimate that I must have been guilty of _something_ wrong—but they do not specify what the wrong was.

I organized the Republican party in El Paso County, and for a decade I controlled its politics. Yes; a political “boss,” if you will have it so, but I never purchased any votes nor juggled any man out of an election after he had won it, as was done in the case of Adolph Krakaner after he had been fairly and honestly elected Mayor of El Paso in April, 1889.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

A STORY WITHOUT A MORAL.

On my return journey from Washington City in 1863, when traveling in the stage coach with driver and two other passengers, we halted for supper and a change of animals at a village seventy miles north of Fort Craig, where, falling in with some officers who had served with me during the then recent campaign, I accompanied them to their tents and there became so interested in telling and hearing stories that I forgot all about time and the stage went forward without me. I was the more to blame for this thoughtlessness because I was at the time bearing important official dispatches.

With many regrets and self-reproaches and good resolutions for the future, I procured a Government horse and started alone for Fort Craig, riding all night. I arrived at Fort Craig in due time safe and well, but learned that the stage coach had been attacked by Indians and that the driver and two passengers had been killed. It is certainly right to teach schoolboys (as I did forty years ago) that promptness, perseverance, diligence and watchfulness will greatly increase their chances for success, but is it right to teach them that by these means or by any other means they can _command_ success? But I am not writing moral philosophy or solving riddles.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

BENJAMIN S. DOWELL.

On previous pages I have mentioned this character as “Uncle Ben” Dowell, the postmaster. He was a Kentuckian, who served through the war with Mexico, and at its close settled at El Paso in the “forties” and married at Ysleta.

He was an illiterate man, but of great force of character. One day in the early “fifties” he did good work by killing, in a street fight, a desperado who was known to have broken into the Customs House and robbed the safe and who, with a party of men like himself, was defying the authorities. Dowell and I became friends, but when the question of secession arose he went wild on that subject and was, in part, responsible for my arrest as an “abolitionist,” and we were bitter enemies for several years.

He left El Paso with the retreating Texans just before we (the Union troops) took possession of that place in 1862. He returned to Juarez, and we met there several times but did not speak to each other. Finally Dowell wrote me a letter (printed below) which led to a renewal of our friendship, which continued till his death:

“Paso Del Norte (Juarez), Mexico, October 12th, 1864.

“Mr. W. W. Mills: Dear Sir—You may think strange to receive a communication from me, but as circumstances alter cases I will proceed with my subject. I left Sherman, Texas, on the 27th day of December last with the intention of making my way, if possible, to El Paso, as I did not think my life safe in Texas out of the Confederate ranks, which service did not suit me. I came here with the full intention of crossing over to El Paso to live, if I could get admission by complying with all that might be required of a citizen. But when I arrived here I commenced to talk with some old friends, and changed my notion for a time. I am now tired of living a dog’s life, and I wish to live on your side of the river.

“I hope you will pass over in forgetfulness any hard feelings you might have entertained toward me, and report favorably to the commanding officer at your post. Please let me hear from you by the bearer, and let this communication be confidential, and oblige, yours, etc.,

“B. S. DOWELL.”

This letter was brought to my office by Uncle Ben’s little daughter Mary, and I immediately replied that I would be his friend, and without consulting the commanding officer, Col. George W. Bowie, I invited Dowell to come to my house. He came the next day, bringing his very valuable race mare, the apple of his eye, and he told me that his brother “Nim,” whom I also knew, was a Union man and had attempted to escape from Texas and had been followed and killed by the Confederates.

While we were talking over old times and thinking no harm a file of the guard appeared at my door and informed me that they had orders to take Dowell to the guard house and his mare to the Government corral.

