THE GOD OF BATTLES IS WITH US
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
SHORTLY AFTER THE COLORADANS MARCHED INTO FORT UNION, A NEW CRISIS— with Colonel John Potts Slough again at the center—erupted. This time he locked horns with Colonel Paul, whom Canby had recently appointed commander of the post. At issue was the matter of seniority. Because he had been promoted to colonel shortly before Paul had been, Slough naturally claimed the position of the second highest-ranking officer in New Mexico, after Canby.
Paul was furious. He had already taken great pains to formulate plans for resuming the war against the Confederates and on March 9 had even proposed to Canby a joining of their forces to turn back the rebels. Paul had notified Canby that he would leave Fort Union on March 24 with a force of 1,200 soldiers and four guns and join Canby at Anton Chico.
Naturally assuming that he—a regular officer and a veteran of both the Seminole War and the war against Mexico—would lead both the Colorado troops and his own against the rebels, the forty-eight-year-old Paul was dumb-founded to learn that in terms of date of rank, Slough, who had never seen a day of combat, was his superior. On March 11, Paul protested the injustice in a letter to the adjutant general in Washington:
On the arrival of Colonel Slough, I had the mortification to discover that [Slough’s] commission was senior to mine, and thus I am deprived of a command which I had taken so much pains to organize and with which I expected to reap laurels. Thus, also, an officer of only six months’ service, and without experience, takes precedence of one of many years’ service, and who has frequently been tried in battle. It is as little as I can ask of the War Department for past and present service to give me such rank as will prevent in future such mortifications. I therefore ask for the rank of brigadier-general of volunteers.1
Slough, as it turned out, had his own ideas on how best to conduct the battle, and they had nothing to do with effecting a meeting of his troops with Canby’s defeated, dispirited men. Much to Paul’s consternation, Slough’s plan was to lead most of the troops from Fort Union to seek out and destroy the enemy on the open field.
At Fort Craig, Canby learned of the Coloradans’ timely arrival and Slough’s seniority over Paul, but he had no idea that Slough was planning to strike out on his own. On March 18, he penned detailed instructions to Slough, who took the liberty of interpreting his commander’s words rather loosely.
Col. Slough:
Keep your command prepared to make a junction with this force. I will indicate the time and route. Move with as little baggage as possible. Take no tents and only the camp equipage essential for comfort and efficiency. Ammunition, at least 100 cartridges per man and gun. To save transportation, take only bread and meat, coffee and sugar. . . . Do not rely upon the New Mexican troops except for garrisons and for partisan operations. Impress upon your men not to place too much confidence in their battery, but to rely upon the musket, and especially upon the bayonet. . . .
If you have been joined by a sufficient force to act independently against the enemy, advise me of your plans and movements, that I may cooperate. In this, you must be governed by your own judgment and discretion, but nothing must be left to chance. There is no necessity for a premature movement on account of this post. We have flour to last until the 10th of next month (April), and it can be made to last until the end. . . . The question is not of saving this post, but of saving New Mexico and defeating the Confederates in such a way that an invasion of this Territory will never again be attempted.
Canby’s instructions included other commands, including one that Slough seized upon as Canby’s most important commandment: “While waiting for re-inforcements, harass the enemy by partisan operations. Obstruct his movements and cut off his supplies.”2
Meanwhile, perhaps hoping that Canby would intervene in the seniority dispute with Slough, Paul, on March 20, began organizing a column of troops to meet Canby. No sooner was the ink dry on this order than Lieutenant Charles J. Walker, Company E, Second U.S. Cavalry, brought in scouting reports that the Texans were preparing to leave Santa Fé and advance on Fort Union.
On March 21, Slough received another message from the ever-cautious Canby, reiterating his earlier instructions to Slough and ending with: “Do not move from Fort Union to meet me until I advise you of the route and point of junction.” For whatever reason, Slough, anxious to lead his men into battle, chose to disregard this order and left the fort on Saturday, March 22. Outranked and outfoxed, a fearful Paul tried in vain to restrain Slough. Slough reminded Paul that Canby’s letter stated that he was to “harass the enemy,” something he could not do if he remained at Fort Union.3
As the troops assembled under Slough’s command, Paul, on March 22, lodged a final, impassioned protest:
You must be aware that no part of the regular forces of this district would have been turned over to you had the instructions of Colonel Canby of the 16th instant been received twelve hours earlier. I had trusted that this knowledge, and the fact that your movement is in direct conflict with Colonel Canby’s positive orders and in disregard of his anxiety for the safety of this department that my request would have been answered differently. The force offered you in my first note was ample to answer all purposes of annoying and harassing the enemy, as you state as the object of your advance. You, however, indicate that an attack upon the enemy’s position . . . is within your calculations. This most certainly is or will be in violation of Colonel Canby’s instructions, and, if unsuccessful, must result in the entire loss of the Territory. . . .
I must urge upon you to reconsider your decision and to submit to the plan of the department commander. . . . With due deference to your superior judgment, I must insist that your plans do not meet either of these ends, but must result in disaster to us all. . . . In the name of the department commander, of the best interests of the service, and of the safety of all the troops in this Territory, I protest against this movement of yours . . . and as I conceive in direct disobedience of the orders of Colonel Canby.4
Slough paid Paul’s note no heed. Four days later, Paul informed General Lorenzo Thomas, the adjutant general of the Army, that because of Slough’s misinterpretation of Canby’s orders, “I am thus left with a feeble garrison and no suitable artillery for the defense of the principal and most important post in the Territory.” Hoping that Slough, and not he, would be blamed for any reversal on the battlefield, Paul noted, “My object in this communication is to throw the responsibility of any disaster which may occur on the right shoulders.”5
Area of operations, northern New Mexico Territory.
