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<div>
  <h1 class='c000'><span class='xlarge'><span class='sc'>Forty Years</span></span> <br /> <span class='small'><span class='sc'>At</span></span> <br /> <span class='xlarge'><span class='sc'>El Paso</span></span><br /> <br /><span class='small'>1858-1898</span></h1>
</div>

<hr class='c001' />

<div class='nf-center-c1'>
  <div class='nf-center'>
    <div><span class='sc'>Recollections of War, Politics, Adventure,</span></div>
    <div><span class='sc'>Events, Narratives, Sketches, Etc.</span></div>
  </div>
</div>

<hr class='c002' />

<div class='nf-center-c1'>
  <div class='nf-center'>
    <div><span class='small'>BY</span></div>
    <div class='c003'><span class='large'>W. W. MILLS</span></div>
  </div>
</div>

<hr class='c002' />

<div class='lg-container-b'>
  <div class='linegroup'>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line'><span class='small'>“Around my fire a friendly group to draw</span></div>
      <div class='line in1'><span class='small'>And tell of all I felt and all I saw.”</span></div>
    </div>
  </div>
</div>

<div class='pbb'></div>
<hr class='pb c004' />

<div class='nf-center-c1'>
<div class='nf-center c005'>
    <div><span class='sc'>Copyright</span>, 1901,</div>
    <div class='c003'><span class='small'>BY</span></div>
    <div class='c003'>W. W. MILLS.</div>
  </div>
</div>

<div class='pbb'></div>
<hr class='pb c004' />

<div class='nf-center-c1'>
<div class='nf-center c005'>
    <div><span class='small'>...TO...</span></div>
    <div><b><span class='sc'>Mary Hamilton Mills</span></b></div>
  </div>
</div>

<div class='pbb'></div>
<hr class='pb c004' />

<div class='chapter'>
  <h2 class='c005'><b><span class='xlarge'><span class='sc'>A Warning.</span></span></b></h2>
</div>
<hr class='c001' />

<p class='c006'>These writings are meant to be truthful, but they are
too rambling and egotistical to possess much historical
value. Few subjects are treated of except such as the
writer was personally connected with or in which he felt
a special interest. Much that he was tempted to write
has been omitted out of consideration for the living and
the dead and their relations.</p>

<p class='c007'>The book will have little interest except for those who
know something of El Paso or of the men and events
treated of, or of the writer himself.</p>

<p class='c007'>For such only is it written.</p>

<div class='c008'><span class='sc'>W. W. Mills.</span></div>

<div class='lg-container-l c009'>
  <div class='linegroup'>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line'>El Paso,</div>
      <div class='line'>November, 1901.</div>
    </div>
  </div>
</div>

<div class='pbb'></div>
<hr class='pb c004' />

<div class='nf-center-c1'>
<div class='nf-center c005'>
    <div><span class='pageno' title='9' id='Page_9'></span><span class='large'>CONTENTS.</span></div>
  </div>
</div>

<hr class='c002' />

<table class='table0' summary=''>
<colgroup>
<col width='93%' />
<col width='6%' />
</colgroup>
  <tr>
    <td class='c010'></td>
    <td class='c011'><span class='xsmall'>PAGE.</span></td>
  </tr>
  <tr><td>&nbsp;</td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c010'><a href='#elpaso'>El Paso in 1858</a></td>
    <td class='c011'>13</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c010'><a href='#roster'>Roster of Ante-bellum Residents of El Paso</a></td>
    <td class='c011'>18</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c010'><a href='#incidents'>Incidents Before the War and Early Impressions</a></td>
    <td class='c011'>22</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c010'><a href='#murder'>Murder and Robbery of Giddings’ Store (Sheldon Block)</a></td>
    <td class='c011'>36</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c010'><a href='#canby'>The Canby-Sibley Campaign in 1861-62</a></td>
    <td class='c011'>38</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c010'><a href='#valverde'>The Battle of Valverde</a></td>
    <td class='c011'>56</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c010'><a href='#captainmoore'>Captain Moore</a></td>
    <td class='c011'>61</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c010'><a href='#moral'>A Story Without a Moral</a></td>
    <td class='c011'>64</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c010'><a href='#dowell'>Benjamin S. Dowell</a></td>
    <td class='c011'>65</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c010'><a href='#daily'>Brad. Daily</a></td>
    <td class='c011'>68</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c010'><a href='#lemon'>John Lemon</a></td>
    <td class='c011'>71</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c010'><a href='#damphool'>“Bob” Crandall as a Damphool</a></td>
    <td class='c011'>73</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c010'><a href='#robbery'>Robbery of My House in 1865—Indian Trailers</a></td>
    <td class='c011'>74</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c010'><a href='#attempt'>Attempt at Assassination in 1867—A Mystery</a></td>
    <td class='c011'>77</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c010'><a href='#fate'>Fate of My Custom-House Deputies</a></td>
    <td class='c011'>79</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c010'><a href='#change'>Change of Customs District—Samuel J. Jones (1863)</a></td>
    <td class='c011'>80</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c010'><a href='#french'>Captains Skillman and French</a></td>
    <td class='c011'>82</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c010'><a href='#furnishing'>Furnishing Arms to Mexico—1865</a></td>
    <td class='c011'>85</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c010'><a href='#juarez'>President Juarez’ Government at Ciudad Juarez, Near El Paso—1865-66</a></td>
    <td class='c011'>88</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c010'><a href='#contests'>A Visit to Washington—Political Contests</a></td>
    <td class='c011'>89</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c010'><a href='#reconstruction'>Reconstruction—Constitutional Convention of 1868-69</a></td>
    <td class='c011'>94</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c010'><a href='#hamilton'>Hamilton-Davis Contest of 1869—Adoption of Constitution</a></td>
    <td class='c011'>100</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c010'><a href='#marriage'>Marriage and Journey to My El Paso Home</a></td>
    <td class='c011'>102</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c010'><a href='#assault'>Assault by Kuhn at Fredericksburg</a></td>
    <td class='c011'>108</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c010'><a href='#third'>Third Voyage Over the Plains—Enemies and Plots</a></td>
    <td class='c011'>110</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c010'><span class='pageno' title='10' id='Page_10'></span><a href='#enemy'>A. J. Fountain—My Worst Enemy</a></td>
    <td class='c011'>114</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c010'><a href='#arrest'>Arrest at San Elezario—Assault by Atkinson</a></td>
    <td class='c011'>117</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c010'><a href='#drivers'>From El Paso to Austin—Stage Drivers</a></td>
    <td class='c011'>119</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c010'><a href='#lawyers'>Some Texas Lawyers</a></td>
    <td class='c011'>122</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c010'><a href='#litigation'>Litigation About El Paso Property</a></td>
    <td class='c011'>126</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c010'><a href='#star'>“Star” Mail Contracts—The First Trust—1869-70</a></td>
    <td class='c011'>131</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c010'><a href='#victorio'>Victorio, the Great Apache General</a></td>
    <td class='c011'>136</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c010'><a href='#killing'>The Killing of Clarke and Williams—The Causes—1870</a></td>
    <td class='c011'>138</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c010'><a href='#cardis'>The Cardis-Howard Feud—The Mob at San Elezario, 1877</a></td>
    <td class='c011'>142</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c010'><a href='#bloody'>The Bloody Reign of Marshal Studemeier</a></td>
    <td class='c011'>154</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c010'><a href='#longmeier'>Longmeier—A Close Call</a></td>
    <td class='c011'>159</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c010'><a href='#holdup'>A Hold-Up</a></td>
    <td class='c011'>160</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c010'><a href='#union'>The Union Men of the South</a></td>
    <td class='c011'>163</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c010'><a href='#philosophy'>Enemies and Philosophy</a></td>
    <td class='c011'>165</td>
  </tr>
</table>
<div class='pbb'></div>
<hr class='pb c004' />

<div class='nf-center-c1'>
<div class='nf-center c005'>
    <div><span class='pageno' title='11' id='Page_11'></span><b><span class='xlarge'><span class='sc'>Forty Years at El Paso.</span></span></b></div>
  </div>
</div>

<hr class='c002' />

<p class='c006'>I was born on a farm near Thorntown, Indiana, in
1836, and labored alongside of my father and brothers and
the hired men during the crop season, attending the village
school during the winter months, till I was seventeen
years old, when my father sent me for two years to an
academy in New York State. While there he secured for
me an appointment as a cadet at the Military Academy at
West Point, but I gave way to my brother, Anson Mills,
who is now a Brigadier General in the United States
army. After returning home for a year, I came to
Texas with my brother Anson. We came down the Mississippi
at the time of the great flood in 1857, to New
Orleans, and thence up the Red River to Jefferson, Texas.
From Jefferson we walked to McKinney, in Collin
County, where my brother had previously resided, and I
secured a school at Pilot Grove, in Grayson County, and
spent a year there happily, and, I trust, usefully. During
that year my brother was appointed surveyor on the
part of Texas to the joint commission which located
the boundary line between Texas and the United States,
Col. William R. Scurry being the commissioner on the
part of Texas.</p>

<p class='c007'>At the suggestion of my brother, I joined this expedition
at Horsehead Crossing on the Pecos River, and
accompanied it to El Paso. When we arrived at Waco
Tanks, twenty-six miles east of El Paso, we failed to
find water, and were somewhat distressed in consequence.
<span class='pageno' title='12' id='Page_12'></span>Colonel Scurry said that young men on foot could make
the trip to El Paso for relief better than any of our
worn-out animals, and my brother and I volunteered for
the tramp. We left the tank, thirsty, at sunset and
reached the river below El Paso before daybreak, and
after slaking our thirst, slept on the ground till morning,
when we sent out a relief party, with water. Soon thereafter
I went to Fort Fillmore, in New Mexico, forty-five
miles above El Paso, where I clerked in the sutler’s
store of Hayward &amp; McGrosty, for nearly a year, when I
returned to El Paso, and was employed in the same
capacity by St. Vrain &amp; Co., merchants. This firm
had a branch store at the Santa Rita copper mines near
where Silver City now stands, and I made two journeys
to and from that place, the first time on horseback and
alone. There was no habitation between La Messilla and
Santa Rita, and the country was full of hostile Indians;
but of them later on. I remember camping alone over
night at the place now known as Hudsons Hot Springs.
The second journey I made as wagonmaster of our train
laden with merchandise for the Santa Rita store, and
brought back a load of copper, which we sent by wagons
to Port La Vaca, eight hundred miles, and thence to New
York by Gulf and Sea.</p>

<p class='c007'>While at the copper mines, three prospectors—Tayor,
Snively and another—came to my camp and reported
that they had discovered placer gold at Pinos Altos,
near there, and, as they were out of provisions and
money, I gave them what was called a “grub stake”—that
is, provisions to continue their explorations. That
was in 1859, and I am told that gold is still being washed
out at Pinos Altos, in 1900.</p>

<div class='pbb'></div>
<hr class='pb c004' />

<div class='chapter'>
  <span class='pageno' title='13' id='Page_13'></span>
  <h2 id='elpaso' class='c005'><span class='large'>EL PASO IN 1858.</span></h2>
</div>

<p class='c006'>El Paso is situated on the Rio Grande River, in the
extreme west corner of Texas, within a mile of that
river, which forms the boundary line between Texas and
Mexico, and very near to New Mexico on the north and
on the west.</p>

<p class='c007'>The altitude is 3,700 feet and the climate is mild, pleasant
and healthful. El Paso was then a small adobe
hamlet of about three hundred inhabitants, more than
three-fourths of whom were Mexicans. Nearly all that
portion of the village or “ranch” south of San Antonio
and San Francisco streets was then cultivated in vineyards,
fruit trees, fields of wheat and corn and gardens,
for at that time and for years later there was an abundance
of water in the Rio Grande all the year round,
and El Paso was checkered with acequis (irrigation
ditches).</p>

<p class='c007'>At the head of El Paso street, near the little plaza,
where the main acequia ran, there were several large ash
and cottonwood trees, in the shade of which was a little
market where fruit, and vegetables, and fowls, and mutton,
and venison, and other articles were sold. We had
no regular meat market.</p>

<p class='c007'>To one of these trees some enterprising citizen had
nailed a plank, which for years served as a bulletin board
where people were wont to tack signed manuscripts giving
their opinions of each other. Here Mrs. Gillock, who
kept the hotel where the Mills building now stands,
notified the “Publick” when her boarders refused
to pay their bills, and here, in 1859, I saw my brother
<span class='pageno' title='14' id='Page_14'></span>Anson nail the information that three certain citizens
were liars, etc., and here, just ten years later, I gave the
same information regarding B. F. Williams. Foolish?
Perhaps.</p>

<p class='c007'>The flouring mill of Simeon Hart, about a mile above
the village, was the chief individual industrial enterprise
in the valley, and ground the entire wheat crop from
both sides of the river, and supplied flour to all the people
and the military posts.</p>

<p class='c007'>The proprietor, a man of wealth and influence, staked
all and lost all in the Confederate cause.</p>

<p class='c007'>The dam which supplied water to this mill had been
constructed two hundred years ago by the people of the
Mexican side of the river, who kept it in repair for all
these years without asking any assistance from the people
of the Texas side, although they generously divided the
water with us.</p>

<p class='c007'>The patience and industry displayed by this people
in repairing and rebuilding this dam, when washed away
by annual floods, can only be compared to that of
beavers.</p>

<p class='c007'>The Texas bank of the Rio Grande was then (1858)
only a short distance south of where the Santa Fe depot
now stands, but just how far south it is impossible for me
or any one else, I believe, to tell, though I have been
often asked to testify as to where the river bed was then,
and in later years. It found its present bed more or less
gradually by erosion and revulsion during these years,
and left very few landmarks.</p>

<p class='c007'>The bed of the river was narrower then than now, and
many cottonwood trees grew upon each bank.</p>

<p class='c007'>At the end of El Paso street was the ferry, where pedestrians
crossed in small canoes, and vehicles and wagon
trains in larger boats.</p>

<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' title='15' id='Page_15'></span>Sometimes, when the spring floods came, it was impossible
for any one to cross for several days.</p>

<p class='c007'>Be it remembered there was not a railroad or telegraph
station within a thousand miles of us. The business
houses, with one exception, were on El Paso street,
and around the little plaza. My brother Anson and I
each built homes at El Paso before the war, he on San
Francisco and I on San Antonio street. The postoffice
was on the west side of El Paso street, facing the head
of San Antonio street, and in this same large room there
was also a whiskey saloon, a billiard table, and several
gambling tables. “Uncle Ben” Dowell was postmaster.
This room and the street in front of it were the favorite
shooting grounds of the sporting men, and others, and
here took place many bloody encounters, some of which
may be treated of in these idle writings. The graveyard
was convenient, being on one of the hills on what is now
known as “Sunset Heights.” At one time there were
more people buried there who had died by violence than
from all other causes. When I state that the writer of
these pages sometimes read the burial service there over
the remains of our departed countrymen, it may be
imagined how sadly we were in need of spiritual guidance.
Every citizen, whatever his age or calling, habitually
carried a six-shooter at his belt, and slept with it
under his pillow. I remember a friend, Johnnie Evans,
saying to me once, when I was so thoughtless as to start
down street without one: “Buckle it on, Mills; we don’t
often need ’em, but when we do need ’em, we need ’em—Oh,
God!” Every man’s horse, or team, and arms were
the best his purse could buy, and my white saddle horse,
that carried me for ten years, was surely a dandy. Sometimes,
when I have journeyed to Las Cruces or Mesilla,
fifty miles, in my buggy, I have turned this animal loose,
<span class='pageno' title='16' id='Page_16'></span>saddled and bridled, and he has followed me the whole
distance, as a dog follows his master. I have sometimes
been vexed with the best of my human friends, but
“Blanco” never disappointed me in anything.</p>

<p class='c007'>The Mexican population, now nearly all passed away
by death or removal, were of a much better class than
those who came in later with the advent of the railroads,
to sell their labor—and their votes. It is but just to say,
however, that votes cannot be sold unless there be purchasers,
and that the purchasers have ever been of my
own race.</p>

<p class='c007'>The villages below El Paso were more prosperous
then than now, because their population is agricultural
and the lack of water in the river in recent times has
caused great discouragement and even distress. The
same was true of Juarez, Mexico, just opposite El Paso,
then called Paso del Norte.</p>

<p class='c007'>The county seat was first at San Elezario, twenty-two
miles below El Paso, with fifteen hundred population,
and later at Ysleta, with twelve hundred population
(nearly all Mexicans), and still later at El Paso. Court
proceedings and arguments to juries and political
speeches were then made in the Spanish language.</p>

<p class='c007'>Fort Bliss, garrisoned by regular United States troops,
situated at the place now called East El Paso, was considered
by army officers and their families as one of the
most desirable posts in the whole country, and several
officers who subsequently held very high rank during the
Civil War had been stationed there. There was another
fort, called Quitman, seventy miles below El Paso, on
the river, and a chain of military posts from there to San
Antonio. The nearest posts in New Mexico were Fort
Fillmore, forty miles to the north, near Las Cruces, and
<span class='pageno' title='17' id='Page_17'></span>Fort Craig, one hundred miles still further north toward
Santa Fe.</p>

<p class='c007'>As to hunting, there were at that time comparatively
plenty of wild deer, turkeys, wild geese, ducks and mountain
quail on the mountains and in the valley, and I got
my share of them.</p>

<div  class='figcenter id001'>
<img src='https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:w:ww-mills-forty-years-at-el-paso-ill-017.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' />
</div>
<div class='pbb'></div>
<hr class='pb c004' />

<div class='chapter'>
  <span class='pageno' title='18' id='Page_18'></span>
  <h2 id='roster' class='c005'><span class='large'>ROSTER OF ANTE-BELLUM RESIDENTS OF EL PASO.</span></h2>
</div>

<p class='c006'>J. F. Crosby, then district judge, Confederate; is well
known in El Paso.</p>

<p class='c007'>Simeon Hart, mill owner and contractor, Confederate.
Died at El Paso.</p>

<p class='c007'>Henry J. Cuniffe, merchant, Union man. Was United
States Consul at Juarez. Died at Las Cruces.</p>

<p class='c007'>H. S. Gillett, merchant and Confederate, lives in New
Mexico.</p>

<p class='c007'>J. S. Gillett, merchant, Confederate; lives in New
Mexico.</p>

<p class='c007'>Col. Phil Herbert, lawyer, Confederate; killed in
the war.</p>

<p class='c007'>Col. James W. Magoffin, contractor, Confederate;
sutler at Fort Bliss. Died at San Antonio.</p>

<p class='c007'>Joseph Magoffin, Confederate; served in the war;
now lives in El Paso.</p>

<p class='c007'>Sam Magoffin, Confederate; killed in the war.</p>

<p class='c007'>Anson Mills, engineer, Union; now brigadier general,
U. S. A. Lives in Washington, D. C.</p>

<p class='c007'>W. W. Mills, clerk, Union; served in the war; now
United States Consul at Chihuahua, Mexico.</p>

<p class='c007'>Emmett Mills, Union; killed in Indian fight in Arizona
in 1861.</p>

<p class='c007'>Samuel Schutz, merchant and Union man; now in El
Paso.</p>

<p class='c007'>Joseph Schutz, merchant, Union; died in 1895.</p>

<p class='c007'>Col. George H. Giddings, manager San Antonio
Mail Co.</p>

<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' title='19' id='Page_19'></span>H. C. Hall, agent San Antonio Mail Co.</p>

<p class='c007'>Capt. Henry Skillman, frontiersman, Confederate;
killed in the war.</p>

<p class='c007'>Brad Daily, Union scout and spy; died at Las Cruces,
N. M.</p>

<p class='c007'>Col. Hugh Stephenson, mine owner and merchant;
lived and died at Concordia, near El Paso.</p>

<p class='c007'>Uncle Billy Smith, patriarch of the valley; thrown
from stage coach at El Paso in 1860 and killed.</p>

<p class='c007'>Vicente St. Vrain, merchant, Union; died in New
Mexico.</p>

<p class='c007'>A. B. O’Bannon, deputy collector customs, Confederate;
dead.</p>

<p class='c007'>William Morton, district attorney, Confederate; dead.</p>

<p class='c007'>Charles Merritt, manager Hart’s mill; dead.</p>

<p class='c007'>Henry C. Cook, lawyer, Confederate; dead.</p>

<p class='c007'>B. S. Dowell, postmaster, Confederate; died at El
Paso.</p>

<p class='c007'>Nim Dowell, Union; killed by Confederates in Texas.</p>

<p class='c007'>Fred Percy, English gentleman, Confederate; dead.</p>

<p class='c007'>Rufus Doane, county surveyor; dead.</p>

<p class='c007'>Billy Watts, sheriff; dead.</p>

<p class='c007'>Emilio Deuchesne, merchant, Union; died in 1895, in
Juarez.</p>

<p class='c007'>Russ Howard, lawyer, Confederate; now in San Antonio.</p>

<p class='c007'>A. B. Rohman, merchant; dead.</p>

<p class='c007'>R. L. Robertson, agent Overland Mail Company,
Union; dead.</p>

<p class='c007'>Dr. Nangle, agent San Antonio Mail Company, Union;
dead.</p>

<p class='c007'>James Buchanan, merchant in Juarez; dead.</p>

<p class='c007'>Charles Richardson, Confederate; lives in Juarez.</p>

<p class='c007'>D. R. Diffendorffer, merchant in Juarez.</p>

<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' title='20' id='Page_20'></span>F. R. Diffendorffer, merchant in Juarez.</p>

<p class='c007'>G. W. Gillock, justice of the peace and hotel-keeper;
dead.</p>

<p class='c007'>J. E. Terry, with the stage company; lives in El
Paso.</p>

<p class='c007'>Charles Music, merchant; lives in Mexico; and</p>

<p class='c007'>Andrew Hornick, H. McWard, George Lyles, ——
Tibbits, —— Milby, David Knox, Bill Conklin and Tom
Miller.</p>

<p class='c007'>There were usually about a dozen United States army
officers at old Fort Bliss, now East El Paso.</p>

<p class='c007'>The most prominent Mexican citizens in Paso del
Norte (now Juarez) were:</p>

<p class='c007'>Dr. Mariano Samaniego, Inocente Ochoa, José M.
Flores, all still residing in Juarez; José M. Uranga, Jefe
Politico, dead; Juan N. Zubiran, collector of customs,
my partner and friend; and the venerable Ramon Ortiz,
who ministered there as curate for fifty years, and died
a few years since, beloved of the two races.</p>

<p class='c007'>The Americans living at Ysleta and San Elizario before
the war were: Price Cooper, Henry Corlow, Tom Collins,
Henry Dexter, James McCarty, A. C. Hyde, William
Claude Jones; and Fred Pierpoint, who died of
hydrophobia at El Paso in 1869.</p>

<p class='c007'>Of those named above as residing at El Paso in 1860,
the following left with the retreating Texans in 1862:
Crosby, Hart, the Gilletts, the Magoffins, Herbert, Merritt,
O’Bannon, Morton, Cook, Skillman, Dowell, Richardson
and Russ Howard. Some of the last named
remained away for years and others never returned.</p>

<p class='c007'>In their places there came soon (mostly discharged
Union officers and soldiers): A. H. French, J. A. Zabriskie,
G. J. Clarke, E. A. Mills, Nathan Webb, A. J. Fountain,
William P. Bacon, Edmond Stein, S. C. Slade, John
<span class='pageno' title='21' id='Page_21'></span>Evans, George Rand, Joe Shacker, Solomon Schutz,
Louis Cardis, and Charles H. Howard.</p>

<p class='c007'>Except those last named, there was but little increase
in the American population of El Paso for about fifteen
years.</p>

<div  class='figcenter id002'>
<img src='https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:w:ww-mills-forty-years-at-el-paso-ill-021.jpg' alt='' class='ig002' />
</div>
<div class='pbb'></div>
<hr class='pb c004' />

<div class='chapter'>
  <span class='pageno' title='22' id='Page_22'></span>
  <h2 id='incidents' class='c005'><span class='large'>INCIDENTS BEFORE THE WAR AND EARLY IMPRESSIONS.</span></h2>
</div>