I was, of course, indignant. What? Federal bayonets shoved into _my_ door after all that I had gone through? In this frame of mind I called on Colonel Bowie and gave him what in these days might be called “a song and dance.” I told the Colonel that Dowell was ready to take the oath prescribed in President Lincoln’s amnesty proclamation, but he replied that he would not permit his adjutant to administer the oath, but out of consideration for me he would permit my friend to return to Mexico with his mare. He went, but the following day I wrote out the proper paper for Dowell and he swore to it before Henry J. Cuniffe, United States Consul at Juarez, and I took my friend and introduced him to Colonel Bowie as a fully fledged American citizen!

The Colonel gracefully acknowledged that he was beaten, and Dowell remained with us. Dowell owned some desirable town lots in El Paso, which were saved from confiscation by his timely oath of allegiance. These lots were of little value at the time, but he managed to hold them till the advent of the railroads and the first El Paso boom, so that he lived poor and died wealthy.

The Dowell race mare proved useful; and here I state some facts of which I am neither proud nor ashamed. Uncle Ben assured me that she could outrun any quarter nag that would come to El Paso, and we formed a partnership under which he furnished the animal and the “horse sense” and I the money for the stakes. The race track was nearly along the line of West Overland street, the outcome being at its junction with El Paso street. Race animals were brought from California, New Mexico and Colorado to contest with us, and in four years we won several thousand dollars _without losing a race_.

I withdrew from the partnership and quit all such business after my marriage in 1869.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

BRAD. DAILY.

While the hostile Texans were approaching Fort Craig I was a lieutenant and aide-de-camp to the commanding officer at that post, Gen. B. S. Roberts. The General directed me to try to find some intelligent, faithful citizen acquainted with the country to go as a spy to El Paso (from whence I had escaped) and bring him reliable information of the Texan forces in that vicinity. Brad. Daily, whom I had known well at El Paso, was at the time wagonmaster in charge of Ochoa’s train, and in camp near the post. He was an old frontiersman, an Indian fighter, and had often been employed as a guide by United States army officers. I knew that he was a Southerner, but I knew that when a man of that class took the Union side he could be trusted, and I knew that he possessed every other qualification for the dangerous service. I visited his camp and asked him casually what he thought about the war. He replied that while he was a Southern man “Uncle Sam” had always treated him right and that he would stand by the Government. I then told him what was wanted, and he agreed to undertake the enterprise.

I took him to the General and vouched for him, and he was supplied with two good horses and plenty of gold, and at midnight he started on his mission. I, of course, gave him no letters but referred him to two of my friends, whom he also knew very well, Don José Ma. Uranga, then Prefect of Juarez, and my former employer, Mr. Vincente St. Vrain, a merchant of El Paso. Daily entered Juarez in the night and went to the Prefect’s house, where he remained concealed for a week or more, only going out at night. He met St. Vrain and other Union men at the Prefect’s house, and he actually prowled through Fort Bliss of nights disguised as a Mexican peon, and came away as well informed about the number of troops and other matters at that post as the Texas officers themselves. He brought an unsigned letter which I knew to be in St. Vrain’s handwriting, giving wholesale military information. This letter, had its contents been known to the Confederates, would have cost my friend St. Vrain his life. Said letter has been published by the United States Government in the “Records of the Rebellion.”

On his return Daily rode in the dark into a camp of Indians and came into Fort Craig with an arrowhead in his shoulder. He was paid $2,500 for his two weeks’ work, which he deposited with the Quartermaster, and was employed as a guide during the campaign which ensued.

This man Daily was at times addicted to drink, and when intoxicated would gamble. One night an officer awakened me and informed me that Daily was at the sutler’s store drunk and gambling and being robbed. I went to the store and found him in company with some gamblers (camp followers) vainly trying, with their help, to sign his name to an order on the Quartermaster for two thousand dollars. I tore the paper into bits and took Daily away. The next morning I reported the facts to General Roberts, and he directed me to take a file of the guard and destroy all the intoxicating liquor at the store, place all loafers I found about the store in the guard house, and lock the store and bring the key to him. The order was executed. About a dozen “loafers” were provided with quarters in the guard house; barrels of whisky were rolled out and the heads driven in and hundreds of bottles were smashed. Some of the soldiers scooped up whisky in their hands and drank it.

