"NAN-TAN-BE-TUN-NY-KI-AYE"

"The White Chief with the High Forehead"

or

"The Boss with the Bald Head" H .n II ill " ih till I il II il Wi Mi i H I' I'M Ill nil mdimi I 1 I

" NAN-TAN- B E-TUN-NY-KI-AYE "

''The White Chief with the High Forehead"

or

"The Boss with the Bald Head"

PRESIDENT'S ADDRESS ITpleasureis superfluousof greetingtotheexpressmemberstheofhonorthe West-and ern Surgical Association. Most of you, perhaps, were born in eastern states, but by right of migra- tion and subsequent adoption have become faith- ful citizens of the West. Whether we bear a localized fealty to the basin of the Mississippi, to the rugged country of the Rockies, or the Pacific sea board, we all feel a common pride in the name of Westerners. As surgeons we are justifiably proud of many worthy contributions by our confreres of the West. In this field we believe we are keeping pace quite satisfactorily. In mentioning the achievements of the west- ern physician, I need not point only to medical achievement, but also to worthy work done in governmental fields by such western representa- tives as Ray Lyman Wilbur and Hubert Work. The West has given generously of its medical talent in every need, and the development of the West, from the earliest days to the present, is rich with historical data attesting the influence of the western physician. When General Kearney marched west to Cali- fornia in 1846 to establish American rule, Dr. John S. Griffin was the chief army surgeon. He settled in Los Angeles and became intimately linked with its early development. His account

2 of that campaign is one of the most authentic. Griffin Avenue in Los Angeles today bears mem- ory to his name. In the "Mariposa Battalion" that discovered Yosemite Valley during the campaign against the Yosemite Indians was Dr. LaFayette Hough- ton Bunnell. Those who visit Yosemite today will see a bronze tablet erected to his memory, unveiled at the meeting of the California Medical Association in 1925. Following the acquisition of California from Mexico there was a gradually increasing migra- tion of physicians from the east. Dr. Lyman of San Francisco in his book, "The Scalpel under Three Flags in California," vividly describes these days. In 1849 upon the heels of the dis- covery of gold, the gold fever attacked physician and laymen alike and there was an increasing influx of physicians but like their brethren, they, too, went into the hills to search for gold. Most of them learned within a short time that more was to be obtained from practice and returned to the towns. In these days the common medical fee was two ounces of gold a visit (thirty-two dollars), apparently an exorbitant fee until it is learned that laudanum cost a dollar a drop, quinine a dollar a grain, potatoes a dollar a pound and a hair cut five dollars.

3 The medical history of California for the next quarter of a century reflects well the rough and ready character of life in general, shot through as it was with the wild influence of the gold min- ing days. The spirit of those thrilling days is well illustrated in the following lines:

"Gold! Gold! Gold! Bright and yellow, hard and cold, Hoarded, bartered, bought and sold, Spurned by the youngs but hugged by the old. Price of many a crime untold. Gold! Gold! Gold! Good or bad a thousandfold

Many a colorful character existed in these days, and perhaps no other physician excites our interest more than the bellicose Southerner, Dr. Beverly Cole, a talented Virginian whose elo- quent but ungovernable tongue kept medical affairs in a constant turmoil. He it was who drew down the wrath of Californians upon him by an interesting speech at a medical meeting, in which he commented upon the frontier character of the life and suggested that the women were of some- what easier virtue than those in the east. This insinuation was roundly denounced by his med- ical associates and he was subjected to a scathing scorn which would have proved withering to a less hardy soul. He seemed to thrive on conten-

4 tion and his next move was that of accusing several of his medical brothers of negligence and malpractice in caring for a prominent patient. The trial that followed brought several doctors to verbal blows and assaults and provided much general interest.

ItSfi an interesting commentary Snathe fitness of epita thatTrk^tomb^5tie_t:od ay"* ts-sur- mounted by^thj^figure otn^peaceful little lamb a that the ins tion on>me stonfcxreads, leverly*SvHee ^a«^anwa^an onlySononlj ana his Vptwents, survived him, had dictated the ' inscription.

Leonard Wood, later to rise rapidly in promi- nence, first gained recognition by his work as army surgeon with General Miles in the cam- paign against the Apaches.

I could paint in detail a picture of many phy- sicians which would stand as a tribute to our early medical brothers. Instead allow me today to pay homage to a man who without a medical degree, although he had studied three winters in the army medical school at Washington, D. C., ministered to the ills, obsessions and manias of five thousand Apache Indians. Grant me the privilege to digress and direct your attention to some of the early history of the Southwest that

5 should engage the common interest of all west- erners.

