ANTELOPE PEAK. excellent mark we made for any prowling Tontos that might be in the vicinity. It was here that the Indians who had in captivity the Oatman girls made their first halt after the massacre of the family. The barren mountains in the rear, and the wild and desert appearance of the surrounding country, accorded well with the impressive narrative of that disaster. It had been arranged that our party should meet us at Oatman Flat, where we were to camp for the night. We rode for about ten or twelve miles over the mesa, following the tracks made by King Woolsey's wagon, and then struck for the river, thinking we were opposite the Flat. Experience has since taught me that there is no safety in diverging from the main road or trail in Arizona, however circuitous it may appear. We soon found ourselves involved in a labyrinth of thickets and arroyas bordering on the river, through which we struggled for three hours before we could get to the water. When we finally made our way down to the sandbottom, the oppo site side of the river presented a perpendicular wall of rocks which forbade any attempt at an exit; so we had to turn back and struggle through the thickets and arroyas for two hours pletely set us up after the dust and grit of the journey. They lie near the point of the hill, about a mile and a half from Martin's. I consider them equal to the baths of Damascus, or any other in the world. The water is of an ex-more, by which time we found ourselves on a quisite temperature, and possesses some very remarkable qualities in softening the skin and soothing the nervous system. A Mr. Belcher lived at this place for four years, surrounded by Apaches. Indeed it was not quite safe now; and I could not but think, as Poston, White, and myself sat bobbing about in the water, what an mesa covered with round smooth stones, apparently burned and glazed by fire. All around us, as far as sight could reach, the face of the country was a continued sea of dark glazed stones, bounded only in the distance by rugged mountains. Following the road over this dreary waste we at length descended from the mesa, and reached the stretch of sand-bottom opposite Oatman's Flat. In crossing the river, which appeared to be only a few inches deep, our animals sank in a bed of quicksand, and had a fearful struggle before they could gain the opposite bank. As usual, I rode a mule defective in the legs. They were too short by at least twelve inches, and it fell to my lot to be the only member of the party who was thoroughly and effectually ducked. I must say, however, my labors in the quicksand were not wholly lost; for they afforded infinite diversion to my friends Poston and White, who stood on the opposite bank enjoying the picturesque attitudes which I chose to assume while the mule was plunging and struggling to rid himself of his burden. I would take a ducking any time to oblige a couple of disinterested friends, having full faith that they would pull me out at the last extremity. We found our party encamped in the bottom. Antonio Azul and his interpreter Francisco were in great joy. The Pimo Indians had heard that the white men of San Francisco had put them to death with great ceremony and much rejoicing. Faint rumors had reached the Pimo villages that Antonio and Francisco had been paraded about the city for many weeks, to be tortured by the white squaws; after which, public vengeance being satisfied, their ears were cut off, and their bodies hung up by the heels to a tree, and fires placed under their heads, as a matter of general amusement. Such was the indignation of Antonio's people when they saw his wife and children weeping and wailing for these cruel atrocities-doubtless the invention of some mischievous teamster-that they resolved to take summary vengeance upon some half a dozen Americans who resided at the villages. Mr. White's half-brother, Cyrus Lennan, fortunately received a letter about that time dated at Fort Yuma, stating that Antonio and Francisco were safe, and would be at Oatman's Flat on a certain day. Immediately a delegation of Pimos, headed by Antonio's son, started off to meet them. This was the occasion of the rejoicing. The meeting had just taken place. Antonio and his son had tipped fingers and grunted in token of joy; Francisco had appeared before his astonished friends in the full glory of brass buttons, sashes, feathers, beads, and brilliant yellow cheeks; and now they were all seated around the camp-fire, and the unsophisticated delegation were listening to the wonderful history of the adventures and observations of Antonio Blue-Bottom and his doughty interpreter, Francisco, Knight of the Yellow Cheeks. A good supper, prepared by the skillful hand of Dr. Jim Berry, amply compensated us for the tribulations of the past two days; and a glorious night's rest on the bosom of our mother earth set us up for any thing that might transpire to tax our energies for some time to come. Having started our escort and baggage-wagon on the road a small party of us made a visit to the grave of the Oatman Family, whose sad history had been the theme of much conversation in camp since our arrival in this desolate region. A small inclosure near the road, with a board and inscription, marks the spot. The bones of the unfortunate emigrants were gathered up in 1854 by Mr. Poston, and buried here. He carved the inscription with his penknife on a piece of board from his wagon. Although a detailed narrative of the massacre of the family and captivity of the Oatman girls, written by the Rev. R. B. Stratton, was published a few years ago, a brief sketch of their eventful career, for which I am indebted in part to Mr. Stratton's narrative and in part to verbal details furnished me by Mr. Henry Grinnell at Fort Yuma, may derive a new interest from the drawings made by myself on the spot. It will show, at least, as well as any thing I can offer, some of the causes which have so long retarded the progress of Arizona. At this point the Early in January, 1851, Mr. Royse Oatman and his family entered that portion of the New Mexican territory now called Arizona, in company with an emigrant party of which he