The Captured Read online

  Adolph had been with the Comanches at least seven months when he and Herman saw each other at the watering hole. According to Herman, the two boys talked about their predicament and “would have devised some means of escape” had they not been separated. Adolph had not yet come to prefer the Comanche way of life; like the Babb siblings at that stage, he still wanted to go home. When he met Clinton Smith the following spring, his outlook had changed radically.

  The captives who wrote about their time with Native Americans didn’t say exactly when they started thinking of themselves as members of the tribe. Most likely they weren’t aware of the change. But at some point—in Adolph’s case, apparently no more than fourteen months—almost all of them experienced it. As Clinton Smith stated simply, “I considered myself an Indian, and an Indian I would be.”

  Adolph Korn would become even more of an Indian. His pal Clinton Smith described him as “the boldest boy I ever knew” and “about as mean an Indian as there was in the tribe at that time.” Adolph and Clinton rode together across the Panhandle of Texas and the prairies of Indian Territory and eastern New Mexico with a mixed bunch of Quahada and Kotsoteka Comanches. Their group included about eighteen Anglo and Mexican captives, ranging in age from ten to eighteen. Clinton didn’t identify them in his narrative, except for Uncle Adolph. However, among these were Temple Friend, the only unredeemed captive from the Legion Valley raid, and Rudolph Fischer.

  Clinton Smith recorded the only tales that have survived about Adolph Korn’s life as a Comanche warrior. According to his narrative, my white-Indian ancestor wasn’t just bold; he was a daredevil who pushed the limits, a juvenile horse thief who wasn’t content to play it safe if he could set off a hair-raising chase or a little gunplay. That sort of bravado wasn’t uncommon among the Comanches. Stealing horses under especially dangerous conditions was a surefire way for a young man to establish his reputation and gain prestige among his peers.

  One time Adolph, Clinton, and about twenty-five Comanche men were raiding in Texas when they approached a small town in a valley. All day long they kept watch over the settlement from the hills, waiting for nightfall. Once the valley became dark and still, the Comanches left their horses tied in the woods and slipped into town on foot. They found a stable and took a few horses. Adolph counseled Clinton, “Now go slow, and don’t be afraid.” Then he boasted, “I will get their horses.”

  Inside the quiet houses, a few candles and kerosene lanterns were still burning. The Comanches crept cautiously through the shadows. Finally, the adult men decided it was too risky. They whispered to the boys not to go any farther.

  Adolph ignored them. He slipped into another stable, cut the ropes, and brought out a horse. Then he went back inside for more. One of the animals got skittish and started snorting. Still, Adolph didn’t let go of it. He wouldn’t settle for less than all the horses, even if he woke the whole town.

  He was a risk taker even when the Comanches weren’t observing him. One night during this same trip, Adolph and Clinton both felt famished. The Comanches ate little while they were on a raid, and this must have been torture for the adolescents. The two boys asked the leader of the party if they could kill a cow from a herd they’d seen near camp. Their leader gave them permission to go shoot one with arrows. However, he told them not to fire their pistols, since the noise would alarm any cowboys or soldiers in the area.

  Cachoco and Backecacho set out in search of their prey. They tried to get close enough to the herd to shoot their arrows. However, the moon was bright and the cattle were easily spooked, so the boys weren’t able to sneak up on them. They decided to try to rope a cow instead. Clinton missed his first throw. However, Adolph’s rope caught a calf by the hind foot. He held on. Clinton jumped off his horse and stabbed the animal behind the shoulder. The calf started to bellow, filling the night with deep, loud cries of distress. Clinton said, “We should leave her and go back to camp.” Adolph refused. Let the white men come firing their rifles; he was determined to get his midnight meal. Finally, the calf died, and the boys butchered it.

  It wasn’t unusual for captives such as Adolph Korn to take greater chances than the natural-born Comanches. This may have been a matter of conversion zeal. Herman Lehmann, for instance, proudly proclaimed that he was the “wildest of the wild” when he was with the Apaches. The white Indians were also said to be crueler in initiating newly abducted captives than were their fellow tribesmen.