With Paul fuming, Slough and the column marched out of the star fort around noon on March 22, making eight miles before bivouacking for the night at the town of Loma Parda. It was a hearty force consisting of 916 men of the First Colorado, Captain Ford’s Company and Captain William Lewis’s battalion of the Fifth U.S. Infantry (191 men), Captain George W. Howland’s detachment of the First and Third U.S. Cavalry and Company E of the Third Cavalry (150 men), Captain John Ritter’s four-gun battery (53 men), and Lieutenant Ira Claflin’s battery of four howitzers (32 men), for a total of 1,342 men.6
Not everyone, however, had their minds on battle. Chivington related that, while at Loma Parda, “a large portion of the troops spent the night in carousing with the Mexican women, and fighting with the Mexican men.”7
With their heads and knuckles still aching from hangovers and fisticuffs during their night of carousing, Slough’s column continued south the next day along the Santa Fé Trail until they reached Las Vegas,8 some thirty miles south on the Gallinas River, where Connelly had moved the territorial government after fleeing Santa Fé. Connelly, on March 23, informed Secretary of State Seward:
There has been some little discord in relation to the movement now made from [Fort] Union, in consequence of the want of orders from Colonel Canby. Major [sic] Paul, in command at Union, was of opinion that orders of Colonel Canby were essential to an effective forward movement from Union; whereas Colonel Slough, in command of the forces from Colorado, was of opinion that an advance of a day or more march in advance could lead to no evil, and would curtail the limits of the enemy, and mayhap lead to the expulsion of the enemy from the capital. . . . I think this slight difference of opinion and movement will lead to no unfavorable result, as Colonel Slough will advance upon the road that the enemy will necessarily have to march to reach Union.
The governor went on to lament that “the Texans have not behaved with the moderation that was expected, and that desolation has marked their progress on the Rio Grande from [Fort] Craig to Bernalillo.”9
According to Chivington, the Union column “marched from Bernal Springs for Santa Fé at 3 o’clock P.M. of the 25th Instant, intending to surprise the enemy in small force at that place. After a march of 35 miles, and learning we were in the vicinity of the enemy’s pickets, we halted about midnight, and at 2 o’clock a.m. on the 26th, Lieutenant [George] Nelson, with 20 men, was sent out to surprise the pickets.”10
The men of the First Colorado were about the see the elephant.
Slough’s command was not the only Union force seeking a showdown with the Confederates in the Southwest. A similar Federal effort had, for months, been organizing at Fort Yuma, guarding the vital crossing at the confluence of the Colorado and Gila Rivers, where the borders of California and Arizona meet. The new command, the First California Volunteer Regiment, was headed by Colonel James Henry Carleton, “an officer of great experience, indefatigable and active,” according to his superior.
Besides being tasked with preventing Confederate sympathizers from leaving California by way of the southern route, Carleton’s immediate mission was to meet and defeat whatever rebels might be marching through Arizona Territory en route to the Pacific. Carleton sent a patrol, commanded by Captain William McCleave, ahead to gather information on reported enemy activity. McCleave and his men quickly discovered that reports of armed Texans in Tucson, 240 miles away, were true.
Colonel James H. Carleton, commander of the California Column. (AHS #41550. Photo Courtesy of the Arizona Historical Society/ Tucson.)
Situated on a plateau 2,389 feet above sea level, Tucson was, in early 1862, a pleasant little adobe village of about 1,500 people. At the end of February 1862, after Sibley ordered Baylor to leave Mesilla and capture Tucson, Baylor sent a company of cavalrymen ahead.
Arriving in Tucson, Captain R. Sherod Hunter received a friendly welcome, along with reports that a patrol of Union soldiers from Fort Yuma was heading there. “My pickets discovered the approach of a detachment of cavalry,” Hunter reported to Baylor, “and which detachment, I am happy to say to you, we succeeded in capturing without firing a gun. This detachment consisted of Captain McCleave and 9 of his men, First California Cavalry.” McCleave was taken under armed escort to Sibley. Hunter also informed Baylor that “[m]y pickets on yesterday reported [Union] troops at Stanwix’s Ranch, which is on this side of Fort Yuma 80 miles.”11
Additionally, Hunter discovered that hay for Union horses had been left at stations along the stage route that was being used by Carleton’s troops; Hunter had the forage destroyed. His troops also arrested a civilian, Ammi M. White, and confiscated 1,500 sacks of wheat, along with forage and other supplies that White was purchasing from the Pimas to feed the advancing Union army. Hunter distributed the wheat “among the Indians, as I had no means of transportation, and deemed this a better policy of disposing of it than to destroy or leave it for the benefit (should it fall into their hands) of the enemy.”12
The news of McCleave’s capture sent Carleton into a rage, but he was helpless to do anything about it. The slow buildup of men, horses, and supplies meant that Carleton would be unable to begin his operation in force until early May. If Canby and New Mexico were to be saved, they would have to be saved by the Coloradans, not the Californians.
On Tuesday, March 25, Slough’s column was encamped beneath tall, bare-branched cottonwoods near Bernal Springs, forty-five miles south of Fort Union, at a place that Slough, for reasons known only to himself, named Camp Paul.