<p class='c006'>On the second night after my arrival in El Paso I had
my first experience of the manner of settling difficulties
there. Samuel Schutz, still of El Paso, and one Tom
Massie had had a misunderstanding about the rent of a
house. My brother and I went across the river that
afternoon, and on the way we met one Garver, a half-witted
fellow, called “Clown,” who said he had been
“fixing a canoe” at the river, and in a friendly way he
advised us to return early because there would be some
fun that night. We asked him what fun, and he replied:
“<i>Oh, killin’ a Dutchman!</i>” That night, in front of the
postoffice, I heard Massie say to a friend: “I have taken
half a dozen drinks of straight brandy, but d—n me if
I can get drunk.” I went into the postoffice and found
an unusual crowd of men talking in low tones, and Mr.
Schutz, in his shirt sleeves, was playing billiards with a
friend. Presently Massie entered, and saying, “Mr.
Schutz, you told a d—d lie,” presented a cocked pistol
at that gentleman. There was no mistaking his intention.
Murder was in his voice and in his face. Then
there came from Mr. Schutz such a sound as I never
heard before or since. It was not a shriek, or an outcry,
for he did not distinctly articulate a single word. It was
not exactly an expression of fear, but was more like a
prolonged wail over some tragedy which had already
occurred. But Schutz did the right thing, and quickly.
He seized the barrel of Massie’s pistol and held it
upward. Then commenced a struggle for life. Both
<span class='pageno' title='23' id='Page_23'></span>were powerful men, and in their prime, one moved by
hatred and revenge, and the other by the instinct of self-preservation.
It was some seconds after they grappled
before that strange sound ceased. Massie strove to bring
his cocked pistol to bear on Schutz, and Schutz to move
it in any other direction. Shocked and alarmed, and
remembering my teaching about law and order, I stepped
forward and said, “Gentlemen, would you see the man
murdered?” <i>Not a man moved.</i> Massie finally let fall
his pistol, drew a knife and drove it into Schutz’s shoulder.
Schutz fled, but Massie recovered his pistol and
fired two shots at him as he ran out through the front
door. It was dark outside. Immediately after the shots
Schutz stumbled over a water barrel and fell, and Massie,
thinking him dead, crossed to Mexico in that canoe
which Clown had “fixed.” Schutz was untouched by the
bullets, and the knife wound was not serious.</p>

<p class='c007'>The next day “Uncle Ben” Dowell gave me this
advice: “My young friend, when you see anything of
that kind going on in El Paso, don’t interfere. It is not
considered good manners here.” The advice was well
intended and worthy of careful consideration. Tom Massie
returned to El Paso, but was not prosecuted.</p>

<p class='c007'>Not long after the above occurrence, I saw a certain
gambler shooting at another member of the profession
in this same postoffice. A stray bullet killed an inoffensive
by-stander. The coroner’s jury exonerated the killer,
as they said the killing was clearly “accidental.” There
was, of course, some sympathy for the innocent dead
man, but most of it appeared to go to the gambler who
had been so “unfortunate” as to kill <i>the wrong man</i>.</p>

<p class='c007'>Of the Americans then at El Paso, some had left wives,
or debts, or crimes behind them in “the States,” and had
not come to the frontier to teach Sunday school. But
<span class='pageno' title='24' id='Page_24'></span>there were good people here also, and for the few who
were capable of doing business and willing to work, the
opportunities were as good then and as profitable as they
have ever been since that time. The products of the
mines, crudely worked, in northern Mexico, were brought
to El Paso and exchanged for merchandise or money.
The military posts (forts) in northwest Texas and southern
New Mexico were supplied with corn, flour, beef,
hay, fuel, etc., by El Paso merchants and contractors.</p>

<p class='c007'>The Overland Mail Company then operated a weekly
line of mail coaches, drawn by six animals, between St.
Louis and San Francisco. The time between these two
cities was usually twenty-six days, the distance being
2,600 miles. These splendid Concord coaches (now
almost gone out of use) carried the United States mail,
for a Government subsidy, and usually four to nine
through passengers, besides the driver and “conductor.”
Changes of animals were made at “stations” built of rock
or adobe, every twenty-five to forty miles, or wherever
the company could find a stream, or spring, or water-hole.
These coaches traveled day and night, in all kinds
of weather.</p>

<p class='c007'>El Paso was at this time (1858) the terminus of two
other important stage routes—one from Santa Fe, New
Mexico, and the other from San Antonio, Texas. These
were in every particular so similar to the greater “Overland”
route that a description is unnecessary. There
was also a stage line to Chihuahua.</p>

<p class='c007'>These mail coaches were the forerunners of the “Limited
Express” and the Pullman sleeper of the present day;
and the rough, brave men who drove and managed them
and protected the stations, fighting Indians the while,
were the pioneers, the Daniel Boones and Simon Kentons
of this frontier! They opened the way for the Southern
<span class='pageno' title='25' id='Page_25'></span>Pacific, the Mexican Central, the “Sunset” and the
Santa Fe.</p>

<p class='c007'>Does the tenderfoot who now rides over these routes,
in luxury and safety, appreciate the work of these men?
I have heard more than one of them intimate that he
would have done things much better than we did, if he
had only arrived in time. I am very sure I have heard
several of them say that they would have made and
saved plenty of money, if they had only had our opportunities;
and this appears to me the proper place for a
few remarks on success and failure in life; if, indeed,
any place is good for such a homily. By success I, of
course mean what the majority of men mean by the
word success—the accumulation of wealth.</p>

<p class='c007'>Well, during the ten years following my locating at
El Paso, I was well and familiarly acquainted with at
least fifty active, intelligent, educated young men, of
whom it might have been predicted that they would
succeed in life. These, if now living, would all have
more than three-score years. Several of them died by
the hands of the Indians, and some of them by the hands
of their own countrymen, a number went to the bad or
died early. Several of them lived beyond middle age
and led brave, honorable and useful lives, but I recall
<i>only two</i> who could be classed as successful men, according
to the above test. True, some of them gained much
money and spent it liberally and often charitably, or lost
it, but according to the popular idea, a man to be successful
must have plenty of money <i>when he dies</i>. And
though he leaves no minor children or dependents, his
neighbors will whisper at his funeral, “He died poor,”
in much the same tone as one might say, “He was
hanged.”</p>

<p class='c007'>In order that the importance of these mail routes and
<span class='pageno' title='26' id='Page_26'></span>other enterprises on this frontier may be appreciated, I
must here state a fact which may seem strange to some of
my readers. At that time this whole frontier was in the
actual possession of savage Indians. The Americans
and Mexicans were secure only near the military posts,
or villages, or large settlements, and when they traveled
from place to place, they traveled in companies strong
enough for defense, or at night and by stealth, trusting to
Providence, or luck, each according to his faith.</p>

<p class='c007'>The men who, for whatever reasons, had made their
way to this distant frontier, were nearly all men of character;
not all of good character, certainly, but of positive,
assertive individual character, with strong personality
and self-reliance. (The weaklings remained at home.)
Many of them were well bred and of more than ordinary
intelligence, and maintaining the manners of gentlemen.
Even the worst of these men are not to be classed with
the professional “toughs” and “thugs” who came later
with the railroads. They were neither assassins nor
thieves nor robbers. Vices? Plenty; but they were
not of the concealed or most degrading kinds. Violence?
Yes, but such acts were usually the result of
sudden anger or of a feeling that under the conditions
then existing each man must right his own wrongs or
they would never be righted. Their ideas of right and
wrong were peculiar, but they <i>had</i> such ideas nevertheless.
I knew a young man who was well liked and had
good prospects, who violated confidence and attempted to
betray his benefactor. The facts became known. Now,
if he had shot a man because he did not like him much,
anyhow, or if he had run away with his neighbor’s wife,
his conduct might have been overlooked. But treachery?
Ingratitude? Never! He became the most despised man
in the community. The merchants and business men
<span class='pageno' title='27' id='Page_27'></span>were certainly an exceptional class. Honorable, highly
intelligent, charitable and gentlemanly. I could name a
dozen gentlemen who were here even as far back as the
“sixties,” from which list I believe any President might
have selected an able cabinet. Not all of these were of
my own race; and yet, even these did not hold themselves
entirely aloof from the other classes. The times
did not favor or permit such exclusiveness.</p>

<p class='c007'>Common trials and dangers united the two races as
one family, and the fact that one man was a Mexican
and another an American was seldom mentioned, and I
believe as seldom thought about. Each man was esteemed
at his real worth, and I think our estimates of
each other’s characters were generally more correct than
in more artificial societies.</p>

<p class='c007'>Spanish was the language of the country, but many
of our Mexican friends spoke English well, and often
conversations, and even sentences, were amusingly and
expressively made up of a blending of words or phrases
of both languages.</p>

<p class='c007'>To the traveler, who had spent weeks crossing the
dry and desert plains, this valley, with the grateful
humidity of the atmosphere, the refreshing verdure, the
perfume of the flowering shrubs, the rustling of the
leaves of the cottonwood trees, and their cool shade, and
in the spring or summer, the bloom of the many fruit
trees, or the waving of grain fields, were all like a sight
or breath of the Promised Land!</p>

<p class='c007'>The people, the peasantry, were content and happy.
To them, with their simple wants, it was a land of plenty.
The failure of water in the Rio Grande has sadly changed
all this. It may be said that this valley and the things
here described were not in themselves beautiful, but only
appeared so by contrast with the barren country over
<span class='pageno' title='28' id='Page_28'></span>which the wanderer had traveled; and this may be true,
but it is not wise to analyze too severely the things that
give us pleasure. They are few enough at best.</p>

<p class='c007'>Our currency was the Mexican silver dollar, then at
par, and the Mexican ounce, a gold coin worth sixteen
dollars.</p>

<p class='c007'>There were no banks, and no drafts or checks except
those given out by the paymasters and quartermasters of
the United States Army.</p>

<p class='c007'>Everybody loaned money when he had it, but only for
accommodation. I knew of only one man in the whole
valley who loaned money at interest or required security.</p>

<p class='c007'>It was no unusual thing for merchants to loan large
quantities of their goods, bales of prints and muslin and
sacks of sugar and coffee to their neighbor merchants,
to be repaid in kind when their wagon train arrived.</p>

<p class='c007'>Carriages and buggies were considered as almost community
property, and the man who refused to lend them
was considered a bad neighbor.</p>

<p class='c007'>Everybody had credit at “the store,” and everybody
paid up—sooner or later.</p>

<p class='c007'>There were no hotels. Travelers stopped at each
other’s houses and even strangers were welcome there.
Any one having any claim to gentility or education was
cheerfully received and entertained by the officers at the
army posts, and many, <i>very many</i>, by the collector of
customs at El Paso.</p>

<p class='c007'>There was one peculiar fact about the El Paso of those
early days, for which I could never give any good reason.</p>

<p class='c007'>Perhaps there were several reasons.</p>

<p class='c007'>Our little village was better known, or, rather, it had
greater notoriety and elicited more interest and inquiry,
than any other town in the United States of twenty times
<span class='pageno' title='29' id='Page_29'></span>its population. I know this from my own experience
during my visits to Eastern cities, and the same statement
was made by every El Paso wanderer on returning
home. I mean that a gentleman registering from El Paso
in any of the great cities received more attention and was
more questioned about his town than one from San
Antonio or Denver.</p>

<p class='c007'>It seemed impossible to go anywhere without meeting
an army officer or some one who had lived at El Paso, or
some stranger who had heard of the little hamlet and
was eager to learn more.</p>

<p class='c007'>In spite of privations, our little village seemed to have
an unaccountable fascination for every one who saw
it, refined American ladies as well as the less fastidious
and sterner sex.</p>

<p class='c007'>This was <i>my</i> El Paso. To me it was like the Deserted
Village to Goldsmith.</p>

<p class='c007'>The new El Paso got away from me. <i>Que sea por
Dios.</i></p>

<p class='c007'>Our merchandise and supplies were brought from St.
Louis, a distance of sixteen hundred miles, or from Port
Lavaca, Texas, a distance of nine hundred miles, by large
trains of immense freight wagons, “Schooners of the
Plains,” drawn by fourteen to eighteen mules, usually
four abreast, at a cost of twelve and one-half to fifteen
cents per pound for freight only. These trains were
usually accompanied by twenty-five to forty men, including
the drivers, all of whom were well armed, and stood
guard like soldiers.</p>

<p class='c007'>The “wagonmaster” was a character of importance
and authority, and a hunter was usually employed to
procure fresh meat and to look out for Indians and for
Indian “sign.” These trains, like the stage coaches,
were often attacked by Indians, but because of the
<span class='pageno' title='30' id='Page_30'></span>greater number of men and better means of defense, they
were not so frequently “taken in” as the latter.</p>

<p class='c007'>I quote here the prices of a few of the articles purchased
by me of El Paso merchants during the “sixties,”
having preserved the original bills: One common No.
7 kitchen stove, $125; ham and bacon, 75 cents per
pound; coffee, 75 cents per pound; sugar, 60 cents per
pound; lard, 40 cents per pound; candles, 75 cents per
pound; one-half ream letter paper, $4; nails, 50 cents
per pound; matches, 12½ cents per box; tobacco, $2
per pound; calico (print), 50 cents per yard; bleached
muslin, 75 cents per yard; unbleached muslin, 50 cents
per yard; coal oil, $5 per gallon; alcohol, $8 per gallon;
lumber, rough sawed, 12½ cents per foot; empty
whiskey barrels, $5 each; starch, 50 cents per pound.
But if we paid high prices, we also received high prices
for what we had to sell. I will here state briefly a few
of my own business experiences. I made large quantities
of wine from the El Paso grape, and sold it readily at
$5 per gallon, $200 per barrel of forty gallons. For
two years I furnished the Government with all the vinegar
and salt used in the Military Department of New
Mexico, vinegar at $1.70 per gallon, and salt at 17 cents
per pound, delivered at El Paso. Vinegar, four thousand
gallons, and salt, one thousand bushels. The
vinegar was manufactured from the El Paso grape, and
the salt was brought from a natural salt lake, one hundred
and twenty-five miles northeast of El Paso, and
ground at Harts Mills, near El Paso, and sacked here.</p>

<p class='c007'>The Government had previously been hauling these
articles from St. Louis, a distance of sixteen hundred
miles. My partner, Don Juan Zubiran, and myself one
day delivered three hundred head of beef cattle to the
Government at Las Cruces, New Mexico, at 18 cents
<span class='pageno' title='31' id='Page_31'></span>per pound on the hoof—$90 per head. For a year I
delivered beef on the block to the troops at Fort Bliss at
22 cents per pound.</p>

<p class='c007'>I will now give some items from the other side of my
ledger. Three hundred head of cattle belonging to my
partner, Mr. Norboe, and myself were taken by Indians
in Arizona in 1865, and half of our herders killed. These
cattle were being driven to California, where there was
then a good market. A white man, also a partner, got
away with $11,000 worth of my cattle at Fort Sumner,
New Mexico, by selling them and running away with
the money.</p>

<p class='c007'>Another partner, an honest man, died my debtor to
the amount of $14,000. This would not have occurred
had the gentleman not become insane and unable to settle
his large and complicated business.</p>

<p class='c007'>From the day of my first arrival at El Paso, I determined
to make the place my permanent home, and I have
never had any desire to change that choice. From the
first I foresaw the prospective importance of the place,
and many a still, lonesome night have I listened to the
roaring of the waters over the dam at Harts Mill, a mile
above the village, and tried to fancy it the rumbling of
railroad trains, which were then fifteen hundred
miles away. No, I do not claim to have foreseen that
El Paso would be the center of so many railroads, but
I felt sure that the first road to the Pacific Ocean would
pass through El Paso, and <i>so it would</i>, had it not been
for the Rebellion. I would not claim to have had this
foresight, did not my letters to my friends during those
early years (some of which are still extant) bear out the
statement. I probably wrote more and spoke more
about the certain future of El Paso than any one who
ever lived here. I did more. I proved my faith by my
<span class='pageno' title='32' id='Page_32'></span>acts. For ten years, amid all the folly and extravagance
and vices of my bachelor youth, I kept one object constantly
in view: to acquire and hold and pay taxes on
a sufficient number of town lots to make me reasonably
independent when the railroads should come, and for a
time I owned more desirable property in El Paso than
any other individual ever owned except the proprietors
of the town tract.</p>

<p class='c007'>Well, the greater portion of this valuable property was
taken from me by corrupt courts and officials and by
faithless lawyers and supposed friends, and by other
means which I may or may not refer to in these writings.
If any man says he would have defended himself and
his rights better or more courageously than I did, I can
only reply that I think I was fortunate to escape with
my life! After all this, more than a hundred strangers
(who never owned enough of mother earth to be buried
in) have said to me: “You have been here a long time,
Mr. Mills, and if you had only known what El Paso
would be you could have bought town property very
cheap and could have been wealthy,” etc., etc. Then,
for a moment, homicidal thoughts come into my mind.
But it would do no good to kill such a man. A fool
or two more or less in the world, or even in a community,
would make no perceptible difference. There are
so many!</p>

<p class='c007'>It has been said these men of the frontier in those
early days led indolent, idle lives in a “Sleepy Hollow,”
and that is true in a way.</p>

<p class='c007'>The conditions were such that constant toil and endeavor
were almost impossible. A train of wagons
would arrive from Mexico with silver or other products
and in a few days the El Paso merchant would sell or
exchange thousands of dollars’ worth of goods, and
<span class='pageno' title='33' id='Page_33'></span>then for weeks he might not have a customer worthy of
his attention.</p>

<p class='c007'>Another man would labor almost incessantly night
and day for a time in filling some Government contract,
and then for months, perhaps, no other opportunity
would offer for the exercise of his energy. It was “enforced
idleness.” But in the long run these men expended
as much effort, physical and mental, in chasing
the nimble dollar as the most plodding, methodical Chicago
business man of today.</p>

<p class='c007'>Profits were often great and risks were always great.
I do not think the desire for money, for its own sake,
was as strong as in older communities, and this led to
what we called liberality and what the wise call extravagance.
If any man had devoted all his energies
to accumulating and hoarding money he would have
been viewed with disfavor by his neighbors, and at that
time men were in many ways dependent upon the good
will of their fellows.</p>

<p class='c007'>If any gentleman did not care to bet on the horse
race or to “sit in” at the poker game, no one criticised
his peculiarity, because each granted to the other the
right he claimed for himself, to do as he pleased about
such amusements. But if such a one gave out that he
thus refrained because he feared to set a bad example
to others or because he feared Divine wrath, his sincerity
would have been doubted, and frankness and candor
were rated among the essential virtues.</p>

<p class='c007'>Within the memory of men still living there occurred
an incident which illustrates men’s views of law and
order in those days. A certain desperado had been
getting drunk and riding into stores and saloons and
firing his pistols at random in the streets and threatening
people’s lives, till the “good citizens” became weary.
<span class='pageno' title='34' id='Page_34'></span>Finally he took a snap shot at the popular member of
the Legislature, Mr. Jeff Hall, on the main street. This
was too much. In a few moments fifteen or twenty of
the aforesaid “good citizens” were chasing him over
town with shotguns, rifles and pistols. The desperado
was brought to earth in the corral of the old Central
Hotel—“Hell’s half acre”—pierced by many missiles.
Then there was an animated dispute among the above mentioned
good citizens as to who had fired the fatal
shot. One claimed to have done the work with his
shotgun. Another said that such small ammunition at
long range could not kill such a man, but that it was
his rifle shot in the neck that did it. A third said that
he had dispatched the deceased with three body shots
from his sixshooter, and so on.</p>

<p class='c007'>At last “Uncle Ben” Dowell said: “Gentlemen, some
day some judge or other may come along and be holding
court, and some of us may have trouble about this
business.” Thereupon they organized a coroner’s jury,
composed of the identical men who did the shooting,
and sat upon the corpse and agreed upon a verdict, to
the effect that “Deceased came to his death by gunshot
wounds <i>from the hands of parties unknown</i>.”</p>

<p class='c007'>It was about this time that an El Paso merchant, still
living in this valley, had a little experience with the
rough Americans here, mostly gamblers. There were
many of the latter class.</p>

<p class='c007'>At this time the fraternity were broke, and some of
them had pawned their pistols with this merchant for
money. But finally one of them reported to the “boys”
that Mr. —— had refused to make any more loans on
pistols. “How did you approach him?” was asked.</p>

<p class='c007'>“Why, I presented the handle of my pistol and asked
him to loan me $25 on it.” “Idiot,” said “Snap”
<span class='pageno' title='35' id='Page_35'></span>Mitchell, the leader, “you don’t know how to soak a
pistol; watch me.” So “Snap” went to the store and
presenting the <i>muzzle</i> of his pistol asked for a loan. He
got it, and went away with the pistol also.</p>

<p class='c007'>I believe my friend remembers the transaction. Later
this same merchant was called upon by a party of secessionists,
who accused him of being a —— abolitionist,
and talked to him seriously about the penalty, which
was hanging. My friend was a foreigner and did not
understand our language as well as he does now. I
asked him what he said to them when they threatened to
hang him, and he replied: “Well, I told them that I
had no ‘scruples’.” Of course, he meant that he had
no preference for either the Union or Confederate cause.
It is certain that he did not mean that he had no scruples
about being hanged!</p>

<p class='c007'>An officer of volunteers bought goods of this same
merchant, refused to pay him, swindled him, and because
asked to pay called him a —— Jew and other pet
names, and finally sent him a formal challenge to fight
a duel. The merchant came to me greatly agitated,
and declared that he would rather die than suffer such
indignities, and asked my advice. I knew that he was in
earnest, and the officer was notified to appear at sunrise
at the graveyard on the hill, distance ten paces, double-barreled
shotguns loaded with buckshot, to fire at the
word. The officer declined, declaring the terms “barbarous,”
and that ended his career as a valiant son
of Mars.</p>

<div class='pbb'></div>
<hr class='pb c004' />

<div class='chapter'>
  <span class='pageno' title='36' id='Page_36'></span>
  <h2 id='murder' class='c005'><span class='large'>MURDER AND ROBBERY OF GIDDINGS’ STORE (SHELDON BLOCK).</span></h2>
</div>

<p class='c006'>In 1859 the San Antonio Mail Company had its headquarters
on the lot where the Sheldon building now
stands. They had in the old adobe house as large a
stock of general merchandise as any El Paso merchant
now carries. The clerks who slept in the store were a
Mr. Atkins, familiarly known as “Ole Dad,” and “Fred”
——, a young German. One night Atkins was absent and
Fred was sleeping in the store alone.</p>

<p class='c007'>The next morning a window in the south side of the
building was found to have been dug out of the wall
and poor Fred was lying dead in his bed with fourteen
knife wounds in his body. A large amount of money
had been taken from the store (there were no safes nor
banks here then) and quantities of valuable goods had
also been carried away. This was evidently the work
of robbers from the Mexican side of the river. No
trace of the robbers or money or goods was ever discovered.</p>

<p class='c007'>After this murder Mr. Atkins declined to sleep in the
store alone. The writer was at that time clerking for
St. Vrain &amp; Co., merchants, in the old Central Hotel
building, which was burned down a few years ago.
As we had plenty of people to protect the St. Vrains
store it was agreed that I should go over each night and
sleep in the store which had been robbed. But soon
the scare was over and Atkins, saying that “lightning
never struck twice in the same place,” left me alone for
one night. I had a shotgun and pistol, and a good
<span class='pageno' title='37' id='Page_37'></span>watchdog. The merchants of the village had employed
a Mr. Cullimore (now of Austin, Tex.), familiarly called
“Bones,” to patrol the town of nights.</p>

<p class='c007'>That night about 2 o’clock I heard the report of
both barrels of “Bones’” shotgun resounding in the
little plaza, and his voice calling to me to “look out,
Mills!” Robbers, probably the same party, had commenced
to dig out the same window and had half finished
the work when “Bones” fired on them without
effect. They fled, of course, and left only a hat and
handkerchief on the ground as remembrances. It was
long before any one would sleep alone in that store.</p>

<div  class='figcenter id003'>
<img src='https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:w:ww-mills-forty-years-at-el-paso-ill-037.jpg' alt='' class='ig003' />
</div>
<div class='pbb'></div>
<hr class='pb c004' />

<div class='chapter'>
  <span class='pageno' title='38' id='Page_38'></span>
  <h2 id='canby' class='c005'><span class='large'>THE CANBY-SIBLEY CAMPAIGN IN 1861-2.</span></h2>
</div>

<p class='c006'>The following notes are published substantially as
they were written soon after the close of the campaign.<a id='r1' /><a href='#f1' class='c012'><sup>[1]</sup></a>
The remoteness of New Mexico from the scenes of vastly
more important conflicts prevented historians of the
war from writing of that campaign, which, though insignificant
by comparison, was one of the knightliest and
most romantic in history. I have here aimed to do justice
to the brave men, of both armies, who marched and
countermarched, and fought and fled and fought again
along the banks of the Rio Grande forty years ago.</p>

