One of America’s great naval commanders—Captain Henry Augustus Wise—made use of the opportunity afforded him by the Mexican War of 1846-7 to collect material for a very engrossing account of some Indians concerning whom little was then known: the coast Comanches of Lower California and Mexico. The Captain—a cousin of Governor Wise of Virginia, and an intimate friend of Rear-Admiral Wilkes—was at that time second lieutenant of the man-of-war Independence, a steamship which was cruising between San Francisco and the Gulf of California.

His first acquaintance with the Western redskins was when he was sent ashore at Monterey, a hundred and twenty miles south of San Francisco, to reconnoitre the country and offer protection—or, if need be, a means of escape—to any United States subjects settled in the district. Let it be remembered that the California of that day was vastly different even from the California of two years later. Its hidden gold was only known to the Comanches and other Shoshonee tribes, and a few Mexican Spaniards; Monterey was still the capital, while “Frisco” was but a little 155 market-town; above all, the Yankees had as yet scarce more than a foothold in the state, the greater part of it being (till the end of that war) under Mexican sway; and the coast Indians had not yet had their own virtues knocked out of them and replaced by the vices of the white diggers of ’49.

Lieutenant Wise and his boat’s crew, on leaving the town, began to make their way down-country between the coast and the Buonaventura River, relying for hospitality mainly on the American settlers, many of whom did a thriving and regular trade in skins. They found the district tolerably quiet, though there were reports of various fierce battles between the Comanches and their old enemies the Apaches, many of the latter being, it was said, in the pay of the Mexicans. It was at a trappers’ camp that Wise heard this piece of news, a queer little circle of log-huts erected on a wide clearing in one of the river forests which they came upon by accident late one afternoon. The trappers—all of them American or American-Irish—gave a very cordial welcome to the little party, though they would not at first admit the necessity for their offer of protection.

“See here,” said one of them. “The Mexicans are shifting down south right hard, and all you’re likely to see, you’ve seen in Monterey. Your ship, or else some other, has bombarded Santa Barbara already; and, like as not, is clearing San Diego out by now. As for the redskins, take an old stager’s advice and let ’em fight it out theirselves. There’s one lot we’d like very well to get hold of, but the rest we don’t vally a cuss.”

“Who are they?” asked Wise, sitting down to the 156 meal of grilled deer’s meat that was set before him.

“More’n we can tell ye. Some o’ that coyotero lot that have learned to use a rifle; for gun-stealing and horse and rifle-lifting they’ve got no living ekals. Last week they killed two of our fellows at a camp up the river; scalped ’em; broke open the magazine, and got away with all the powder and lead, as well as half a dozen spare guns. ’Twas no good the rest going to look for ’em when they came home; p’raps they were half a hundred miles away by then.”

“I’ve had orders to seize all firearms found on Indians,” said the lieutenant.

“And don’t forget it,” said one of his hosts. “Take my word, them guns, and a good many hundreds beside, have gone down-country to the Mexicans; and the Injuns are allowed to keep all the horses and eat all the mules for their reward.”

“Eat the mules?”

“What else? What won’t Apaches eat, for that matter? How do you reckon they come to be called coyoteros? Half of ’em ’d live on coyotes” (prairie wolves) “and never touch anything more Christian, if they had their way. Well; I s’pose we’ll get a visit from ’em next; so far we’ve lost nothing but horses.”

“Are all of you in camp now?” asked Wise. At present he had only seen fourteen men.

“No; there’s six gone across the river to trade for horses; for, barring what they’re riding, we’ve only got one left, and he’s sick. If the redskins come ever so, we can’t run after ’em.”

“I can stay till the day after to-morrow, if you 157 think they’re likely to come within that time. I daren’t stay longer, for we’re to join the ship at San Diego on the twenty-sixth.”

“Wal; there’s eleven of you, and that’s a big help; we shan’t say no,” said the head trapper. “They might come to-night; might not come for another six months. You needn’t fear for your men’s rations; they won’t starve.”

When bed-time came, Wise posted five sentries, who were to be relieved after four hours’ duty, and went to the hut set aside for him with his mind at ease. He was in his first sleep, when he became drowsily conscious that the report of a rifle was fitting itself into his dreams. Too tired after his long march to be much affected by it, he was sleeping peacefully on, when the familiar, hoarse voice of the boatswain roused him effectually.

“Guard, turn out!—All hands on deck; come on, there.”

Sailor-like, he was on his feet and into his boots in a couple of seconds, and was running out, sword in hand, before the cry could be repeated.

“Hy-yah; hy-yah!” someone was shouting; and the boatswain was answering grimly:

“Yes; we’ll ‘hy-yah’ ye. Git off’n them horses will ye?”

