Chapter 7: 1885: U.S. Territory of New Mexico

Fort Union was located between Mora and Las Vegas, and it was several hours north of Socorro via the AT&SF passenger train. I had been past it a number of times, on the road between Las Vegas and Mora, but had never ventured onto the post itself. Like many other forts, it was not enclosed by ramparts, but its perimeter was under constant guard.

As the locus of the Indian wars had moved west over the years, Fort Union had assumed the mantle of the largest outpost, assuming the mantle from Fort Richardson, in Texas, which had held that notoriety when I had last been in uniform. Fort Union was the brigade headquarters for the Department of New Mexico and even now, with the preponderance of Indian fighting having moved even farther westward into Arizona Territory, and with its garrison having been reduced by more than half, Fort Union remained an active army hub. Its various batteries and redoubts, administrative offices, officers’ and enlisted quarters, mess halls, kitchens, factories, forges, arsenals and magazines, warehouses, stables, repair sheds, parade and practice grounds all occupied most of a full mile-square section of land. While not the beehive of the prior decade, Fort Union remained the headquarters for the army in New Mexico, administering a network of outposts throughout the territory, and lending support to some Texas and Arizona posts...

As New Mexico was a federal territory, the U.S. Army’s District Military Commander, Colonel Jameson Westerly, was the agent responsible for approval of territorial militia organizations. I had telegraphed him of my intended visit and had received a reply from a Major Phineas Dressler, advising me that he held the assignment of Militia Review Officer and that I should seek him at his office at the fort.

A stage-coach from the fort met each passenger train at the Watrous depot., nine nikes from the fort. The coach was an open-sided vehicle operated under an army contract, so it was none-too-lavish. After near an hour’s dusty ride, the coach stopped at the main entry gate of the fort and each of the passengers was required to identify himself and state his business, all of which was recorded by the Corporal of the Guard. Then the coach proceeded to make a circuit of the fort, stopping at several major facilities to debark passengers.

My goal was the Quartermaster’s office, which turned out to be a large adobe building with windows flanked by heavy wooden shutters that were cut with rifle slits. Inside the door were three clerks busy with stacks of paper, each at a desk set squarely at a window

‘What y’ lookin’ for, mister?” one of the men asked.

“I’m here to see Major Dressler. My name’s Becker.

“He expectin’ you?”

I fished the telegram form from my pocket and held it out. “He is. He sent me this yesterday.”

Without looking at the telegram, the man, who wore standard civilian business attire, stood up, saying, “I’ll let him know you’re here, Mister Decker.”

“It’s Becker, my name’s Becker.”

“Becker, you bet, sorry about that.” He disappeared down a dim hallway.

The man was back in a trice. “C’mon back this way, Mister Becker, Major Dressler’s been expecting you.” As I walked past the man, he said, “Right there, the door that’s open.”

Dressler was waiting for me just inside the office door. He was a medium-sized man, a few years younger than me. He had a full head of dark hair and, while his his chin was clean-shaven, his bushy sideboards merged into an equally bushy mustache. He offered his hand as he said, “Please sit down, Mister Becker, and tell me what I can do for you.”

As I took a chair in front of his desk, he walked around and seated himself behind it.

I had been carrying my valise, which I’d set on the floor next to my chair. Now I unbuckled the flap saying, “I have a letter of introduction from the governor.” I located the envelope, removed the brief letter, and handed it to Dressler.

He took only a few seconds to read it and said, “I see you are a federal marshal, but, other than asking for cooperation, it isn’t very specific.”

I smiled my Pinkerton salesman smile. “It is rather general, I realize that, and it’s because the governor has me looking at a variety of things, as he becomes familiar with his new job there in Santa Fe.”

“Are you in pursuit of some miscreant, then, Marshal?”

“No, not at all, Major. As I indicated in my telegram, my interest is in the territorial militias. It’s one more thing the governor wanted to know more about and he asked me to look into it. Then I figured I’d come here and talk to the folks who might know about it better than anyone.”

“Of, course. There must be dozens of things Governor Ross needs to become familiar with. But I remain curious? Why send a federal marshal?”