After the campaign Daily with his savings became a respectable and successful merchant of Las Cruces, N. M., and twenty years later was sued for that two thousand dollar debt. I was interrogated as a witness, and testified to the facts as I have written them above. Daily won the suit.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

JOHN LEMON.

In 1861 John Lemon, a gentleman of about my own age, resided with his wife and children at La Mesilla, N. M., fifty miles north of El Paso. I was not then acquainted with Mr. Lemon, but soon after my escape to Fort Craig from the Confederates at Fort Bliss in 1861, and after the Confederates had taken possession of La Mesilla, Lemon and one Jacob Applezoller and a Kentuckian named Critendon Marshall, were arrested and placed in the guard house as “Union men.” One midnight these three were taken from the guard house by the guard and a party of citizens to a bosque and Marshall was hung by the neck until he was dead. Applezoller was also suspended by a rope, but for some reason was cut down before death ensued, and I believe is still living in New Mexico. Lemon and Applezoller were taken back to the guard house and some time later Lemon made his escape and joined the Union people at Fort Craig, as I had done a few weeks earlier. There we two refugees met for the first time, and there commenced an intimate friendship which continued to the time of his death by assassination, which occurred at La Mesilla about ten years later. After the Confederates were driven from the frontier Mr. Lemon returned to his home, where he acquired wealth and popularity, being repeatedly elected County Judge. One night in 1865 an express came to my house at El Paso with a note from Lemon requesting me to come immediately to La Mesilla, but without intimating why. I went at once, and Lemon explained that he had been slandered by Col. Samuel J. Jones (a neighbor) and that he was determined to make Jones retract or kill him. I called on Jones as Lemon’s friend, and he referred me to a young frontier lawyer then almost unknown but who has since become very wealthy and very prominent in the politics of the nation, attaining the very highest offices excepting only those of President and Vice President.

This gentleman acted as Jones’ friend, and it was due to his fairness and firmness that Jones signed a retraction and a fight was avoided. I am proud to say that this friend of Jones’ became my friend, and remains so to this day. This was Stephen B. Elkins. Of all the men of the frontier with whom I have been associated I liked John Lemon best, and I think him the most admirable character of them all. He possessed all the best qualities of the frontiersman with none of their vices. He was _with_ us, but not _of_ us. He was strictly temperate, perfect in habits and morals, and yet a genial, sympathetic companion and faithful friend, and behind a manner almost as modest and quiet as a Quaker’s there rested a personal courage and resolution equal to that of Andrew Jackson. In 1870 Mr. Lemon’s party (the Republicans) had gained a county election, and while he was going to join the procession which was celebrating he was struck in the head with a bludgeon from behind and died a few days later.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

“BOB” CRANDALL AS A DAMPHOOL.

While I was collector of customs at El Paso a good friend of mine, Captain Crandall, had been honorably discharged from the Union army and had located at Tucson.

Crandall came to El Paso and stopped at my house and informed me that his father had died in Indiana and that he (“Bob”) was en route there to get his portion of the estate, and he hoped to return pretty well fixed. After several months Bob returned, and came to my house looking dejected and rather seedy. He told me that others had administered on his father’s estate before he arrived and had got away with it all and that he was destitute.

I asked my friend what he proposed to do? He said he would work his way back to Tucson and commence life anew. The next morning I asked him to accompany me to my office, and as we walked I said: “Bob, as soon as we get to the office I will write your appointment as deputy collector of customs at Tucson at a salary of $1,800 a year, and I will advance you a month’s salary.” My friend paused and when he spoke there were tears in his _voice_. “Mills,” he said, “do you know that I am a Democrat?” “Yes,” I replied, “but is that any reason why you should be a damphool?” “Well,” replied the Captain, speaking slowly, “I don’t know that it is, but sometimes it appears to me _that it amounts to about the same thing_.” He got the appointment and years later died at Tucson. I told this story to a mixed audience in a political speech at the Court House in El Paso, and feel sure that it did not offend even the most enthusiastic Democrat.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

ROBBERY OF MY HOUSE IN 1865—INDIAN TRAILERS.