That same day, Canby learned of Slough’s premature departure from Fort Union. Furious, Canby dispatched a courier to intercept the insubordinate officer and order him and his command back to the post; Canby, like Paul, feared that the inexperienced Colorado volunteers would be annihilated, leaving the way to Fort Union open.13
Also on the morning of March 25, while occupying Santa Fé and awaiting the arrival of the rest of Sibley’s Brigade, which was badly spread out on the march from Albuquerque, Major Charles Pyron received word from his spies that Slough’s command had left Fort Union and was heading toward Santa Fé by way of La Gloriéta Pass. Hurriedly assembling about 270 men, along with two six-pounder cannons, Pyron dashed eastward out of town along the hilly, winding Santa Fé Trail, believing that he stood a better chance of defeating the numerically superior Yankees within the confining geography of the pass. As events would soon prove, however, he could not have chosen a worse site for a battle.14
Slough’s Federals from Fort Union moved like a long, blue snake toward Santa Fé. Captain Jacob Downing recalled that the marchers reached Bernal Springs where they rested for a day “to ascertain the force and position of the enemy—the God of War [Slough] determined to send a detachment of three hundred men, under the command of the noble Chivington, to meet the advanced guard of the enemy.”15
Private Ovando Hollister later remembered that while at Bernal Springs, the command was ordered to cook two days’ rations, pack the food in their saddlebags, and be prepared to march “at a moment’s warning.” Hollister’s mounted unit, Company F, was strengthened by the 150 regular cavalrymen commanded by Captain George W. Howland of the Third U.S. Cavalry and detachments from the First Colorado’s A, D, and E Companies, which had been brought forward in supply wagons. “I think it was the intention to make a sudden dash on Santa Fé with this force and, if possible, take it by surprise,” Hollister noted in his diary.16
It had been originally planned that Edward Wynkoop, as the senior captain, would lead the advance elements of Slough’s expedition; but Major Chivington, not wanting to miss his first battle, came galloping up and assumed command of the forward troops. About dark, the force moved out and marched to Martin Kozlowski’s ranch,17 where the trail crossed the Pecos River. There, at about ten P.M., the men halted for the night.
Martin Kozlowski in 1905 standing outside his ranch house, where the First Colorado encamped. (Colorado Historical Society)
Chivington learned from the ranch hands that rebel pickets had been at the ranch earlier that evening and were likely still in the neighborhood.18 Hollister noted, “We had information of the advance of 600 Texans from Santa Fé, and of their being in the vicinity.”19 With a good water supply nearby, the First Colorado camped that night a few miles east of La Gloriéta Pass.
That evening Major John Chivington, the minister turned warrior, started to get first-battle jitters. Gathering the regular officers—Ritter, Lord, Howland, and Claflin—around him to hear his confession, he said, “Now, gentlemen, I am not a professional soldier, have never been under fire, never made the science of arms a study, and I am ready to receive and act upon any advice that you may give.” His officers deferred to him, replying that he was the ranking officer and, as such, was responsible for the outcome of the upcoming battle. It must not have been a comforting thought.20
The narrow, scenic defile known as La Gloriéta Pass is some six miles in length—from a stage stop known as Pigeon’s Ranch21 at its eastern opening to Johnson’s Ranch at its western end. Only seventeen miles southeast of Santa Fé, the summit of La Gloriéta Pass is 7,641 feet above sea level, with rugged hills, deep ravines, and spectacular rock outcroppings lining most of the passage. The southern flank is dominated by the massive Gloriéta Mesa, rising about 500 feet above the valley floor. Unlike the sparsely vegetated area farther south, the canyon is densely foliated with ponderosa, piñon, and cedar, severely restricting visibility. The canyon also varies in width; near Pigeon’s Ranch, the walls are little more than a quarter-mile wide. As with most battlefields, geography would play an important role in the conduct and outcome of the battle.22
Opening engagements in Apache Canyon, March 26, 1862. A: Chivington’s initial contact with Pyron’s pickets (2:00 P.M.); B: Second clash (2:30 P.M.); C: Third clash (3:00 P.M.); D: Texans fall back to Johnson’s Ranch; Union troops capture prisoners (4:30 P.M.).