“Oh, that’s because my main job is working in cooperation with the District Marshal, Albert Garrison. In fact, it was Marshal Garrison who originally hired me. Now, if there are notorious fugitives or especially vexatious criminals, I go to the location to assist the local deputy marshal or other lawman. But when I’m not engaged in those kinds of things, the governor likes to keep me busy.

“Originally, the idea was that I should visit each county militia when I happened to be in that area on other business, but I realized that I would have no way to judge things if I did. I realized that I would be much better off coming here first to learn what was involved. I also realized that letting happenstance guide my visits to the various counties was not a dependable way to go about it.” I smiled in agreeable good will.

“I see. I was uncertain why a federal marshal might have an interest in the militias. But it sounds like your job as a marshal doesn’t figure into it, then.”

I chuckled. “Not as far as I know.”

“What is it, then, I can tell you?”

“I have a list of questions I want to ask,” I told him, as I brought another page from the valise.

“First, how often do you visit each militia?”

“The regulations require a review every second year. The law also provides reimbursement for my travel and daily expenses.”

“Thank you, Major. Next, what sort of standards do you use to justify a militia’s readiness?”

“Well, you have to understand that we’re not expecting a crackerjack military unit. What I look for, specifically, is a responsiveness to a call to assemble, an identified commander, a responsiveness to orders among the members, and an organized display of several basic military unit maneuvers.”

“What sort of maneuvers?”

“Have you a military background?”

“I was with the infantry from ‘sixty-four to ‘seventy-five.”

He chuckled. “I thought I saw you resisting the urge to salute when you first arrived.”

I smiled and nodded. “Old habits die hard, Major, and army habits last a lifetime.”

“Indeed. Well, what I hope to find with the militias are a few habits being formed. They would include firing from cover and from concealment, recognizing the difference between cover and concealment, some degree of marksmanship, orderly advancing and withdrawing with covering fire, posting and maintaining sentry positions, taking and holding prisoners, and an understanding of basic camp duties and animal care.”

“So you don’t expect tight parade drills or marching formations?”

“Some units pursue such refinements, but that isn’t really the point.”

“What of the leaders? Is there some basic uniformity?”kjl

“Not as such, though I do expect them to show some measure of effectiveness, as well as an understanding of the maneuvers I’ve mentioned. I have my own checklist,” Dressler reached behind him for a folder he had ready. “It’s simply my own handwritten list that I assembled from some points in the Articles of War as well as lessons I’ve learned along the way.”

“Such as?”

“Most of the leadership’s suitability I learn merely through conversation with the commander and any officers.” He pushed a handwritten list across to me. I saw entries such as “Drills, Notifications, Records, Care of Mounts, Ceremonials, Firearms,” and the like.

I asked, “What do you mean by ‘ceremonials’?”

He said, “For instance, does the unit join in a Fourth of July parade or have other public ceremonial activities? It’s a measure of their commitment, though it isn’t exclusionary.”

“I know that there were six militias which had received the grant money. What about the other six counties? Do you know why there isn’t more participation?”

“The grant money is only part of the reason a county would want to organize a militia. For that matter, five hundred dollars isn’t that much incentive, especially when the county has to come up with a matching amount, along with thirty-five men who are willing to participate just for the travel money.

“However, Marshal, what you might notice is that the six counties which have organized a militia are all on the New Mexico’s southern and western border. Most of the armed brigands and renegades we’ve seen in recent years have crossed from or to either Mexico or Arizona Territory and the bordering counties have seen the most depredation.”

“Ah, yes. I hadn’t come to that realization until you mentioned their location. That makes sense of it.”

We talked a while more in that vein until I asked, “Is there any of the militias that stand out as doing better overall than the others?”

He immediately nodded. “Yes, as a matter of fact, there are. The Doña Ana County militia has arranged funding to allow for a full-time professional force of twenty men, with the remainder made up of part-time men, mostly Mexicans, who are paid for their travel. And Grant County has been working toward the same sort of arrangement.”

I looked up from my note-taking. “I know there is a requirement that forty percent of a militia must be made up of non-whites, or at least tthat one race must not exceed sixty percent of the total enrollment. Has that been a problem?”