<p class='c007'>In 1858, when still a youth, accident and adventure
brought me to El Paso. * * * Determining to
make my home in this valley, and being without money
or friends or a profession, I commenced life as a merchant’s
clerk. I had spent about three years in that
capacity when the news of the firing on Fort Sumter
and the inglorious surrender by General Twiggs, of all
the United States troops in Texas, startled us as much,
though ten days old, as though the lightning had
brought it. We had heard a great deal of street corner
talk about secession, and a packed convention had
passed a resolution declaring Texas out of the Union,
which resolution had been submitted to a vote of the
people; my brother (now Col. Anson Mills), myself and
only two or three others voting against it in El Paso
County. The Mexican voters, of course, knew but little
about the questions involved in secession and were influenced
by the Americans, most of whom favored secession,
<span class='pageno' title='39' id='Page_39'></span>those of Northern birth being loudest in their
protestations of devotion to the South and loudest in
denunciation of “abolitionists,” which meant all who
did not favor rebellion.</p>

<p class='c007'>There was at that time a garrison of United States
troops at Fort Bliss, within a mile of El Paso; another
at Fort Quitman, ninety miles below, on the river, and
several other posts in striking distance, all of which
were included in the surrender of General Twiggs to
the “Texas commissioners” at San Antonio, 700 miles
away! There was not a Confederate soldier within 500
miles of Fort Bliss, but such is the power of military
discipline that the post commander, Colonel Reives,
though urged by my brother and myself and others to
disregard Twiggs’ order of surrender, turned over his
arms and valuable stores to Commissioner McGoffin and
marched with his command, as prisoners, to San Antonio.</p>

<p class='c007'>Then we determined that my brother should go to
Washington city and report the condition of affairs
here, and try to get the Secretary of War to order these
officers not to respect Twiggs’ surrender, but he arrived
too late.</p>

<p class='c007'>I and a younger brother, Emmet Mills, remained at
El Paso. The feeling against Union men grew still more
bitter. I could see no good in rebellion. I was willing
to make some sacrifices and incur some dangers for my
flag and country.</p>

<p class='c007'>Colonel Loring at that time commanded the United
States troops in the adjoining territory of New Mexico.
There was a garrison at Fort Fillmore, fifty miles north
of El Paso, but United States officers who had resigned
(?) and passed through El Paso going south, gave out
that Loring was “with the South.”</p>

<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' title='40' id='Page_40'></span>By this time a small force of Texas troops were en
route to El Paso and New Mexico and it was claimed
that Fort Fillmore would be surrendered without a
fight.</p>

<p class='c007'>I then went to Fort Fillmore and en route was given
a letter, with the request that I was to hand it to Captain
Lane, then commanding that post. Being introduced to
Captain Lane, in conversation about secession he complained
that we El Paso people had taken advantage of
his position to treat him badly. He said we knew his
feelings were with the South, and that we had presumed
upon the fact in taking his horses and placing him in
an embarrassing position. He said he could recapture
the horses and destroy our town, but he would not. This
satisfied me that nothing could be hoped for from him.
Of course, Lane supposed that I was in sympathy with
rebellion, and for good reasons I did not undeceive
him. I told him in a jocular way that he might as
well turn over his saddles as they were useless to him
without horses, at which he became angry and I left
him. I then proceeded to the town of La Messilla, five
miles from the fort, and found a secession flag flying
in the street and the secession leaders notifying Union
men to leave. They had held a convention and organized
a Confederate territorial government for what they
called Arizona.</p>

<p class='c007'>By this time Colonel Loring had passed south to
join the Confederates. Gen. E. R. S. Canby was now
in command of the Department of New Mexico, with
headquarters at Santa Fe. From Messilla I wrote to
Hon. John S. Watts at Santa Fe as follows:</p>

<div class='c013'>“La Messilla, N. M., June 23, 1861.</div>

<p class='c007'>“Hon. John S. Watts: Sir—I came up here from El
Paso two days ago hoping to meet you. I assure you
<span class='pageno' title='41' id='Page_41'></span>that I found matters here in a deplorable condition. A
disunion flag is now flying from the house in which I
write, and this country is now as much in the possession
of the enemy as Charleston is. All the officers at Fort
Fillmore except two, are devotedly with the South, and
are only holding on to their commissions in order to
embarrass our Government and at the proper time to
turn over everything to the South, after the manner of
General Twiggs. The Messilla Times is bitterly disunion
and threatens with death any one who refuses to
acknowledge this usurpation. There is, however, a
latent Union sentiment, especially among the Mexicans,
but they are effectually overawed. * * * The regular
soldiers, in defiance of the teachings of their officers
and the offer of gold from Hart, are yet faithful, and
if a second lieutenant were to ask them to follow him
they would tear down the secession flag and throw the
Times office into the river in an hour. Fifty of them
could go to Fort Bliss and capture all the Government
stores at that place, but instead of this a few thieves
came up from El Paso and stole forty of the horses belonging
to a mounted company at Fort Fillmore. No
effort was made to recapture these horses, although the
soldiers plead with their officers to allow them to do so.
* * * About 300 Texans are expected at Fort Bliss
in about two weeks, and if something is not done before
that time Fort Fillmore will be surrendered. Very respectfully,</p>

<div class='c008'>W. W. Mills.”</div>

<p class='c006'>(The above letter is copied from the Records of the
Rebellion.)</p>

<p class='c006'>In contrast with this letter, and to show the plots and
counterplots of those days, I copy from the same page
of the Rebellion Records the following:</p>

<div class='c013'><span class='pageno' title='42' id='Page_42'></span>“Hart’s Mills, Tex., June 12, 1861.</div>

<p class='c007'>“Col. W. W. Loring: We are at last under the glorious
banner of the Confederate States of America.
* * * We shall have no trouble in reaching San Antonio.
Four companies of Texas troops have been ordered
to garrison this post (Fort Bliss). Meanwhile
Colonel Magoffin, Judge Hart and Crosby are very
much exercised and concerned on account of the public
stores here in their present unguarded condition. Meanwhile,
you may, by delaying your departure (from New
Mexico) a week or two, add much to the security of this
property.</p>

<p class='c007'>“I regret now, more than ever, the sickly sentimentality
by which I was overruled in my desire of bringing
my whole command with me from New Mexico. I
wish I had my part to play over again.<a id='r2' /><a href='#f2' class='c012'><sup>[2]</sup></a></p>

<p class='c007'>“Should you be relieved of your command too soon
to prevent an attempt on the part of your successor to
recapture the property here send a notice by extraordinary
express to Judge Hart. Your seat in the stage to
San Antonio may be engaged. * * * Faithfully yours,</p>

<div class='c008'>H. H. Sibley.”</div>

<p class='c006'>(Note.—Sibley, who afterward commanded the Texas
expedition, was a major of United States cavalry and
Colonel Loring was then commanding, and betraying,
the United States troops in New Mexico.)</p>

<p class='c007'>Judge Watts indorsed my letter to General Canby,
who sent a young officer, Lieutenant Hall, to Fort Fillmore
with a copy of it, to investigate and report.</p>

<p class='c007'>General Canby read Major Sibley’s letter of
June 12th and mine of June 23d on June 29th, and Major
Lynde having assumed command of Fort Fillmore he
(Canby) wrote that officer as follows:</p>

<p class='c006'><span class='pageno' title='43' id='Page_43'></span>“Headquarters Department of New Mexico,</p>

<div class='c008'>“Santa Fe, N. M., June 30, 1861.</div>

<p class='c007'>“Maj. I. Lynde, Seventh Inf., Comdg. Fort Fillmore,
N. M.: Sir—I had occasion on the 24th inst. to put
you on your guard against the alleged complicity of
Colonel Loring in the treasonable designs of the Texas
authorities at Fort Bliss and El Paso. I now send a
copy of one and extracts from another letter sent to
me after the arrival of the mail yesterday, which fully
confirm all the information I had previously received.
Although Colonel Loring was still in the department, I
have not hesitated, since this information was communicated
to me, to exercise the command and to give
any orders or to take any measures that I considered
necessary to protect the honor or the interests of the
Government.</p>

<p class='c007'>“Sibley’s letter shows the Texas authorities at Fort
Bliss and El Paso count upon Colonel Loring’s aid in
furthering their plans and indicates the manner (by delaying
his departure) in which this aid is to be rendered.
Colonel Loring’s resignation was tendered on the 13th
of last month, and has doubtless long since been accepted;
but this is not material, for any failure to act
at once, or any hesitancy in acting, may be in the highest
degree disastrous. In this case, then, as in all similar
cases which may occur, you will at once arrest the
implicated parties and hold them securely until their
guilt or innocence can be determined by the proper tribunals.
No considerations of delicacy or of regard
must be permitted to interfere when the honor of the
country and the safety of your command are involved.
I send these communications by Lieutenant Hall, Tenth
Infantry. Very respectfully, sir, your obedient servant,</p>

<div class='c008'>“Ed. R. S. Canby,</div>
<div class='c008'>“Brevet Lieutenant-Colonel, U. S. Army, Comdg. Dept.”</div>

<p class='c006'><span class='pageno' title='44' id='Page_44'></span>I then returned to El Paso and settled my affairs preparatory
to going to Santa Fe to take part with the
Union people. There was then residing at El Paso a
Col. Phil Herbert, who had been a member of Congress
from California, but who, on account of bad conduct or
misfortune, had left the State under a cloud. Having
never seen anything in the conduct of this gentleman
that was not honorable, generous and brave, it is not for
me to speak of his supposed faults. He was an enthusiastic
rebel, but my personal friend. When the stage
coach was ready to start I took this man aside and confided
to him where I was going, and why I was going.
He approved of my determination and wished me personal
success. I passed Fort Fillmore again en route to
Santa Fe, July 1, 1861, and met Dr. Cooper McKee, the
post surgeon, whom I knew well, and appealed to him to
do something to prevent the surrender of the post. He
appeared displeased at my remarks about his brother
officers, and said that their sympathies or intentions
were not his business, nor mine.</p>

<p class='c007'>I met at the post another young army surgeon, Dr.
Alden, who had lately arrived from Santa Fe. I found
him as enthusiastic and as distrustful of the officers as
myself. He told me he had thought of sending a private
express to General Canby, advising him of the danger,
but as I was going he would intrust it to me. He
promised to meet me next day in Mesilla, and did so,
but such was the feeling against Union men that this
United States officer, almost under the guns of his post,
did not dare to speak to me on the street, but beckoned
me to an outhouse, where he privately handed me a
letter to Lieutenant Anderson, Canby’s adjutant.</p>

<p class='c007'>I then called upon Dr. M. Steck, a loyal man, who
was Indian agent, and received from him some encouragement
<span class='pageno' title='45' id='Page_45'></span>and a letter to some friends of the government
at Santa Fe. We started the next morning to Santa Fe
by stage coach. There were nine passengers, all Union
men, I believe, and well armed. When about ten miles
out we were overtaken by a Mexican courier with a note
for Don Lorena Labide, a loyal Mexican passenger, informing
him that a force of rebel horsemen had left
Mesilla that morning, intending to capture the stage at
the Point of Rocks that night. We held a consultation
and determined to proceed and fight if attacked. When
near the Point of Rocks eight of us got off the coach,
with arms, and followed it at a distance, instructing the
driver that if halted he should get them into a parley
and give us the first fire. We, however, passed the
point unmolested, probably because a company of
United States troops camped near there. I went into
this camp and found Lieutenant McNally, with his
company, en route to Fort Fillmore, and informed him
of the condition of affairs there. At my request he
gave us an escort. I found him loyal and ready for
any duty. Arriving at Santa Fe I was introduced to
General Canby, and delivered Dr. Alden’s letter to his
adjutant, Captain Anderson, who read it and handed
it to Canby.</p>

<p class='c007'>I made a verbal report of all I had seen and heard.
General Canby informed me that he would order Captain
Lane away from Fort Fillmore, and he did. The general
also stated that he had ordered Maj. Isaac Lynde to
leave his station in Arizona and take command of Fillmore.
He had confidence in Lynde, and, telling me
something of his plans, requested me to return to Fort
Fillmore with dispatches for that officer.</p>

<p class='c007'>I arrived at Las Cruces, six miles from Fillmore, with
these dispatches at sunset about the 15th of July, and
<span class='pageno' title='46' id='Page_46'></span>met Dr. Steck, who avoided recognizing me. I took a
room in the hotel, locked the door and tried to sleep.
About 10 o’clock Dr. Steck came by stealth to my room
to advise me of danger. The contents of my letter to
Canby had been unwisely made known, and even United
States officers were threatening vengeance.</p>

<p class='c007'>Before reaching the fort next morning I met two loyal
friends, Dr. Knour, now of Las Vegas, and Mr. Brady,
who also informed me that I had been threatened. I
rode into the post and met Captain Lane, who angrily
asked me if I had reported him to General Canby as a
traitor. I replied that I had stated facts and left General
Canby to draw his own conclusions. A strange officer
then asked if I had said or written anything about
him. He said whoever called him a traitor was a liar.
That night he ran away from the post and joined the
rebels at Bliss. This was one Captain Garland.</p>

<p class='c007'>I called on Major Lynde and delivered my dispatches.
He sent for his adjutant, Lieutenant Brooks, who
opened and read them with some remarks, which satisfied
me that he was not anxious to lose much blood in
defense of his country. I believe, though I cannot
know, that a message went that night to Colonel Baylor,
who had arrived at Fort Bliss with his command, informing
him of the contents of these dispatches. There
was an order from Canby to Lynde to recapture Fort
Bliss and the stores there, which he could easily have
done.</p>

<p class='c007'>After Brooks withdrew Lynde spoke to me of the
feeling among his officers against me. He said he believed
I had acted honestly, but unwisely. Many of his
officers, he said, sympathized with the South, but they
had pledged their honors that, as long as they remained
in the service they would stand by him. I pleaded,
<span class='pageno' title='47' id='Page_47'></span>entreated and tried to reason with him for half an hour. I
told him treachery and ruin were all around him. “He
had six hundred regular troops, well armed and eager
for the fray.” I advised him to arrest a few officers
and send them under guard to Canby! To march on
Fort Bliss and capture the three hundred half-armed
Texans and the military stores which had been surrendered
there. Poor old man! It was useless. I have
never seen Lynde since that day, but ten years later I
received a letter, from which I extract the following:</p>

<div class='c013'>“St. Paul, October 22, 1871.</div>

<p class='c007'>“W. W. Mills: Dear Sir—Well do I remember the interview
you refer to, but I did not believe then that my
junior officers would act toward me as they did. Sincerely yours,</p>

<div class='c008'>I. Lynde.”</div>

<p class='c006'>Major Lynde, in answer to Canby’s letter indorsing
me insisted that I should undertake to learn and report
the exact strength of Colonel Baylor’s command, promising
to fight him if it was not stronger than represented.
I consented to undertake this dangerous service, but before
starting I went to Dr. McKee’s quarters. Several
officers were there. The doctor received me by saying
that he had been my friend, but I had incurred the displeasure
of his brother officers and he could be so no
longer. Doctor Alden said I had misrepresented him,
that he had never doubted the loyalty or good faith of
any officer. I reminded him of his letter to Anderson.
He replied that it was only a friendly letter, having no
reference to military matters.</p>

<p class='c007'>A year later, when in the field with Captain Anderson,
he referred to his files and found Alden’s letter to be a
warning of treachery and danger. The gallant Lieutenant
McNally was present, but appeared to be in doubt.
I have never seen him since, but subsequent events must
<span class='pageno' title='48' id='Page_48'></span>have satisfied him of the truth of my representations to
him that night on the Jornado del Muerto.</p>

<p class='c007'>But I am running ahead of my story. I procured a
horse from my friend, Dr. Knour, and rode to Paso del
Norte (Jaurez, Mexico), fifty miles in six hours, to watch
Colonel Baylor, keeping off the road. While en route,
at Canntilla, I met a deserter from Baylor’s command,
Sergeant Kemp, whom I knew to be a Union man who
had been forced by circumstances to join the Texans. I
gave him a letter of credence to Major Lynde, and he reported
the exact strength of Baylor’s command, but
Lynde moved not. Several efforts were made to decoy
me off the streets of Juarez, so as to kidnap me, but I
saw through the design and avoided them.</p>

<p class='c007'>One morning I met three acquaintances near the
bridge on the main street, and as I had a letter for one
of them I saluted them with “Good morning, gentlemen.”
One of them, Kelly, secession editor of the
Mesilla newspaper, said: “So you are a spy.” I replied:
“No, who says I am?” He said: “I do.” “Then you
are a liar.” He struck at me, but I avoided the blow
and placed a cocked pistol at his breast. He threw up
his arms and said, “Don’t fire,” and I put up my pistol.
Kelly was soon after killed by Colonel Baylor in a
street fight at Mesilla. (Kelly was from Michigan.)
There was at that time, at El Paso, a German named
Kuhn, whom I knew, and who had the reputation of
being a bad man. He professed to hate the Texans,
and I did not suspect him of any connection with them.</p>

<p class='c007'>I was ready to return to New Mexico when one day
about noon, when walking on the sidewalk near the
corner of the plaza in front of the store of Mr. Duchene,
I saw that Dutchman Kuhn on horseback in front of
me, apparently drunk. I wished to avoid him, but as
<span class='pageno' title='49' id='Page_49'></span>I neared him he rode onto the sidewalk and seized me
by the shoulder. Half a dozen other horsemen appeared,
as though they had risen out of the ground.
One seized my pistol and ordered me to mount his horse
quickly. I did so, and he vaulted up behind me, and
away we all went a clattering gallop toward the Texas
side. When we had crossed the river I asked, “Where
do you intend to take me?” One answered, “To Fort
Bliss.” I requested that they would not take me through
El Paso, but they decided to do so. Kuhn then said
to me that it was all right, I would have a fair trial and
so on. I said: “I want no talk with you, sir; you are
a scoundrel and a murderer. These soldiers obey orders.
You betray for money.” I said more, and offered
to fight him if they would give me my pistol. As
I expected, this piece of pluck won the chivalrous young
Texans. I saw no possibility of escape, and knowing
the bitter feeling against me it appeared to me the
chances were in favor of being hung or shot. Not that
I considered myself a spy, for I had not been in disguise
nor in the enemy’s lines, but I did not suppose those
gentlemen would hesitate much about technicalities.</p>

<p class='c007'>To a soldier taken in battle imprisonment merely
means exchange or parole, but this was a different matter.
It was not probable that the soil of a neutral republic
had been violated merely that the Texan officers
might have the pleasure of my company about their
quarters. At Fort Bliss I was taken before the then
post commander, Major Waller, who said: “You are
brought here a prisoner, sir.” I asked why they had
taken me from neutral soil, and he said I would learn
in time. He then sent for the officer of the day, Capt.
Ike Stafford, who conducted me to the guardhouse; it
was filled with vermin and bad men. (Captain Stafford
still lives in Texas.)</p>

<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' title='50' id='Page_50'></span>The first night a blacksmith came and took the measure
of my ankle, and presently returned with a ball
and chain which he riveted on my leg. I soon found
that by removing my boot I could slip the iron over my
foot, but the chances for escape were very poor, and
I often shuddered when awakened from troubled sleep
by its clanking. The idea of kidnaping me did not originate
with the Texan military, but was instigated by
citizen non-combatants—my own neighbors.</p>

<p class='c007'>The next day two of the young men who kidnaped
me came to see me at the guard house. Their names
were Craig and McGarvey—James McGarvey, now of
Galveston. Before they left they promised to be my
friends, and faithfully kept their words. They told me
that Kuhn had offered to divide with them the reward
paid him for my arrest, but they declined the blood-money.</p>

<p class='c007'>Colonel Herbert also called to see me, and denounced
my arrest and volunteered to act as my counsel.</p>

<p class='c007'>The colonel applied for a writ of habeas corpus, but
the district judge refused to grant it.</p>

<p class='c007'>I asked to see Colonel Baylor, and asked to be tried
and hung or shot or released. He said he had evidence
enough to hang me, though he would dislike to do it.
Still, if I insisted, he would give me a court martial.
He recounted very correctly some of the incidents of
my journey to Santa Fe.</p>

<p class='c007'>The next day Baylor sent his adjutant to inform me
that he could not grant a court martial.</p>

<p class='c007'>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.
<span class='pageno' title='51' id='Page_51'></span>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.</p>

<p class='c007'>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. <i>All were
killed.</i> 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.</p>

<p class='c007'>It was about this time that I stood at the door of the
<span class='pageno' title='52' id='Page_52'></span>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.</p>

<p class='c007'>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.</p>

<p class='c007'>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.</p>

<p class='c007'>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
<span class='pageno' title='53' id='Page_53'></span>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.</p>

<p class='c007'>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.”</p>

<p class='c007'>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.</p>

<p class='c007'>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.</p>

<p class='c007'>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.</p>

<p class='c007'>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
<span class='pageno' title='54' id='Page_54'></span>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.</p>

<p class='c007'>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.</p>

<p class='c007'>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.</p>

<p class='c007'>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
<span class='pageno' title='55' id='Page_55'></span>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.</p>

<p class='c007'>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.</p>

<hr class='c014' />
<div class='footnote' id='f1'>
<p class='c015'><span class='label'><a href='#r1'>1</a>.&nbsp;&nbsp;</span>“All of which I saw and a part of which I was.”</p>
</div>

<div class='footnote' id='f2'>
<p class='c015'><span class='label'><a href='#r2'>2</a>.&nbsp;&nbsp;</span>Did Arnold experience similar regrets and wishes?</p>
</div>

<div  class='figcenter id004'>
<img src='https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:w:ww-mills-forty-years-at-el-paso-ill-055.jpg' alt='' class='ig004' />
</div>

<div class='pbb'></div>
<hr class='pb c004' />

<div class='chapter'>
  <span class='pageno' title='56' id='Page_56'></span>
  <h2 id='valverde' class='c005'><span class='large'>THE BATTLE OF VALVERDE.</span></h2>
</div>

<p class='c006'>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.</p>

<p class='c007'>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
<span class='pageno' title='57' id='Page_57'></span>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.</p>

<p class='c007'>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.</p>

<p class='c007'>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.</p>

<p class='c007'>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).</p>

<p class='c007'>The Texans now rapidly concentrated all their available
force at the foot of the hills in front of our battery
<span class='pageno' title='58' id='Page_58'></span>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.</p>

<p class='c007'>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.”</p>

<p class='c007'>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
<span class='pageno' title='59' id='Page_59'></span>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.</p>

<p class='c007'>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.</p>

<p class='c007'>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.</p>

<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' title='60' id='Page_60'></span>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.</p>

<p class='c007'>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.</p>

<p class='c007'>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.</p>

<p class='c007'>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.</p>

<p class='c007'>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.</p>

<div class='pbb'></div>
<hr class='pb c004' />

<div class='chapter'>
  <span class='pageno' title='61' id='Page_61'></span>
  <h2 id='captainmoore' class='c005'><span class='large'>CAPTAIN MOORE.</span></h2>
</div>

<p class='c006'>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.</p>

<p class='c007'>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 “<i>blew
out his own brains!</i>”</p>

<p class='c007'>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.</p>

<p class='c007'>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
<span class='pageno' title='62' id='Page_62'></span>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.</p>

<p class='c007'>“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.)</p>

<p class='c007'>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.</p>

<p class='c007'>The very <i>charge</i> against me then was that I had been
the leader of the Union people of this frontier.</p>

<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' title='63' id='Page_63'></span>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.</p>

<p class='c007'>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.</p>

<p class='c007'>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
<i>something</i> wrong—but they do not specify what the
wrong was.</p>

<p class='c007'>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.</p>

<div class='pbb'></div>
<hr class='pb c004' />

<div class='chapter'>
  <span class='pageno' title='64' id='Page_64'></span>
  <h2 id='moral' class='c005'><span class='large'>A STORY WITHOUT A MORAL.</span></h2>
</div>

<p class='c006'>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.</p>

<p class='c007'>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 <i>command</i>
success? But I am not writing moral philosophy
or solving riddles.</p>

<div class='pbb'></div>
<hr class='pb c004' />

<div class='chapter'>
  <span class='pageno' title='65' id='Page_65'></span>
  <h2 id='dowell' class='c005'><span class='large'>BENJAMIN S. DOWELL.</span></h2>
</div>

<p class='c006'>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.</p>

<p class='c007'>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.</p>

<p class='c007'>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:</p>

<p class='c016'>“Paso Del Norte (Juarez), Mexico, October 12th, 1864.</p>

<p class='c007'>“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
<span class='pageno' title='66' id='Page_66'></span>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.</p>

<p class='c007'>“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.,</p>

<div class='c008'>“<span class='sc'>B. S. Dowell.</span>”</div>

<p class='c006'>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.</p>

<p class='c007'>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.</p>

<p class='c007'>I was, of course, indignant. What? Federal bayonets
shoved into <i>my</i> 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
<span class='pageno' title='67' id='Page_67'></span>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!</p>

<p class='c007'>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.</p>

<p class='c007'>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 <i>without losing
a race</i>.</p>

<p class='c007'>I withdrew from the partnership and quit all such
business after my marriage in 1869.</p>