On the morning of March 26, Chivington decided to make the advance into Apache Canyon with his 418-man force divided into two columns. According to Downing,
Sixty men were selected from Company A, sixty from Company D and sixty from Company E, and Captain Cook’s mounted Company [F] to march in one horn. In thirty minutes the command was ready, and in fifty minutes we were on our way to fight our maiden battle. Our march continued all night, with only three hours intermission [until] the next day about two o’clock when, in Apache Cañon, we suddenly met the enemy.23
Chivington had sent Lieutenant George Nelson with a detachment of thirty men to seek out, surprise, and capture the enemy’s pickets. “They proceeded about six miles to Gloriéta, or Pigeon’s Ranch,” Chivington said, “when they found [the rebels] engaged in a game of poker with [Alexander] Vallé, surnamed Pigeon, and captured them without firing a gun. Just about daylight, the lieutenant returned to the Union camp at Koslosky’s, bringing the rebel picket consisting of seven men heavily armed and finely mounted, with their mounts, arms and everything pertaining to them.”24
Ovando Hollister also remembered the exciting scene: “Our picket came charging back with the lieutenant in command of [the Texans’] artillery a prisoner, crying, ‘We’ve got them corralled this time. Give them hell, boys. Hurrah for the Pike’s Peakers!’ ”25
Chivington then gave the order for his detachment to advance. “Instantly, the ranks closed up,” recalled Hollister, “the cavalry took open order by fours, and we rushed forward on the double-quick. Knapsacks, canteens, overcoats, and clothing of all kinds were flung along the road as the boys stripped for the encounter. How our hearts beat!”26
Chivington’s men continued on, expecting a fight at any moment; they were not disappointed. Coming around a bend, the troops saw two rebel artillery pieces in the road, 200 yards distant, their muzzles aimed directly at them. Hollister recalled: “These were attended by a company of mounted men displaying a saucy little red flag emblazoned with the emblem of which Texas has small reason to be proud. On seeing these ‘lions in the path,’ the infantry divided, a wing flew into either hill, and the fight commenced.”27
“Being well supplied with artillery,” noted Chivington, “they immediately took up a position and opened fire upon us. We, having no artillery, were left to the expedient of throwing our forces well up on the side of the mountain and above the range of his artillery, in order that we might flank him and get within range of our small arms.”28
Although he regarded Slough as a craven coward, Downing had nothing but admiration for Chivington’s courage under fire:
With a coolness worthy of a higher command, the Major in front of the battery of the enemy, while the iron hail flew all around him, reconnoitered their position—issued his orders and placed the different companies in position, opening the battle in a style truly Napoleonic. Company D crossed the battery of the enemy and deployed as skirmishers on the mountain side to the right, while Co’s. A and E, as skirmishers deployed on the mountain side to the left. . . . Captain Cook’s and Captain Howland’s mounted companies with the Major at their head kept the enemy pleasantly amused.29
William R. Beatty, of Cook’s company, did not find the engagement terribly amusing.
Company F was ordered to make a charge in the face of the fire of four hundred men who were hidden in the cañon. They started us out in fours, but we didn’t stay in fours very long. Just eleven out of our hundred men got to the mouth of the cañon. The others were dropped by bullet wounds or killed. And only two of us came through without a scar. I was one of the lucky two, although I had started out in the second set of fours of the cavalry and saw men on both sides and in front of me killed.30 After we got near the battery the Texans had planted to guard the mouth of the cañon, we all took to trees for protection.31
“We here discovered the enemy,” recalled Captain Charles Walker, Second U.S. Cavalry and in command of Company E, Third U.S. Cavalry, “about 250 or 300 strong, some 400 or 500 yards in front of us. They had two pieces of artillery in position on the road, and were awaiting us. As soon as our column appeared, they opened fire with their battery and, though they kept it up between five and ten minutes at close range, did us no damage.”32
Captain Howland’s regular cavalrymen, however, were unnerved by the firing and fled to the rear, leaving Hollister and his comrades alone on the front line. “A couple of shells whizzed over our heads,” Hollister noted, “and we instinctively crowded to the left to get out of range. All was confusion. The regular officers in command of the cavalry plunged wildly here and there, and seemed to have no control of themselves or of their men. . . . Major Chivington was placing the infantry in position, and Cook’s cavalry awaited orders while the shells went tearing and screaming over them.”33
The noise of shouted commands, rifle, musket, and artillery fire filled the narrow canyon, the echoes in the confined space making the cacophony of the skirmish sound twice as furious. The pale blue smoke from the guns built up as thick as cumulous clouds after the first volley, making it almost impossible for either side to clearly see the enemy. Nevertheless, up the walls of the canyon and through the vegetation scrambled the Union troops, trying to reach a place where they could bring flanking fire down upon the Texans. Downing recalled the moment that the tide of battle began to turn:
A few minutes passed when, to the astonishment of the Texans, a shower of lead with an incredible accuracy of aim came pouring down upon them till, in their own expressive language, “de heavens seemed to hab opened, and de lead came storming down.” . . . Thinking discretion the better part of valor, the chivalrous sons of the sunny South started in the direction of the land of Dixie with a fleetness really surprising, yelling at every step: “The Yankees are coming,” till reaching about four companies who had not been in the fight, were again rallied by their officers, who told them we were nothing but Yankees, and every advantage was in their favor.
Again, the Major tickled their fancies by firing at them from the Cañon, but alas! for the poor deluded creatures—the First Regiment was composed of Rocky Mountain gold hunters, who could climb the mountain sides with the expertness of the goat. . . . Soon the spell was broken, as their falling comrades told a tale more terrible than the Texans had ever heard before, and again their serried ranks were broken, and in flight they placed their trust. . . .
Soon [the Texans] met another reinforcement, and again, the third time and the last that day, they made a stand which in appearance seemed to say, Yankees, feast your eyes upon this Spartan Band, for here we will stand, and proudly with a victory or never again see Dixie’s land. . . .