In sunny Arizona a short half century ago, the fear of the Red Man cast a menacing shadow over the land. Now calm order and tranquillity prevail. It is difficult to visualize the stark dis- quietude that existed during the dark rule of the Apaches when the "Bloody Eleven" were on the war path. A time when the fearful name Geron- imo was a synonym for savagery and no isolated settlers were safe from murder and depredation. The attempt to refashion a savage of wild nomadic habits and martial spirit into a peaceful dweller upon a reservation was proving a parlous problem to our government. Manifold factors united to prevent an equable solution. The Red Man's natural antipathy towards the white man (overcome, it is true, in many instances by the formation of many individual friendships), still precluded mutual understanding. Unfortunate handling of the Indians on the reservations by unsympathetic agents led to further dissension. The unscrupulous peddling of liquor to a race notoriously unbridled in its use of alcohol, often converted clear thinking Indians into wild savages. There is perhaps no living man more inti- mately familiar with the details of those trouble-

6 some days than Mr. John P. Clum, who lives today in Los Angeles. He bears the unique honor of having first captured Geronimo, of having so strategically lured this wily leader into a trap that he was forced to submit to an unconditional surrender and was shackled in chains and taken five hundred miles to San Carlos Indian Reserva- tion—A. T.

As agent at San Carlos from 1874 to 1877, he became a close and sympathetic student of the Indian. The Apache, with a mind at the same time childlike and mature, was capable of reac- tions at time suggesting childish petulance and again the normal reaction of a developed mind. Many times they were apparently pathologic reactions swayed easily by the incantations of a medicine man. Mr. Clum, as Indian agent, was in a similar position to that of the superintendent of a school for impulsive, incorrigible children. Only a close student of a man and his mind could have obtained the remarkable results that he did. We salute him as one whom, we feel, though eminently successful in his own work, would have made the history of Western medi- cine richer in many respects, had he selected medicine as a vocation.

Mr. John P. Clum was born September 1, 1851, in the valley of the Hudson. He attended

7 district school and was graduated from Hudson River Institute in 1869. He entered Rutgers College in 1870, but left the quiet halls of Rut- gers College in 1871, and accepted the position of "Observer Sergeant" in the Signal Service of the United States. He was ordered to Santa Fe, New Mexico for the purpose of recording mete- orological observations. When he arrived at the then remote spot, he little knew the thrilling experiences in store for him. The situation at that time existing between the Indian and the white man, although tern- porarily quiescent, was charged with potential menace. The southwest was the last remaining section where the red man still presented a prob- lem in so far as protection for settlers was con- cerned. The relentless westward sweep of the white man gradually had penetrated to the very heart of the Apache home. Naturally a mountain Indian, living on the fruits of the hunt and some corn planted in the valleys, they now found their mountains overrun with prospectors and their valleys occupied by settlers.

It is to the credit of the red man that for ten years following the acquisition of the country by the Gadsen purchase, the Apaches were the friends of the white man. Not until they were starving, and no appropriations of Congress had

8 been made to consider their necessities in any way, was there retaliation on their part. They resorted then to the only means they had at their disposal to obtain food and clothing; steal- ing from those who had driven them from their mountains and valleys and now were allowing them to starve. As we follow the thread of cir- cumstance leading to the culmination of the war with the Apaches, we find much to sympathize with in their troubles, and find they were sinned against fully as much as they sinned. The still primeval mind of the Indian was incapable of the subtle sophistries of modern politics by which aggression and acquisition may be carried out under the guise of smiling friendship. They had at first accepted the idea that the white man was their friend and was anxious for them to be happy and have adequate food and clothing. They wanted to live as a friend to the pale face. To their simple logic, this apparent solicitude on the part of the pale face had led only to the loss of their lands and a distressing condition of their race. Once this realization dawned, their gesture was not that of reaching for a pen to enter a protest and demand redress; the only gesture of just resentment they knew was that of reaching for their rifles and warpaint.