was a member. Originally the party numbered some eighty or ninety persons, but disagreements had divided them during the journey; Mr. Oatman and his friends took the Cook and Kearney route from the Rio Grande, with a train consisting of eight wagons and some twenty persons. After a series of continued hardships and disasters they reached Tucson entirely destitute of provisions, their stock broken down and most of them unable to proceed. lands were good, and inducements were offered them to remain a while for the purpose of recruiting. The families of Oatman, Wilder, and Kelley resolved to push on, in the hope of being able soon to reach California, of which they had heard glowing accounts. They were very poorly provided for the journey; but to remain with their large families, under the discouraging prospect of supplies from crops not yet in the ground, seemed to them almost certain to result in starvation. With their jaded teams and a slender stock of provisions they pushed forward across the ninety-mile desert, and arrived about the middle of February at the Pimo villages, where they hoped to procure fresh supplies. It was a bad season for the Pimos. Their grain had nearly given out, and they had little or none to spare. Wilder and Kelley, however, concluded to remain in consequence of some bad accounts of Indian depredations on the road to Fort Yuma. Mr. Oatman saw nothing but utter destitution before him if he tarried among the Pimos, and he was sorely embarrassed what to do. His stock had been reduced to two yoke of cows and one of oxen, and was so jaded after the long journey from the Rio Grande that it was not probable they would hold out much longer. Nearly two hundred miles of a desert country lay between the Pimo villages and Fort Yuma; and beyond the Colorado there was still a terrible desert to pass before they could reach mesa formation, not uncommon in Arizona, is seen on the right. The dark bluff resembling a colossal tower is the termination of the strata forming the mesa. From the summit, upon which stands, like some giant sentinel, a solitary suaro, the vertical depth to the valley is about two hundred feet. A mile beyond the tower, the lower extremity of the valley or flat, through which the road runs, is abruptly walled in by nearly a similar embankment of natural fortifications, presenting apparently no place of exit. Upon a close inspection, however, a thin yellowish vein is seen winding up the brow of the precipice. This is the road to Fort Yuma; and the summit of the mesa is the scene of a tragedy which will be ever memorable in the history of Arizona. Crossing an arroya, or dry bed of a creek, near the bottom of the mesa, and passing through some dense thickets of mesquit and ocochilla, the struggling family found themselves at the foot of a rocky bluff more difficult of ascent than any they had yet attempted. Again they unloaded the wagon, and for hours they toiled to get their packs and wagon up the hill. To one who has passed over the road even in its present improved state it seems marvelous that they ever succeeded in making the ascent, weak and dispirited as they were; but success at length crowned their efforts, and they sat down upon the edge of the precipice to rest after their labors. Mr. Oatman was greatly dejected. It was observed by his family that he looked anxiously down the road over which they had passed, and that he never before seemed so utterly despondent. The sun, which had blazed upon them fiercely all day, was now just setting. They were beset by difficulties. Before them lay a vast desert; behind and to the right a wilderness of mountains. It was starvation to stay, and almost inevitable disaster to go forward. Mrs. Oatman, the noble wife and mo the southern counties of California. While suffering the tortures of anxiety and suspense, with the gloomiest prospect if they remained, a Dr. Lecount, who had extensively explored the Pacific coast, arrived from Fort Yuma, and reported the route safe. He had seen no hostile Indians, and had heard of no recent depredations on the way. Encouraged by this information Mr. Oatman determined to push forward at once for California; and accordingly, on the 11th of March, he set out with such slender outfit of provisions as he could procure. Traveling for seven days under great difficulties, his family on the verge of starvation, his cattle scarcely able to drag the wagon, he was overtaken by Dr. Lecount and a Mexican guide at a point below the Big Bend of the Gila. It was evident from the exhaustion of his team that he would be unable to reach Fort Yuma without assistance; Dr. Lecount agreed to hurry on as fast as possible and send back assistance from the Fort, which was still distant about ninety miles. The first night beyond the Oatman camp an attack was made by a band of Indians upon Lecount and his guide, and their animals stolen. Left on foot, without any means of subsistence, they were compelled to hurry on or starve. The Mexican was sent ahead to procure assistance. It was thirty miles back to the camp of the Oatmans. Lecount saw no alternative but to push on after his guide. He left a card, however, conspicuously fastened to a tree, stating what had occurred, and warning the emigrant party behind to be on the look-out for the Apaches. Although the Oatmans camped at the same spot they failed to see the notice; or, as some suppose, Mr. Oatman saw it and concealed it from his family in order that they might not be uselessly alarmed. On the 18th of March they spent a dreadful night on a little sand island in the Gila River. A terrific storm blew the water up over them: their scanty supply of provisions was damaged, their blankets and cloth-ther, always patient, hopeful, and enduring, busing wet through, and the starving animals driven nearly frantic with fear. It was a wild and desolate place, many days' journey from any civilized abode. Hitherto Mr. Oatman, naturally a man of sanguine temperament, had borne every disaster and braved every danger cheerfully and without flinching, but the presentiment of some terrible doom seemed to have fallen upon him at this place, and he was seen by some