There they stood, and in defiance, cried “Yankees, now come on,” when suddenly the mountain sides gave an answer to their call, which seemed to say, “Tehanas, you can’t bluff the Yankees, so don’t you stay at all,” when moral suasion, Southern boasting and Secesh gas seemed to have lost all its varied powers.34
Chivington noted that his men’s fire scattered the rebel artillery’s infantry supports, “and he found his position untenable, broke battery, and drove down the cañon about a mile and a quarter, where the cañon took an abrupt turn to the left. Crossing the arroyo, about sixteen feet wide, on a bridge, he tore up the bridge to avoid pursuit by our cavalry. I should think at that place the arroyo was twenty feet deep.” Here the Texans redeployed their guns and men and hoped to hold off Chivington’s advancing men.35
Hollister recalled: “Major Chivington, with a pistol in each hand, and one or two under his arms, chawed his lips with only less energy than he gave his orders. . . . Of commanding presence, dressed in full regimentals, he was a conspicuous mark for the Texan sharp shooters. One of their officers taken prisoner averred that he emptied his revolvers three times at the Major and then made his company fire a volley at him. As if possessed of a charmed life, he galloped unhurt through the storm of bullets, and the Texans, discouraged, turned their attention to something else.”36
Howland’s horsemen dismounted and joined Downing’s company along the rough and steep canyonsides and climbed higher. According to Chivington, “Our position was at last gained, and fire was again opened on the enemy. Striking his right and left flank[s], we drove him to the center and down the mountain sides with great precipitancy.”37
Chivington knew that the rebels, redeploying their battery beyond the arroyo that had become a defensive moat, would have to be dislodged. No man could leap that chasm, but perhaps horses might. At that point, upon Chivington’s signal, Captain Samuel Cook, commanding Company F, “made as gallant a charge down that cañon as was ever performed on any field of strife,” wrote Chivington.38
Chivington noted, “[Cook], with his command, almost literally flew down the cañon, and . . . only one horse failed to clear the arroyo, where the bridge had been torn up. The only man whose horse did not leap this chasm was named Pillier.39 My judgment is that his horse would have made the leap, too, but he was so close on his file-leader that he jumped against him and fell back into the arroyo.”40
Hollister observed that the rebel battery was in the road but it brought no terror:
[A]s the event proved, we had only to go down after it to drive it from the field. The ground was unfavorable for the action of cavalry; the road was rough, narrow, and crooked; a deep trench, worn by the water . . . running alongside . . . rendered it impossible to approach a battery but by column in the fair face of it; our horses were weak and thin, and there was every chance to conceal a heavy support. But obstacles only stimulate the daring and determined. The enemy had a strong natural position, and to dislodge them it was necessary to walk into their affections without ceremony.
About four hundred yards below us, the cañon bent abruptly to the left then directly resumed its old course, leaving a high, steep, rocky bluff, like the bastion of a fort, square in our front. On this point the enemy had posted a full company, and at its base . . . their battery was stationed. . . . Below this we could not see, but personal observation of the closest kind soon convinced us that the bluffs and road were alive with Texans for some distance. As soon as the order to charge left the Major’s mouth, we were on the wing, fearful lest our company should win no share of the laurels that were to crown the day.41
Downing’s and Cook’s companies sought the high ground to the left (north) of Pyron’s position, while Wynkoop’s, Anthony’s, and Lord’s men circled around to the right flank, seeking to climb above and behind the guns that were controlling the road. The rebels tried valiantly to escape from the snare created by the Coloradans’ encircling movement. Major John Shropshire, who had commanded Company A, Fifth Texas, prior to his promotion after Valverde, plunged unheedingly through heavy Union fire to find the remnants of his old company and lead them back to the safety of the Confederate lines, but not before thirty of them were captured.42
“As we approached the point mentioned above,” Hollister wrote,
the old United States musket cartridges, containing an ounce ball and three buck-shot, began to zip by our heads so sharply that many, unused to this kind of business, took them for shells, and strained their eyes to see where the spiteful bull-dogs were. There were none to be seen. Divining our intentions, they had turned tail again and vamosed. Instead, however, we met a redoubled shower of lead, rained on us from the rocks above.
By this time, the infantry, under Capts. Downing, Wynkoop, and Anthony, came down on [the enemy] like a parcel of wild Indians, cheering at the top of their lungs, regardless of the shower of bullets raining among them. It was a fine evening, and the boys felt like fun; they were full of vim as they could be. The Texans, terrified at the impetuosity of the attack, broke and fled in every direction.43
Jacob Downing had his own dramatic account of events:
The Texans were fleeing like whipped curs from the wrath to come. Why they so suddenly deserted so fine a position was to us a mystery; but soon everything was explained. . . . [T]he much vaunted courage of the Texans had been tried and found wanting. [Chivington], seeing the infantry upon each side of the cañon approaching near each other and that the Texans were rapidly decreasing beneath their falling fire, immediately called out to the officers of the mounted companies, “Who will lead the charge?”
For a moment there was no response; the volunteers, with due respect to the regular officers, for an instant yielded them the honor, but hearing no response, the gallant Capt. Cook, captain of Company F, one of our own Colorado boys, answered he would lead the charge, and in an instant his clear, trumpet-toned voice rang along the cañon, “Forward to the run, march!” Like the wind he flew down the cañon into the very jaws of death, while the artillery belched forth their missiles of death, and every moment seemed surely must be his last, but the roar of the artillery ceases. The rebel ranks waiver, break and run, with them the artillery.
Once he and his men reached the canyon, Downing saw the badly wounded Cook, who had sustained three wounds, being carried from the battlefield. One of the balls had passed through his thigh and killed his horse. “He met us with a smile, remarking, ‘It is a soldier’s fate; I have tried to do my duty. There are others who probably need attention more than I. See them cared for.’ Of such men Colorado has reason to be proud.”44
Observing the enemy in flight, Downing and Company D cut across the top of the mountain and met the Texans coming around a turn in the road “with a most galling and destructive fire, which,” according to Chivington, “caused the enemy to flee to the opposite side of the mountains and disappear from the cañon entirely.”45
Like the Texans, daylight was also rapidly fleeing, and the firing withered away to a few random bursts as what was left of Pyron’s troops scrambled back to Johnson’s Ranch at the western end of Apache Canyon.46 Not knowing if rebel reinforcements might be just around the next bend, Chivington ordered his men, who had advanced nearly to Johnson’s Ranch, to withdraw for the night.