Thus we find in 1871 the apparent aim of the government was that of extermination of the Indians, and the enmity that the Indian felt for the white man was equalled if not exceeded by the deadly hatred the settlers entertained for the Apache. Into this arena of malevolence and mu- tual distrust, a peacemaker came in the person of the young Apache chief, Es-kim-in-zin. I do not like to compare and weigh races, nor am I engaged in the absurd effort to convince you that the Indian race, judged by the facts of his- tory, is entitled to a place equal to that of the Anglo-Saxon. But races like to be judged in two ways, by the great men they produce, and by the average merit of the mass of the race. Judged by our harsh standards of civilization the Indian race would not be accorded great acclaim based upon the average merit of the mass of their race. But individually, every tribe had its great men, men with rare souls that would be great in the bodies of any race or color. At the present time, we cannot but admire the grim courage and in- domitable character of another Indian, the Hin- du Mahatma Ghandi, whose tremendous soul seems out of place housed in his insignificant physical body.

As Geronimo personifies the vindictive, war- like side of the Apache, so Es-kim-in-zin repre- sents the noble qualities of the Indian. Possessed

10 of unusual capacities of friendship for the white man, he made a life-long friend of Mr. John P. Clum. From the inception of hostilities, he had the discernment to see that his relative handful of Indians never could gain anything by warfare, and that the pathway lay through conciliation and pleading for justice to the government. It was this spirit of peace that led him to bring five hundred of his tribe to the military post at old Camp Grant, Arizona in February, 1871, to ask for arrangements for permanent peace. Encouraged in this by the commanding offi- cer, the Indians were assured of protection and assigned a camp near by. There, while a treaty was being drawn up, Es-kim-in-zin rested, well content that he was near to a perpetuation of peace for his people. But with peace so close, it was destined that the unreasoning passion of the white man should intervene.

In the early dawn of April 30, 1871, a band of one hundred and fifty, recruited and led by white men in Tucson, fell upon the sleeping camp of Apaches, and with guns, clubs and knives, murdered one hundred and eighteen, mostly women, old men and children in an orgy of unreasoning slaughter. Out of Es-kim-in-zin's family of eight, he was able to save only his little daughter, two and a half years old. This stands

11 out as but one of numerous instances in which the American Indians were massacred by or at the instigation of whites. We become sick with revulsion today at such a spectacle of unbridled cruelty, but strangely, at that time the sympathies of the white people in Arizona were with the massacre. The leaders of the party, although indicted by the grand jury, were acquitted promptly when tried. We glimpse a little more clearly the reasons why many Apaches preferred the open hostility of the war path with no quarter given or asked, to the questionable protection of the government. Despite this tragedy, believing the massacre was the action of renegade whites and not asso- ciated with any official foray against his people, Es-kim-in-zin returned, assisted the army post officers in the burial of his people, and waited for definite arrangements for peace. One month later, a returning band of soldiers, who knew nothing of the arrangement for the peaceable occupation of the adjoining land by the Indians, fired on Es-kim-in-zin and his Indians. At this, he became enraged and left for the mountains. At the time of the arrival of Mr. John P. Clum on August 8, 1874, although convicted of no crime, Es-kim-in-zin was wearing shackles and working under a military guard making

12 adobes. Later, through the influence of Mr. Clum, he was released and allowed to choose land for cultivation, but ill luck followed him there. He was harassed by attacks by suspicious whites, who constantly thought him responsible for any hostility on the part of the Apaches, and many times sought his life. He finally was sent to Mount Vernon Barracks, Alabama, about 1881, for imprisonment, because of no proved law violation, but because of suspicion. In 1894, Mr. Clum found Es-kim-in-zin shar- ing the same fate with Geronimo, who was al- ways a renegade while in Arizona. Though bro- ken-hearted over his many misfortunes, he found him not only orderly but industrious—for he had charge of the "Indian Garden", and true to his character, HE WAS GIVING THE COMMU- NITY THE BENEFIT OF HIS LABOR AND INTELLIGENCE, while Geronimo made only little bows and arrows to sell—FOR HIS OWN BENEFIT—to travelers he met at the railway station.

Mr. Clum at the age of twenty-two years was faced with the task of preserving peace among eight hundred Indians at San Carlos, Indians who had entertained smouldering distrust of the government for years. It was no small under- taking, even for one much older in years and expe-

13 rience. Five Indian agents had been sent to the station during the preceding eighteen months, with constantly differing policies, and but little attempt to gain the good will of the Indians had been made. Instead of a firm, sympathetic hand- ling, management had been slipshod and disin- terested. Rebellious actions on the part of rene- gades had gone unpunished, and insubordina- tion, well aided by the making and drinking of "Tulepah" or "Tiswin", the native corn liquor, was generalized. It is a tribute to the executive ability of Mr. Clum that he was able within a few months to gain the sympathy of these hith- erto defiant Apaches. Strange as it may seem, within a short time he had converted this throng into a well organized self government with its own police force well trained in military maneu- vers.

