Category Archives: Stories

Apache Indians Massacre Members of the Thompson Family

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In 1891 when Helaman Pratt moved his family back to the Colonies in the lower valley, he leased his ranch to Hans A. Thompson, a Scandinavian, who moved there with his wife, Karren, two sons, Hyrum, age 18 and Elmer age 14, and a granddaughter, Annie, age 6.

The ranch was about 10 miles from Pacheco in the Piedras Verde Rio area.

Mr. Thompson had only left the previous day for Pacheco where he was working on the thresher. The morning of September 19, 1892 promise to be a fine one at the Thompson ranch, as ominous clouds had not yet risen above the horizon. In the absence of the father, who was working on the thresher (of which he was part owner) at Pacheco, his two sons, Hyrum and Elmer, started early to the fields, carrying a bucket a feed for the pigs as they went. As little Annie skipped back to the house with empty pails, her screams of terror alert the boys to the presence of Indians on the ranch. As Hyrum turned to look, a bullet passed through his body but he did not fall. Thinking to protect his mother, Elmer ran toward the house for the Winchester gun, calling back to Hyrum that the pistol was on the saddle in the barn.  Just then two more shots were fired, one killing Hyrum who fell behind the pigpen, the other entering Elmer’s body in the left chest and passing out below the shoulder about three-fourths of an inch from his spine.

Though still able to stand, Elmer fell into a week ticket thinking thus to avoid a second bullet. When Indian, coming from behind the haystacks to loot the barn of saddles and harness straps, failed to see Elmer, he crept into the chicken coop from where he watched the proceedings. When the Indians broke open the kitchen door where Mrs. Thompson and Annie had barricaded themselves, they ran into the yard in full view of Elmer.

Bathed in his own blood and almost paralyzed with horror of seeing in Indian shoot his mother through the body and left arm and then crush her head with a rock, Elmer might have fainted except for his concern over Annie.  Her savage captor amused himself by her frantic efforts to escape and protect her grandmother. When flailing him with her sunbonnet and attempting to scratch his face was not enough amusement, he turned her loose, then tripped her as she ran past by throwing a harness strap over her head and holding it to both ends as she fell he struck her with his scabbard until she began to fight. This horseplay was halted by a call which took the tormentor into the house and Elmer had a chance to beckon Annie into the chicken coop with him. Lying by the door, armed with rocks, he determined to protect her as best he could.

The Indians looted the house of everything, even taking two suits of temple clothes. They entered the feather ticks, and 1000 pounds of flour in order to use the sacks to hold the loot. Like ants they hurried back and forth carrying the plunder to be strapped onto pack animals. They also took a new wagon cover, two saddles, and cut the harnesses for straps. They found considerable money hidden in one of the trunks.  When Annie’s captor returned from the house he brought some cheese, which he threw to his companion, and began looking for the child. When she was not to be found and Elmer had also disappeared from where he had fallen, the Indians left hastily, driving 15 valuable ranch horses with them.

When the savages had gone, the children began the trip to the G. C. Williams’ ranch for help, but Elmer soon faded from loss of blood. The little girl ran to the stream and cupping her hands, carried water until he revived. She left him under a tree and ran alone with her dog. Soon she met a horseman, Sullivan C. Richardson, who heard the story, took her to the Williams’ ranch and hurried to Cave Valley to give the alarm.

The news had quickly spread.  Kind friends from Cave Valley, four miles away, took care of the dead and administered to Elmer. A posse of men went in pursuit of the Indians, but was not able to catch up to them. Following the strategy every man carried a gun, even to church.

The following is told by Sullivan C. Richardson:

“I left her (Annie) at Williams’ ranch and hurried to Cave Valley to give the alarm. While brother Heaton got in touch with Hans Thompson at Pacheco, I and brothers Robert Vance, P.S. and John Williams, N.H.Perry and James Mortensen went with team and wagon and on horseback to the Pratt ranch.  On the way we found Elmer under the shade of the pines where he had fallen during his attempt to reach Williams’ ranch. He was made as comfortable as possible on a coat in the wagon and afterwards, with the care of brother Mortenson and the blessings of the Lord, got well. We went on to the ranch and then to Cave Valley with Elmer and the bodies of his mother and brother.  There Bob Vance and I hurried on to Dry Valley. Some may realize my joy and thankfulness, when, from the timbers across the valley, I saw Eliza come to the door of the cabin—all right and unaware of any trouble.”

That night coffins and burial clothes were made for the dead bodies. One sister who helped, wrote: “For years after, whenever I closed my eyes, I could see those awful scenes at Thompson’s ranch, and that woman’s bashed in head, and feel my fears when I thought the Indians were upon us and would take our children.”

The next day at sundown, the bodies of sister Thompson and her son, Hyrum, faithful members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, were interred side-by-side at Cave Valley.

 

Taken from the book Heartbeats of Colonia Diaz from the compilation Pacheco History and Stories by Sylvia Lunt Heywood.

George & Hyrum Naegle’s Encounter with a Bear

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George & Hyrum Naegle’s Encounter with a Bear

(Copy of a letter written by George C. Naegle to family members in the U.S.)