Downing learned of the death of a fellow officer:
Soon the order came to fall in and march back to camp. As the cavalry were forming, Lieut. [William F.] Marshall of Company F, seeing a shotgun belonging to the enemy, attempting to break it, shot himself in the side, and after an illness of one night, expired. Though he had escaped the bullets of the enemy without injury, had won many laurels in the fight for his rashness and bravery, to die by his own hand, after the battle had been won, cast a gloom over the entire camp, for among us he had made many friends. Farewell, dear Marshall, we shall see your genial countenance no more. May your name be enshrined among the truest and bravest of Colorado’s patriots.47
The loss of Marshall “was felt by all,” wrote Lieutenant Colonel Tappan. “Generous, heroic, and honorable. . . . Death never before presented to me so frightful a visage as when Marshall was struck down in the prime and pride of early manhood.”48
Ovando Hollister had also lost a friend during the day’s skirmish:
Slowly and sadly, we gathered our dead and wounded and returned to Pigeon’s Ranche, as there was no water in the cañon where we were. A reinforcement of five hundred men with the howitzer battery, Capt. [sic] Claflin’s, arrived [at Pigeon’s Ranch] just as we did, and the woods rang for half an hour with their cheering. No cheers came from me; I was sick at the wounds of [Martin] Dutro, and spent the night watching his life ebb away. Thus ended our first battle. We had driven them from the position under every disadvantage; killed and disabled fifty at least, and captured one fourth of their entire number. If we had had two hours more daylight, our victory would have been still more decisive; darkness favored their escape.49
“With the joy of victory is always blended the mourning for friends,” mused Downing.
As slowly we marched by the dim twilight, we thought of those who were gone, and when beneath the shadows of the old Pecos church we again reposed our tired bodies, visions of the past would flit across our minds, that here in the wilds of the far West we had fought a battle; not against the Indians; not against a foreign invader, but against our own brothers, white men like ourselves whose forefathers with our forefathers had fought the once proud mistress of the seas to create a government which had become the secure asylum for the oppressed of all nations, and which this rebel band had sought to break into fragments. But we had placed our trust in a higher Power, and we believe the God of battles is with us.50
Pigeon’s Ranch, ca. early 1900s. The Santa Fé Trail is visible in the foreground; Sharpshooter’s Ridge can be seen in the right rear. (Colorado Historical Society)
Hollister reported the Union casualties were five killed, thirteen wounded, and three missing. “How we escaped so cheaply, God only knows, for we rode five hundred yards through a perfect hailstorm of bullets. . . . Capt. Cook, than whom none truer can be found, was all shot to pieces, but his usual fortitude remained with him. The ghastly smile with which he endeavored to make light of his wounds to cheer his boys betrayed his agony.”51
Chivington also paused afterward to consider the cost: “Our victory was most signal and complete, and yet we paid dearly for it, for Captain Cook was badly wounded, and several of his most valued and gallant troopers lay dead upon the field. . . . This was to us a most remarkable event, as it was the first time that any one engaged on the Union side had ever been in battle.”52
A Union soldier, H.A.E. Pickard, witnessed a most unusual sight. The main house at Pigeon’s Ranch had been converted into a hospital. Pickard saw a wounded Colorado soldier stagger into the building and spy a bleeding Texan slumped in a chair. The angry Northerner ordered the Texan to vacate the chair, only to discover that he was dead. Grabbing the corpse by the neck, the Coloradan pitched it out the door, exclaiming, “You’ve got no business to be occupying a chair—you’re a dead man!”53
Once he received word of the day’s clash, Lieutenant Colonel William Scurry, some ten miles south of Apache Canyon in Galistéo, hurriedly assembled a force; within minutes, they were prepared to move out. He could not wait for the arrival of the bulk of the brigade that was scattered between Albuquerque and the capital; he must move now. In total, he had available to him about 1,000 men, including Pyron’s survivors, and three pieces of artillery. Although Pyron had reported his skirmish with Chivington as a victory, Scurry may have realized that it was the Texans who had received a bloody nose in Apache Canyon.
Sergeant Alfred Peticolas, in Scurry’s camp at Galistéo, recalled receiving news that the Texans had been victorious:
Towards evening . . . an express from Major Pyron came in informing us that he had been attacked by a large body of Pike’s Peak men during the day; that he had gotten the best of the engagement, and had fallen back to wood and water, which he would hold till we came up to him. The order was immediately given, and in an hour . . . we were all under way. This, however, made it about 8 o’clock when we started, and we were told that the distance we had to go was 12 miles, but before it was walked, we found it to be at least 15. Pyron had two men killed and 3 wounded. The forces were about 350 on our side . . . and from 600 to 1000 of the enemy. We started off at a brisk gait and made the first six miles of our journey in a very little time, but footsore and weary we did not travel from that point so fast as we had been doing.54
“Our baggage train was sent forward under a guard of 100 men,” reported Scurry, “the main command marching directly across the mountains to the scene of the conflict. It is due to the brave men making this cold night march to state that where the road over the mountain was too steep for the horses to drag the artillery[,] they were unharnessed, and the men cheerfully pulled it over the difficulties of the way by hand.”55
Scurry knew he had no time to lose; Pyron’s men had fallen back to Johnson’s Ranch, the only line of defense between the Federals and Santa Fé. Like the Yankees, they had no firm knowledge of how many of the enemy might be gathering out of sight just beyond the next bend. But the march in the dark would take hours and would exhaust the men.