In 1877, the territorial legislature authorized the Governor to enroll sixty of the Apache police as territorial militia and with Mr. Clum at their head they marched to Tucson and there, with firing of a company salute the police were trans- ferred to the service of the territory under com- mand of Capt. Beauford, Mr. Clum's chief of police at San Carlos. It was then they started on that memorable pursuit and capture of Ge- ronimo. Mr. Clum granted the Indians the right

14 to punish their own evil doers through their own tribal court and established a control over the use of the native liquor, that puts to shame the modern attempt at prohibition enforcement. Under his direction a Supreme Court was established with Mr. Clum as Chief Justice and several of the Chiefs as associate justices. All offenders were arrested by the Apache police, tried before an Apache court with Apache judges and Apache witnesses and put under the guard of Apache jailers. This new regime evoked much good will among the Indians. The authority of the police was generally accepted and it soon showed prom- ise of developing into the finely disciplined body it later proved to be. The lack of internal tribal dissension after the organization of the police, in contrast to the turmoil formerly existing, is notable. The capture of an illicit still making native whiskey is the only evidence of disturb- ance during the four years of Mr. Clum's direction.

Another incident more clearly showing the deep loyalty of the Apache police to Mr. Clum, and one fraught with great danger, was that of the attempted assassination of Mr. Clum by Disalin, a disgruntled Apache chief. Although recognized for intrepid personal bravery, Disalin

15 was haughty, proud, and markedly sensitive. Living with two wives according to the accepted polygamy of the Apaches, Disalin often in- dulged in stern reprimands to one of his wives because of suspected infidelity. In a jealous rage he once varied his usual habit of an old fashioned beating by tying her to a tree and practicing knife throwing from a distance of ten paces.

Mr. Clum heard of this and remonstrated at this heroic method, whereupon the sullen Disa- lin said nothing and strode away. No one knows what thoughts seethed in his Indian brain, but it is entirely probable that more than revenge induced his subsequent actions. He was an in- telligent chief and would have undertaken no action unless reasonably assured of success. Otherwise he would have waited for an oppor- tune moment for revenge. He waited until the troops had been removed from the reservation. He knew then that but three men really stood between him and mastery of the reservation. He had brooded over what to him was an insult to an Apache chief, but he thought beyond that and probably visualized the pedestal of heroism and courage he would be placed on by his fellow Indians if he could exterminate the white chiefs. Probably in his hate-crazed mind he foresaw himself as leader of the tribe in a new wild dash

16 off the reservation on to the warpath. He little thought of opposition from his own people.

One winter afternoon Mr. Clum was in his office. In the adjoining room sat his chief clerk, Sweeney, facing the wall, at work on his ac- counts. Across the parade grounds about two hundred yards stood the guard house, and beside it, in his room, sat Chief of Police Beauford. These were the three white men on the reserva- tion, and these were the three marked for death by Disalin.

He entered Mr. Clum's room quietly and stood before him, but before he had an oppor- tunity to act, by the merest accident, the janitor and the reservation physician, Dr. S. B. Chapin, entered. They eyed Disalin warily and he saw his smooth plan was thwarted. He grunted and walked into the room where Sweeney sat. The next second a shot was heard. Mr. Clum jumped for his six shooter hanging on the wall. Another shot and Sweeney fell headlong through the door in a frantic rush to escape. He was unharmed.

Disalin had disappeared on to the parade ground and outside a wild medley of yells and shots were heard. Looking out the window Apaches were seen shouting and yelling and shooting. Mr. Clum thought at first of a rebel-

17 lion and his negro janitor grabbed an axe in an intent to sell his life as dearly as possible. But they had under-estimated the loyalty of the Apache police. When Disalin had ap- peared running into the court yard headed toward the room of Chief of Police Beauford, he was intercepted by an Indian laborer at whom he shot but missed. As Beauford came out to ascertain the cause of the disturbance, Disalin shot at his head and again missed. His poor marksmanship had saved three intended victims. But the unerring aim of his own half brother was to take his life. Tau-el-cly-ee, a member and sergeant of the police force, had realized Disalin was running amuck, had witnessed his attempt to kill Beauford. His fellow Indian blood did not flame hot in sympathy with his brother, his cool head convinced him his duty and loyalty was for Mr. Clum. As Disalin came running along an adobe wall, he raised his gun and fired. At the same time another policeman fired. Disalin fell forward, dead, with a bullet through his head and through his chest. No greater test of loyalty could ever be asked than that of killing a brother by blood to prove that loyalty. It is sad to think that this same Tau-el-cly-ee was never remunerated for his loyalty to his