In 1865 I lived, a bachelor, in a house which is still standing on the lot at the corner of San Francisco and Chihuahua streets. My sleeping room was in the southeast corner of the house with a window opening on the back yard (corral) to the south. My brother, E. A. Mills, and a negro servant slept in the back rooms of the house.

One day a number of Mexicans were carrying and stacking adobes in that back yard and of course had left five thousand foot tracks. That night I locked the front door of my room as usual and went to visit some friends. On my return to my room about midnight I unlocked the door and struck a light, to find that everything movable which I had left in the room had been removed. Every article of clothing, bric-a-brac, a Mexican blanket worth $100, and all such articles as a gentleman keeps in his private room were gone. If any reader has had a similar experience he knows what a foolish, puzzled feeling comes over him on making the discovery; he first thinks he has gotten into the wrong room, then that somebody has played a practical joke on him, and must be at that moment watching and laughing at him. Suddenly the unpleasant truth flashes upon him that he has been robbed. Such was my experience.

Well, I awakened my brother, started him over the river for some Indian trailers, and then went to sleep. Two Indians came and lay down before my door till daybreak, and then called me and made an examination. They informed me that one lone thief had entered my room at the window and packed my property into a big round bundle, which he had lifted and dragged through the window. It was, of course, impossible to follow the thief’s tracks through the corral where so many men had been tramping the previous day, but the Indians had seen a few of his footprints near the window, and _that was enough_.

They started to walk slowly in a circle around my premises, going in opposite directions with their eyes fixed on the ground. Presently one of them whistled. He had found the trail. The Indians, and I with them, followed this trail for an hour, through many meanderings, and finally arrived at an old adobe house near where the Pierson Hotel now stands. The ground was dry and none but an expert trailer could see a single track. The Indians walked around the house in a circle, at some distance from it, and informed me that the thief was inside, and refused to act further because they feared they might be assassinated by some of his pals. I entered the house and found two Mexican women, who told me that no man was there or had been there. I searched all the rooms and found no one, and so reported to the Indians. They said: “He went in. He did not come out. _He is inside._” Making a more thorough search, I found the gentleman concealed in one of the rooms under a stack of beef hides.

He was a noted thief of Juarez. None of the stolen articles were found on him or in the house. Our prisons were insecure and the courts were not much safer, and I turned the man over to the “boys,” who somehow convinced him that this was not a good locality for him, and he was heard of no more.

Several weeks later a little Mexican boy came to me greatly excited and told me that he had seen a corner of my Mexican blanket projecting from a little sandhill near the house where the thief had been caught. Every article which had been stolen was found tied in that blanket and uninjured. The Indians in going around the house to find any trail which might be going out had taken too wide a circle, or they would have found where the articles were buried.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

ATTEMPT AT ASSASSINATION IN 1867—A MYSTERY.

In 1867 I lived in my home on San Antonio street, two blocks west of where the Court House now stands. There were two rooms opening on the street, one of which had a spare bed in it for guests and was never used by me. Back of this room, with a partition door between and with a door and window giving into the back yard, was my own private room—the room in which I habitually slept. My brother slept in another part of the house. Of course it was my habit to lock the door opening into the back yard, around which yard there was an adobe wall about six feet high.

I had some bitter enemies among the Americans at that time, some avowed and others secret, as I afterward learned.

On the night in question I retired as usual in my own room, and, strangely enough, on _this_ night of all nights, must have neglected to lock the door. I awoke during the night and for some reason which I have never been able to explain to myself, a fancy seized me to sleep in the guest’s room. I went there, taking my pistol and candle, leaving my watch on the table and all my other belongings handy for any one who might come to take them, provided _theft_ were the object. I supposed the back door to be locked, and closed the partition door between the guest’s room and the bedroom I had left. I awoke again with a consciousness that some one was in the room. I had not heard any sound. I could not possibly see anything, yet I was _sure_ that I was not alone. I was wide awake, was not alarmed; my feeling was rather one of wonder.