While awaiting Scurry’s arrival, Pyron sent a detachment toward the Union lines with a white flag and a request that the two sides be allowed to gather their dead and wounded until the next morning. The request was granted.56
At about three A.M. on March 27, Scurry and his reinforcements from Galistéo reached Pyron in the vicinity of Johnson’s Ranch. “Too much praise cannot be bestowed upon the courage of the officers and men engaged in the affair of the 26th,” Scurry wrote. “As soon as daylight enabled me, I made a thorough examination of the ground, and so formed the troops as to command every approach to the position we occupied, which was naturally a very strong one. The disposition of the troops was soon completed, and by 8 o’clock were ready to receive the expected attack.”57
But the expected attack did not materialize. March 27 turned out to be a day of reflection; a day to comfort the wounded and bury the dead; a day without battle. Ovando Hollister mourned the loss of three friends—Martin Dutro, Jude W. Johnson, and George Thompson—killed during the previous day’s fighting. “Mart was shot down obliquely through the head and again through the chest, and lived til near morning. He was a noble hearted, generous fellow, and the boys loved him. As we lowered his remains to their last resting place, all the stoicism I could muster was insufficient to suppress some bitter tears at his early and cruel death.”58
Jacob Downing also reflected on the previous day’s events:
The battle was won. This, our maiden battle, how glorious! Long marches, short allowances, tyrannical Colonels, all, in the general joy, was forgotten. But we had other duties to perform.
The battle had not been won without some loss, and now our attention must be turned to the brave men who had fallen. . . . A messenger was immediately sent to the enemy that they might return, bury their dead and attend to their wounded. With some difficulty, our messenger reached them as they were moving very rapidly toward Santa Fé. They were finally caught, and after much trouble, assured that they would not be injured; they sent a squad of some half dozen men to the field, who busily attended to their fallen comrades.59
At Kozlowski’s Ranch, at two or three in the morning of March 28, Chivington’s men were joined by Slough and the rest of the command. Downing noted, “They arrived in high spirits, fearful that they would not have an opportunity to fight the terrible sons of the Lone Star State, but on the morning of the 28th day of March news reached our camp that the enemy had returned to the cañon, with large reinforcements, and that we would in all probability have another engagement, which considerably elated the boys.”60
Although there was much rejoicing at Slough’s arrival and the prospect of more battle, Downing was less than overjoyed to see his commanding officer:
We had proceeded to the arrival of the entire command, some twelve hundred rank and file, with which we felt able to cope with at least two thousand of the terrible Texans, and under the gallant Major Chivington, would not have feared to have met the entire Texas command, three thousand strong. But Col. Slough, the great Mogul, was our commander. Many a brave heart trembled for the result, for with twelve hundred men, there must necessarily be but one head, one directing power that all may be in concert and all fight with a system and purpose. . . . In [Slough] the members of the First Regiment had no confidence; consequently we obeyed orders like true soldiers, feeling that we must rely entirely upon ourselves, fight the battle by companies and not as an army, and if successful, the honor and glory of victory would belong to those who did the work.61
Downing’s misgivings notwithstanding, Chivington gave Slough a report on the opening skirmish and his assessment of the situation. Certain that the rebels soon would counterattack, the two officers devised a plan. They agreed that, come morning, Slough and the bulk of his troops would block the main road while Chivington would take a force of two provisional battalions up and over Gloriéta Mesa, which formed the southern shoulder of the canyon, from there descend to the enemy’s rear at Johnson’s Ranch, and attack the Texans from behind.
Bedding down without tents on the cold, open ground of Camp Lewis, across the road from Kozlowski’s Ranch, with the certainty of the next day’s battle on their minds made sleep hard to come by for the Unionists that night. The men watched as the campfires burned down to glowing embers and pondered their chances against an enemy that they felt was sure to return in even greater numbers.
1. Official Record, 9:645–646.
2. Ibid., 648–649.
3. Ibid., 653–654; Arthur A. Wright, “Col. John P. Slough,” Colorado Magazine, 39:2 (April 1962): 81–88; Don E. Alberts, The Battle of Glorieta: Union Victory in the West (College Station: Texas A&M University Press, 1998), 38.
4. Official Record, 9:654–655.
5. Ibid., 651–653.
6. Ibid., 530–531, 533–534.
7. John M. Chivington, “The Pet Lambs,” Chivington papers, CHS, 6.
8. Ibid.
9. Official Record, 9:651–652.
10. Ibid., 530–531.
11. Ibid., 708.
12. Ibid.; Jay J. Wagoner, Early Arizona: Pre-History to Civil War (Tucson: University of Arizona Press, 1975), 452.
13. Wright, “Col. John P. Slough,” 97.
14. Don E. Alberts, ed., Rebels on the Rio Grande: The Civil War Journal of A. B. Peticolas (Albuquerque: University of New Mexico Press, 1984), 75; letter to author from John Taylor, June 22, 2001.
15. Rocky Mountain News, June 7, 1862.
16. Ovando J. Hollister, Boldly They Rode (Lakewood, CO: Golden Press, 1949 [first published in 1863 as History of the First Regiment of Colorado Volunteers]), 58–59.