18 government and his state. He died in 1930, at noon of the day he was to have been present at the dedication of the Coolidge Dam. The last ten years of his life were spent in blindness. For the first time in the history of govern- mental management of the Apaches, they were being treated as though they were human and intelligent. It does not speak ill of the Apaches' capacity for human feeling that they responded with a growing affection for the man who insti- tuted this treatment. Too often our concept of the Indian has been that of the old scout who believed "the only good Indian is a dead Indian". We forget that every country has had its Bene- diet Arnold, and every race its quota of Jesse James and renegades. Such a race was the Apaches, it is true, but the better breed detested the law breaker and the renegade as we despise the gangster. Under the sympathetic guidance of Mr. Clum, we see these Indians living a peaceful life on the reservation for a period of four years, eager to better themselves and to assume the life of the paleface. But when the call came in 1877, for Mr. Clum to trace down the predatory Geronimo, who was abroad on the war path, pillaging and killing, the loyalty of those Indians was not given to a fellow Apache whom they knew as a

19 renegade and a troublemaker but to their bene- factor and friend, Mr. Clum. They eagerly took up the hunt. Thus on April 21, 1877, we find Mr. Clum and his native Apache police on the very heels of the renegade at Ojo Caliente, New Mexico, where they were supposed to be joined by three companies of cavalry.

The government's military force was a day late, however, and Mr. Clum was forced to act quickly or find his prey far out of reach. The details of the only bona fide capture of Geronimo, by his own people, led by Mr. Clum, runs the gamut of shrewd manoeuvres. Geronimo was lulled into a false sense of security when Mr. Clum approached his camp with only twenty- two of the hundred police he had available. Geronimo had heard there were some native police looking for him, but did not know the exact number and when he saw the mere handful he grew disdainful. Under the cover of night, however, Mr. Clum brought up the remainder of his force, under the command of Capt. Beau- ford, and secreted them in an empty building adjacent to the proposed meeting place with Geronimo. At daybreak Geronimo was sum- moned for a supposed parley, and with his fol- lowers, came swaggering to the meeting place. There is a scene well deserving historical preser-

20 vation. Picture the insolent, vindictive face of Geronimo, with a thin-lipped, cruel mouth, his face daubed with war paint, standing in the front row with his sub chiefs and behind him a hundred of his renegade warriors, similarly be- daubed with war paint, and eager for a fight if their leader so indicated, standing with an air of easy arrogance engendered by the knowledge that they outnumbered the police four to one. Mr. Clum attempted to open a discussion but the open defiance of the renegades indicated the futility of speech, and at a given signal, the eighty hidden police surrounded the band, and the renegades found themselves facing an enfi- lading fire. Stunned with surprise and burning with rage that he had been outwitted by a type of strategy that would have done credit to the wiliest of Indians, Geronimo had no alternative but unconditional surrender. With a despairing grunt and then a calm "In-ju" (all right) he handed over his gun. That gun today is still in Mr. Clum's possession.

Thus, in his twenties, the only actual capture of Geronimo was effected by Mr. Clum. Never again, following his numerous escapes from the reservation, was Geronimo forced to an uncon- ditional surrender. The later so-called captures by Generals Crook and Miles were volitional

21 surrenders, following long months of depreda- tion, when Geronimo became satiated with plundering and fugitive life and thought kindly of a few months stay on the reservation in which to recuperate for new forays abroad. In these surrenders, he stipulated that he be allowed to keep the stolen cattle he had gathered in, that he be merely returned to the reservation without imprisonment and that he be permitted to retain his arms. No more humiliating conditions could have been demanded and yet they were accepted twice and the transaction called a capture. The stolen cattle, although in many cases identified by the owners by the brand, were not returned because of the terms dictated by the renegade and accepted by the military commanders.