“That depends on what you consider a problem. Doña Ana and Grant Counties had more willing white men but had to actively recruit Mexicans. A few ranchers had to make being in the militia a condition for some Mexicans to hold a job on their ranches. Grant County started an auxiliary militia so more of the interested white men could serve.”

“So they’re not part of the regular militia that receives funds from the state?”

“No, they call them scouts. Their travel isn’t paid from that grant. However, they still come under the command of the official militia commandant.”

“What about the other four counties?” I referred to the list he had given me, “Socorro, Valencia, Bernalillo, and Rio Arriba? Did they have trouble recruiting Mexicans?”

“No, and Rio Arriba even has a few Navajo. In fact, the forty percent requirement is filled with whites in those four counties.”

“Really? How do you account for that?”

He shrugged. “I think those counties are less demanding and have looser discipline.”

“Do they fall short of standards?”

He opened his hands in a gesture of uncertainty. “Not really. I mean, the standards aren’t all that strict in the first place.”

“But you think that the other two counties -- Doña Ana and Grant -- have better militias.”

“As a professional soldier, I’d say so.”

“Do you think it’s because they depend more on white men?”

“Frankly, yes. Once you see them do some drills, it’s pretty obvious. And those militias are more active, too.”

“More active? In what way?”

“They’ve answered more call-outs, mostly in dealing with raiders from Mexico, bands of those so-called revolutionaries they always seem to breed south of the border. And it’s mostly the white militia men who show up first when the word goes out.”

“How does that work, calling up the militia?”

“There are assembly requirements for every four hours. First four hours, five men must be be at their post. Four hours later, five more, and so on, until all thirty-five are at their post or have responded to other orders.”

“So then, the entire militia of thirty-five men are expected to be at their post within twenty-eight hours.”

“Exactly. The militias depend mostly on men from ranches and farms. There’s some townsmen that serve, but most experienced riders are from farms and ranches, so it can take a few hours for some of the men to get the word and to arrive at their post. But that’s what I mean about better discipline. The two I mentioned have at least the twenty white men assembled within the first three or four hours. The Mexicans fill in later.”

“Does Grant County have a full-time troop like Doña Ana’s?”

“Not yet, they can’t afford that. But they’re looking for sponsors.”

“Where does Doña Ana get the money?”

Now Dressler hesitated and seem to be evaluating me. Then he said what I was pretty sure was a lie. “I’m not certain. I had the impression some well-off ranchers might be contributing.” I decided not to push him.

“But, overall, you’re satisfied with all six militias?”

He was thoughtful for a moment, then said, “Let me put it this way: I believe they meet the standards set out under terms of the grant. Valencia County had some troubles at first, but they eventually came up to snuff. However, as a military man, I’d not be confident leading a platoon of these men into a pitched battle with a comparably-sized force.”

“Not even Doña Ana?”

Again he seemed to hedge his response. “Perhaps less so them, nor would I consider all the others to be at the same level as one another. Depending on how one might judge them you might find some better in some aspects, others with different abilities.”

I looked at my notes, then asked, “How is it that the militiamen are notified they’re needed?”

“By telegram and messenger. Only men who reside within a two-hour ride of a telegraph office are eligible. Fortunately that covers the majority of the population. And we have received excellent cooperation from both the telegraph companies as well as the railroads.”

This brought another question to mind. “Major, does the US Army have command authority over the county militias?”

He shook his head. “Not as things are now. The territorial governor is the commander-in-chief. We have no authority at all. Even in our role as what might be seen as an auditor, we can’t disband a militia even if it is inadequate to the set standards. That decision would be the Governor’s. We simply advise him if we find problems.”

Dressler shifted in his seat. “However, in an emergency or other necessity, I presume the Governor could place the militias under command of the army, in whole or in part. That authority would be part and parcel of his role as commander-in-chief, I imagine.”

“Have you discussed that possibility with Colonel Westerly?”

“No. I hadn’t even considered it until now.”

“The army hasn’t participated in any actions or maneuvers in conjunction with a militia unit?”