By the firelight Wise could make out three mounted Indians, a fourth on foot, and, near him, a dead horse that had, no doubt, fallen before the sentry’s rifle. Around them stood his ten sailors, every man with his rifle covering one or other of the redskins; while the trappers, less accustomed to abrupt night-calls, appeared 158 more slowly, rubbing their eyes and cocking their guns.

“Hy-yah! Hy-yah, Mason!” Again the high-pitched nasal voice.

The head trapper, who came stumbling out of his hut, shouted a few words in the Shoshonee dialect, and, immediately after:

“Don’t fire, there; don’t let ’em fire, Mr. Wise; they’ve copped the wrong men. These are friends; Comanches,” and a great laugh from the trappers echoed over the camp.

“I challenged ’em first,” said the sentry who had fired. “How was I to know who they was?”

Mason, the chief trapper, spoke for a moment or two with the redskin who had hailed him; then signed to him and his companions to take their seats by the fire.

“Stop here, Lootenant, will you? They want to have a bit of a palaver with us.”

As they dismounted, Wise could see that the Comanches were tall, well-made men, very different from the Creeks and Choctaws of the Atlantic coast. All had moccasins, and three of them wore sleeveless jackets of leather; while the fourth was habited in a magnificent “buffalo” robe. Each had either the tail of a polecat or a bunch of leather snippings in lieu of it, tied to either heel; the front half of their moccasins was painted blue, the other half red. But what struck the officer most forcibly was the remarkable thickness and length of the Indians’ hair, which descended almost to their heels. Alas for human vanity; three parts of those tresses were false; their own hair and somebody else’s, together with a liberal 159 supply of horses’ tails, were all matted together with fat, and secured at the top by their feather head-dresses.

Mason approached the subject in curt, business-like fashion, rapidly translating to the rest all that the Indians said, and cutting very short the embroideries, formalities, and courtesy-titles contained in their address. It appeared that Comanche scouts had reported a march of the Apaches towards their own camp; they were several hundred strong, and were coming across country from the Rio del Norte direction.

“Last time we drove them away with great slaughter,” continued the Comanche chief; “but they are more now, and many of them have guns; they are more confident too, for our scouts learn that they have inflicted a great defeat on white men.”

“Ask him whereabouts,” said Wise hurriedly.

“In Sonora, it is understood.”

“Surely he doesn’t expect us to join him?” muttered Wise.

“No; no sich thing. He’s only come to say he’s moving his camp from the Buonaventura, so that we mustn’t rely on help from his tribe as heretofore, until they’ve met and whipped the Apaches. His tribe have always been the best o’ friends with us. Say, it’ll be a battle; not a make-believe; but bear in mind what I said; keep out’n it.”

“If these Apaches are coming from the del Norte, they’ll probably not be the same as the ones we expect.”

“Never no tellings; they’re here to-day, and goodness knows where to-morrow.”

“Then I’ll stay as long as I said,” answered the lieutenant; and he went back to finish his night’s rest.

When he turned out in the morning the Comanches had long gone and the trappers were discussing plans, some advocating going about their work as usual, since the seamen were there to guard the camp; the rest insisting that both parties ought to lie hidden within the camp and give it the appearance of being entirely deserted. As the Apaches, being mounted, would have such an enormous advantage, whether in the open field or in eluding pursuit, Wise and Mason decided upon the latter course, and positions were being assigned to the men, when, all in a moment, a dozen rifles blazed out from beyond the edge of the clearing; bullets rattled against the huts, and two of the trappers fell back wounded.

A roar of vengeance rose from all except the sailors, who, catching their officer’s eye, at once sent an answering volley among the trees.

“They’re on foot,” screamed one trapper as he snatched up his gun and ran like a madman across the clearing. “Come on, boys; there they go.”

“Fall in,” said Wise shortly; then turned to Mason. “This is a bad business for you chaps—but we must go to work in a proper fashion. You can spot their trail better than we; go on, we’ll follow you.”

With the exception of the delirious person who had already gone in pursuit, the trappers collected in an orderly manner, each man swiftly examining his stock of ammunition and snatching up whatever food lay to hand; and all were ready to start at a sign from Mason.

The noisy man was soon caught up with, bidden to hold his tongue and go back to attend to his two wounded comrades, and the chase began in good earnest. Every trapper had his special business to attend to, for the trail of each Indian had to be discovered, and, from the fact that all the twelve men were soon following a separate course, Wise gathered that the redskins had more or less dispersed in their flight. He merely occupied himself with keeping his men together, and as nearly as possible in touch with all of the trappers. For half an hour they proceeded at an easy trot, and so came to a long, narrow pool. Mason gave a single whistle and stopped, and everyone closed in on him.

“Strangers,” he murmured. His mates knew what he meant. The redskins had halted here in doubt about the depth; the stillness of the water showed that it had not been disturbed recently, and the trail proved that they had turned both left and right. “Three of you cross; if you don’t signal in two minutes we shall divide and follow both trails.”