After the capture of Geronimo, Mr. Clum was instructed to take all the Warm Springs Apaches, a nearby tribe, to the San Carlos reservation, and so together with Geronimo and his aids, shackled and under guard, they started on the long trip of five hundred miles to San Carlos. It was on this trip that smallpox broke out. The first victim was placed far in the rear in the charge of an Indian who had suffered from the disease, but soon more and more de- veloped. Before the trip ended, several had died,

22 and for several months smallpox continued to take a toll from the Indians.

Geronimo was placed in shackles in the guard house at San Carlos and it was expected by Mr. Clum that an easy conviction upon grounds of murder would follow. Evidence was simple and conclusive, but prosecution was never instituted. For some time Mr. Clum had been handicapped by a vacillating policy by the government officials at Washington. Not only had they failed to appreciate the work he was doing with the Apaches, but they had developed such a lack of co-operation that Mr. Clum felt that further attempt at lasting improvement without governmental support and approval was futile. With reluctance he resigned his agency and started publishing the Arizona Citizen in Tucson, A. T.

Geronimo escaped within a few months from San Carlos and was off to the mountains to prepare for another series of raids and murders.

For nine more years, until 1886,was he to rob and pillage, and cost the American government millions in money and hundred of lives before he surrendered to General Miles.

What a tremendous saving in lives and bother would have resulted had Geronimo been

23 immediately prosecuted, convicted and executed, as he well deserved?

During the four years Mr. Clum had the Indian agency at San Carlos he concentrated the various tribes so that his Apache charges grew from one thousand to five thousand, and seven other agents were relieved. In 1876, he took twenty-two Apaches, rep- resenting many tribes of the Apache nation, east on a tour, appearing at the Centennial Exposition at Philadelphia, and at Washington. They also gave stage performances at St. Louis. The friendships he made with these Indians were never severed. This trip was entirely sue- cessful except from a financial standpoint. Mr. Clum expected to be able to make expenses by giving performances representing accurately the Indian modes and customs of the Apaches. The performances were discontinued and the troop and Mr. Clum finally returned to San Carlos reservation. While in Washington Tah-zay, son of Cochise and hereditary chief of the Chiricahua Apaches, was stricken with pneumonia and died, October, 1876. He was buried in the Congres- sional cemetery—the only Indian we know of buried there.

Mr. Clum returned to San Carlos a few days before the new year of 1877. He immediately

24 visited the several Indian camps in order to maintain personal contact with the different bands, to discuss any complaints or petitions that might have arisen during his absence. Therefore in January, 1877, accompanied by half-a-dozen Apache friends including the great peace-maker, Es-kim-in-zin, he proceeded to the different sub-agencies. He heard while on this tour of inspection that the Chiricahuas were restless and war-like. He proceeded to this camp. There many things were discussed in a friendly manner and conditions seemed satisfactory, when suddenly Nah-chee, the brother of Tah- zay, began a serious talk. He seemed greatly dis- tressed over the death of Tah-zay. He said his brother was in good health when taken on the trip east, but that Mr. Clum had returned with- out him. He did not understand why Tah-zay died unless someone who had influence with the evil spirits had caused the sickness and death. Nah-chee was very serious and felt that Mr. Clum was responsible for the pain he felt in his heart for his brother. The situation looked seri- ous, there was a brief period of silence when suddenly the genuine diplomat, Es-kim-in-zin, again showed his worth. Abruptly he began to speak. Quietly and gravely he related the details of the sickness and death of Tah-zay. He told of

25 the wise and serious pale face medicine men, and neatly clad nurses who had attended and watched over the sick Indian; of Mr. Clum's anxiety be- cause of his illness, and great sorrow when he died; of the manner in which the body was prepared for burial, and the coffin of polished wood with its plate and handles of bright silver. He became eloquent as he spoke of the great men who came as a tribute of respect to the dead Apache. General Howard, who made the treaty of peace with Cochise, the father of Tah-zay and Nah- chee, was there, and so was the Commissioner of Indian Affairs, who represented the Great White Father at Washington. There were other great men present whose names he did not remember, but he would always remember the very good man, Rev. Rankin, who talked about the 'Great Spirit', and read about Him from a book, and said that He was the God of the Apache, as well as of the white man. Then he described the wonderful "glass wagon" in which the coffin was placed, and the many grand 'coach wagons', with glass windows and little doors and soft cushions—all drawn by beautiful black horses—and how General Howard and Com- missioner Smith, and the good man who talked to the Great Spirit, and the other great men and all of the Apaches got into the coach-wagons

26 and rode to the beautiful place on the bank of the Potomac River where there were many trees, and all about were hundreds of stones of different shapes with writing on them and there was a great fence all around the place. Here, Es-kim- in-zin said, many of the great chiefs and war- riors of the white men were buried, and the stones had been placed there to mark their graves, and the writing on the stones told the names of the dead heroes, and what great things they had done. And how a grave had been pre- pared for Tah-zay in this beautiful place, and there we buried him—and we were all very sad— but we had done everything that was right and good for Tah-zay, while he was sick—and after he died.