“Not to my knowledge.”

“Do you keep record of the call-outs each unit responds to?”

“No. I check for those records and encourage their maintenance, but I don’t recall any reporting requirements in the standards.”

“Do the militias have a form for collecting that information?”

“I haven’t seen anything, certainly nothing official. I have given each commander a copy of the standard army incident report form as an example. Are you familiar with it?”

“Oh, yes, at least as it was eight years ago.”

“As far as I can recall, it hasn’t been changed in a decade or more.”

After a look at my notes, I said, “Major, I believe I’ve covered everything I wanted to ask. I certainly appreciate your cooperation. I’ll be sure to mention it to the Governor. Do you have any questions for me?”

“I do. Do you intend to visit any of the militias?”

“That wouldn’t be my intention, no. But it depends on what the Governor wants. I’m hoping the information I’ve gathered here may be sufficient. I’d like to get shut of this militia folderol and get back to marshaling.”

He gave me a friendly smile as he stood and offered his hand across his desk. “Anytime I can help, Marshal. Just let me know.”

“Black Shirts, now, is it?” Judge Bergman said.

We were in the Governor’s office: Governor Edmund Ross, U.S. District Attorney Anton Dahl, U.S. District Court Judge Hiram Bergman, U.S. District Marshal Albert Garrison, and Amador Cabal, who was taking notes. Charlie Hackett, in Albuquerque, was informed of the meeting but excused by the Governor due to the travel and timing involved.

“That’s what Marshal Becker discovered,” the Governor said. Then he turned to me. “Tell them what you suspect of those two militias, Seneca.”

I explained my suspicions that the militias in Grant and Doña Ana counties were being used to deprive Mexican grant-holders of land and water rights through intimidation or outright assassination, the latter being blamed on Mexican cross-border raiders.

“An alternate approach is to destroy land-holding records in fires, which are also blamed on Mexican raiders. Both Doña Ana and Grant Counties have suffered such fires in the past two years. Coincidentally, only the oldest records, those from before the US-Mexican War, suffered the most destruction., which is blamed on the age and brittle dryness of those particular records.”

Judge Bergman said, “Most older Spanish and Mexican grant documents are written on vellum, not paper. They’re pretty robust.”

I said, “Even more remarkable, your honor, among the records destroyed are those of several of the largest white landholders who happened to be in possession of notarized copies of their deeds showing more extensive acreage than most Mexican landholders recalled from prior dealings.”

Judge Bergman asked, “And you think the white militia contingents are responsible?”

I shrugged. “I’d say it’s probable in those two incidents, Judge. From newspaper accounts, militiamen, by their own telling, were the first on the scene to drive off the Mexican raiders from the courthouse or wherever the records were kept. Those brave militiamen listed in the newspaper did not include any Mexican-sounding names.”

Marshal Garrison summarized, “So, what you’re saying is that, in those two counties, while the militia recruitment has the proper ratio of Anglo to Mexican, the whites who are recruited live closest to the militia headquarters and are first to arrive in a call-up.”

“That is my impression, yes, sir.”

Governor Ross let that percolate for some moments, then asked, “How do we handle that?”

Anton Dahl asked, “By ‘handle’ I presume you mean how do we control those militias?”

“Precisely,” Ross replied.

“If I may, Governor?” This from Amador Cabal, who was seated at a small desk in the corner nearest the Governor’s desk.

“Of course, Amador.”

“Better record-keeping, sir. Have then submit a periodic report of their activities.”

I said, “I agree, at least to have them submit a report of every incidental call-up or action.”

Garrison said, “It’s a standard practice in our service.”

“Aren’t they keeping such records?” Ross asked me.

“According to Major Dressler, they each keep activity logs at their headquarters.”

Garrison said, “They should send a copy here.”

“Here?” Ross remarked. “To whom? Surely not to Seneca.”

Dahl said, “I think Marshal Becker should at least read through them. He displays an ability for assembling coherent pictures from jumbled facts.”

Bergman declared, “What you need is an adjutant general. Doesn’t Marshal Becker have military experience?”