<div class='pbb'></div>
<hr class='pb c004' />

<div class='chapter'>
  <span class='pageno' title='68' id='Page_68'></span>
  <h2 id='daily' class='c005'><span class='large'>BRAD. DAILY.</span></h2>
</div>

<p class='c006'>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.</p>

<p class='c007'>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
<span class='pageno' title='69' id='Page_69'></span>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.”</p>

<p class='c007'>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.</p>

<p class='c007'>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;
<span class='pageno' title='70' id='Page_70'></span>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.</p>

<p class='c007'>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.</p>

<div  class='figcenter id005'>
<img src='https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:w:ww-mills-forty-years-at-el-paso-ill-070.jpg' alt='' class='ig005' />
</div>
<div class='pbb'></div>
<hr class='pb c004' />

<div class='chapter'>
  <span class='pageno' title='71' id='Page_71'></span>
  <h2 id='lemon' class='c005'><span class='large'>JOHN LEMON.</span></h2>
</div>

<p class='c006'>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
<span class='pageno' title='72' id='Page_72'></span>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.</p>

<p class='c007'>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 <i>with</i> us, but not <i>of</i> 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.</p>

<div class='pbb'></div>
<hr class='pb c004' />

<div class='chapter'>
  <span class='pageno' title='73' id='Page_73'></span>
  <h2 id='damphool' class='c005'><span class='large'>“BOB” CRANDALL AS A DAMPHOOL.</span></h2>
</div>

<p class='c006'>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.</p>

<p class='c007'>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.</p>

<p class='c007'>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 <i>voice</i>. “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 <i>that it
amounts to about the same thing</i>.” 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.</p>

<div class='pbb'></div>
<hr class='pb c004' />

<div class='chapter'>
  <span class='pageno' title='74' id='Page_74'></span>
  <h2 id='robbery' class='c005'><span class='large'>ROBBERY OF MY HOUSE IN 1865—INDIAN TRAILERS.</span></h2>
</div>

<p class='c006'>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.</p>

<p class='c007'>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.</p>

<p class='c007'>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.
<span class='pageno' title='75' id='Page_75'></span>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 <i>that was enough</i>.</p>

<p class='c007'>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. <i>He is inside.</i>” Making a more
thorough search, I found the gentleman concealed in
one of the rooms under a stack of beef hides.</p>

<p class='c007'>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.</p>

<p class='c007'>Several weeks later a little Mexican boy came to me
<span class='pageno' title='76' id='Page_76'></span>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.</p>

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</div>
<div class='pbb'></div>
<hr class='pb c004' />

<div class='chapter'>
  <span class='pageno' title='77' id='Page_77'></span>
  <h2 id='attempt' class='c005'><span class='large'>ATTEMPT AT ASSASSINATION IN 1867—A MYSTERY.</span></h2>
</div>

<p class='c006'>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.</p>

<p class='c007'>I had some bitter enemies among the Americans at
that time, some avowed and others secret, as I afterward
learned.</p>

<p class='c007'>On the night in question I retired as usual in my
own room, and, strangely enough, on <i>this</i> 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 <i>theft</i> 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 <i>sure</i>
<span class='pageno' title='78' id='Page_78'></span>that I was not alone. I was wide awake, was not
alarmed; my feeling was rather one of wonder.</p>

<p class='c007'>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.</p>

<p class='c007'>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. <i>That man’s hand surely held a
knife and he was feeling for my heart!</i> 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 <i>why</i> did I
change my room that night? <i>How</i> 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”!</p>

<div class='pbb'></div>
<hr class='pb c004' />

<div class='chapter'>
  <span class='pageno' title='79' id='Page_79'></span>
  <h2 id='fate' class='c005'><span class='large'>FATE OF MY CUSTOM-HOUSE DEPUTIES.</span></h2>
</div>

<p class='c006'>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.</p>

<div  class='figcenter id007'>
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</div>
<div class='pbb'></div>
<hr class='pb c004' />

<div class='chapter'>
  <span class='pageno' title='80' id='Page_80'></span>
  <h2 id='change' class='c005'><span class='large'>CHANGE OF CUSTOMS DISTRICT—SAMUEL J. JONES. (1863.)</span></h2>
</div>

<p class='c006'>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.</p>

<p class='c007'>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
<span class='pageno' title='81' id='Page_81'></span>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.</p>

<p class='c007'>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.</p>

<div  class='figcenter id008'>
<img src='https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:w:ww-mills-forty-years-at-el-paso-ill-081.jpg' alt='' class='ig008' />
</div>
<div class='pbb'></div>
<hr class='pb c004' />

<div class='chapter'>
  <span class='pageno' title='82' id='Page_82'></span>
  <h2 id='french' class='c005'><span class='large'>CAPTAINS SKILLMAN AND FRENCH.</span></h2>
</div>

<p class='c006'>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.</p>

<p class='c007'>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.</p>

<p class='c007'>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.</p>

<p class='c007'>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.</p>

<p class='c007'>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
<span class='pageno' title='83' id='Page_83'></span>to the rescue, called out: “Look out there, Mills;
they are going to kill you.”</p>

<p class='c007'>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.</p>

<p class='c007'>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.</p>

<p class='c007'>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.</p>

<p class='c007'>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.</p>

<p class='c007'>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).</p>

<p class='c007'>At midnight, French, with a portion of his little command,
including two citizens of San Elizario, <i>crawled</i>
into Skillman’s camp, and, rising to their feet, called for
surrender. Skillman arose, armed, and refused, when
French shot him dead.</p>

<p class='c007'>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.</p>

<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' title='84' id='Page_84'></span>There were citizens of El Paso county in each of these
parties, some of whom are still living.</p>

<p class='c007'>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.</p>

<p class='c007'>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.”</p>

<p class='c007'>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.</p>

<p class='c007'>Captain French’s conduct was soldierly and commendable.</p>

<div  class='figcenter id009'>
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</div>
<div class='pbb'></div>
<hr class='pb c004' />

<div class='chapter'>
  <span class='pageno' title='85' id='Page_85'></span>
  <h2 id='furnishing' class='c005'><span class='large'>FURNISHING ARMS TO MEXICO—1865.</span></h2>
</div>

<p class='c006'>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.</p>

<p class='c007'>This gentleman did not hesitate to confide to me that
his mission was to purchase arms and ammunition for
use against the invaders of his country. This was a
delicate matter because, if United States officials favored
his scheme, it might have involved our government in
difficulty, or even war with France, with which country
we were friendly, although all loyal Americans, from
the President down, sympathized deeply with Mexico
in her struggle for existence. I could not betray this
gentleman’s secret, and he proceeded to Santa Fe, New
Mexico, where Gen. James H. Carleton was in command
of the United States troops, and thence to Washington
City; and it was not long before several hundred
stands of arms in New Mexico were condemned as
being “unserviceable” and were moved down to Las
Cruces, fifty miles north of El Paso, and advertised for
sale at public auction. These rifles, with ammunition,
were purchased by my friend, Don Juan Zubiran, and
were to be delivered to the Governor of Sonora at Conalitos,
in the State of Chihuahua, near the Sonora line,
and were to be received and paid for there. <i>Somehow</i>
these arms found their way over the boundary line to
<span class='pageno' title='86' id='Page_86'></span>Conalitos, and now comes the interesting part of their
story—if it has any interest at all.</p>

<p class='c007'>Mr. Zubiran was about to send an express to Hermisillo,
the capital of Sonora, to notify Governor ——
that the arms were ready for delivery, but it would have
been a long and dangerous journey, and as I had a
deputy collector of customs (one McWard) at Tucson,
nearer Hermisillo, Mr. Zubiran requested me to forward
his letter under cover to McWard, and ask him to send
it by messenger to Governor —— and ask him to
reply through the same channels. This was done, and in
due time there came a reply to Mr. Zubiran, written on
the printed letter-head paper of the “Executive of the
State of Sonora,” signed by the Governor, and to every
appearance genuine. But the contents of this letter were
startling. It stated that the Governor regretted that
he could not receive or pay for the arms; that the Mexican
cause was hopeless, and it advised my friend Zubiran
(than whom Mexico had no stancher patriot) to
give in his allegiance to the Empire of Maximilian!</p>

<p class='c007'>We were astounded; but there was the fact in plain
black and white.</p>

<p class='c007'>Some weeks later an express rider came in great haste
from the Governor of Sonora, with a letter to Mr. Zubiran,
asking why such delay about the rifles, and urging
haste, and stating that the money to pay for them was
already at Conalitos.</p>

<p class='c007'>We finally got at the explanation of this chapter of
misunderstandings. A former Governor of Sonora had
espoused the cause of Maximilian, had fled from his
country, and taken refuge at Tucson, carrying with him
some of the stationery of the State, and had become intimate
with Deputy McWard, who had betrayed to him
the contents of Zubiran’s letter, thus enabling him to prepare
<span class='pageno' title='87' id='Page_87'></span>and forward the bogus reply, with such appearance
of genuineness.</p>

<p class='c007'>The arms were delivered and paid for, and it is needless
to state that the faithless Deputy McWard lost his
official head.</p>

<div  class='figcenter id010'>
<img src='https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:w:ww-mills-forty-years-at-el-paso-ill-087.jpg' alt='' class='ig010' />
</div>
<div class='pbb'></div>
<hr class='pb c004' />

<div class='chapter'>
  <span class='pageno' title='88' id='Page_88'></span>
  <h2 id='juarez' class='c005'><span class='large'>PRESIDENT JUAREZ’ GOVERNMENT AT CIUDAD JUAREZ, NEAR EL PASO—1865-66.</span></h2>
</div>

<p class='c006'>For more than a year, in 1865 and 1866, the village of
Paso del Norte (now Ciudad Juarez), opposite El Paso,
was the actual capital of the Mexican Republic. Benito
Juarez, the patriot President, with his Cabinet and a little
remnant of his army, had been driven from his capital
by the French troops and the Mexican adherents of
Maximilian, and were making a last stand on this frontier,
the French troops having possession of the city of
Chihuahua, only two hundred and twenty-five miles to
the southward.</p>

<p class='c007'>The writer happened at that time to occupy the most
important United States office on the frontier. He
spoke Juarez’s own language well, and Juarez knew
that he sympathized as deeply with the republican cause
in Mexico as the Mexican President sympathized with
the cause of the Republic of the United States. Our
Government had at that time no minister near the Juarez
Government. I visited the President very often. Was it
strange if we held many conversations, in which each
confided to the other his hopes and fears, as to the success
or failure of the two simultaneous efforts then being
made to destroy the two greatest Republics in the
world—our own countries? In January, 1866, I informed
President Juarez that I contemplated a journey
to Washington City, and before I started he confided
to me a letter to the Mexican Minister, Señor Romero,
and also one to his wife, who, with her two daughters,
were then at Romero’s house in Washington, refugees
from their own country.</p>

<div class='pbb'></div>
<hr class='pb c004' />

<div class='chapter'>
  <span class='pageno' title='89' id='Page_89'></span>
  <h2 id='contests' class='c005'><span class='large'>A VISIT TO WASHINGTON—POLITICAL CONTESTS.</span></h2>
</div>

<p class='c006'>This journey was made by stage coach via Santa Fe
as far as Kansas City, thirteen hundred miles, in midwinter,
and was not without interesting incidents, one
of which I will relate. We left Santa Fe with six passengers,
Judge S. Watts, two young ladies, two merchants
and myself. There was also the stage driver and
the driver of a wagon which carried our provisions and
baggage. The weather, for the greater portion of the
time, was intensely cold, the ground being covered with
snow. We slept under a roof only twice during the
journey of twelve days.</p>

<p class='c007'>My brother, Anson Mills, was then a cavalry captain
in the army, but I had not heard from him for many
months, and had not the slightest idea in what part of
the country he might be. One very cold day, about
noon, when approaching the Arkansas River, we met a
train of wagons bound for Santa Fe, and the wagonmaster
informed us that he had the day before been
attacked by a party of Indians at the crossing of the
Arkansas, but had stood them off, and had moved on,
uninjured. He advised us to return to Santa Fe, but,
incredible as it may seem, we decided to proceed on our
journey. I do not call this courage; to me, after so
many years, it appears more like foolhardiness!</p>

<p class='c007'>Nearing the river, but before we could see down into
the valley, we saw, far to our right, and apparently flanking
us, two men with rifles, whom we supposed might
be Indians.</p>

<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' title='90' id='Page_90'></span>The coach was halted, we four male passengers, with
our arms, moved toward the strangers and beckoned
them to approach. They did so, and I soon recognized
the familiar uniform of United States soldiers! I asked,
“Where are you camped?” Reply: “Down yonder at
the crossing.” “Who is in command?” “Captain
Mills.” “What Mills?” “<i>Captain Anson Mills.</i>”</p>

<p class='c007'>The ladies slept that night in the captain’s tent and
we brothers, by the camp fire, told each other our adventures
since we had separated at El Paso, five years
before, each to take his chances in the desperate game
of war.</p>

<p class='c007'>Captain Mills gave me his application for promotion
to present at Washington, and after the stage had
started he called to me: “Get me a leave of absence,
and I will go to Washington and return your visit.”</p>

<p class='c007'>Arrived in Washington, I presented the application
for promotion to Gen. John B. Steedman, who indorsed
it thus: “Captain Mills served on my staff for three
years. He is the best officer of his rank I ever knew;
intelligent, efficient and fearless. I recommend him for
promotion.”</p>

<p class='c007'>A few days later I went with some New Mexican
friends to call on General Grant, who was then Secretary
of war. I told the General about meeting my
brother, and asked a leave of absence for him. The General
replied that such applications must come through
the regular channels. I showed the Secretary the application
for promotion, with Steedman’s indorsement, and
told him something of our troubles at El Paso at the
outbreak of the Rebellion. He read the papers and
seemed pleased, but continued talking with my friends
and dispatching business. On rising to take our leave,
I told General Grant that I was sorry not to meet my
<span class='pageno' title='91' id='Page_91'></span>brother at Washington, but I could not complain, as I
saw good reasons for the refusal. To which he replied:
“The telegram has gone, sir; your brother will be here
in a few days.”</p>

<p class='c007'>He came, and got his promotion also.</p>

<p class='c007'>Soon after this I was summoned to the State Department
for an interview with the Secretary, William H.
Seward. He asked many questions about President
Juarez and his cause, and about the real sentiment of the
Mexican people, and about their probable ability to
drive Maximilian and the French out of Mexico “without
assistance.”</p>

<p class='c007'>Mr. Seward asked me about our consul at Juarez,
Henry J. Cuniffe. I replied that he was an able and
patriotic gentleman.</p>

<p class='c007'>The Secretary then said that in the absence of the
United States Minister, our consul ought to have an
extra allowance of money for expenses during the Mexican
President’s stay at Juarez, and asked me what
amount I thought would be sufficient.</p>

<p class='c007'>I replied $2,500 a quarter, and the Secretary said that
would not be too much, and if the consul would make
requisitions they would be honored.</p>

<p class='c007'>I wrote my friend Cuniffe immediately.</p>

<p class='c007'>This was before the days of “Retrenchment and Reform.”</p>

<p class='c007'>Now came one of my hardest battles. My term of
four years as collector of customs at El Paso, under
Lincoln, was about to expire, and there was objection to
my reappointment—<i>there always is</i>—but in this case
there was a serious charge of misconduct in office to the
effect that I had permitted the exportation of large
quantities of arms and ammunition from my district into
Mexico to be used against the French, in violation of
<span class='pageno' title='92' id='Page_92'></span>the instructions from my own Government and the
neutrality laws; and “on the face of the returns” the
charge appeared to be true, and my enemies believed my
defeat <i>certain</i>.</p>

<p class='c007'>Andrew Johnson was President. When I called on
him, with some friends, to make my formal application,
we met, by an awkward accident, a delegation of my
enemies, and we “had it out” then and there. I stated
my own case, and though the President was noncommittal,
I felt sure of reappointment, though my friends
did not. A few days afterward, when Judge Watts was
talking to the President on other subjects, the President
said: “Judge, where is your young friend from Texas?
Is this his appointment which I signed to-day?” When
told that it was, he said: “I intended from the first to
appoint him. I like that young man.”</p>

<p class='c007'>In the Senate there was opposition to my confirmation.
Senator Conness of California made a sensational
speech against me in executive session, and presented
what he called “proof.” I saw the Senator personally and
made some explanations, which it is not necessary, or
proper, to repeat here, and he withdrew his opposition
and moved my confirmation, and I was unanimously
confirmed.</p>

<p class='c007'>In May, 1866, the President’s private secretary, Col.
Henry Cooper, asked the Texas Republicans then in
Washington to agree upon some Texan to be appointed
“Visitor to West Point.”</p>

<p class='c007'>These appointments are strictly Presidential, not
requiring confirmation by the Senate, and are much
desired and sought after, being considered a high honor
and a special favor from the chief executive of the
nation. We met and selected a very distinguished
Texan, Judge George W. Paschal, and sent up his
name.</p>

<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' title='93' id='Page_93'></span>A few days later Colonel Cooper said to one of our
friends: “The President does not like the selection of
Paschal. He says he is going to appoint Mills. Tell
Mills to come and see him.” I called and thanked the
President, and had some conversation with him, but
later gave my brother, Capt. Anson Mills, a letter to the
President, requesting him to substitute his name for
mine, which was done.</p>

<p class='c007'>I have known and conversed with four Presidents—Lincoln,
Johnson, Grant and McKinley—and have held
office under all of them; but I knew Andy Johnson best,
and I liked the rugged, stubborn Southerner, who had
stood firm as a rock against rebellion in his own section.
If I had been older, or bolder, I am vain enough
to believe I might possibly have been of service to him.
He had inherited his Cabinet from Mr. Lincoln, and
some of them were, from the start, not very devoted to
him personally. He was being flattered and cajoled by
his late enemies, and he had been fretted and angered
by certain Republican leaders, “wise men of the East,”
who believed that no good could come out of Nazareth,
and he was about to make the mistake of his life—<i>the
break with his party</i>. I was pleased when, years later,
he came to the United States Senate, supported by the
votes of his best and truest friends—the Union people
of Tennessee.</p>

<div class='pbb'></div>
<hr class='pb c004' />

<div class='chapter'>
  <span class='pageno' title='94' id='Page_94'></span>
  <h2 id='reconstruction' class='c005'><span class='large'>RECONSTRUCTION—CONSTITUTIONAL CONVENTION OF 1868-69.</span></h2>
</div>

<p class='c006'>In 1868 I was elected to represent El Paso county in
the State Constitutional Convention, which was to meet
at Austin in May of that year, to frame a constitution
under which Texas might be readmitted into the Union.
At the start I was opposed for that office by Major
Joseph Smith, a popular Democrat, who had been honorably
discharged from the United States military service
at El Paso, but early in the contest I badgered him
into saying that if he found a single “Nigger” in the
convention, he would resign.</p>

<p class='c007'>I then suggested to the Mexican audience that if he
had that much race prejudice, he would not do to represent
<i>them</i>. Major Smith soon saw certain defeat before
him, and withdrew, and I was unanimously elected.</p>

<p class='c007'>During April of that year, I went in a buggy, with a
single companion, Hon. W. P. Bacon, Judge of our district,
to San Antonio, en route to Austin, seven hundred
and forty miles, in seventeen days, without change of
animals (two horses). We “camped out” and did our
own cooking, and traveled much at night, because
marauding Indians were then abundant on that route.
I arrived at Austin a total stranger to every soul in that
capital. The convention had ninety delegates, only ten
of whom were Democrats. There were nine colored delegates,
a large contingent of carpetbaggers, and several
new recruits to the Republican party, who claimed from
the day of their conversion to be more “loyal” to that
party than any of us. But about one-half of the body
<span class='pageno' title='95' id='Page_95'></span>were able, representative, old-time Texans, who had
taken the Union side of the secession question and had
become Republicans. These were led by Gov. A. J.
(“Jack”) Hamilton, a man of Southern birth, once a
slave-owner, who had been from the start the most
prominent, boldest and most eloquent of the Union men
of Texas, if not of the whole South. He was a member
of Congress in 1861, and denounced secession both there
and at home, and later was appointed a brigadier general
and Provisional Governor of Texas by President Lincoln,
and had gained a national reputation as an orator.
And now the usual thing happened. “He who surpasses
or subdues mankind must look down on the hate of
those below.” The small men in the convention combined
to down the greatest one.</p>

<p class='c007'>A resolution was passed the first day of the convention,
without opposition, requiring all delegates to take
what was then known as the “Ironclad Oath.” This
would have excluded several delegates who had, in one
way or another, given aid and comfort to the rebellion.</p>

<p class='c007'>The next day, Mills of El Paso, a Republican, moved
to reconsider that resolution and to admit all who had
been elected by the people. He urged that we were not
officers of the United States, but of Texas, and scarcely
that, because we could do nothing which would bind any
one. Our work would have to be approved by the people,
and then by Congress, etc., etc.</p>

<p class='c007'>Governor Hamilton came to the rescue and Mills’
motion was passed and all elected delegates were admitted.
(The published records of the convention bear out
the above statement.) And now the first charge was
heard against Governor Hamilton, both in Texas and at
Washington, that he had “sold out to the rebels.”</p>

<p class='c007'>The opponents of Governor Hamilton had the tact to
<span class='pageno' title='96' id='Page_96'></span>put forward, as their leader, Col. E. J. Davis, a Texas
Union man, who had done good service during the war,
and against whom nothing can be said except that he
was inordinately ambitious, vain, vindictive, and that he
was then, and for years after, surrounded and influenced
by as lordly a set of unscrupulous adventurers as ever
tyrannized over or wronged the people of any Southern
State. He and Morgan Hamilton, a brother of Jack
Hamilton, were almost the only leaders of respectability
in the whole “Davis party.”</p>

<p class='c007'>The three questions upon which the Davis Republicans
and the Hamilton Republicans wrangled so long in
that convention were these:</p>

<p class='c007'>1st. Davis contended that all who had participated in
the Rebellion should be disfranchised. Hamilton opposed.</p>

<p class='c007'>2d. Davis contended that all laws passed by the Legislature
during the Rebellion were null and void, <i>ab
initio</i>.</p>

<p class='c007'>Hamilton contended that only such laws as contravened
the Constitution and laws of the United States
were void.</p>

<p class='c007'>3d. Davis contended for a division of Texas into
three States, and Hamilton opposed.</p>

<p class='c007'>(The proposition to divide Texas was finally killed on
motion of the writer of these chapters, and if any Texan
thinks that the State was not then in danger of being
divided, let him remember old Virginia.)</p>

<p class='c007'>Hamilton won on all three of these propositions, and
a constitution was framed in accordance with his views,
and submitted to the people. I quote below a report of
the last day’s stormy session of this memorable convention,
by Whilden, the brilliant correspondent of the
Galveston News:</p>

<div class='nf-center-c1'>
<div class='nf-center c017'>
    <div><span class='pageno' title='97' id='Page_97'></span>“<span class='fss'>TEXAS CONVENTION.</span></div>
  </div>
</div>

<div class='c008'>“Austin, Texas, February 8, 1869.</div>

<p class='c015'>“Special to the Galveston News.</p>

<p class='c007'>“Precisely at what point to begin I am in doubt. This
convention, which we thought was to give civil government
to Texas and to which we necessarily attached
some dignity, has in the end proved itself to be a farce
on the civilization of the nineteenth century. Jack Hamilton
and a few others did all that genius could do to
turn its purposes to legitimate ends. Partially they
failed; but in that failure they left the impress of brains
upon the wild waste of passion which this convention
has given to the world. * * * All mortal things
shall ever have an ending, and this convention is as all
other mortal things.</p>

<p class='c007'>“Strategic movements on the part of Davis and Hamilton
have filled up the time. Between these two men
there can be no comparison. * * *</p>

<p class='c007'>“On last Friday night the cloud burst, and for a few
moments the curse of heaven seemed to hang as a pillar
of flame over the convention hall.</p>

<p class='c007'>“Stern as Davis is, he quivered when Mills of El Paso
tore from his bosom the thin gauze with which he hoped
to hide the dark, selfish and damning purposes of his
heart. Yes, he quivered, but it was for a while only.
The devil never deserts his own for a long time at once.
Davis rallied and poured the long pent-up passion of
his heart upon Mills. Confusion ensued. The issue was
now made. Davis was right and Mills very wrong, or
Davis was wrong and Mills the Nemesis of the night.
A majority of the convention agreed with Mills. But
Davis has his tools. The convention had one more than
a quorum. This quorum must be broken or Davis meets
<span class='pageno' title='98' id='Page_98'></span>a Waterloo defeat. Two of Davis’ tools resigned their
seats then and there. Thus was a quorum, under the
standing rules, broken, and fortune for a while declared
for Davis.</p>