 This letter will come as a great shock and surprise to you and the members of our family in Utah and Arizona, but the pen will feebly convey to you the sad news of the fate of our dear brother, Hyrum Naegle, who from the horrible wounds inflicted by an enraged bear, died last night at 10:00 o’clock.

This letter will cause you to feel with us the bitter pangs of degree at this untimely death. I now send you a report of the whole circumstances. Nearly every winter some of us boys have gone to Gavilan Valley, about 15 miles from here in Pacheco to the west on the Sonora side of the Sierra Madres, to the ranch. Here we would stay through the week and return home each Saturday night.

We were all very busy because father and some of the boys were at the new ranches we had purchased in Sonora. We were there usually alone, one at a time, to look out for the stock, especially to save the calves and colts from bears and roaming mountain lions and sometimes big  grey timberwolves which have been so destructive this spring. At least $300 worth of stock we have lost.

When brother Hyrum came home Saturday night he said he had encountered a very large bear, but did not get him, reporting also he had seen tracks quite thick. So we both went over last Monday. Tuesday we hunted in different directions and found several of our best calves gone. We then decided to go together, down the Gavilan River and back up North Creek and gather all of the calves and cows together. I believe that was the first time either of us had written to gather the entire spring, even when two of us were together on the ranch.

We would ride in different directions so we could get around the stock and over more country. As we came up North Creek, driving a little bunch of cattle, and on turning a curve in the Canyon and had just emerged from a point of the hill, Hyrum exclaimed, “there is the bear next mission point!” It was a monster too. Instantly we jerk our guns and jumped to the ground. Hiram had a 44 Winchester and I had a 45 Marlan. We ran a few paces to a clearing where we had a full view in fair chance at them, and old bruin was going along the bottom of the canyon.

Hyrum put in the first shot, and I the next, both hitting him. In rapid succession we fired several shots and I think most of them struck the bear. As he (the bear) climbed the hill on the opposite side of the canyon, my third shot brought him rolling and bawling down the incline.

Hiram said, “that got him” but he lay only a second on the ground then gathering himself up, he scrambled 20 or 30 yards before falling under the oak tree. Hyrum suggested, “Let’s leave our horses and take it on foot,” and started after him. But I, having only three cartridges in my magazine, waited a few minutes.

And excitement of trying to put in more cartridges, one unfortunately caught the first one and held it fast. I couldn’t force the cartridge in nor out until I got my pocket knife out. By that time, Hyrum was across the creek and climbing the hill. I came out above him or on a level with him.

I looked in shouted to Hyrum not to follow directly after the brood, but to come in below him. “Go straight up the hill and come out about him.” Hiram did so and soon he reach the top. He fired three shots, Bang! Bang! Bang! as quickly as he could.  I think that there must have been on the run well Hyrum were shooting, and with the third shot got out of sight or a little raise.  In a hurry to adjust my gun to get there, I did not look up again until I got the cartridge out and another one in and by that time both Hyrum and the bear route site. I jumped in my mule, a fleet little animal, and with my gun in my hands dashed cross the canyon. Fortunately I did, for had I taken the journey on foot, I would have reach there too late.

When I arrived to the top of the hill, I could neither see nor hear anything of Hyrum or the bear. I called, “high room, where are you?” But received no answer. I spent on the course I thought they had taken. I had gone but a few rods over a little raise when I saw the bear a little above and along the hillside. But I could not see Hyrum. Rushing toward the bear, I could see he had something bloody his mouth, munching and growling.

Not seeing Hyrum anywhere, I feared the bear had him down. Then the my whore, no tongue can tell, I saw his blue overalls under the bear’s body. He was knawing on Hyrum’s hand. I shrieked, “My Lord, he has got my brother down!”

The stirring up of my mule cause the brood to drop the hand and pick up Hyrum by the head. I did not dare shoot for fear of hitting the wrong target, the bear or Hyrum, as perchance the shot may not prove fatal to the bear.

I jumped off that mule to take if your aim, being then quite close. My jumped to the ground frightened the bear. Instead of touching Hyrum again or making for me, before I could level to shoot, he started off.

Hyrum rolled over on his face, rose to his hands and knees. Then I could see my brother was not dead. But oh, such a bloody site, I am not able to describe. The bear was then about 30 yards from him. I fired and brought the brute to the ground but he got up and turned on me. But, as I turned, he fell and grabbed in his mouth a dry pine limb about the size of my arm. This he crushed as though it were a corn stock, and with it in his mouth he started off again. The third shot brought him writhing to the ground. And, as my last cartridge was in the barrel of the gun, I proceeded to within 6 feet of his head and put a bullet through the brain of the huge brown bear. I then rushed back to Hyrum. All this was done in less than half the time it takes to tell it.

Now comes the time of trying ordeal for me. There alone with Hyrum’s mangled body, 15 miles home and no help, how I cried and prayed. The poor boy was still resting on his elbows and knees with blood entirely covering his head, face and shoulders and streaming to the ground.