I sat up straighter in my chair. “Judge, I rose to the exalted rank of sergeant major. If you want to know how to get a platoon out of a tight spot, I’m your man. But as a force commander and administrator, I’m better suited to holding the horses.”

“Of course, you’re right, Marshal,” Bergman said. “This needs the experience of a senior officer. More, it needs the prestige of a senior officer to bring those militias to heel.”

Ross was nodding. “Any candidates?”

I waited a moment for one of the others to make a suggestion, then said, “You might consider Lieutenant Colonel Oskar Lange, Governor. You may recall meeting him at our wedding. He’s a white officer who’s worked mostly with colored troops, but also with Indians, when he served as a regiment’s chief of scouts. He’s got his twenty in this year and the army has offered to retire him as a full colonel.”

Bergman observed, “Sounds like the army’s trying to get rid of him.”

Turning to him, I said, “They are, Judge, in a manner of speaking. He’s the second in command at Fort Davis, which has been the largest army post in Texas since the late ‘seventies. But it has been subject to a reduction in force over the past year, and there is an excess of senior officers in the service. This retirement offer has been made to all senior officers in western posts who have nineteen years or more in service.”

“You served under him?” Dahl asked.

“Yes, sir, from ‘sixty-six to ‘seventy five, and briefly during The War. I believe him to be an excellent officer and commander.”

Ross said, “He was one of your groomsmen, wasn’t he?”

My face reddened. At the de Lorenzo sisters’ insistence, Feliza and I had a large wedding party, absurdly large, to my thinking, especially as we were both widowed and it was the second marriage for both of us. Nonetheless, we each had five attendants. Mine included my three brothers-in-law, Lieutenant Colonel Lange, and Zeke Saltell as my best man. I finally realized that the wedding had been a political event staged by the sisters as much as a family celebration. Even so, the memory was uncomfortable. To cover my embarrassment, I said, “He may have been, sir. There were so many, I lost track.”

There were grins, if not audible chuckles.

Ross said, “Yes, Seneca, he was the one holding the saber to your back. And I do remember talking to him. Very astute man, was my impression., but very down to earth. Do you think he would be agreeable to an interview?”

“I think he might, sir. I know he was impressed with the country hereabouts.”

“Has he a family?” Garrison asked.

“Just the army, as far as I know, Marshal.”

Dahl said, “And you think he’d be amenable to the notion of reducing racial discord?”

“Mister Dahl, all I can say is that I watched as the man worked with two supposedly inferior races for a decade and never heard him use a disparaging word or reference, nor did I take note of any difference in his approach to white men of similar army rank. In fact, he sometimes seemed more despairing of other white officers’ attitudes about heritage.”

Bergman said, “I know some generals, but none whom I would expect to be agreeable to relocating to any capital other than Washington City. This Lieutenant Colonel seems worth making inquiries.”

Ross asked, “Judge, you were in during the war, weren’t you?”

“With the Judge Advocate General Corps. I never took part in any bayonet charges or had to cower from an artillery barrage.”

Ross nodded. “I did my time, too, but I presume you’ve dealt with plenty of officers. Perhaps you’d sit in with me when I interview Colonel Lange.”

“Be glad to, Governor, just let me know when so I can clear my calendar for it.”

The meeting broke up after that and I lingered to ask the Governor about Elfego Baca’s case.

“May I speak with you a minute, Governor?”

“Of course, Seneca. What’s on your mind? I hope you weren’t offended that I didn’t ask you to participate in Colonel Lange’s interview.”

“What? Oh, no, not at all, sir. It would have been very uncomfortable for me. I doubt I’d be able to contribute anything. Besides, you already have my opinion.”

“That’s how I imagined you’d feel. So what can I do for you?”

“As I told you before, I interviewed Señor Baca between the militia-related interviews I conducted in Mesilla and at Fort Union. I believe my next step in the Baca case will be to go out to the San Francisco Plazas and see what I can learn there.”

He nodded to that.

“But first, I thought I would talk to Baca’s attorney, this Napoleon Laughlin. His office is here in Santa Fe, but I wondered if you knew him or knew of him.”