<p class='c007'>“But Hamilton was not thus to be defeated. He
brought all his forces up against the political traitors,
raised a point of order as to whether a quorum consisted
of a majority of ninety members, which the convention
ought to have had, had every delegate been in
his seat, or of a majority of those who, at that time, were
entitled to seats. Plausibility and common sense were
on Hamilton’s side. Davis’ wrath was terrible. Mills
must be punished. The convention could not see it
through his spectacles, and he ordered the sergeant-at-arms
to take Mills in custody. It was a wordy order.
Davis, seeing his inevitable defeat, on his own motion,
declared that the convention, as no quorum was present,
stood adjourned till next day at 10 o’clock, and, with
the mien of a lieutenant of his satanic majesty, left the
rostrum.</p>

<p class='c007'>“Before he had gotten half way down the aisle, Armstrong
of Lamar had been elected president. Davis
ordered the doorkeeper to open the doors so that members
could go out. The doorkeeper refused.</p>

<p class='c007'>“Then ensued a scene which cannot be described.
Hamilton arose and spoke under all the excitement of
the evening—spoke as only those can speak who are
orators born—spoke until, if I had been in Davis’ place,
I would have prayed that the capitol might crush upon
me and hide my awful shame.”</p>

<p class='c006'>The constitution was then adopted as a whole and this
revolutionary attempt to break up the convention and
prevent the reconstruction of the State and her readmission
into the Union met a humiliating defeat.</p>

<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' title='99' id='Page_99'></span>The good General Canby, being then in command of
the Department, approved of our course of action and
submitted the constitution to the people.</p>

<p class='c007'>Three days later, February 8, 1869, at Austin, Texas,
the writer married Mary, eldest daughter of Governor
A. J. Hamilton, who in this year of Grace 1900, still
abides with him; but that is “another story,” which he
reserves for a later chapter.</p>

<div  class='figcenter id011'>
<img src='https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:w:ww-mills-forty-years-at-el-paso-ill-099.jpg' alt='' class='ig011' />
</div>
<div class='pbb'></div>
<hr class='pb c004' />

<div class='chapter'>
  <span class='pageno' title='100' id='Page_100'></span>
  <h2 id='hamilton' class='c005'><span class='large'>HAMILTON-DAVIS CONTEST OF 1869—ADOPTION OF CONSTITUTION.</span></h2>
</div>

<p class='c006'>The reader may think it strange that I give so much
space to so common an occurrence as a State election,
but the explanation is simple. It was the first reasonable
attempt to carry our State back into the Union. The
Democrats had made one effort and had failed, because
they had offended the dominant sentiment of the country
by “Apprentice Laws,” and other measures which
virtually reduced the freedman to a state of slavery, and
by electing to the United States Senate a man who had
presided over the convention which carried Texas out of
the Union. Because of this failure, the Democrats, as a
party, took no part in the second effort to reconstruct
the State, but divided, those of them who voted at all,
between the two Republican candidates.</p>

<p class='c007'>Thousands of them sullenly refused to vote at all. It
was therefore a contest between <i>men and ideas</i>. <i>The
questions were all new.</i> True, there have been many
State elections since then, but the results have all been
foregone conclusions, so that the younger generation of
Texans know nothing of the excitement, the strenuousness,
the manliness, of a real contest for the political
control of a great State.</p>

<p class='c007'>Davis and his party publicly denounced this constitution
as being “framed in the interest of rebels,” and
swore to defeat it either before the people or at Washington.
Will the reader believe that a month later these
same men publicly declared <i>in favor</i> of this same constitution,
and for E. J. Davis as their candidate for Governor
under it? But that is history.</p>

<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' title='101' id='Page_101'></span>Hamilton also became a candidate for Governor.
Gen. J. J. Reynolds was in command of the Department
of Texas, and the elections were held under military
supervision. Although both candidates were Republicans,
General Reynolds and others secured the support
of the national administration and the Republican National
Committee for the Davis faction.</p>

<p class='c007'>This Reynolds, a stranger to the people of Texas,
desired to make himself United States Senator from the
State, and with that purpose in view, permitted the
frauds which defeated Hamilton, and he (Reynolds)
declared Davis elected by a majority of only seven hundred
votes, several whole counties being denied by Reynolds
the right to vote at all. The Davis Legislature
<i>did</i>, later on, elect this same J. J. Reynolds to be Senator,
but the Senate of the United States refused to admit
him, and he was subsequently suspended from the army
by sentence of a court-martial!</p>

<p class='c007'>The State was admitted to the Union, Davis was inaugurated,
and the notorious Twelfth Legislature convened.
I had the honor to be elected a member of that
memorable body, and also had the honor to be counted
out by Reynolds.</p>

<div  class='figcenter id012'>
<img src='https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:w:ww-mills-forty-years-at-el-paso-ill-101.jpg' alt='' class='ig012' />
</div>
<div class='pbb'></div>
<hr class='pb c004' />

<div class='chapter'>
  <span class='pageno' title='102' id='Page_102'></span>
  <h2 id='marriage' class='c005'><span class='large'>MARRIAGE AND JOURNEY TO MY EL PASO HOME.</span></h2>
</div>

<p class='c006'>I do not know why it is that only in novels and
posthumous writings do men speak much of their wives,
and even the novel usually <i>ends</i> where I think it should
<i>begin</i>, with the marriage. The man who writes of his
own career usually treats the most important event of
his life incidentally or in a casual way, and if he praises
any woman it is usually his mother. I suppose there
must be some good reason for this general rule, and I
deviate from it only to say that for a third of a century
my wife has been the best, the truest and the most constant
friend I have known, and if these writings shall
have any interest for even a few friendly readers, it will
be largely due to the fact that she is still by my side, aiding
me with her intelligent criticism and her finer fancy.</p>

<p class='c007'>Well, on the 8th day of February, 1869, we were married,
she, surrounded by her family and the friends of
her youth, and a few disappointed beaux, and I, attended
by Generals Canby and Carleton, with whom I had
served in the army, and the Hon. William P. Bacon,
then Judge of the El Paso District, who, though he
encountered misfortune later on, was, I believe, an
honest man and a true friend. Camped in a grove near
the Hamilton residence was the “outfit” which had
brought me from El Paso, consisting of an ambulance
made by Dougherty of St. Louis, especially for such
journeys over the plains, and much more comfortable
and better adapted for ladies and families than even the
fine, large Concord stage coaches. It would “make up”
<span class='pageno' title='103' id='Page_103'></span>at night like a berth in a Pullman palace car. My pair of
fine, large Kentucky mules, “Seymour” and “Blair,”
which were mine for ten years, hauled us over this
long route four different times without fault or accident.
“Johnnie,” my faithful, watchful driver and companion,
was on hand, and also a “Mozo” (Mexican servant) and
a saddle horse. My other team of four horses awaited
us at Fort Stockton, midway of the route, where the
mules were to be left, to follow later to El Paso. The
ambulance was a little arsenal. I had a repeating rifle,
a shotgun and a pistol, and Johnnie a rifle and pistol.</p>

<p class='c007'>The day after the wedding, I called on General Canby
and asked for an escort of ten infantrymen and a Government
wagon and team. The soldiers and our baggage
and provisions were to ride in the wagon and the team
was to be changed at each military post. The General
at first suggested that I might take advantage of the
escort of a certain army officer, Captain ——, whom
we had both known in New Mexico, and whom I had
once reported to the General as being unfaithful to his
country. (I would not have objected to an out and out
Confederate.) When I declined to travel with this gentleman,
Canby replied: “Yes, I remember. You shall
have an escort of your own.”</p>

<p class='c007'>And now we started westward over the long road of
more than seven hundred miles to our El Paso home,
where my wife was to see no familiar face except my
own. But we had youth, and health, and hope, and self-reliance,
and a faith in human nature, which, I regret to
say, subsequent experience did not justify. But enough
of that.</p>

<p class='c007'>During the whole journey of twenty-three days we
slept under a roof only three nights, and usually made
our camp away from the mail stations (which could
<span class='pageno' title='104' id='Page_104'></span>afford us no accommodations, anyhow), and in order
to have better pasture for the animals.</p>

<p class='c007'>Here let me say a word in behalf of the much-abused
mule. You have been told that he will kick the hat off
your head while you are on his back. This is a slander.
A horse will kick when he is violently and cruelly
treated, but a mule very seldom does, and ours were as
gentle as pet dogs. They roamed unfettered and untethered
about the camp day and night, but would come
in at call.</p>

<p class='c007'>On the Concho River we encountered herds of buffalo,
now extinct in Texas, not so many as I had often
seen on the Northern plains, but many—hundreds and
thousands.</p>

<p class='c007'>I never had the desire, as many had, to wantonly
butcher these lubberly animals, but almost every man
has inherited the hunter’s instinct, and I indulged it to
some extent, making the excuse that we needed fresh
meat, as indeed we did.</p>

<p class='c007'>Shooting antelope was far better sport, but these,
like the buffalo and the wild deer and the Indian, will soon
be but traditions, and there will be no frontier at all.
Mrs. Mills had never seen an antelope, and the first one
I shot fell some distance from the ambulance, and I
called out, with some pride, “Send a couple of men to
bring in this antelope.” She repeated my command,
mimicking my voice and manner, and then said, “Why
don’t you pick the thing up and bring it yourself?” She
said she supposed it was about the size of a jack-rabbit.</p>

<p class='c007'>A few days later I alone killed three of these animals
within three hundred yards of our “train,” and <i>in less
than half a minute</i>. There were a hundred or more of
them on the flat top of a little hill, and I climbed to the
top unseen, and with a repeating rifle fired into the
<span class='pageno' title='105' id='Page_105'></span>bunch at about thirty yards. They ran toward me, and
I fired seven shots in quick succession with the result
given above. The frightened, crazy herd of beautiful
animals ran toward our little “train” and passed on each
side of it and the colored soldier fired about twenty
shots at them, but not one took effect. Although it was
midwinter, the weather was pleasant with the exception
of two or three cold days. There was no snow or rain
on this whole trip.</p>

<p class='c007'>At that time, thirty years ago, small bands of marauding
Indians might be expected almost anywhere, and
particularly as we approached the Rio Grande, and our
chief care was to guard against surprise, which was
almost our only danger. We saw none on this journey,
but we passed several scenes of bloody tragedies, some
of them quite recent. When we descended into the valley
of the Rio Grande I pointed to a Mexican “jacál” and
told Mrs. Mills that was the style of house we were to
live in. She was silent for a long time, but when we drove
up to my comfortable, well-furnished little home on
San Antonio street, with the shade trees in front, and
she set her feet upon the first plank floor ever laid
down in El Paso, and saw the preparations which my
good friend and neighbor, Mrs. Zabriskie, had made for
her reception and comfort, she brightened up wonderfully.</p>

<p class='c007'>Yes, other families also crossed these plains, but
they were either army people for whom the Government
furnished teams and provisions and attendants and protection,
or others who traveled in the dusty rear of
some freight train at a speed of about ten miles a day.
Our voyages were mostly made independently, comfortably,
and speedily, and without a single accident.
<span class='pageno' title='106' id='Page_106'></span>All depends upon thorough preparation, good judgment
and constant vigilance.</p>

<p class='c007'>Mrs. Mills’ reception by the people of both races and
on both sides of the river was very flattering, and I am
sure it was sincere, and we spent nearly a year very
happily at El Paso, but now (November, 1869) it was
thought best that I should return to Austin to assist
General Hamilton in his contest for the Governorship
and control of the State. We returned with the same
outfit with which we had come, except that we had no
military escort, and Colonel Zabriskie went as our guest.</p>

<p class='c007'>Soon after we left Fort Davis we saw far to our right
a party of mounted Indians, how many we could not
tell, but certainly too many for our small party. A company
of infantry soldiers had left Fort Davis, going
eastward, an hour before we did, and we had passed
them on the road, so we knew they could not be far behind
us, and we halted to await their arrival. The Indians
also halted and gave us a free exhibition of fancy
horsemanship and curious antics, until the gleaming
rifles of the troops appeared on the road, when they
scurried away around the mountain. We traveled in
company with the soldiers until we reached Fort Stockton.</p>

<p class='c007'>A year before I had sent five hundred gallons of wine
of my own manufacture to each of the military posts,
Davis and Stockton, and on arriving we found that it
had all been sold at $5 per gallon, and Mrs. Mills stuffed
the greenbacks into her little handsatchel for future
use.</p>

<p class='c007'>The postmaster at Fort Concho, “Jim” Trainer,
whom I had never seen, had threatened to whip me on
sight because he had been told that I had said he gave
false receipts to the Mail Company, as other postmasters
<span class='pageno' title='107' id='Page_107'></span>had done. After we got into camp near Concho
I told my wife that I would go up to the sutler’s store
and see Mr. Trainer, and I remember her cheery words
to me as I walked away: “Look out for yourself!”</p>

<p class='c007'>Arrived at the store I entered and asked for Mr.
Trainer. A good-looking, good-natured gentleman behind
the counter replied that he was the man, and when
I told him who I was he hesitated awhile and then invited
me into the office, gave me a chair and a cigar,
and after we had chatted awhile he asked me if I knew
he had intended to thrash me. I told him yes, but that
I had never spoken unkindly of him and did not know
anything about his acts as postmaster. He said he had
been the victim of liars, and presented me with a bottle
of fine brandy and wished me a pleasant journey.
Trainer was not a coward but had been played upon by
my enemies.</p>

<div  class='figcenter id013'>
<img src='https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:w:ww-mills-forty-years-at-el-paso-ill-107.jpg' alt='' class='ig013' />
</div>
<div class='pbb'></div>
<hr class='pb c004' />

<div class='chapter'>
  <span class='pageno' title='108' id='Page_108'></span>
  <h2 id='assault' class='c005'><span class='large'>ASSAULT BY KUHN AT FREDRICKSBURG.</span></h2>
</div>

<p class='c006'>When we arrived at Fredricksburg, sixty-five miles
west of Austin, where Mr. Zabriskie left us for San Antonio,
we stopped at Nimmit’s Hotel for a day’s rest,
and Mrs. Mills and I were given a room upstairs. During
the day I met in the hall of the hotel Albert Kuhn,
who has been mentioned in my war story as the man
who piloted the party of Texas soldiers who kidnapped
me in Juarez in 1861, and who had received the reward
for my capture. Kuhn had left El Paso with the Confederates
in 1862, and I had not seen or heard of him
for eight years. Kuhn was a very large man of rough
and almost frightful appearance, and prided himself on
being considered <i>bad</i>. He was a prototype of Mark
Twain’s “Mr. Arkansas.” We passed each other without
speaking, but when we met a second time in the
back yard Kuhn said: “Mills, don’t you know me?” I
replied: “Yes.” “Then why didn’t you speak to me?”
“Because I did not wish to do so.” Kuhn then went
to the bar and proceeded to get himself drunk. I told
“Johnnie” what had occurred and instructed him to
harness the team and be ready to proceed on our journey.
I told my wife that Kuhn was at the hotel and
that there might be trouble. I went down stairs again,
armed, of course, and met Kuhn, but he made no demonstration.
Mrs. Mills and I then went to the ambulance,
Johnnie being already on the box, and Mrs.
Mills got inside, but before I could take my seat Kuhn
appeared with a cocked pistol in his hand and swore
great oaths that if I did not get out he would kill
me where I was.</p>

<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' title='109' id='Page_109'></span>What could I do? My wife was in as much danger
as myself, so I attempted to descend from the carriage
and make the best fight possible, but Mrs. Mills had
more presence of mind than I, and catching hold of
me she said to Kuhn: “You cowardly murderer, would
you kill a man in the presence of his wife? Get away
from here.” Kuhn said he had great respect for ladies,
but swore that he would kill me the first time we met.
But we never met. If we had my opinion is that the
chances would have been against him.</p>

<p class='c007'>We drove only a few miles that evening and camped
for the night about a quarter of a mile from the road
and thinking that Kuhn might follow, I took position
with my shotgun at a tree <i>near</i> the road and waited
to give him both barrels of buckshot as soon as he
should turn the corner of the fence. My old friend,
Judge Cooley of Fredricksburg, says that Kuhn <i>did</i>
saddle his horse that night and swore he would follow
and kill me, but was restrained by others.</p>

<p class='c007'>Now, what did this man want to quarrel with <i>me</i>
about? I was the one who had been wronged. I give
it up.</p>

<p class='c007'>We arrived at Austin safe and well. The election resulted
in the defeat of the Hamilton party as related
elsewhere, and I made a campaign of several months in
Washington City, where, though the wrong could not
be fully righted, I was of some service to some of our
defeated friends, and was somewhat successful in a business
matter.</p>

<div class='pbb'></div>
<hr class='pb c004' />

<div class='chapter'>
  <span class='pageno' title='110' id='Page_110'></span>
  <h2 id='third' class='c005'><span class='large'>THIRD VOYAGE OVER THE PLAINS—ENEMIES AND PLOTS.</span></h2>
</div>

<p class='c006'>And now, April, 1871, we again turned our faces
toward our El Paso home, in the hope of recuperating
in other business what we had lost in politics, for my
expenses had been very heavy.</p>

<p class='c007'>I still held my town lots, and having faith in the
future of El Paso I took out a license as a real estate
agent ten years before any one else. “Seymour” and
“Blair” and the ambulance were still on hand, and I
purchased another pair of very large mules (which we
named “Insect” and “Fairy”) and a wagon for our
baggage, provision, etc., and employed two Mexican
drivers. “Johnnie” was absent this time, but the <i>Mozo</i>,
Lorenzo was still with us. The most important and interesting
personage in our party was Hamilton Mills,
aged twelve months, who had joined our family at
Austin.</p>

<p class='c007'>Governor Davis had given El Paso a new District
Judge, S. B. Newcomb, and a new District Attorney, J.
P. Hague, neither of whom had ever been heard of on
the frontier. These and two adventurers asked permission
to join our party, which was granted, and
these four “tenderfeet” made the journey with us in
a wagon drawn by two little mules. Our ideas as to
traveling over the plains were so different that we
sometimes separated for a day or night. They fondly
believed that a “station” was a place where warm meals
and clean beds and forage for animals were to be had,
and their greatest anxiety was to “get in.” We depended
<span class='pageno' title='111' id='Page_111'></span>upon our mess chest for ourselves, and grassy
camps for our animals, and fared much better.</p>

<p class='c007'>Much depends upon selecting a good camp, and some
of ours were very pleasant, and even beautiful, so that
we had the appearance of a picnic party. I remember
that sometimes we have made a long drive in order
to reach some remembered nook where we had spent
a night on former journeys, and we would drive into it
with a feeling akin to coming home.</p>

<p class='c007'>We reached the Pecos river at Horsehead crossing
(where I had camped twelve years earlier with the
Boundary Commission) at daybreak one morning. The
river was swollen and the crossing dangerous. I first
sent a man across on horseback, and then placing my
wife and child in the ambulance I mounted the box
and drove through the torrent, <i>leading the way for the
four adult male tenderfeet</i>. Their cries to us when we
had reached the western bank, “We can make it,” “We
can make it,” were intended to cheer us, but really it
was not a matter of the greatest importance to us whether
they “made it” or not; and, could we have foreseen
the future we might have felt still more indifferent. It
is but fair to state that, later on Mr. Hayne forsook my
enemies and became my friend and remained so till his
death.</p>

<p class='c007'>And now, arrived at my home, came the most trying
days of my life. Up to this time the malignity of my
enemies could affect only myself, but now my wife and
child must suffer also. There were never more than a
dozen of these enemies. They were composed of men
of both political parties, each of whom aspired to be
the political leader of El Paso. They were in full accord
only in one aim—the political and personal ruin
of W. W. Mills. The Republicans reasoned thus: “We
<span class='pageno' title='112' id='Page_112'></span>cannot <i>lead</i> the Republican party until we down Mills.”
The Democrats reasoned thus: “We cannot <i>defeat</i> the
Republican party until we down Mills!” They called
themselves the “Anti-Mills Party.”</p>

<p class='c007'>In June, 1871, there appeared in all the Republican
(radical) newspapers of Texas to which these parties
could gain access a most slanderous and libelous publication
against myself, purporting to be the resolutions of
a Republican convention of El Paso County, declaring
me to be of infamous character and “capable of all the
crimes in the calendar.”</p>

<p class='c007'>This document was signed by three Americans as
“President” and “Secretary” of the convention, and
<i>purported</i> to be signed by fifteen of the most prominent
Mexicans of the county, <i>all</i> of whom were my friends
and <i>none</i> of whom had ever attended any such “convention.”</p>

<p class='c007'>I received written statements from <i>all</i> of these Mexican
gentlemen declaring their friendship for me and
denouncing the forgery of their names. This crime
was severely punishable by the laws of Texas, and the
punishment was double wherever the name of another
person was used to give respectability to the libel, and
I could have caused these men to have been arrested
and carried to Austin and punished there, but now that
so many years have elapsed and these vicious and guilty
men have gone to their last account I do not regret
that they escaped, and I omit their names.</p>

<p class='c007'>Simultaneously with the publication of the libel mentioned
above there appeared in all the accessible Democratic
papers in the State a letter signed “Victor” (B.
F. Williams), containing the same slanders but somewhat
changed in form, showing concert of action.</p>

<p class='c007'>Then Governor Hamilton wrote me a letter cautioning
<span class='pageno' title='113' id='Page_113'></span>me against any resort to violence and bidding me
bide my time.</p>

<p class='c007'>Then our little boy sickened and died, and Mrs. Mills’
health began to fail, and as my enemies, nearly all of
whom had received substantial favors from me, showed
no sign of relenting, we went again to Austin, this time
in the mail coach, carrying the remains of our first
born in the “boot,” to be buried at the Capital of
Texas, where we hope also to rest when life’s fitful fever
is past.</p>

<p class='c007'>But neither then nor at any time did we intend to
abandon our El Paso home.</p>

<p class='c007'>Two years later the beautiful little Mary, our second
and last child, died at Austin, and we laid her beside
her brother. Then, indeed, our skies were gray.</p>

<div  class='figcenter id014'>
<img src='https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:w:ww-mills-forty-years-at-el-paso-ill-113.jpg' alt='' class='ig014' />
</div>
<div class='pbb'></div>
<hr class='pb c004' />

<div class='chapter'>
  <span class='pageno' title='114' id='Page_114'></span>
  <h2 id='enemy' class='c005'><span class='large'>A. J. FOUNTAIN—MY WORST ENEMY.</span></h2>
</div>

<p class='c006'>In 1869 there arose a bitter controversy between myself
and A. J. Fountain, who had for several years been
my special deputy in the customs house at El Paso,
which controversy attracted great interest on this frontier,
and even in Austin and Washington City. There
was much angry correspondence and an official investigation,
but as I came out of the contest unscathed
I will content myself with publishing only one of Fountain’s
letters and “let it go at that.”</p>

<div class='c013'><span class='small'><span class='sc'>El Paso</span>, <span class='sc'>Texas</span>, May 13, 1869.</span></div>

<p class='c015'><span class='small'><span class='sc'>W. W. Mills, Esq.</span></span>:</p>

<p class='c007'><span class='small'><i>My dear Sir</i></span>—<span class='small'>The conversation I had with you last evening
left upon my mind the impression that you entertained a belief
that I would oppose you and your friends, politically, should
your choice for the Legislature in the coming contest fall upon
some other person than myself, and that I would endeavor to
secure to my support cliques and factions of our party, in this
county, that are antagonistic to you, and that to do so, I would
be compelled to give pledges which, if carried out, would result
to your prejudice. If I am correct in my impression (and I
hope I am not), I regret very much that our years of intimate
acquaintance has made you know me only to doubt me.</span></p>

<p class='c007'><span class='small'>I, therefore, desire to enter upon a full explanation of my
feelings towards you, not for the purpose of trying to secure
your support or influence in my behalf, but to disabuse your
mind of any impression that you may have that under any circumstances,
whatever, I would place myself in opposition to you.
It is unnecessary for me to recapitulate the circumstances under
which we first became associated as friends. I received from
you a lucrative appointment, which I held some two years. It is
not on account of pecuniary obligations that I feel myself in
honor bound to stand your supporter to the last extremity. The
year previous to my coming to El Paso to live I had been
<span class='pageno' title='115' id='Page_115'></span>engaged in an enterprise which promised, if successful, a fortune.
I had partners who advanced a small portion of the original
capital invested, and who, when I was confined to my bed suffering
for months from wounds received while risking my life to
advance their interest as well as my own, not only robbed me of
all I had, but slandered me to my friends to excuse their conduct.
Weak and poor as I was, I made them such a fight that they were
compelled to use the most despicable means to defeat me, and
I endeavored to find employment to support my children; they,
having the aid of men of influence who still were my friends and
desired to assist me, poisoned them against me by villainous lies
and slanderous misrepresentations of my conduct. They acknowledged
that they endeavored to poison <i>your</i> mind against
me when I had a prospect of again rising, and that if you had
not stood my friend they would have succeeded in their threats
of driving me from the country. It was then through your
interposition that these parties failed, and that I have had the
satisfaction of receiving humble apologies from some of them
for the wrong they did me. I was taught in my youth never
to allow an insult to pass unresented, never to forgive an
enemy who deliberately injured me, never to be ungrateful to
one who befriended me. I believe that you were my friend
when I most needed one, you <i>shall never have cause to regret
that act</i>, and I would consider myself as great a villain as the
world contains, if <i>under any circumstances whatever</i>, I arraigned
myself among the number of your enemies, personal or
political; or if I should passively witness any attack upon
your private or political character, and not strike a blow in
your defense. Whatever bad qualities I may possess (and I
know I have many faults) I am no <i>ingrate</i>. I consider myself
bound to support you whenever you require that support, and
will give you all the assistance in my power to enable you to
accomplish any object you have in view, and if you are not
entirely satisfied that all I do in this connection is to show my
gratitude, I am indeed unfortunate and can only wait patiently
for time to prove my sincerity.</span></p>