17. The name of the ranch has been spelled, variously, Kozlowski’s, Koslosky’s, and Coslosky’s. The first variation shall be used throughout unless quoted otherwise from a source.
18. Chivington, “Pet Lambs.”
19. Hollister, Boldly They Rode, 59.
20. Chivington, “Pet Lambs,” 9.
21. The ranch/hostelry was owned by the Frenchman Alexander Vallé. One source says that he acquired the nickname “Pigeon” because of his awkward, birdlike dancing at fandangos. William C. Whitford, Colorado Volunteers in the Civil War: The New Mexico Campaign in 1862 (Glorieta, NM: Rio Grande Press, 1971), 85; Alvin M. Josephy Jr., The Civil War in the American West (New York: Knopf, 1991), 81. Another story, from Denver judge Wilbur F. Stone, who knew Vallé, says that other Frenchmen referred to him as “Pais-Jean,” meaning “Country John.” The pronunciation was corrupted by English speakers into “pigeon.” Denver News, October 10, 1907.
22. Rocky Mountain News, June 7, 1862.
23. Ibid.
24. Chivington, “Pet Lambs,” 7.
25. Hollister, Boldly They Rode, 61.
26. Ibid., 59–62.
27. Ibid., 61–62.
28. Chivington, “Pet Lambs,” 8.
29. Rocky Mountain News, June 7, 1862.
30. The aged Beatty exaggerated; a contemporary record (1863) lists only three members of Company F killed at Apache Canyon and five wounded. A fourth soldier, Lieutenant Marshall, accidentally shot and killed himself after the battle. John D. Howland [presumed author], The March of the First: A History of the Organization, Marches, Battles and Service of the First Regiment of Colorado Volunteers (Denver: Thomas Gibson and Company, 1863).
31. Denver Post, July 2, 1916.
32. Official Record, 9:531–532.
33. Hollister, Boldly They Rode, 62.
34. Rocky Mountain News, June 7, 1862.
35. Chivington, “Pet Lambs,” 8.
36. Hollister, Boldly They Rode, 62.
37. Chivington, “Pet Lambs,” 8.
38. Ibid.
39. Ibid., 8–9. Private Edward D. Pilliar, also spelled Pillear. Records of the First Regiment of Colorado Volunteers, Colorado State Archives.
40. Several historians have scoffed at these reports of mounted horsemen leaping a wide chasm; for many years, Chivington’s firsthand and Whitford’s secondhand accounts were believed to be the only tales of such an action and, as such, were regarded as unreliable. I have found, however, a long-forgotten account by Eldridge Brown Sopris, Slough’s former orderly, the son of Captain Richard Sopris, commanding Company C, and later a sergeant in Company A, who echoed the story of the cavalry attack: “Cook’s company of cavalry was at the head of the command. The Texans halted at the sight of our troops. Owing to the bend in the road, they were not far apart when they saw each other. Captain Cook had taken the situation in at a glance and concluded to try and cut off the Texans’ retreat by cutting across the point of a low ridge and gaining their rear. In this he was quite successful. However, his horses were forced to jump an arroyo. All but three or four of his horses cleared the arroyo and his venture was a success.” Eldridge B. Sopris, “Engagement with the Enemy in Apache Cañon,” undated, Mss Box 141-1, FF8, CHS. It should be noted that Company A was involved in the skirmish in Apache Canyon on March 26, and Sopris may be presumed to be an eyewitness. I believe that the possibility exists that Company F may have jumped an arroyo. Equestrian experts with whom I have consulted assure me that a horizontal leap of sixteen feet or more is relatively easy for a fit, galloping horse, even while carrying a rider. It remains puzzling, however, that no accounts by Hollister, Beatty, or other members of Company F apparently exist to corroborate or disprove the story. Chivington, “Pet Lambs,” 8–9.
41. Hollister, Boldly They Rode, 64.
42. Martin H. Hall, The Confederate Army of New Mexico (Austin: Presidial Press, 1978), 31.
43. Hollister, Boldly They Rode, 63–64.
44. Rocky Mountain News, June 7, 1862.
45. Chivington, “Pet Lambs,” 9.
46. Rocky Mountain News, June 7, 1862. The ranch house, cantina, and stage stop had been built in 1858 by Anthony D. Johnson. He and his family were temporarily evicted when the Confederates arrived. Anthony G. Johnson and L. Aleta, Legacy of a Santa Fe Trail Teamster: A Genealogical Survey of the Anthony D. Johnson Family in Missouri, New Mexico, and Colorado (privately published, place and date unknown, CHS), i.
47. Rocky Mountain News, June 7, 1862.
48. Letter, Tappan to Lewis Tappan, May 15, 1862, CHS.
49. Hollister, Boldly They Rode, 65–66.
50. Rocky Mountain News, June 7, 1862.
51. Hollister, Boldly They Rode, 65–67.
52. Chivington, “Pet Lambs,” 9.
53. Pickard, Rocky Mountain News, date unknown, Dawson Scrapbook, CHS, 33.
54. Alberts, ed., Rebels on the Rio Grande, 75–76.
55. Official Report, vol. 9, ch. 21, pp. 541–543.
56. Alberts, The Battle of Glorieta, 65, 74–75.
57. Official Report, vol. 9, ch. 21, pp. 542–543.
58. Hollister, Boldly They Rode, 67.
59. Rocky Mountain News, June 7, 1862.
60. Ibid.
61. Ibid.