Having uttered this graphic recital, Es-kim- in-zin paused and allowed a moment of silence to precede his climax. Then, looking intently into the faces of the group of Chiricahuas about him, he declared that he was proud because he had been privileged to witness the very remark- able things of which he had spoken; that he was sure his words had seemed good to Nah-chee and to his people; that Tah-zay had been a good and brave man—son of a great and famous chief— that he had lived well and had died in that won- derful city where the Great Father lives—and

27 his grave was there amid the tombs and monu- ments of those who had been great chiefs among the white men. Again Es-kim-in-zin paused briefly, and then, "My friends," he concluded, "I have spoken long, and you have been patient, but I had to speak because the story is true. I know you feel as I do. A good man, a great chief, is no longer with us. We are sad, and yet to any family it is a great honor to have had one of their members cared for in the grand city of the Great White Father, as Tah-zay was while ill, and then buried among graves of pale face heroes." As Es-kim-in-zin proceeded with his story, the serious expression on Nah-chee's face melted into a smile and at the conclusion of Es-kim-in-zin's oration, Nah-chee held up his hand and said, "In-ju," all is well. He never mentioned Tah-zay's name thereafter, or gave any further indication of displeasure. In March, 1931, together with Mr. Clum, his son and Mr. Harry Carr, a journalist, I followed back the old Apache trail, and found a peaceable, industrious people. Where San Carlos stood, now the waters of the lake formed by the Cool- idge dam are slowly covering it. The Indians have been moved to Rice where they are en- gaged in agriculture and cattle raising. The old trails where once the Apaches lay in ambush

28 have become broad highways. A more sympa- thetic government is considering their problems as those of their wards rather than those of out- casts. The Indians, themselves, have responded with friendship but the old Indians who were on the reservation in older days, remember more particularly another friendship, one that shone out brightly because it existed at a time when enmity for the Apache was the rule—I mean the friendship of Mr. John P. Clum. We must remember that Mr. Clum became the agent at San Carlos at the age of twenty-two years and that he was only twenty-five years old when he successfully conducted the Geronimo campaign. As we stood at Rice this year and I saw the deep-seated emotion with which the aged In- dians, who had known him fifty years ago, greeted Nan-tan-be-tun-ny-ki-aye, as they knew Mr. Clum, I felt the full force of that statement that an Indian never forgets—at least not his friends. There were tears in the eyes of the old scouts, Sneezer and Goody-Goody (Apache oc- togenarians) as they shook his hand. "Nan-tan-

be-tun-ny-ki-aye, Nan-tan-be- tun - ny- ki - aye," they repeated, "You have come back at last." The silent respectful acclaim of the Indian was given Mr. Clum during all the years of his work among them. Public recognition of the

29 notable work of Mr. Clum among the Indians of Arizona was delayed fifty years, due, no doubt, to the fact that the Indians lived in peace during this time.

Fifty years prior to Mr. Clum's public recog- nition the citizens of Tucson, Arizona, gave a banquet and presented a gold sword to General Nelson A. Miles, because of the volitional sur- render of Geronimo. The public then as now became hysterical over a man in military uni- form, but sadly neglected the man who brought peace to all inhabitants of the southwest. If he could have carried on as his good judgment di- rected, there would never have been the Apache war of the early eighties and Geronimo the rene- gade would have been properly tried, imprisoned or executed.

The following years of Mr. Clum's life were unusually rich with experience and adventure, running through the thrilling days at Tomb- stone, where he established the Tombstone Epi- taph, and was Tombstone's first mayor. His extension of the postal service in Alaska in 1898, took him over the famous Chilkoot Pass—to Nome in 1900.

No other years could have given any greater return of adventure, nor have given the satis-

30 faction of feeling that a great service had been rendered an unfortunate people, and hundreds of undying friendships had been made. As Westerners, with grateful hearts to those pioneers who made possible our present day occupation of our country, we give our homage to Mr. John P. Clum.

31