<div class='c008'><span class='small'>Very respectfully,</span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;</div>

<div class='c008'>A. J. FOUNTAIN.</div>

<p class='c006'>The recent mysterious murder or disappearance of
Fountain in New Mexico renders further comment from
<span class='pageno' title='116' id='Page_116'></span>me improper, except to state that very soon after writing
the above letter he became my bitter assailant and
traducer, and at the time <i>he wrote the letter</i> he was
secretly conspiring with my most unscrupulous and
most relentless enemies. His malignity appeared to
increase with the failure of every effort to do me harm.</p>

<div  class='figcenter id015'>
<img src='https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:w:ww-mills-forty-years-at-el-paso-ill-116.jpg' alt='' class='ig015' />
</div>
<div class='pbb'></div>
<hr class='pb c004' />

<div class='chapter'>
  <span class='pageno' title='117' id='Page_117'></span>
  <h2 id='arrest' class='c005'><span class='large'>ARREST AT SAN ELEZARIO—ASSAULT BY ATKINSON.</span></h2>
</div>

<p class='c006'>In 1871, when the Davis administration was in full
power and the notorious State police of that day were
“rough riding” over the State, one John Atkinson (of
whom more anon) commanded that force in El Paso
County.</p>

<p class='c007'>I went, with my wife and brother, A. E. Mills, in my
ambulance to attend court at San Elezario, which was
then the county seat. There was a State law against
carrying arms, “except when traveling,” and we went
armed. Immediately upon arriving at the county seat
my brother and myself were arrested by Atkinson and
his police and taken from the ambulance, leaving Mrs.
Mills alone, and carried toward the jail. At that time
the Mexican people thoroughly hated Atkinson and his
party, but were devoted to me and my friends. There
was some halting and parleying before we reached the
jail door, and we saw groups of Mexicans consulting
here and there and occasionally one with arms. I
remember my brother whispering to me: “These people
will take us out of jail before morning, but we will
probably be dead.”</p>

<p class='c007'>A Mexican, Maximo Aranda, who was justice of
the peace, summoned Atkinson to bring his prisoners before
him, and immediately ordered our release upon
the ground that we were travelers and had a right to
carry arms.</p>

<p class='c007'>That night I went alone and unarmed to the house
of a respectable citizen, where I had been invited to a
<span class='pageno' title='118' id='Page_118'></span>party. I took a seat at one side of the room. The District
Judge, District Attorney, Sheriff and Clerk of the
Court, all enemies of mine, were dancing. When all
were seated and the music ceased Atkinson stood before
me, one hand on his six-shooter and the other in my
face, and called me many pet names, the mildest of
which were “coward” and “liar,” and threatened to shoot
me if I spoke or moved.</p>

<p class='c007'>I remained silent, and my assailant was called away.
Presently Johnnie Hale sat down beside me and whispered
that he had two pistols and would give me one
if I would not use it unless attacked and would go
away with him. I accepted, and we left the house.</p>

<p class='c007'>Court was in session, and the next day the grand
jury presented an indictment against Atkinson for aggravated
assault. The District Attorney declined to
prosecute, and James A. Zabriskie volunteered to take
his place. Will the reader believe that that “carpetbag”
Judge (from Canada), appointed by Governor
Davis to administer justice over a people he had never
seen or heard of, forbade Zabriskie to prosecute for aggravated
assault, and declared from the bench that he
knew it was merely a simple assault <i>because he witnessed
it himself</i>! I take pleasure in recording the fact
that this Judge was removed from office by the Legislature
of Texas. Atkinson’s violent death is recorded
in my account of the San Elezario mob, and that of
Johnnie Hale in the account of the killing of Kramkrauer,
Campbell, Hale and a Mexican at El Paso in
1881.</p>

<div class='pbb'></div>
<hr class='pb c004' />

<div class='chapter'>
  <span class='pageno' title='119' id='Page_119'></span>
  <h2 id='drivers' class='c005'><span class='large'>FROM EL PASO TO AUSTIN—STAGE DRIVERS.</span></h2>
</div>

<p class='c006'>In February, 1872, we went in the stage coach from
El Paso to Austin. The party consisted of Mrs. Mills,
myself, Charles H. Howard and a young St. Louis lawyer
named Bowman, who was taking his first lessons in
frontier life and customs.</p>

<p class='c007'>If I desired to learn any man’s true character I would
want to take a long day and night journey with him
in a stage coach. Want of sleep and other annoyances,
vexations and privations bring out at times all
the ill-nature and selfishness one may possess; and,
again, when everything goes smoothly and all are
moving leisurely and silently over some long stretch of
prairie or plain and the weather is pleasant, men appear
to cast all cares and reserve to the wind and converse
with each other more frankly and confidentially
than elsewhere. At least, that has been my experience
and observation.</p>

<p class='c007'>Here and during other like experiences Mrs. Mills
made the acquaintance of the stage driver, a character
difficult to describe and now almost extinct.</p>

<p class='c007'>He possessed the courage of the soldier and something
more. The private soldier goes where he is told
to march, and fights when he is ordered, but he has
little anxiety or responsibility; but the stage driver in
those times had to be as alert and thoughtful as a General.
There was not only his duty to his employers but
his responsibility for the mails (he was a sworn officer
of the Government), but the lives of the passengers often
<span class='pageno' title='120' id='Page_120'></span>depended upon his knowledge of the country and of
the Indian character, and his quick and correct judgment
as to what to do in emergencies. Like the sailor,
he was something of a fatalist, but he believed in
using all possible means to protect himself and those
under his charge.</p>

<p class='c007'>Your stage driver was usually of a serious, almost
sad disposition; inclined to be reticent, particularly
about himself and his former life, and his surname was
seldom mentioned by himself or his associates. He
was known as “Bill” or “Dave” or “Bobo” or “Buckskin,”
or some such sobriquet. When, however, he
could be induced to talk about himself as a stage driver
his stories were always interesting and sometimes thrilling.
There was occasionally a liar among them, but
most of them had really experienced such serious adventures
and “hair-breadth scapes” that it was not necessary
for them to draw upon their imaginations.</p>

<p class='c007'>Rough, profane and unclean of speech among their
own sex, they were remarkably courteous to lady passengers
and ever thoughtful of their comfort and feelings,
and more than once, on arriving at a station where
the drivers were to be changed, I have heard one whisper
to another: “Remember, Sandy, there is a little
lady in the coach.” This was sufficient.</p>

<p class='c007'>During the most interesting portion of this trip we
had two drivers, “Uncle Billy,” who was going to San
Antonio on leave, and “Bobo,” the regular driver. They
vied with each other in trying to make everything
pleasant for Mrs. Mills. They would prepare the high
driver’s seat with cushions and blankets and assist her
to mount it, and for hours would call her attention to
points of interest or entertain her with stories of their
experiences, humorous or tragic.</p>

<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' title='121' id='Page_121'></span>One morning just after daybreak Bobo halted the
coach and said: “Gentlemen, get your guns ready; the
prints of moccasined feet here are as thick as turkey
tracks.”</p>

<p class='c007'>And so it was, and the tracks were fresh. A large
party of Indians had very recently crossed the road,
but we saw nor heard more about them.</p>

<p class='c007'>At “Head of Concho” we came upon a herd of buffalo,
and, of course, we dismounted and wantonly fired
into them, with what effect I do not know, except that
some one wounded an immense bull so seriously that
he became angry or sullen and refused to run away
as the others did. We, with our deadly Winchesters,
ceased firing at him, as he was of no use to us, but not
so with the young St. Louis lawyer. He wanted to do
something that he could tell about at home, and so he
advanced upon the irate animal with his little thirty-two
calibre pistol, firing as he went. He was encouraged
and animated by the shouts of Bobo and Uncle Billy:
“Charge him, mister,” “You’ve got him,” “The next
shot will fetch him,” etc.</p>

<p class='c007'>Mrs. Mills said: “Why, Uncle Billy, that animal will
kill the man! Call him back!” Uncle Billy said:
“Why, <i>of course</i>, he’ll kill him. Now you just watch,
and you’ll see fine fun. He’ll toss that little lawyer
higher’n the top of this coach.” And yet Uncle Billy
and Bobo were not cruel men.</p>

<div class='pbb'></div>
<hr class='pb c004' />

<div class='chapter'>
  <span class='pageno' title='122' id='Page_122'></span>
  <h2 id='lawyers' class='c005'><span class='large'>SOME TEXAS LAWYERS.</span></h2>
</div>

<p class='c006'>In 1871 I held a judgment for $50,000 which I had
obtained in the El Paso District Court against a citizen
of El Paso County for having caused my arrest and
imprisonment by the Confederates in 1861, as related
in my war story. This judgment being in full force and
I being in Austin, my friend, Major De Normandie,
then Clerk of the Supreme Court, introduced me to a
prominent attorney of De Witt County, Texas, who informed
me that the defendant owned property in De
Witt County out of which my judgment, or a large portion
of it, could be satisfied. I implored this attorney
to act for me in De Witt County, and on my return
home I sent him, at his request, a certified copy of the
judgment and received a letter from him dated June
7th, 1871, informing me that they had written out a
levy which they would proceed with in a day or two,
and requesting me to send them some money for costs,
which I did. After long delay I wrote this attorney,
asking to be informed of the result, and he replied that
the whole proceeding was a failure because he had
dated the levy <i>on a Sunday</i>, which mistake vitiated the
whole proceeding and that my rights were lost.</p>

<p class='c007'>He stated that “strange as it might seem” he had
been led to make the mistake by an error in an almanac
in his office. As this attorney did not suggest any
remedy for his own blunder or institute any further
proceeding I concluded then, and believe now, that political
prejudice or some other unworthy motive had influenced
him to act in bad faith with his client. The
<span class='pageno' title='123' id='Page_123'></span>attorney and the defendant were both Confederates
and Democrats, while I was a Union man and a Republican,
and much bitter feeling had grown out of the
suit and the acts preceding and attending it.</p>

<p class='c007'>I met this lawyer in Austin a year or so later, and
he made no further explanation except to affirm that it
“made no difference, because the Supreme Court had
decided that my judgment was void.” As a matter of
fact, and of record, the Supreme Court had decided that
the judgment was valid. And here I will state a fact
which I hope the reader will remember when he comes
to read the case following this one—<i>this gentleman was
later on elected a Judge of the Supreme Court of Texas</i>.</p>

<p class='c007'>My judgment for $50,000 (mentioned in the preceding
paragraphs) was in 1868, before the Supreme Court
at Austin on writ of error or appeal, or both, taken or
claimed to have been taken from the District Court of
El Paso County by the defendant. A supersedeas bond
for one hundred thousand dollars <i>damages</i>, signed by
John Hancock and Thomas J. Divine, was filed with
the Clerk of the Supreme Court by the appellant’s attorney,
whom I will not name here.</p>

<p class='c007'>When this appeal came on for trial my attorney discovered
to his amazement that the words “thousand”
and “damages” had been erased on the face of the
bond and the words “costs” inserted instead of the word
damages.</p>

<p class='c007'>It is proper to explain to the non-professional reader
that this fraud and forgery changed the nature of the
bond, so that if I gained the case—and I <i>did</i> gain it—I
could recover from the sureties, who were both
wealthy men, only one hundred dollars “<i>costs</i>,” instead
of the full amount of the judgment, namely, fifty thousand
dollars “<i>damages</i>.” The Judges were, of course,
<span class='pageno' title='124' id='Page_124'></span>astounded, and called the Clerk, Major de Normandie,
who being sworn testified that the record had been borrowed
by appellant’s attorney when it was in its original
condition, and that when it was returned the erasures
and forgery were in the handwriting of said attorney.
The guilty attorney was present, but stood
mute, offering no explanation or excuse for his acts.
The Court, at some length and with strong indignation,
rendered its decision dismissing the appeal and leaving
my judgment in full force, but the wrong to me had
been done, so far as the bond was concerned.</p>

<p class='c007'>My loss was about forty thousand dollars.</p>

<p class='c007'>If any one questions any of the above statements he
will find abundant proof in the Reports of the Supreme
Court of Texas:</p>

<p class='c007'>Hart vs. Mills, 31st Texas, page 304, and Hart vs.
Mills, 38th Texas, pages 513 and 517.</p>

<p class='c007'>This thing was not done in a corner. Every attorney
of that Court knew the facts exactly as I have stated
them, and it was a duty they owed to themselves and
to the profession to have disbarred the attorney, but he
stood fairly well socially and had been a “good” Confederate
and Democrat and I was only a frontiersman and
Republican, and so <i>they elected him a Judge of the
Supreme Court of Texas</i>, as had been done with the
lawyer in the case mentioned above. I believe there is
a legal maxim, or a legal axiom, or a legal <i>fiction</i>, that
there can be no wrong without a remedy, and I am
asked why I did not pursue the remedy. Oh, I don’t
know. I suppose every man of affairs has sometimes in
his life done or neglected things which he could scarcely
explain afterward, even to himself. I was seven
hundred miles away, and my attorney was well paid in
advance for looking out for my interests, and unless he
<span class='pageno' title='125' id='Page_125'></span>choose to act I don’t think I could have broken the
combination. There are times when even the most
energetic men become discouraged and weary of strife,
and for a time at least feel like letting things drift as they
may.</p>

<p class='c007'>In 1873 I had a suit pending in court at El Paso involving
the title to valuable real estate, and I paid an
El Paso attorney $800 to attend to it.</p>

<p class='c007'>In my absence and without my consent this lawyer
compromised me out of court for a worthless consideration,
and I lost the property. Of course, I might
have repudiated this compromise, but I was handicapped
by the fact that the property in question was
held in trust for me by my brother, E. A. Mills, and the
lawyer had induced him, by claiming to have authority
from me, to re-convey the property; and the legal machinery
here at that time was such that I thought it
hopeless to litigate further.</p>

<div  class='figcenter id016'>
<img src='https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:w:ww-mills-forty-years-at-el-paso-ill-125.jpg' alt='' class='ig016' />
</div>
<div class='pbb'></div>
<hr class='pb c004' />

<div class='chapter'>
  <span class='pageno' title='126' id='Page_126'></span>
  <h2 id='litigation' class='c005'><span class='large'>LITIGATION ABOUT EL PASO PROPERTY.</span></h2>
</div>

<p class='c006'>When the Confederate forces left El Paso and the
United States troops took possession, in 1863, such of
the county records as had been preserved from destruction
were by common consent delivered to me for safe
keeping, to be turned over to the proper county officers
as soon as such officers should be appointed or elected.
This, and my long residence here, gave me the opportunity
of becoming the best informed man in El Paso
as to titles, boundaries, possession, etc., so that when
the railroads and the boom came and city lots became
valuable and there was a general shaking up and deciding
of titles by many suits in the courts, I was almost
a standing witness. I verily believe that more of
these cases were decided upon my testimony than on
that of any other half dozen witnesses, and all this testimony
was given without receiving or expecting a
dollar’s compensation. The juries believed me, and so
far as I know not even the most zealous lawyer ever
questioned my testimony, though there were some
“keen encounters of wits.”</p>

<p class='c007'>In one instance I saved to a certain litigant property
on El Paso street now worth fifty thousand dollars
simply by producing an ancient deed which I had had
in my possession for twenty-five years and had forgotten.
The book, “Record of Deeds,” had been destroyed,
but the acknowledgment of the vendor was on
the deed itself, and the suit was withdrawn.</p>

<p class='c007'>I believe that in the main these cases were decided according
to law, which was the best that could be done;
<span class='pageno' title='127' id='Page_127'></span>but if, as we are told, there are certain eternal principles
of right and justice, higher than those men make
for their own convenience, then surely these principles
were sometimes violated, for deserving men lost property
which by such principles should have been theirs
by such trivial neglect as failing to record a deed or
to pay taxes or to preserve evidence of occupancy, or
some other fact, or worse still, by false testimony.</p>

<h3 class='c018'><span class='fss'>CONFISCATION—AN EXPLANATION—NOT AN APOLOGY.</span></h3>

<p class='c019'>All Governments, including the Southern Confederacy,
have written in their statute books that whoever
engages in rebellion or takes up arms against their authority
shall forfeit not only his property but his life.</p>

<p class='c007'>I am glad now that my Government did not enforce
these harsh penalties against any of the Confederates.</p>

<p class='c007'>In 1864 the United States District Judge for New
Mexico, himself a Southern man, held that his Court
had the power to libel and confiscate the real estate
of such citizens of El Paso County, Texas, as were
then in arms against the United States. He based this
claim upon an Act of Congress approved March 3d,
1863, which provided that “The jurisdiction of the
United States Court for New Mexico is hereby extended
over the citizens of El Paso County only in cases
not instituted by indictment.”</p>

<p class='c007'>I, being Collector of Customs, had caused this act
to be passed to enable me to condemn and sell goods
smuggled into El Paso County (there being then no
United States Courts in Texas). I am frank to say
that I did not then even dream of the confiscation of
any one’s real estate.</p>

<p class='c007'>The United States Attorney and Marshal for New
Mexico came to El Paso and libeled the property of certain
<span class='pageno' title='128' id='Page_128'></span>leading Confederates and proceeded against it in the
United States Court at Mesilla, New Mexico, and certain
of these lands and lots were declared forfeited and
were sold at El Paso by the United States Marshal,
and I purchased a portion of this property, as did others.
I paid the Marshal eighteen hundred dollars good and
lawful money therefor, and received and recorded his
deeds.</p>

<p class='c007'>I protected the property of some of my Confederate
neighbors, Dowell’s and Stephenson’s and others.</p>

<p class='c007'>Along with what I purchased was a six-eighths’ interest
in the El Paso town tract belonging to the Gillett
brothers, who were then absent with the Confederate
army; but some years later, when they returned to El
Paso and we patched up a peace, I proposed to them
that if they would join their title with mine I would
pay their debts, amounting to a few thousand dollars,
which debts were a lien on the property, and we would
hold it share and share alike.</p>

<p class='c007'>This they declined to do, and in the end they lost
it all. So did I, for years later the Supreme Court of
the United States decided, <i>not</i> that the property was
not subject to forfeiture, as all such property certainly
was, but simply that the Act of Congress referred to
did not confer the jurisdiction claimed by the Court
at Mesilla.</p>

<p class='c007'>Without a murmur I reconveyed all the property to
the original owners and lost the eighteen hundred I
had paid the Marshal.</p>

<p class='c007'>Then the Gillett’s creditors sold them out. I had
held possession of the town tract and paid taxes on it
for five years.</p>

<p class='c007'>It has been said that I purchased the property of
Simon Hart at the confiscation sale. That is not true.
<span class='pageno' title='129' id='Page_129'></span>I purchased that property at Sheriff’s sale on a judgment
for false imprisonment, which I obtained against
Hart in a Texas court, which judgment was twice affirmed
by the Supreme Court of Texas.</p>

<p class='c007'>In 1871 I was the owner of a portion of Franklin
Heights, of the city of El Paso, then known as Hart
Survey, No. 9.</p>

<p class='c007'>Being in Washington City I met my friend, Gen.
Robert B. Mitchell, and gave him a power of attorney
to sell the property. He sold to different purchasers,
to the amount of $14,000, and we divided the proceeds
share and share alike.</p>

<p class='c007'>The property was then considered valueless by those
who knew less than we did, but it is now worth forty-fold
what we received for it. Among the purchasers
were George W. Gray of Washington City and one
Peck of Kansas, and others.</p>

<p class='c007'>The recording of the deeds in El Paso County
aroused the jealousy and hatred of my El Paso enemies,
and, heedless of what harm they might do to others
so long as there was a prospect of injuring me, they
wrote the purchasers that I had no title to Survey No. 9,
that the property was worthless, and that I was a
swindler.</p>

<p class='c007'>It is strange that the purchasers took these statements
at par, and instead of investigating or communicating
with me they sued me in Washington City for the purchase
money, charging fraud, and got service on me
there. I demurred them out of court, and came home,
and being angry with the purchasers I paid no further
attention to them or their troubles.</p>

<p class='c007'>None of them, ever asserted their rights to the property,
<span class='fss'>WHICH THEY COULD HAVE DONE SUCCESSFULLY IF
IN TIME</span>.</p>

<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' title='130' id='Page_130'></span>These strange facts being of record in El Paso County
have caused a lot of talk, and many a lawyer has believed
he had made an important discovery and has
had visions of profitable litigation. I have been interviewed
about this transaction one hundred times, more
or less.</p>

<div  class='figcenter id017'>
<img src='https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:w:ww-mills-forty-years-at-el-paso-ill-130.jpg' alt='' class='ig017' />
</div>
<div class='pbb'></div>
<hr class='pb c004' />

<div class='chapter'>
  <span class='pageno' title='131' id='Page_131'></span>
  <h2 id='star' class='c005'><span class='large'>“STAR” MAIL CONTRACTS—THE FIRST TRUST—1869-70.</span></h2>
</div>

<p class='c006'>After the war I and my El Paso friends became involved
in a bitter contest with the San Antonio and El
Paso Mail Company, which continued for several years.</p>

<p class='c007'>At that time the great lines of railroads were reaching
out toward the west and southwest, and many mail
routes, hundreds of miles in length, were preceding
them. These mails were carried in stage coaches, buckboards
and on horseback. Millions were expended annually
by the Government for this service, and it was
harvest time for the two wealthy companies who monopolized
the larger routes, the above named company
in Texas and another company in the northwest.</p>

<p class='c007'>This Texas company failed year after year to deliver
the mails at El Paso according to their contract, and
our people were practically without mail facilities, which
was a great privation, and the people complained to the
Post Office Department but without avail, because the
wealthy company had powerful influence with some of
its high officials and a strong lobby in Washington City.
Then the El Paso merchants and people held an indignation
meeting, denounced the company and appointed
Col. Jas. A. Zabriskie and myself to represent them at
Washington, and after taking much testimony all along
the line we went on our mission at our own expense.</p>

<p class='c007'>After a careful investigation in Washington City,
during which we found more rottenness than we had
dreamed of, and in higher places than we had suspected,
we secured a hearing before the joint committee of
<span class='pageno' title='132' id='Page_132'></span>Congress on Retrenchment, composed of seven Senators
and fourteen Representatives and the contest
began.</p>

<p class='c007'>Zabriskie and Mills for the complainants, “the prosecution,”
and the distinguished Judge Pascal of Texas,
and the still more distinguished Jere Black of Maryland
for the Mail Company, “the defense.” It was a
“go as you please” contest. Three days were consumed
in reading testimony, in quarreling and in arguments
before that distinguished court or jury, and I flatter
myself that we youths from the frontier held our own
with these veterans of the Washington bar. (At least
I am as proud of what I did there as the average young
El Paso lawyer is when he wins a cow case against a
railroad or makes a free silver speech.) I had recently
been “suspended” as Collector at El Paso, and I charged
that the Mail Company had employed Pearson &amp; Williams
at El Paso as scavengers to hunt for charges
against me.</p>

<p class='c007'>F. P. Sawyer, the principal man of the Mail Company,
was present and took the stand and denied this
charge, and stated that “out of consideration for others”
he had tried to have me retained in office. On cross
examination I led him to repeat these statements <i>most
solemnly</i>, and then handed to Senator Patterson, the
Chairman, the original of the following letter, which
he read aloud to the committee:</p>

<div class='c013'>“Washington, June 2d, 1869.</div>

<p class='c015'>“W. M. Pearson, Esq., El Paso, Texas.</p>

<p class='c007'>“Dear Sir: Yours of the 10th instant was this A. M.
received and already placiet in Secretary Boutwell’s
hands to strengthen those already on file in his office
which has as I suppose you have hird removed the
greatest man in the U. S. as per his own opinion. I
<span class='pageno' title='133' id='Page_133'></span>think this last affidavit of Mr. Wardwell’s is a clincher.
You have done your duty manfilly &amp; have no doubt
have done that People of that western county a great
and lasting good. I have written you several letters
to El Paso suppose you have them all. Yours very
truly,</p>