The first thing I did was to support is headed administered to him, after which she cried for water. I galloped to the creek and returned with my hat full of water and washed his head and face the best I could. Such a mangled head and face you never did see. The school was laid bare from the top of his for head about 4 inches back and then one other wound that we did not discover until just before his death when some portions of his brain oozed out. Two of the bears large teeth had penetrated his brain on the back and the other side of his head and just at the corner of his right eye were seven or eight ugly gashes, laying back his skull.

There was a loan cut down the right cheek into under the jaw and his upper lip was half torn off. In all, there were 27 wounds on his head and face and the right hand was chewed through and through.

His left hand was bitten through in several places, also one fearful bite in the left leg just above the knee and went heavy imprint of the bears part, though not deep, on the right breast. Of course the wounds in his body were not easily seen it first but I could see Hyrum’s critical state, and also knowing that God alone could help us in our lonely and helpless condition.

I told Hyrum to exercise all the faith he had strength to and I would administer to him again. After this, Hyrum spoken I asked him why he went so near the bear. He said the bear got over a little hill, out of sight, and was lying down and that he did not see it and sell he was within 2 rods of him when the bear spring up and came after him. His gun would not fire, then he kept it leveled on the brood thinking every second that it would go off. When the bear was nearly upon him, he started running backwards, still trying to pull the trigger— but failed.

The bear struck him with his left paw and with his big right one, being on his shoulder, for it was disabled from one of the shots. The force the blow was so fierce it broke Hyrum’s jaw, knocking him to the ground.

The bear then jumped upon him, grabbing him by the head with his mouth. In order to protect his face and head, he put up his hands. About 8 feet from where my brother Hyrum Lake, I found his hat and gun and found that his gun was cocked and ready to fire and still containing three cartridges.

I think, that in the excitement, Hyrum had failed to press the trigger and that, I think, accounts for the gun not going off when he tried it.  After trying Hyrum’s broken jaw and getting him on his horse which I led, to my astonishment, he wrote a mile and a half the camp where I laid him on the bed and then washed and dressed his wounds as best I could.

I Bateman bandage them in salt water with a clean soft cloth. I gave him a little milk and cold water to revive him, as he had fainted a couple of times from loss of blood. He rallied and I asked him what should I do, go for help or try to get him home? He replied, “Oh, do not leave me here alone.”

I said to myself, “to leave him here alone, while I rode 15 miles over a very rough trail and returning with help could not be thought of.” Then again, of Hyrum riding so far in his critical condition, could not be hoped for nor expected.

But to my astonishment, he told me that with the help of God, and if he could be given support and strength to reach home and if I thought he could stand the ride home, he would start at once. So I quickly saddled a horse and provided myself with a 2 gallon can of water, which I later replanted should Bear Springs with cup and spoon. I put my coat slicker on Hyrum as it was threatening to rain. Then, for the third time, I administered to him, helped him into the saddle, making a role of a pair of blankets and a heavy camp quilt to put in front of him to support him in the saddle.

I thought I would have to use these for a bed for him before reaching home. We started at a steady walk, I driving the horse along the trail, he handling the reins of the bridle with his left arm. This went on until dark. Then I led the horse through the timber in over the mountains and by giving him, every few minutes, a sip of water he called for, I arrived at home with him at 10:00 o’clock that night. The accident happened at 3:00 o’clock on Wednesday, 22 June 1892.

In passing through our little town of Pacheco, I called our patriarch, Henry Lunt, to get some of the others to assist him in administering to Hyrum and dressing his wounds. I sent her Franklin Scott, his father-in-law, who sewed up the worst of his wounds, and also sister Olive Moffett to assist in caring for him.

We continued from there to apply every remedy within our meager knowledge to allay the fever and keep out inflammation. We also sent word to Apostle Thatcher to comment also have the doctor from Corralitos to come.

We continued our prayers and supplications for Hyrums recovery. Appearances, and to the astonishment’s of everyone who saw, Hyrum was making a fight for his life. Such a gallant effort to get well, until his noble spirit took its departure and fled this life.  He made short gasps, he opened his left eye, which had not been heard, and looked around as if to say goodbye. Then he very calmly and peacefully died. I think he was conscious to the last endured his sufferings manfully and patiently without murmur.

How he could endorse such a ride in his condition was so very characteristic of his extraordinary strong constitution. For not a grown or a sound he makes while the bear was upon him. Not one man in 100, or 500, could have borne what he did without complaining.

The tragic grief of those surrounding him at his death, and especially his young wife, was most heartrending. Hyrum was married in January. He was 23 and his wife was 19 years old.

I desire to add our gratitude to our heavenly father for his tender mercy in permitting him to reach home and his wife’s arms and his family before he died. It is a marvel to all how I got him home. I tell them it was nothing but the power of God who supported them, enabling him to reach his home.  Note: (Hyrum’s wife was pregnant with her first child at this time)

Dear Hyrum has a record in the Mexican Mission that will stand as a monument of honor for his excellent labors there. He was President of the Deacons Quorum for a while and up to his death was an acting Priest and one of my counselors in the Y.M.M.I.A organization. 

I remain in sympathy and affection, your brother.

George C. Naegle