Blue Field, Arizona & An Indian Scrimmage
By John A. Hill and Jasper Ewing Brady (1898)
The late 19th-century American West, a landscape painted with both promise and peril, beckoned many with dreams of fortune and adventure. Among those drawn to this frontier was a young man, the narrator of this tale, whose yearning for travel led him to a position with the Great Atlantic & Pacific Tea Company. His destination: Blue Field, Arizona, a remote outpost described in vivid terms as a place of stark desolation. This account, originally penned by John A. Hill and Jasper Ewing Brady in 1898, offers a glimpse into the harsh realities of life in a fledgling Arizona town and the ever-present threat of conflict with Native American tribes.
The story begins with the narrator’s departure from Mankato and his arrival in Arizona. He finds himself assigned to Blue Field, Arizona, a small settlement that dwarfs even the dreariness of Alfreda, Kansas. While Alfreda maintained a tenuous link to civilization through a single telegraph wire to Kansas City, Blue Field, Arizona, represented the pinnacle of isolation. The narrator’s description is brutally honest: a smattering of adobe shacks, a predictable collection of saloons, and an endless expanse of scorching sand stretching to the horizon. In the distance, the hazy outlines of the Mogollon Range provided the only visual respite from the oppressive landscape. The narrator quips that the Lord must have abandoned his work after the sixth day of creation, as the town seemed untouched by any divine improvement.
The population of Blue Field, Arizona, consisted of approximately 400 souls, described as "dare-devil spirits" who had initially sought El Dorado but found themselves stranded, too weary or impoverished to continue their journey or return home. They were not, the narrator admits, the most agreeable company. The town possessed one redeeming feature: a deep well providing a source of pure, refreshing water. The climate, however, was relentlessly unforgiving. The sun beat down with such ferocity that the railroad tracks appeared to sizzle above the hot sand. Relief was scant at night, and the office where the narrator worked became unbearably stifling. Despite the discomfort, the relatively high pay of $90 per month motivated him to endure, saving enough to escape this desolate corner of the country. To escape the heat during the day, the narrator resorted to sleeping on a truck in the shade of the freight shed. The passage of the Trans-Continental flyer at 7:43 p.m. provided a brief moment of spectacle, but the resulting dust cloud was enough to choke a man.
The Arizona territory was known for its harsh climate and was, at the time, a haven for those suffering from pulmonary illnesses. Many individuals, ranging from those with a slight cough to the desperately ill, flocked to the region seeking relief. A poignant example of this is seen in the introduction of Fred Baird, who was assigned to the station at Clear Creek, located west of Blue Field, Arizona. The narrator recognized Baird from Kansas and knew that he suffered from consumption. The narrator laments that Fred brought his wife and two young children with him, wondering what a place it was to bring a woman.
At the time, the looming threat of conflict with Native American tribes was a constant source of anxiety. The infamous Apache leaders Geronimo and Victorio were actively raiding settlements throughout the region, inspiring widespread fear and unease. The narrator openly admits his fear, confessing that he often longed for the relative safety of Texas. He writes that he came for excitement and adventure, and he was getting both in large chunks. These raids, characterized by sudden, violent attacks, left settlers with little warning and often resulted in widespread death, looting, and destruction. To mitigate this threat, larger settlements like Blue Field, Arizona implemented defensive measures, including nightly patrols by the town’s "toughs."
One fateful night, the narrator’s worst fears materialized. While dozing in his chair around 11:30 p.m., he was jolted awake by the sharp crack of rifle fire. The sounds quickly escalated into a cacophony of gunfire, punctuated by the chilling Apache war-whoop. Convinced that his end was near, the narrator desperately sought refuge. He grabbed a rifle and descended through a trap door into a cramped, oven-like cubbyhole beneath the floor, typically used for storing batteries. Why he brought the rifle with him, he isn’t sure.
From his hiding place, the narrator listened helplessly as the battle raged above. The heat in the small space was stifling, and the air was thick with the smell of dust and sweat. During a brief lull in the fighting, he heard the dispatcher frantically calling his name over the telegraph, but he was in no position to respond. The situation took a turn for the worse when the narrator smelled smoke and realized that the depot was on fire. Trapped beneath the burning building, he faced the agonizing prospect of being burned alive.
Driven by sheer desperation, the narrator frantically tried to open the trap door, but the snap lock had jammed. With his senses fading and the smoke becoming unbearable, he grabbed the rifle and began to batter the door with it. After what seemed like an eternity, the lock finally broke, and he pulled himself back into the burning office. The side of the office near the door was engulfed in flames, so he threw a chair through the window, climbed out, and grabbed a set of telegraph instruments. Miraculously, the wires were still functioning. Through the window, he sent a message to the dispatcher, informing him of the attack and the fire and promising to re-establish communication as soon as possible.
Gasping for air and his lungs burning, the narrator stumbled towards the western edge of town, where he found the surviving residents gathered. Mistaken for an attacker, he was nearly shot before being recognized by a man known as "Full-House Charley." Charley informed him that the depot had been destroyed and that his day partner had been killed and scalped. The tide of the battle had turned when three troops of the U.S. Colored Cavalry, who had been tracking the raiding party, arrived on the scene. The cavalry quickly routed the attackers, who retreated into the Mogollon Mountains after setting the depot ablaze.
After recounting his ordeal, the narrator joined the other men in rigging up a temporary telegraph connection. He re-established contact with the dispatcher, who informed him that Clear Creek had also been attacked and that Baird and his family were likely in grave danger. The dispatcher instructed the narrator to flag down an approaching troop train, proceed to Clear Creek, and report from there.
Despite his exhaustion and smoke-filled lungs, the narrator agreed to go. He boarded the troop train, feeling a surge of relief at the thought of the soldiers who were eager to confront the attackers. As dawn broke, they arrived at Clear Creek, where they discovered a scene of unspeakable horror. The depot was in ruins, and the bodies of Baird, his wife, and their two children were found nearby, brutally murdered and mutilated. The sight was deeply disturbing, leaving a lasting impression of the brutal realities of frontier life.
After sending a report, the narrator rested briefly. The next day, the troops successfully engaged and defeated the Native American raiding party, driving them back to their reservation. Despite this victory, the narrator remained deeply affected by the violence and loss he had witnessed.
The company offered the narrator a day position if he would stay, but he declined. He had seen enough of Arizona and returned to Texas. The story concludes with the narrator’s departure from Arizona, expressing his gratitude for having survived the ordeal with his "whole skin and a full shock of red hair." He had his fill of the Indian Scrimmage in Blue Field, Arizona and the dangers that came with it.