<div class='c008'>“(Signed) F. P. Sawyer.”</div>

<p class='c006'>The scene was somewhat dramatic. There was no
attempt to deny the authenticity of the letter. I was
not in a merciful mood. Never mind what I said. That
millionaire perjurer left that committee room weeping
like a child.</p>

<p class='c007'>Colonel Zabriskie’s speech before those potent, grave
and reverend Señors was as fine a piece of oratory as
one would wish to listen to. Our victory was complete.
The unanimous report of the joint committee, dated
April, 1870, is before me, but it is too long for publication
here and I will condense it conscientiously. They
say: “The committee find that in July, 1867, a contract
was awarded to E. Bates for carrying a weekly
mail between San Antonio and El Paso, Texas, seven
hundred miles, for thirty-three thousand dollars a year;
and they find that without warrant of law and without
giving other bidders any opportunity to compete, this
compensation was in eighteen months increased from
$33,000 to $333,617! This was done by adding new
routes, some of them longer than the original one and
running at right angles to it and increasing the number
of trips and ‘expediting’ the ‘speed.’ They say:
“Charges were made that the service was not perfectly
performed and that the contractor had wholly failed to
perform his contract, and there is no doubt in the minds
of the committee that these charges were substantially
true up to the latter part of 1868. It is also charged
that the Mail Company had sufficient influence
<span class='pageno' title='134' id='Page_134'></span>with some of the postmasters to procure from them
false certificates of the arrivals of the mails. The committee
find that —— ——, postmaster at El Paso,
Texas, certified that out of thirty-seven mails due at
El Paso for a certain period, only ten ever arrived, and
subsequently sent to the Department a certificate stating
that all of the thirty-seven mails had arrived on time.
For this and other reasons the committee recommend
his dismissal. All the evidence concurs that the mails
in Texas are so unsafe that no one dare trust money
to them.” The report says: “In making these increases
of service and compensation the Postoffice Department
seems to have given great weight to the representations
of Judge Paschel, State Agent of Texas, probably not
knowing that he was also the attorney of the Mail
Company and himself interested in the contract.” The
report says: “It is evident that much feeling exists and
powerful influences are interested both for and against
the Mail Company.” I know of no “powerful influence”
<i>against</i> the Mail Company unless the committee refer
to Zabriskie and myself, for we were alone in that
contest.</p>

<p class='c007'>Well, the result was a curtailment of the Mail Company’s
compensation by several hundred thousand dollars
during the years for which they claimed the contracts,
and a saving to the Government of an equal sum,
and finally a return to something like fair and honest
dealing in letting of such contracts.</p>

<p class='c007'>While we were making our fight on the Mail Company
of the Southwest, as above related, Col. Joe
McCibbin was attacking a company who had by the same
means monopolized the main routes in the Northwest,
and he was trying to expose their frauds. Though acting
independently, we sympathized and sometimes
<span class='pageno' title='135' id='Page_135'></span>consulted with each other, and became fast friends.
McCibbin was a man of fine ability, had been a member
of Congress from California and in 1856 had been the
second to Senator David C. Broderick of that State
in the duel with Judge David S. Terry, in which the
brilliant Senator was killed. McCibbin bore a striking
resemblance to and in his manner was much like my
friend, the elder Dr. Samaniego of Juarez. His fight
was not concluded when we left Washington, and on my
return a year or two later I asked him how it had
terminated. He replied: “Oh, I am on the inside. I
am the attorney for the Mail Company and am well
paid for my services. You and Zabriskie had better get
in. You can easily do so, and it don’t pay to fight other
people’s battles. You get neither money nor thanks.”</p>

<p class='c007'>McCibbin then told me that the Mail Company had
paid him $20,000 in cash to stop the fight, and were then
paying him $10,000 per year as their Washington attorney.
I would not state what McCibbin told me had
he not later on made the same statement under oath to
a committee of Congress and boldly defended his conduct.
Did he do wrong? I don’t know. His was a
free lance. I sometimes envy the happy ignorance of
those who tell me that they always know exactly what
is right and wrong.</p>

<p class='c007'>Yes, Zabriskie and I could have “got in,” but we did
not.</p>

<div class='pbb'></div>
<hr class='pb c004' />

<div class='chapter'>
  <span class='pageno' title='136' id='Page_136'></span>
  <h2 id='victorio' class='c005'><span class='large'>VICTORIO, THE GREAT APACHE GENERAL.</span></h2>
</div>

<p class='c006'>I could fill a book larger than the one I am writing
with true stories of Indian raids and fights and massacres
and captivities on this frontier, but I refrain.</p>

<p class='c007'>In my war story I gave an account of one of the most
desperate fights, where one who was kin of mine died,
fighting bravely but hopelessly, and I will briefly mention
here that final “round up” of the hostile savages of
this section, the capture of Victorio and his band by the
combined troops of our country and Mexico, within
forty miles of El Paso, just twenty years ago. I give
here an extract from a letter I wrote from El Paso to
Mrs. Mills at Austin, dated September 24th, 1880, as
follows: “If I had of late jumbled my accounts of Indians
and war and politics and killings and adventures
and anecdotes all into one letter I might have written
one that would have interested all the good people at
Fair Oaks, ‘Chicos y Grandes.’ I wrote you from Fort
Davis that the Indians were gone. They were gone to
the Candelerio Mountains, forty miles south of Quitman,
and they are there yet. Since then they have
stolen two herds of cattle from Dr. Samaniego, fifty
miles from El Paso, killing the herders. Yesterday a
small band crossed the river at the Canutilla, sixteen
miles above here. Three days ago our troops and
friendly Indians crossed here into the land of God and
Liberty to concentrate with other forces who crossed
below and above, to make a combined attack on Victorio
<i>today</i>. But the wiley chief may not be there. Considering
the number of his braves, he is the greatest
<span class='pageno' title='137' id='Page_137'></span>commander, white or red, who ever roamed these
plains. For more than a year he has out-manoeuvered
our officers with six times his number and all the appurtenances
of war, and when he has not out-generaled
them he has <i>whipped them</i>. In sober truth, he is the
veriest devil ‘that ere clutched fingers in a captive’s
hair.’”</p>

<p class='c007'>(I regret that neither at the War Department at
Washington nor elsewhere have I been able to obtain
an official account of the defeat of Victorio’s band. The
fight took place at Tres Castillas, southeast of El Paso.
Only the Mexican soldiers happened to be in at the
death, although our troops rendered valuable assistance
on both sides of the boundary line in getting Victorio
into a position where he was forced to fight either
our troops or the Mexicans. Victorio and a hundred
warriors were killed on the field and as many Indians
were made prisoners. Col. Juaquin Terrazas of Chihuahua,
a brave and skillful Indian fighter, commanded
the Mexican troops.)</p>

<div  class='figcenter id018'>
<img src='https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:w:ww-mills-forty-years-at-el-paso-ill-137.jpg' alt='' class='ig018' />
</div>
<div class='pbb'></div>
<hr class='pb c004' />

<div class='chapter'>
  <span class='pageno' title='138' id='Page_138'></span>
  <h2 id='killing' class='c005'><span class='large'>THE KILLING OF CLARKE AND WILLIAMS—THE CAUSES—1870.</span></h2>
</div>

<p class='c006'>On a fine autumn day, thirty years ago, on El Paso
street, where the Mundy Block now stands, Gaylord
J. Clarke and B. F. Williams were shot to death within
a few moments of each other and within a few feet of
each other.</p>

<p class='c007'>In order that the reader may understand the causes
which led up to these tragedies I will give a brief
sketch of the career of each of the four men most directly
connected with the quarrel or quarrels and their
relation to each other and to the writer. Clarke was
a New York man who had been my college chum, and
the most intimate friend of my early manhood. At the
age of twenty-four he was elected to a <i>State</i> office in
New York. Later he had gone to Nebraska in the
hope of some day representing that <i>State</i> in the United
States Senate. In 1867 he wrote me that he had failed
in everything and was destitute. I sent him the means
to come to El Paso, gave him an appointment in the
Customs House, and later I sent for his wife and child.
Clarke was a scholar, a lawyer and at the time of his
death was Judge of the El Paso District. He was a
Republican.</p>

<p class='c007'>B. F. Williams came to El Paso about the time that
Clarke came. He was also a lawyer, had served in
the Confederate army and was a Democrat.</p>

<p class='c007'>Albert H. French was a Boston man, who had gone
to California in his youth and had come to El Paso in
1863 as a Captain of California Volunteers, had married
there and was a peace officer of the county.</p>

<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' title='139' id='Page_139'></span>A. J. Fountain has been mentioned elsewhere in
these pages.</p>

<p class='c007'>The quarrels grew out of an election held about a
year previous, in which Clarke and French supported
Hamilton for Governor and myself for the Legislature;
Fountain and Williams leading the opposition. The
county seat was at San Elizario, and the whole county
voted there, the election lasting four days, and was held
under military supervision. I here show what occurred.
Judge French wrote me:</p>

<div class='c013'>“After the battle, December 4th, 1869.</div>

<p class='c007'>“Dear Mills: We won the election, but the first night,
we having one hundred and forty-three to their forty-eight
votes, they opened the box and scratched our
one hundred and forty-three votes for themselves.
Fountain’s name represents yours on the scratched tickets.
I have sworn two hundred and seventy-seven men
who voted for you. You got only one hundred and
thirty-four as counted. Yours,</p>

<div class='c008'>French.”</div>

<p class='c006'>(French was at the time County Judge.)</p>

<p class='c006'>Clarke wrote me from El Paso, I being at Austin
assisting in the management of Hamilton’s campaign:</p>

<p class='c007'>“Whole number of Hamilton tickets polled, two hundred
and seventy-three; number as declared by registrars,
one hundred and twenty-two. A majority of our
tickets were scratched clear through and changed to
Davis candidates. As ever yours,</p>

<div class='c008'>“Gaylord J. Clarke.”</div>

<p class='c006'>Lieutenant Verney, who presided over this election,
was for other offences dismissed from the army a few
years later. Our Legislative District, which had three
Representatives, was comprised of a dozen counties and
extended from El Paso to the Gulf of Mexico. Col.
Nelson Plato of Brownsville and myself were running
<span class='pageno' title='140' id='Page_140'></span>as Independent Republicans on the Hamilton ticket,
and were fairly elected by the people, but the fraud in
El Paso County and other places defeated us and gave
the seats to those called “Regular Republicans.”</p>

<p class='c007'>Davis was inaugurated Governor and Fountain was
all powerful at the State Capital.</p>

<p class='c007'>But now trouble began for the victors. Williams believed
that by supporting Davis and Fountain and aiding
to defeat and otherwise injure me he had earned
the Judgeship of the El Paso District, which was at the
disposal of Fountain. But Fountain, always inexplicable,
had other plans. He conceived an idea that it
would be a good move to placate at least one gentleman
and at the same time win away from me my friend,
and so, to the surprise of everybody, he tendered the
Judgeship to Clarke, and it was accepted.</p>

<p class='c007'>It has been falsely stated that Clarke forsook me for
office, but I quote here a brief note from him, written
to me <i>after</i> he became Judge:</p>

<p class='c007'>“Dear William: There are some things I would give
much to talk to you about, but dare not write. They
concern me closely and you, so far as regards your interests
in this valley, but I defer them. When will you
return home? Direct your letters for me <i>under cover</i>
to D. C. B., Fort Davis. As ever yours, Gaylord.”</p>

<p class='c007'>The directing of letters “under cover” to mutual
friends was to prevent their being stolen by the El Paso
postmaster, who was of the Fountain faction.</p>

<p class='c007'>Williams, by no means a well-balanced man, became
furious and desperate at what he claimed to be, and
what probably was, bad faith. He was particularly bitter
toward Fountain and Clarke. He drank deeply and
threatened terribly, and in his ravings declared that
<span class='pageno' title='141' id='Page_141'></span>he had helped to “down” a better man than either of
them.</p>

<p class='c007'>In this state of mind on the day mentioned Williams
went into Dowell’s saloon and fired a pistol shot at close
range at Fountain’s left breast. Fountain’s life was
saved by his watch and his legs. He ran to Judge
Clarke’s house and asked protection and demanded
that Williams be immediately arrested. Clarke was a
firm believer in “the majesty of the law.” He summoned
a posse, consisting of E. A. Mills, John Evans,
Johnnie Hale, John Gillett and J. A. Zabriskie, the District
Attorney, and went to Williams’ quarters where
Williams, being inside, had locked and bolted all the
doors. French was there as a policeman. He went to
the rear of the house to prevent Williams from escaping
that way. Admittance being refused, the posse
commenced to batter down the door. Then Williams
came out, bare-headed, and leveled his shotgun at Judge
Clarke, who stood very near. Clarke did not move,
but said two or three times: “Don’t you dare, Williams!
Don’t you dare!” Williams fired and Clarke staggered
a few steps toward his home, then fell and died in a
few moments without speaking. French, hearing the
shot, came immediately upon the scene, and finding Williams
still armed and running “<i>amuck</i>,” shot him twice
with his pistol, and Williams died in about an hour.</p>

<div class='pbb'></div>
<hr class='pb c004' />

<div class='chapter'>
  <span class='pageno' title='142' id='Page_142'></span>
  <h2 id='cardis' class='c005'><span class='large'>THE CARDIS-HOWARD FEUD—THE MOB AT SAN ELEZARIO, 1877.</span></h2>
</div>

<p class='c006'>In 1877 but before the coming of the first railroad to
El Paso and when the population had increased but
little beyond what it was in the “sixties,” there arose a
bitter feud between two remarkable men, Lewis Cardis
and Charles H. Howard, which resulted in the killing
of both leaders and many other tragedies and agitated
the people of the valley as nothing else ever did before
or since.</p>

<p class='c007'>Out of this local trouble evil-minded persons sought
to manufacture excitement in Texas and throughout
the country about a “war of races,” “organized invasion
from Mexico,” and to involve the two countries in war.
Cardis was an Italian who had served as an officer in
Garibaldi’s army in his youth, and had resided for several
years at El Paso as a merchant and contractor, and
knew the Spanish language and the Mexican character
perfectly. He had been my lieutenant in political affairs
during the sixties and early in the seventies
he had, with my consent, succeeded me as the friend,
adviser and leader of the Mexican people of the valley
but was not so successful with the Americans.</p>

<p class='c007'>Howard had come later from Texas. He was a
lawyer and had served in the Confederate army. He
was a man of imposing appearance, powerful physique
and wonderful determination and courage, or rather
recklessness. A friend of mine recently told me that
the first time he saw Howard, although he knew nothing
about him, <i>he feared him</i>. Howard’s chief characteristic
<span class='pageno' title='143' id='Page_143'></span>was <i>force</i>; that of Cardis was persuasion and
management—a natural diplomat. Howard was a Democrat,
Cardis was a Republican.</p>

<p class='c007'>I was absent at the Capital of the State during the
tragic month of which I am writing, but I knew both
the parties well and was well informed of the nature of
their quarrels. I had been intimate with Cardis for
several years at El Paso. Howard had been my attorney,
and I and my wife had once made the journey
of eight days and nights from El Paso to Austin with
him in the stage coach and he and I had returned to El
Paso together in the same way. Besides, during several
months preceding the tragedies each of them wrote me
several letters complaining of the other, and each invoking
my influence with the other. I still retain these letters,
and I have before me as I write all the testimony
taken by a United States Commission, consisting of
Colonels King and Lewis of the regular army, which
was appointed to investigate and report upon the
<i>emente</i>. Howard had located some salt lakes about
one hundred miles northeast of El Paso, from which
(being on public land) the Mexicans had for many
years taken salt free of cost. They were indignant at
his action, and some of them threatened to take salt as
before, but so far none of them had committed any
lawless act. Howard, having influence with the county
officials, caused the arrest and imprisonment of two
prominent Mexicans at San Elezario for these threats.
This was September 10th, 1877. A party of forty or
fifty armed Mexicans at San Elezario forcibly released
their two countrymen, and in turn arrested Howard and
the County Judge, and organizing a Court of their own
tried them for wrongs (real or supposed) done to them
and their American friends, and possibly might have
<span class='pageno' title='144' id='Page_144'></span>dealt severely with them had it not been for the intercession
of Louis Cardis and the Parish Priest. As it
was they extorted from him a promise and bond that
he would leave the county never to return. Of course,
this was lawlessness, but no more so than defrauding
people of an election fairly won, or many other things
which are common. Howard then went to New Mexico
and “fired the Texas heart” with many telegrams about
lawless work, war of races, invasion from Mexico, etc.,
etc. He charged that Cardis was the chief conspirator
and marplot who had created all the trouble and had
sought to have him (Howard) assassinated.</p>

<p class='c007'>Howard called on Governor Hubbard for protection.
There was great excitement throughout the State. Howard
returned to El Paso and on the 10th of October,
1877, while Louis Cardis was writing a letter in the
store of Joseph Schutz, Howard walked in with a shotgun
and immediately shot him dead.</p>

<p class='c007'>Now comes the most strange and pathetic part of
this story. The people of San Elezario were threatening
to kill Howard if he returned to that village, and
the letter which Cardis had just finished and placed in
his breast pocket was written to the leaders of that
people pleading with them to refrain from all violence
toward Howard and all others. This letter was bespattered
with Cardis’ blood! I print the letter below,
together with some extracts from Cardis’ diary for the
few days preceding his death, and also an affidavit of
Adolph Krakaner, an eye-witness of the assassination:</p>

<div class='c013'>“El Paso, Texas, October 10th, 1877.</div>

<p class='c007'>“Friend Cipriano: The notice having been circulated
by telegraph and in the newspapers that our county
had risen against the Government and that the same had
been invaded by armed people of the Republic of Mexico,
<span class='pageno' title='145' id='Page_145'></span>General Hatch, commander of troops on this frontier,
sent Lieutenant Rucker to investigate whether or
not it is true that the property of the United States and
the lives of the citizens of the United States are in danger
on account of the afore-mentioned invasion, but
the lieutenant nor his soldiers have neither the orders
nor the wish to molest the citizens of this county, except
to investigate the case and make his report to the
General.</p>

<p class='c007'>“The false notices that are in circulation are not worth
anything, if the people will continue to do as advised
by their friends. Tranquillity and peace and the truth
will manifest itself in time. * * * Your friend, in
haste,</p>

<div class='c008'>(Signed) Louis Cardis.</div>

<p class='c007'>“P. S.—Do not pay any attention to the slanders that
you hear against me, and my life. Let the people remain
tranquil and we will get justice, and this is what
we wish and need no more.</p>

<div class='c008'>L. C.”</div>

<p class='c007'>A true copy.</p>

<div class='lg-container-r'>
  <div class='linegroup'>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line'>(Signed) John S. Lond,</div>
      <div class='line'>First Lieutenant and Adjutant Ninth Cavalry,</div>
      <div class='line'>Acting Assistant Adjutant General.</div>
    </div>
  </div>
</div>

<p class='c007'>(Extract from the diary of Louis Cardis, found on his
body after his death at the hands of Howard. The diary
is pierced through and through with buckshot.)</p>

<p class='c007'>“October 1st, P. M.—Was told by Mr. Lujan that
Juarez had been incarcerated by order of G. M. Garcia
for having said he intended to go to the salt lakes, and
that warrants for his (Lujan’s) arrest had been issued,
and for the arrest of four others.</p>

<p class='c007'>“October 2.—J. R. Mariani informed me that the
people took up arms, arrested G. M. Garcia and Howard,
and asked me to go to San Elezario and use my
influence to pacify the excited people, which I did.
Found the people very much excited against Howard
<span class='pageno' title='146' id='Page_146'></span>only. I begged for his life with all my might and left
San Elezario at about 3 o’clock A. M. on 3d after being
satisfied that the people had taken my advice to let
Howard and all the rest free. Arrived at El Paso 9
A. M. after twenty-six hours of no rest or sleep. On
the 4th, at night, Howard arrived here at El Paso escorted
by eight of the people, and on the 5th A. M.
Howard left (I am told) for New Mexico.”</p>

<h3 class='c018'><span class='fss'>AFFIDAVIT OF ADOLPH KRAKANER.</span></h3>

<p class='c019'>“I am the bookkeeper of S. Schutz &amp; Bro., merchants
at El Paso, Texas, who are also agents of the
Texas and California Stage Company, of which Louis
Cardis, deceased, was a sub-contractor, running the
U. S. mail between this point and Fort Davis, Texas;
hence Cardis had more or less transactions with the
firm and came frequently into the store and office. On
Wednesday, the 10th day of October, 1877, between 2
and 3 o’clock P. M., Louis Cardis, deceased, came into
the office, requesting me to write a letter, which he
wished to send down to Ysleta and San Elezario. He
(Cardis) took a seat in a rocking chair standing near by,
with his back turned toward the store door—the main
entrance of the establishment. While I was writing the
letter, which occupied my whole attention, Judge
Charles H. Howard came into the store, and when Mr.
Jos. Schutz, a member of the firm of S. Schutz &amp; Bro.,
who was sitting at a little table in the office, saw Howard,
who had a double-barreled shotgun in his hand, he
left his seat and walked up toward Howard, saluting him
in a loud voice, thus: “How do you do, Judge Howard?”
This salute caught the attention of Cardis, who was
yet seated in the rocking chair, and he turned his face
toward the store door. He (Cardis) seeing Howard,
left the chair, passed behind me (I was sitting at the
<span class='pageno' title='147' id='Page_147'></span>desk writing), and took a position behind the high office
desk. Mr. Schutz, seeing Howard raise his gun,
in a harsh and exciting tone exclaimed: “Krakaner,
come away from there!” I at once dropped the pen,
got up from the office chair and was by no means slow
in trying to reach the door. While I passed the place
where Mr. Schutz stood I heard the latter say: “Don’t
shoot here, Judge; respect my house and my family.”
The moment I reached the door I heard the discharge
of a gun and another one following in quick succession.
Howard left the store at once, walking slowly down the
street toward his house. When I went back into the
office I found Cardis lying dead at the same place (behind
the high desk), where I left him a few seconds previously
alive. The desk behind which Cardis sought
protection did only cover the upper part of his body;
from the navel down to his feet his body was exposed
to Howard. The latter, standing behind a showcase
about forty feet from the place where Cardis stood, fired
the first shot under the desk, the balls (buckshot) taking
effect in the abdomen; Cardis then staggered, exposed
his breast and received Howard’s second shot in the
heart.</p>

<p class='c007'>“The time elapsed between my leaving the desk and
the firing of the first shot was but a few seconds. There
was not a word spoken between Howard and Cardis.
When Cardis’ body was removed from the place where
he fell his pistol was found in the scabbard and was
cocked.</p>

<p class='c007'>“I omitted to state that to my knowledge Howard
had not been in the store for a period of about nine
months prior to this shooting affray.</p>

<p class='c007'>“El Paso, Texas, January 31st, 1878.</p>

<div class='c008'>“A. Krakaner.”</div>

<p class='c006'><span class='pageno' title='148' id='Page_148'></span>Howard again fled to New Mexico, and on October
25th wrote the Governor again about the terrible “mob”
in El Paso County, the peril of all Americans, and closed
by saying: “If the Governor don’t help us I am going
to bushwhacking.” He forgot that during the whole
trouble he had been the only man who had shed any
blood.</p>

<p class='c007'>Howard returned to El Paso early in December.
Lieut. John B. Tays was then in command of about
twenty State troops (Rangers) then in El Paso County.
Tays was a foreigner, an alien and a bitter partisan.
I quote the opening lines of Tays’ report of the bloody
tragedies which followed, in order that the reader may
have some idea of the lieutenant’s conception of his
duty. He says: “By request of Mr. Howard I sent an
escort to El Paso on the 13th inst., as he wished to come
to San Elezario on business. He rode down to San
Elezario in the ranks.” If “all Americans” were in danger,
why was one man <i>only</i> selected to be protected by
the Rangers?</p>

<p class='c007'>Howard had tempted fate too far, and his day had
come. But the bloody sequel shall be told in the language
of another. Capt. Thos. Blair of the United
States army, was on the ground with a detachment of
regular soldiers, but to “interfere in the domestic affairs
of a sovereign State” would offend the political sensibilities
of many.</p>

<p class='c007'>(President Cleveland was later on repudiated by his
party for interfering with the pastime of a mob at Chicago.)</p>

<p class='c007'>True, Governor Hubbard had had the good sense to
call on President Hayes for assistance, and it had been
granted, but unfortunately the order had not yet reached
the Captain. Captain Blair, in his official report, says:</p>