of the family to shed tears while sitting in the wagon. The next day they proceeded but a short way, over a very rough mesa, when the jaded animals utterly refused to move. It was impossible to urge them on with the loaded wagon-their strength was spent, and the faithful créatures seemed ready to lie down and die. By unload ing the wagon, and pushing the wheels from time to time, the distressed emigrants succeeded at length in getting upon a narrow flat, bordering on the river, where they halted a while to recruit. The sketch on the following page represents the upper entrance into this little valley. A curious ied herself in attending to the wants of her children and in uttering words of encouragement to her husband. He, however, seemed utterly overwhelmed with gloomy forebodings, and continued to look back upon the road till, suddenly, an expression of indescribable horror was observed in his face, and the next moment a band of Indians was seen leisurely approaching along the road. The children perceiving instinctively that their father-to whom they had always been accustomed to look for protection—was agitated by no ordinary emotions, became alarmed; but he succeeded by a strong effort in maintaining an appearance of composure, and told them not to be afraid, that the Indians would not hurt them. It was a favorite theory of his that misconduct on the part of the whites was the cause of all trouble with Indians, and that by treating them generously and kindly they would not prove ungrateful. Strange that one who had lived in frontier countries should so fatally misconstrue the character of that race! When the Indians came up Mr. Oatman spoke to them kindly in Spanish, and motioned to them to sit down. They sat down, and asked for tobacco and pipes; which he gave them, and they smoked a while in token of friendship. Then they asked for something to eat. Mr. Oatman told them his family were nearly starving-that they had a long journey before them, and could ill spare any portion of their scanty stock. However, he gave them a little bread, and said he was sorry he could not give them more. After this they stood off a little and talked in a low tone, while Oatman set to work to reload the wagon. It was observed that the Indians looked anxiously down the road as if expecting some approaching party. Suddenly, with a terrific yell, they jumped in the air, and dashed with uplifted clubs upon the doomed family. Lorenzo, a boy fourteen years of age, was struck on the head and felled to the earth the first blow. Several of the savages rushed upon Oatman, and he was seen for a moment struggling in their midst, but soon fella mutilated corpse at their feet. Mrs. Oatman pressed her youngest child to her bosom, and struggled with a mother's heroic devotion to save it, shrieking in piercing accents, "Help! help! Oh, for the love of God, will nobody save us !" A few blows of the murderous clubs quickly silenced the poor mother and her babe; and in less than a minute the whole family, save Lorenzo, Olive, and Mary Anne, were lying dead or moaning in their deathstruggles upon the ground. Olive, a girl sixteen years of age, and Mary Anne, a frail child of eleven, were dragged aside and held in the iron grasp of two Indians. Lorenzo, the boy, was stunned by the crushing blows which had fallen MESA TOWER. upon his head, and lay bleeding by the edge of the precipice. In his narrative he states that he soon recovered his consciousness, and distinctly heard the yells of the Apaches, mingled with the shrieks and dying groans of his parents. The savages, seeing him move, rifled his pockets and cast him over the precipice. Upon a careful examination of the spot-as shown to the right of the road in the accompanying sketchI estimated that he must have fallen twenty feet before he struck the rocky slope of the mesa. That he was not instantly killed or maimed beyond recovery seems miraculous. Strange dis SCENE OF THE OATMAN MASSACRE cordant sounds, he tells us, grated upon his ears, gradually dying away, and then he heard "strains of such sweet music as completely ravished his senses." Thus he lay till reason became gradually restored, when, with great difficulty, he crept back up the hill. The sight of the dead bodies of his parents, brothers, and sisters, lying scattered about by the broken wagon, mutilated and bloody, was too much for him, and for a while he felt like one laboring under some horrible phantasm. He knew that his sisters Olive and Mary Anne had been taken captive, and the fate to which they were doomed was even more dreadful to him than the sight of the murdered family. Sick at heart, and faint from loss of blood, he turned away and crept toward the river. A burning thirst consumed him. He thought he was dying. With incredible difficulty he reached the river, where he satisfied his thirst and slept a few hours. Thus refreshed he resolved upon an attempt to reach the Pimo Villages, which though distant a hundred miles, was the nearest place known to him, when he could hope to procure relief. During the next two days he made his way along the road-sometimes walking, sometimes creeping on his hands and knees, resting every few minutes when he could procure the friendly shelter of a bush; at times delirious, and constantly haunted by the horrible dread that he might again fall into the hands of the Indians. He grew weaker every mile from hunger, thirst, and fever; and, worn down at last, lay down to die. A strange noise aroused him from his stupor. Upon opening his eyes he found himself surrounded by wolves, panting and lapping their tongues for his blood. He shouted as loud as he could, and threw stones at them. The nearest he struck with his hand. Rising again he pushed on, the wolves following closely at his heels. About noon of the second day, as he was passing through a dark cañon, two Pimo Indians, riding on fine American horses, appeared before him, and seeing so strange an object fixed their arrows and raised their bows to shoot. He addressed them in Spanish, telling them he was an American, and begging them not to kill him; upon which they lowered their bows and manifested signs of in |