I said aloud: “Wait a moment; I will strike a light.” I did so, and saw a man, in his shirt sleeves, going through the partition door into the bedroom, and closing it after him. I did not see his face. I seized my pistol and followed through my bedroom and heard some one scramble over the wall and into the street. Rain had fallen that night, and any man, in climbing into the back yard, must have soiled his hands with mud and dirt from the wall.

I called my brother and we found that no article of my belongings had been disturbed, but my pillow and bed clothes were smeared and blackened, and we distinctly saw the prints of a man’s fingers! The object was clearly not theft. It is not usual to awaken a man to steal his property. _That man’s hand surely held a knife and he was feeling for my heart!_ I have always felt sure that the man who entered my room was not an enemy, but a hireling. But who was the instigator, and what the motive? That remains a mystery to this day. But to me a greater mystery still is _why_ did I change my room that night? _How_ did I know that there was some one in the room where I was sleeping, when I could neither see him nor hear him? “Quien sabe”!

------------------------------------------------------------------------

FATE OF MY CUSTOM-HOUSE DEPUTIES.

Of the thirty or more young men who were from time to time employes of mine in this Customs District while I was collector (1863 to 1869), I believe only two are now living (1900), my brother, E. A. Mills of Mexico, and Maximo Aranda of San Elizario. Seven of them met violent deaths, four while in the service. Here is the record: Mills (no relative of mine), killed by Indians near Tucson in 1864; Virgil Marstin, killed by Indians near Silver City in 1865; John F. Stone, killed by Indians near Fort Bowie in 1869; James Taylor, killed by robbers near where the El Paso smelter is now located, in 1866; Judge John Lemon, killed by a mob at Mesilla, N. M., in 1869; Moses Kelly, shot to death at Presidio del Norte, about 1870; Abraham Lyon, shot to death at Tucson; A. J. Fountain was recently murdered on the plains near Las Cruces, N. M., and A. H. French died insane in asylum at Austin.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

CHANGE OF CUSTOMS DISTRICT—SAMUEL J. JONES. (1863.)

My last military service was as quartermaster and commissary at District headquarters at Santa Fe, in 1862. In the summer of that year, General Canby granted me a leave of absence for sixty days, and I visited Washington City and received from President Lincoln my commission as collector of customs along with his personal thanks and good wishes.

The collection district of Paso del Norte then comprised only the Territories of New Mexico and Arizona, the collector’s office being at Las Cruces, N. M. El Paso county belonged to the Galveston District, with a deputy at El Paso—A. B. O’Bannon, a Confederate. But Congress, at my suggestion, passed an act, approved March 3, 1863, attaching El Paso county to that district, “Provided that the collector should reside at El Paso.” Thus, by my efforts, El Paso became the permanent residence of collectors of customs, and as a result, later on, obtained its fine Government building! Col. Samuel J. Jones was then collector of customs at Las Cruces. This Jones was prominent and in some respects a remarkable character. He was the notorious “Sheriff Jones” during the border troubles in Kansas in 1856, when the attempt was made to make Kansas a slave State, and was then called a “border ruffian.” Jones was a man of education, of fine personal appearance, and with a reputation for courage which had never been questioned. It fell to my lot to be the first to call him down, and I did it successfully and still have the hostile letters which passed between us, but I refrain from recording the particulars of that incident in my life. Jones had been appointed collector of customs by President Buchanan, but had taken the side of secession.

On my return from Washington, Jones refused to deliver to me the books and property of the office, and correspondence, quarrels and threats followed, and we became bitter enemies. But he yielded what I demanded. Twenty years later I met Colonel Jones at Silver City, old, poor and paralyzed, just able to walk about, but only able to articulate the words “yes, yes,” and “no, no.” Knowing his condition, I gave him my hand, which he grasped eagerly, and that night he signified to me that he desired me to occupy the same room with him, which I did.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

CAPTAINS SKILLMAN AND FRENCH.