The men knew well enough that just here the pool was but five feet deep at the very most, and three of them ran through it. Mason took out his watch, and, just after the final second had expired, a whistle was heard ahead. The main trail had been found. With their guns held high above their heads, the Yankees slid down the bank and crossed the water, and the double began again.

“Without they’ve got horses waiting for ’em, this looks like a ‘find,’” said Mason over his shoulder. “We shall come slap on to the prairie this way; and that’s as level as a billiard-table for nigh on ten miles; 162 and we’ve gained a rare big pull in crossing the pond.”

It was as he had said; in about another half-hour the forest came to an abrupt end.

“There they go,” shouted one excitable man; and this time a cheer rose from the sailors. The Indians, twelve of them, were scarcely a mile away, walking and running by turns, and to all appearances beginning to knock up, though they made a fresh spurt at sight of their pursuers.

The lieutenant now felt himself in a difficult position. These trappers had seen two of their friends shot down—perhaps killed—only an hour or so ago; and, though the average man of Anglo-Saxon blood (save him of cheap and nasty melodrama) is far too manly a fellow to be able to nourish revenge for an indefinite period, he may be a dangerous customer while the memory of a grievance is still fresh. Wise badly wanted the fugitives’ muskets; he wanted to arrest the owners of them; if need were, to hang them, in requital of their murderous attack; but he did not want to see them riddled with bullets and hacked with bowie-knives by men wild with passion.

“I think you’d better leave this to us now,” he whispered to Mason, who was a man open to reason. The old trapper shook his head, however.

“I wish I could,” he said, “but it’s no use trying. They’ve got a good many old scores against the varmints, and this one coming atop—Wal!”

“Then it’s going to be a race,” said the lieutenant, with decision; and he bade his men quicken their double, in the faint hope of their being able to outrun 163 the trappers. But, as things turned out, the difficulty was removed from his hands. For some few minutes he had noticed a thick mass of moving figures across the plain some distance farther to the left than the point for which the Indians were making. At first he had taken them for cattle; but, on closer inspection, he saw that they were mounted men. He pointed them out to Mason, who was now twenty yards behind.

“Yes; I see ’em,” he shouted. “It’s a battle; Comanches and Apaches, I count.”

In the sailors’ excitement they almost forgot the objects of their pursuit, though these were again showing unmistakable signs of breaking down.

“Now, lads; one good spurt and we’ll be within range,” said Wise. “Never mind about what’s going on over there.”

But it was not in human nature not to watch what could be seen of the combat; Wise himself could not resist the temptation; one side was already taking flight, shooting at their pursuers as they went; and the two forces formed, with Wise’s men, two converging lines which would very soon meet.

“The Apaches have had enough; they’re making for the mountains, and this here other lot of reptiles’ll get away on the first horses they can come near,” shouted Mason from behind.

In a few minutes the first of the Indian forces was only half a mile away from the sailors’ line of march. No doubt they had come to the hopeless stage in Indian warfare; the stage at which all arrows or bullets have been shot away and it is a question either 164 of close fighting—for which they have neither strength nor stomach—or of flight. But, strangely enough, the Indians on foot made no attempt to join their brethren; instead, they wheeled more than ever to the right.

For the next few minutes, things were little more than a confused blur to Wise; the dust was flying; he scarcely knew one party from the other; he was bewildered by the yelling of both, and by the lightning speed at which pursued and pursuers moved; in fact, he knew nothing definitely till a shout of triumph arose from the trappers behind.

“Got ’em!”

The Comanches, abandoning the hope of overtaking their enemy, had wheeled suddenly, and closed round the twelve scattering Apaches who were on foot.

“Guess it’s out of our hands now, anyway,” said Wise to the boatswain. Just then two of the Comanches turned their horses and cantered up to the sailors; at the same time the trappers joined them from behind, impelled by curiosity; and Wise heard old Mason talking with one of the men who had entered the camp the night before.

“He says, does the young white chief—that’s you, gov’nor—want them Mexicans? If not, they calculate they can find a use for ’em.”

“Mexicans?” said Wise.

“Ay; what do ye think of ’em? Mexican spies and gun-runners, dressed and painted up as Apaches, as I’m a sinner. If we’d had a redskin with us he’d ha’ seen through ’em in a jiff.”

The pseudo-Apaches were soon bound and, despite 165 the protest of the trappers, taken in charge by Wise, who handed them over to the first military picket he met. They were one of the many parties sent out by the Mexicans to steal guns, ammunition, horses, and information, and had visited the trappers’ camp that morning in the hope of making a haul of weapons. Finding it garrisoned they had run away again, venting their disappointment in a hasty volley at the men who wore the Government uniform, secure, as they flattered themselves, from pursuit through the trappers’ having no horses. Lieutenant Wise had many more exciting adventures before that war was ended, but these did not again bring him in touch with the warfare of redskins, whether genuine or sham.