<p class='c006'><span class='pageno' title='149' id='Page_149'></span>“As soon as Howard arrived in San Elezario the
town was surrounded by a cordon of armed men (Mexicans)
and pickets posted on all roads. As soon as Tays
saw the state of affairs he and his party retreated to
their quarters (which was a detached building with
corral) and barricaded the doors and windows and cut
port-holes in the walls. On Thursday morning the firing
began, and continued with but few intermissions
until the Rangers surrendered on Monday forenoon.
Mr. Ellis, a merchant, was the first one killed; that was
on Wednesday night. When the tumult began he went
out to find out what it was, and not stopping when
halted by one of their sentinels, was shot. Afterward
his throat was cut and his body thrown into an acequia.
On Thursday morning Sergeant Mortimer, of the Rangers,
was killed while making his way to the building
where the others were posted. The Rangers consisted
of just twenty men, I believe. With them in the building
were Howard and his colored servant, Mr. Atkinson,
a merchant of San Elezario, a Mr. Loomis from
Fort Stockton, I believe, and Mrs. Campbell, the wife
of one of the Rangers, and her two children. After
hearing that I had been inside Mrs. Marsh and Mrs.
Campbell went down from El Paso on Sunday morning.
Mrs. Marsh got out her son, who was with the
Rangers, but the Mexicans disarmed him and retained
him prisoner. Mrs. Campbell got out her daughter-in-law
and her two children. The Ranger party on Monday
found that they could not hold out much longer,
the men were being overcome by sleep, and under a
flag of truce went out and had a talk with the leaders,
who told them if they would give up Howard it was all
they wanted. This he refused to do. They then said
that if Howard would come out he could soon make
<span class='pageno' title='150' id='Page_150'></span>arrangements by which it would be all right. Tays returned
and told him so, but told him also not to go
unless he wanted to do so, that he would defend him
to the last man. Howard returned with Lieutenant
Tays to the leaders. However, after some talk they
asked Tays to leave Howard to them and go into another
room, which he refused to do, whereupon he was
seized by about a dozen men and carried out and then
found that all his party had surrendered at the instigation
of Atkinson (it is said).</p>

<p class='c007'>“During the afternoon Howard, Atkinson and
McBride, Howard’s agent, were all taken out and shot. A
strong effort was made by the more violent of the party,
and by those from the other side, to have all the Americans
shot, but Chico Barela opposed this (it), said
there had been enough blood shed, and that only after
they had killed him could any more Americans be killed.
Tuesday forenoon they were released, each one having
his horse returned to him, but their arms were retained.
Some of the Rangers with whom I have talked inform
me they were all asked whether they were employed by
the Governor of Texas or by Howard, and then each
one was required to sign a blank paper. They were
escorted as far as Sorocco by a guard.</p>

<p class='c007'>“The mob is estimated by Lieutenant Tays at not less
than five hundred, many of the leaders being from the
other side. The loss was five Americans killed and at
least one Mexican, belonging to a party under Captain
Garcia, who tried to assist the Americans. The losses
on the side of the mob are unknown, but at least five
or six are known to have been killed and a large number,
not less than forty or fifty, wounded.”</p>

<p class='c007'><i>During</i> the siege Captain Blair held several conferences
<span class='pageno' title='151' id='Page_151'></span>with the Mexican leaders, which he relates as
follows:</p>

<p class='c007'>“I found the people much excited over the fact that
Howard, who had taken a life, was permitted to go at
large, while two of their number who had only <i>said</i> that
they would go for salt to his ‘salinas’ had been arrested,
tried and sentenced to imprisonment. They said Howard
had killed their friend Cardis, and they would have
his life, cost what it might. I found their force to consist
of about three hundred and fifty sober, well-organized,
well-armed, determined men, with a definite purpose.
Howard they wanted, nothing less, nothing else.
I told them I thought they would regret their course,
that for Howard personally I cared nothing, but I would
be sorry if anything happened to Lieutenant Tays. Yes,
they said, but why was he defending Howard?”</p>

<hr class='c020' />

<p class='c007'>The object for which the Mexicans had armed and
assembled being accomplished, they disbanded, seeking
no more blood. They killed Howard because he had
killed Cardis, their friend and leader. They had known
Atkinson for fifteen years, and they killed him <i>on general
principles</i>.</p>

<p class='c007'>The killing of McBride was inexcusable murder.
Ellis, the merchant, was, I believe, murdered by some
personal enemy who took advantage of the turbulence
to gratify private vengeance. Sergeant Mortimer, the
only ranger who lost his life, was killed in the fight.
Five were killed in all. All the other unfortunates were
citizens who had exasperated the people by voluntarily
attaching themselves to Howard’s fortunes. There <i>were</i>
some Mexicans, many or few, from the Mexican side
of the river, who came as the commission report, “some
to fight and some to steal,” but there was no “organized
<span class='pageno' title='152' id='Page_152'></span>invasion.” Considerable property was taken or destroyed,
but the <i>object</i> of the uprising was always clearly
stated, and that object was <i>not</i> plunder.</p>

<p class='c007'>The good feeling which has usually existed between
the two races in the valley was soon restored, and no
one has ever been punished for participation in this
deplorable <i>emente</i>.</p>

<h3 class='c018'><span class='fss'>THE AFTER MATH.</span></h3>

<p class='c019'>It is not pleasant to have to write of what occurred
after the mob had dispersed, and therefore I will be
brief. The regular force of Rangers had behaved well
and obeyed orders, but now Governor Hubbard ordered
that an additional force should be recruited at Silver
City, New Mexico, to assist the authorities and restore
order in El Paso County. About thirty came. Of these
the Judge Advocate General of the Army reviewing the
testimony says:</p>

<p class='c007'>“Many outrages were committed on innocent people
in the neighborhood during the excitement, but of these
not a few were perpetrated by members of the State
force raised in New Mexico under authority of the
Governor of Texas. These last seem especially to be
responsible for the rapes, homicides and other crimes
of which the people justly complain.”</p>

<p class='c007'>The United States Commissioners, Colonels King and
Lewis, before whom all the testimony was given, say:</p>

<p class='c007'>“On December 22d, another small force of about thirty
men arrived from Silver City, who had been called into
temporary service under telegraphic instructions from
the Governor, but unhappily, as was natural and according
to experience in raising volunteers along the border,
when the exigencies of the occasion does not permit
that delay which a wise discrimination in the choice of
<span class='pageno' title='153' id='Page_153'></span>material would cause, the force of Rangers thus suddenly
called together contained within its ranks an adventurous
and lawless element, which, though not predominant,
was yet strong enough to make its evil influence
felt in deeds of violence and outrage matched only by
the mob itself. Notable among these atrocities should
be classed the shooting of two Mexican prisoners, who
were bound with cords when turned over to the guard
at Ysleta, ostensibly to bury the bodies of Howard,
Atkinson and McBride, then lying in the fields of San
Elizario, and when next seen, about an hour after, were
pierced with bullet holes, their appearance giving rise
to grave apprehension in unprejudiced minds that their
death was ‘neither necessary nor justifiable.’ Another
was the killing of the Mexican and the wounding of his
wife in a house in Socorro, through the door of which
a shot had, it was said, been fired, and, being a spent
ball, had struck without hurting one of the Rangers
belonging to Lieutenant Tays’ company. On a personal
examination by the board of all the outside doors of the
house, there could be found no marks of a bullet-hole,
but through an inner door, across the ‘Sala,’ behind
which the unfortunate victim had received his death and
his wife a serious wound, were counted no less than
fifteen bullet-holes, piercing the door from the outside,
and none merging from the inner side. These are regarded
by the Board as wanton outrages.”</p>

<p class='c007'>These Rangers, like the leaders of the mob, escaped
punishment.</p>
<div class='pbb'></div>
<hr class='pb c004' />

<div class='chapter'>
  <span class='pageno' title='154' id='Page_154'></span>
  <h2 id='bloody' class='c005'><span class='large'>THE BLOODY REIGN OF MARSHAL STUDEMEIER.</span></h2>
</div>

<p class='c006'>Twenty years ago, with the coming of the first railroads
to El Paso, there came also many bad men, and
our mayor and city fathers concluded in their wisdom
that they must have a city marshal who would be “bader
en anybody,” and they succeeded beyond their most
sanguine expectations. They imported one Dallas
Studemeier, and installed him in that office.</p>

<p class='c007'>His coming, if we can trace human events back to
their causes, cost the lives of half a dozen men, his
own included. The supplanted marshal, a Mr. Johnson,
was the first victim. He was killed one night on San
Antonio street, near its junction with El Paso, “by
parties unknown,” as was said at the time. No one
dared ask why or by whom he was killed.</p>

<p class='c007'>Studemeier brought with him a brother-in-law, one
“Doc” Cummings, a man of his own ilk. Soon the
Studemeier-Cummings party became involved in a
quarrel with the four Manning brothers, who resided
here at the time, and Cummings was killed by Jim
Manning in a fight.</p>

<p class='c007'>It is enough to say that Manning was fairly tried and
acquitted on a plea of self-defense.</p>

<p class='c007'>In the Bosques above El Paso there were several
parties of cowboys, both American and Mexican, some
of whom were, no doubt, looking after their own cattle,
while others were certainly looking after other people’s
cattle. One morning the bodies of two young Mexicans
from Juarez were found dead at their camp near
<span class='pageno' title='155' id='Page_155'></span>Canutilla, sixteen miles above El Paso. They had been
recently shot. The Mexicans of Juarez asked permission
to send an armed party to take home the bodies,
and they passed through El Paso. With them went a
young German named Kramkauer, a stranger in El
Paso, but who we afterward learned was a good man,
and he certainly was a brave man.</p>

<p class='c007'>On their return, this party of about thirty armed men
halted on El Paso street, appearing angry but making
no threats or hostile demonstrations, but Kramkauer
did not hesitate when questioned to say that the signs
at the Mexicans’ camp clearly showed that the two
young Mexicans had been surprised while preparing
their breakfast and assassinated. This was too much for
the American cowboys and their friends who had collected
on the street, and for a time I feared a conflict
between them and the thirty armed Mexicans, which I
knew would be a bloody affair, and therefore interceded
to prevent it. But the Mexican party sullenly moved
south on El Paso street, and halted when about half way
to the river. Now the wrath of the American party was
turned toward Kramkauer, who remained on El Paso
street, near the head of San Antonio, and one Campbell,
of whose history or character I know but little, but who
appeared to be the spokesman of the party, called on
Kramkauer to retract what he had said. Kramkauer quietly
but firmly refused, saying that he had stated only the
truth. I was standing near these two men, and was
surprised at the low, protesting, almost pleading tone
of voice in which they spoke to each other. Both were
sober, both were brave. The marshal, Studemeier, was
standing near me and them, but spoke no word. Others
soon gathered about us, but the young German was
without friends. I believe these two men might not
<span class='pageno' title='156' id='Page_156'></span>have fought, but Johnnie Hale, who was intoxicated,
called out: “Turn her loose, Campbell; damn ’em, turn
her loose,” and drew his pistol. Studemeier, who stood
within four feet of Hale, shot him in the back of the
head, and Hale fell and died in a few moments. Campbell
and Kramkauer fired simultaneously at each other,
both shots taking effect. Each fired several times.
Campbell fell, and the German staggered to the wall,
and, leaning against it with his smoking pistol still in
his hand, said, “I will fight till I die,” and he died soon.
Campbell lingered till the next morning, and died.</p>

<p class='c007'>A second shot fired by Studemeier accidentally killed
a Mexican who happened to be passing down the street.
I do not know who Studemeier was shooting at then,
and I don’t believe he knew himself. Less than ten
seconds time passed between the first shot and the last
one, but four men were killed! Two of the three participants
in the above affray having killed each other,
and Studemeier having killed two men “on the side,”
as it were, he became a hero with the rabble and a <i>terror</i>
to the more thoughtful of the city officials, who sought
to get rid of him. But it is sometimes easier to catch
such a man than it is to let him go. I found a way.</p>

<p class='c007'>I was deputy United States marshal at the time, and
at the next meeting of the council I presented a telegram
from the United States marshal of New Mexico,
stating that Studemeier had accepted an appointment
as his deputy, thereby vacating the office of city marshal,
and the city council declared it vacant. An alderman
immediately nominated Studemeier to succeed himself,
and Alderman Hague nominated the writer of these
pages. The vote stood four and four, and then the
mayor, to the surprise of many, gave the casting vote
to Studemeier! One night, soon after the above occurrences,
<span class='pageno' title='157' id='Page_157'></span>I went to a public meeting at the old Central
hotel, and in the hall, in the presence of many people,
Studemeier accosted and cursed and threatened to kill
me, and called on me to defend myself. I was unarmed,
and so informed him. He then produced two pistols,
and generously offered to loan me one, but I had seen
that trick played before, and I told him that as he and
I were not good friends I did not feel like accepting
a favor from him, and he went away. I went home and
armed myself and returned to the meeting and met
Studemeier, but nothing more was said or done. This
was the last time, so far as I know, when I have been
in any great peril from my fellow men—unless from
their tongues.</p>

<p class='c007'>There are probably as many Davids as Goliaths,
and this desperado was about to meet his David—and
his death. Dr. Manning was small of stature,
modest in deportment, devoted to his family and
his profession, and as to fighting, his disposition is well
described in the words of the old negro, “Mammy,” in
speaking of her old master. She said, “Colonel Purdue
want no man to go about hunting for no fuss, but if
anybody brought a fuss to him and laid it in his lap,
he would nuss it and coddle it and try to keep it from
ketchen cold.”</p>

<p class='c007'>Studemeier gathered his few followers about him and
announced that he was going to meet the Mannings and
make peace or “have it out.”</p>

<p class='c007'>The meeting was at the old stand, Uncle Ben. Dowell’s
saloon. A peace was patched up, and of course some
drinks were taken, and then all left except the marshal
and Dr. Manning. Suddenly Studemeier found some
pretext for anger, and, drawing his pistol, suddenly fired
at Manning’s heart. The bullet missed its mark but
<span class='pageno' title='158' id='Page_158'></span>wounded the doctor in one hand (the other hand had
been crippled in a former fight), yet the little man
grappled the large one with one hand and with the
other drew his pistol, and in an instant the giant lay
dying on the ground!</p>

<p class='c007'>This shall be my last story of bloodshed. I was foreman
of the jury which tried Dr. Manning, and he was
rendered a verdict of not guilty without leaving the
box.</p>

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<div class='chapter'>
  <span class='pageno' title='159' id='Page_159'></span>
  <h2 id='longmeier' class='c005'><span class='large'>LONGMEIER—A CLOSE CALL.</span></h2>
</div>

<p class='c006'>In the bad times soon after the coming of the first
railroad, I returned to El Paso as deputy United States
marshal, and encountered many strangers, and was
called to the custom house to appraise some liquor
which had been smuggled by one Longmeier. Although
I had nothing to do with the seizure of the liquor,
Longmeier thought I had, or else he thought it no harm
to kill a deputy marshal, anyhow.</p>

<p class='c007'>That night, while sitting at supper with my back to
a window which opened on the common (which window
had a hanging curtain), I heard the landlord call from
the outside: “Mills, get your pistol; a man is going to
kill you.” The landlord, John Woods, colored (who
was afterwards killed by a policeman), had found Longmeier
crouched at the window, pistol in hand, trying to
find an opening through the curtain, and when asked
what he was doing, replied that he was going to kill the
d—n deputy marshal.</p>

<p class='c007'>Longmeier fled and went to Silver City, and was soon
after killed by a man of his own class.</p>
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<div class='chapter'>
  <span class='pageno' title='160' id='Page_160'></span>
  <h2 id='holdup' class='c005'><span class='large'>A HOLD UP.</span></h2>
</div>

<p class='c006'>Soon after the above incident, I went one night about
9 o’clock to call for my wife, who was visiting some
friends near McGoffin’s place. As I walked unarmed
and with my overcoat thrown over my shoulder, I heard
and saw a man walking suspiciously behind me, and
determined to watch him, but as he followed a different
street at a junction I dismissed him from my mind.
Suddenly he sprang from the bushes about fifteen feet
from the road, with a very large pistol directed at me,
and the following dialogue ensued:</p>

<p class='c007'>He—“Halt! Your money or your life.”</p>

<p class='c007'>I—“My friend, I haven’t a damn cent.”</p>

<p class='c007'>He—“Er, er. Hold up your hands.”</p>

<p class='c007'>I did as requested.</p>

<p class='c007'>He—“Ain’t you got no jewelry nor nothin’?”</p>

<p class='c007'>I—“I told you no.”</p>

<p class='c007'>He—“I believe you are a d—n liar.”</p>

<p class='c007'>I—“Ain’t it bad enough to be broke without being
insulted about it?”</p>

<p class='c007'>He—“I’ve a damn notion to kill you, any how.”</p>

<p class='c007'>I—“I am afraid you will. You don’t intend to kill
me, but that pistol is pointed right at me, and you are
nervous and it might go off.”</p>

<p class='c007'>I positively saw that man move his pistol so that, had
it been discharged, the bullet would have missed me by
several feet. His voice quivered and I could see him
tremble.</p>

<p class='c007'>He—“Throw off that overcoat and step to one side.”</p>

<p class='c007'>I complied.</p>

<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' title='161' id='Page_161'></span>I—“When you take the coat please take the papers
from the pocket and leave them in the road.”</p>

<p class='c007'>More conversation, and then:</p>

<p class='c007'>He—“Pick up your coat and walk straight down the
middle of the road; no bad breaks, now, or by —— I
will kill you.”</p>

<p class='c007'>And though I was never a Populist, I walked that
night down the “middle of the road.”</p>

<hr class='c020' />

<p class='c007'>One day I passed where two strange roughs were
evidently critisizing some new comer who they thought
was claiming honors which did not belong to him. I
heard one of them say contemptuously: “Calls himself
the Deadwood Kid! Why, he’s no more the Deadwood
Kid than I am. Why, the Deadwood Kid has killed half
a dozen men, an’ I don’t believe that ‘<i>moke</i>’ ever killed
anybody!”</p>

<hr class='c020' />

<p class='c007'>Early one morning I heard a saloonkeeper talking to
his friend, evidently about some row he had had the day
or night before. He said, “Well, no; I don’t think I
was too drunk. Well, I was just about like I am now;
and if he had got the best of me I wouldn’t have said a
word. But my own opinion is, I would have gone
through him p-r-o-p-e-r-l-y.”</p>

<hr class='c020' />

<p class='c007'>The next day after the notorious ex-convict and
desperado, Wesley Harden, was killed on San Antonio
street by a worse man than himself, who was a constable
or something, people, though not sorry at Harden’s taking
off, were shocked at the manner of it, but feared to
condemn the act, because no one knew who would be
the next victim. I was passing along the street, and a
merchant friend called to me and said, seriously and in
<span class='pageno' title='162' id='Page_162'></span>a low tone of voice, “What do YOU think about this killing
of Harden?” I placed my hand at the side of my
mouth and whispered, “I’ll tell you if you say nothing
about it. I have just been down to the undertakers and
I saw Harden, and I think—I think he’s dead!” I
believe my friend kept my secret.</p>

<hr class='c020' />

<p class='c007'>Some years ago my friend, Mr. Park Pitman, now
(1900) the efficient clerk of El Paso County, was a candidate
for a county office on the Democratic ticket, and
was the only candidate of his party defeated—possibly
because he was the best man on that ticket. Soon thereafter,
I was a candidate for a city office on the Republican
ticket, and was the only Republican defeated (whether
we voted for each other or not is nobody’s business).
Soon after my defeat, I met Pitman with a party of
friends, and I said to him: “Let us mingle our tears.”
He replied, “I am writing a book which is to be entitled,
‘Bleeding Inwardly,’ I will compliment you with a
copy.”</p>

<hr class='c020' />

<p class='c007'>On my return from Washington City, in 1897, my
friend, Zack White, congratulated me upon my appointment
as United States Consul at Chihuahua, Mexico,
and I told him I had been surprised at receiving so many
congratulations and that I believed most of them sincere.
He replied, “They are <i>all</i> sincere. It’s like this; half
of the people of this town are your friends, and, like
me, they are glad of your success, and the other half are
glad because you are going away. <i>It’s unanimous.</i>”</p>

<p class='c007'>I think a man who makes an “even break” among the
people of El Paso does fairly well, and I “let it go at
that.”</p>
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<div class='chapter'>
  <span class='pageno' title='163' id='Page_163'></span>
  <h2 id='union' class='c005'>The North American Review, November, 1889.<br /> <br /><span class='large'>THE UNION MEN OF THE SOUTH.</span><br /> <br />By W. W. Mills.</h2>
</div>

<p class='c006'>In every Southern State at the commencement of the
rebellion there lived a class of men, prominent and influential
in political and social life, whose patriotism,
devotion to principle, wisdom and courage, trials and
sufferings, have been scarcely touched upon by late writers
upon the war and its causes and results. Most of
them were then of mature years; all of them had been
born and reared in the South and were slave-owners.
Many of them were Democrats; none of them were then
Republicans. Most of them were disappointed at the
election of Mr. Lincoln, and feared that his administration
and that of the Republican party, which they considered
sectional and aggressive, would be unfriendly,
if not actually hostile, to the welfare of their section,
where their pride, interests, and sympathies were all
centered. Many of their wives, mothers and daughters
were Secessionists. Their sons, many of them, were the
first to enlist in the Confederate ranks. These men
doubted the policy of secession, and, with a courage and
manhood which have no parallel, denounced the movement
and predicted its failure and the ruin of the South.
In so doing they knew that they were courting certain
political ostracism and defeat, subjecting themselves to
danger and perhaps to death, and to what was equally
terrible to men of their pride and character—the changing
of the love and confidence of their neighbors and
<span class='pageno' title='164' id='Page_164'></span>friends, and even their kindred, into bitter hatred; and
yet these men through all those dreary, doubtful years
of war, some at their homes, some in the mountains,
some in exile, some in prison and others on the battlefield
beneath the stars and stripes, never wavered or lost
hope in the success of the one cause for which they had
sacrificed and dared so much—the success of the Union
arms.</p>

<p class='c007'>Their voices were never heard among the croakers;
when they could not approve the policy of the government,
they fought on in silence; when colored troops
were enlisted, they faltered not; when the Emancipation
Proclamation swept away their fortunes, they did not
complain. The success of one political party or the
other was no victory to them, except as it indicated the
determination of the people to preserve the government
by suppressing the rebellion. They did not regard the
war, as many writers do, as a “war between the North
and South,” or a “war between the States,” but a war
between those everywhere who loved their government
and those who wished to see it die; and if their hearts
were not too full of sadness to harbor bitter feelings,
those feelings went out toward the Northern “Copperhead”
rather than toward their misguided or even their
vicious neighbors. They did not consider it a rebellion
of State, but a rebellion of rebels. They knew that they
were sustained in their own section by thousands of
Southerners as courageous and patriotic as themselves,
and by hundreds of thousands who, though unable to
give them active support, were praying for success.</p>

<p class='c007'>Next to their devotion to the Union their desire for
peace, good government in the South through a liberal
policy by the victorious party was the aim and hope of
these men. Then came reconstruction and the reorganization
<span class='pageno' title='165' id='Page_165'></span>of political parties in the South. It must be
written that the National Republican party, controlled
by Northern politicians, in the exercise of its powerful
political influence and the bestowal of its great patronage,
in every Southern State and in almost every instance
rejected the counsel of these brave and experienced men,
and sought to build upon three elements only—the negro,
the carpetbagger, and a few new converts from the Confederate
element. This is the only blur upon the otherwise
magnificent record of that party.</p>

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<div class='chapter'>
  <span class='pageno' title='166' id='Page_166'></span>
  <h2 id='philosophy' class='c005'><span class='large'>ENEMIES AND PHILOSOPHY.</span></h2>
</div>

<p class='c006'>In the summer of 1900 my brother, General Mills,
and a sister paid Mrs. Mills and myself a visit at the
United States Consulate at Chihuahua. One evening he,
being in a reflective mood, said, “Will, you and I have
had many difficulties, and quarrels and fights with our
personal enemies, and it is very gratifying to know, as
I am growing old, that these are all over with me. My
enemies are all reconciled to me, and I wish you could
say as much.”</p>

<p class='c007'>I replied: “I do not know that my enemies are all
reconciled to me, but they are all <i>dead</i>, and that is better,
or at least <i>safer</i>.” And it is the literal truth. All my
bitterest foes have been taken hence, most of them by
violence, and I neither rejoice at nor regret their taking
off. I do not claim that I was always right and they
always wrong, for I tried to return blow for blow, but
it is certain that they often resorted to means which I
would, under no circumstances, employ. Alas, most of
my friends are gone also. Why I have been spared
through it all is a mystery which I do not attempt to
explain.</p>

<div class='nf-center-c0'>
  <div class='nf-center'>
    <div><span class='sc'>A’Dois.</span></div>
  </div>
</div>

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