Capt. Henry Skillman resided near El Paso for many years previous to the Civil War. He was a Kentuckian, a man of magnificent physique, over six feet tall, wearing long, sandy hair and a beard flowing to his girdle.

He was an Indian fighter, mail contractor, and a guide and scout for the United States troops and for wagon trains through the Indian country. He was the Kit Carson of this section. He was highly esteemed, almost beloved, by the people of the valley, of both races.

He had one fault. At rare intervals he would get very drunk and become wild and ride his horse into the stores and saloons of the village, firing his pistol the while, and order everybody to close up, as he desired to run the town himself. Then he would go home and sober up and come to town, pay the damages and apologize to every one and then go about his business.

As an offset to this peculiarity he would not allow any other man to play the same role, when he was around. Once, when a stranger attempted it, and everybody, including the peace officers, was terrified, Skillman was notified, and came up, sober, took away the ruffian’s arms, boxed his jaws, and notified him to leave town, which he did.

On another occasion, 1857, when my brother Anson had accused two El Paso men of counterfeiting, they plotted to assassinate him on the street, and then to swear that the killing was accidental. As they approached my brother, pretending to be very drunk, Skillman saw and understood the maneuver, and, springing to the rescue, called out: “Look out there, Mills; they are going to kill you.”

When the secession talk commenced, it was known to me and to a few others that Skillman, although his associates were nearly all Confederates, inclined strongly to the Union side; but he finally “went with his State,” and in 1864 he, with a small band of Confederates, was acting as a scout and keeping up communication between San Antonio and the Confederate colony at Juarez, Mexico, near El Paso.

General Carleton, then in command of New Mexico, decided upon the capture of Skillman and his party, and for that service he selected Capt. Albert H. French, of the California Volunteer Cavalry.

General Carleton was present at El Paso when French left on this dangerous expedition, and I KNOW that he gave French special instructions to bring Skillman in alive “if possible,” and I know the reason for this order.

French was a Boston man. He was as large and as well formed as Skillman, and, like him, was of sandy complexion, hair and beard.

Skillman and his party were near Presidio del Norte en route for Juarez when Captain French (himself unseen) discovered them and watched them go into camp (April 3, 1864).

At midnight, French, with a portion of his little command, including two citizens of San Elizario, _crawled_ into Skillman’s camp, and, rising to their feet, called for surrender. Skillman arose, armed, and refused, when French shot him dead.

In the volley which followed two more of Skillman’s party were killed and two wounded. The others surrendered and were brought to San Elizario.

There were citizens of El Paso county in each of these parties, some of whom are still living.

I regret to see that Col. George W. Baylor has been led, by false information, no doubt, into doing some injustice to the memory of the gallant Captain French.

In a late communication to the El Paso Herald the colonel says: “Captain French killed or rather massacred Capt. James Skillman, who was in the C. S. A. and on picket duty in the Davis mountains. They had been personal friends, and through treachery French had located Skillman and killed him. It has been said that the matter so preyed on French’s mind that it became unbalanced before his death.”

Colonel Baylor is himself an old soldier, justly proud of his record, and he should be careful not to place too much reliance on the statements of others. It is impossible that French and Skillman could have been “friends,” as the colonel states, because they had never met each other till that fateful night. And again, the colonel shows lack of information by speaking of Skillman as “James” instead of Henry.

Captain French’s conduct was soldierly and commendable.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

FURNISHING ARMS TO MEXICO—1865.

Early in 1865, when the Mexican patriots, under President Juarez, were hard pressed by the French troops and the forces of the usurping Emperor Maximilian, my friend, Don Juan Zubiran, then collector of customs at Juarez, brought a gentleman to my office and introduced him as a confidential agent of the Mexican government.