He was nodding again. “Napoleon Laughlin? I do know him, not so much personally, but I have had dealings with him. He impresses me as an intelligent and straightforward man, and a more than competent attorney. I’m not sure how much he’ll be willing to discuss the case with you, but it would be worthwhile seeing him, I think.”

“It was more my intent to see if he could steer me to any sources of information I might find helpful.”

“Oh, certainly. He could deal with that in his own way without revealing confidential case matters.”

“My other concern, Governor, is that it would seem likely Mister Laughlin will want to know the reason of my interest. What would you prefer I tell him?”

“Oh? Oh, yes, I see what you mean. Let me think for a minute.” He turned his gaze toward the window. After few moments he turned to me and asked “What did you tell Elfego Baca when you spoke with him?”

“I told him it was Marshal Garrison’s idea to check to make sure he was being treated fairly.”

“Did that satisfy him?”

“I’m not so sure about that -- he’s a pretty sharp young man -- but he didn’t question it. I don’t know about a lawyer, though. Mister Laughlin might realize it’s not a common investigation for a marshal.”

Finally Ross shrugged, shaking his head. “What the hell; go ahead, tell him about my concerns. You just don’t have to reveal the extent of it.”

“So I can say I’m there on your behalf?”

“Tell him that I’m concerned that lingering racial conflict will hurt our chances for statehood.”

“Isn’t that exactly what it’s about?”

“Well, yes. You just don’t have to tell him about our special committee or your investigations elsewhere, or the fact that your appointment as marshal was specifically for that purpose.”

“I understand. I can acknowledge your interest, just not go into a lot of detail.”

“Are you comfortable with that?”

I nodded. “That should work, sir.”

After my visit with Elfego, I had debated getting off at Belen to talk to his father, who was now town marshal there. I decided against it as Francisco, the elder Baca, would certainly protest his his son’s innocence and would likely have nothing material to add to my investigation. Now, at half past midnight, we had just pulled away from the Belen station and the dark landscape, despite a waxing first quarter moon, did little to distract me from my thoughts.

In an opposite fashion, my interview with Napoleon Laughlin, Elfego’s attorney, actually resulted in me providing more information than did he. But I couldn’t complain as he was simply holding his client’s business in confidence, as should be expected, While at first he was skeptical regarding my purpose, I was able to convince him of my sincerity and of the governor’s genuine intent. I described for him my visit with Elfego the week before and told him what I considered most significant in his story, First, was Elfego actually acting as an official deputy or had he reason to believe that he was, and second, were the hands from the Slaughter ranch acting under the law or were they acting as vigilantes, the same thing they’d accused Elfego doing. Or worse, were they a lawless mob acting in vengeance on Elfego’s acts of self-defense? Without commenting on either concern being important to his case, Laughlin told me he’d appreciate learning of any witnesses or evidence regarding either question that I might discover in my investigation. Laughlin had become most cordial by the time he bid me farewell.

I had decided to stop over in Albuquerque to see if Charlie Hackett had any further insight to Elfego’s situation or that of circumstances in western Socorro County. That area wasn’t in Charlie’s assigned district, but he had a fair sense of the politics in most parts of the territory.

“Well, it’s been the big ranchers, many coming in after the War, especially from Texas,” Charlie explained. “Fewer carpetbaggers were finding their way this far west and Texas was having a lot of trouble with cattle diseases and ticks. John Slaughter was prominent among those who moved to the territories, but he wasn’t the only one.

“Plus there were European investors, though many of them were wiped out in the Panic of 1873. Those that hung on just got bigger. The border between Arizona and New Mexico doesn’t mean much to them. They see the land in terms of river basins and valleys, and different types of range fodder, and seasonal pasturage, not as regards political boundaries.

“But the last few years the mining interest have been growing, though their concerns are more contained, as far as land is concerned. What they worry about is transportation and water. And the fact is, most of the Anglo ranchers and the mine owners aren’t all that keen on statehood. They fear it will bring more taxes and additional restrictions to their operations. They see statehood as a boon to the city dwellers and the small landholders -- and to the Mexicans.”