  Risk taking was also a way for captives to increase their status in tribal society. Adopted Comanche captives got to keep the horses they stole during raids.3 They weren’t treated as second-class citizens; in fact, they might even become chiefs or headmen. That wasn’t just an abstract possibility. In the summer of 1868, the Kotsoteka Comanche chief Mowway visited the Indian agency and admitted that he had nine captives in his camp, but pointed out that two of them had become chiefs.4 The white boys living among the Quahadas— Rudolph Fischer, Adolph Korn, and Temple Friend—saw living proof of what the future could hold for them. A half-white warrior named Quanah, son of Comanche captive Cynthia Ann Parker, was rapidly emerging as a war leader. He was only a few years older than these three boys, and he undoubtedly served as a role model. My uncle Adolph, who had watched his white family work strenuously without ever getting ahead, saw unlimited opportunities dangling before him for the first time. If he performed well in battle, he might become the next Quanah.

  At first the captives had no choice but to travel with the warriors. According to Clinton Smith, “All of the boys over twelve years old were compelled to go with them on their stealing raids.” The younger captives, like the Comanche boys their age, rode with the party to take care of the horses and perform the menial chores. It was part of their apprenticeship. Every male Comanche was expected to become a warrior; there was no other career path.

  At some point, they were forced to take part in the stealing and even killing, usually against their will at first. Herman Lehmann recalled, “I was among [the Apaches] about a year before I began to steal.” (It was probably less than a year; the captives typically overestimated the passage of time.) During Herman’s first raid near Fort Concho, Texas, his Apache father, Carnoviste, told him to go steal a large black horse that was staked near a tent in a meadow. Herman hesitated. Carnoviste drew his gun on the boy and ordered him to go. Then he gave Herman a pistol in case he got in trouble. Herman crept toward the horse, crawling through the grass part of the way. Just as he cut the rope, a white man threw aside the tent flap and fired a shotgun at him. Herman wasn’t hit, but the smoke and fire blinded him, and the blast knocked him flat. The boy, the man, and the horse, each as frightened as the others, all took off running in different directions. Herman, in his mad scramble, dropped the pistol. He told the Apaches that the white man had shot the gun out of his hand and grabbed it, so that they wouldn’t make him go back for it.

  Sometimes Clinton Smith was able to get out of going on raids. Once when the Comanches were getting ready to attack a camp of Indian enemies, he went to his adoptive father, Tosacowadi, put his arms around his neck, and said: “Potaw, I am begging you not to send me out this time, for I have a big boil on my neck and I can hardly ride.” Tosacowadi took his pipe from his mouth and replied, “Backe-cacho, you may have your wish.” That day Clinton got to stay home with Tosacowadi’s son, Monewostuki, whom he described as “almost a brother to me.” Another time when Clinton asked Tosacowadi not to send him with the warriors, “The old black rascal said if I would kiss him I could stay in camp. Bless your soul, I smacked him in the mouth and hugged him, too.” After a while, however, Tosacowadi started to push his adopted son to the front when a raiding party was preparing to leave camp. He knew that if Clinton didn’t make a name for himself on the warpath, the other boys his age wouldn’t respect him.

  Of all the chores that a warrior-in-training might be ordered to do, the most disagreeable was carrying the scalps that the adult men took. Clinton Smith complained that “they began
to stink and the hair began to come off.” During one raid, Clinton stood firm and refused to carry the scalps of four trappers. The leader of the party was furious and threatened to kill him. Adolph Korn intervened, saying he would take revenge on the man if he dared touch Clinton. Later, Clinton proposed that they kill their leader that night, but Adolph said he was a good guide who knew the country well. They decided to let him live.

  Within a few months, most of the boy captives no longer had to be coerced to take part in raids. They fought the Indians’ battles, too. Adolph Korn even commanded a group of Comanches in a desperate fight with some Texas Rangers. On another occasion, the Comanches were being pursued by a posse and decided to set a trap. Adolph and a fellow warrior named Twovanta had the best horses, so their leader chose them to go challenge the white men. The two cocky boys rode straight toward the posse, taunting them and daring them to come fight. The white men accepted their invitation, charging at full speed. Adolph and Twovanta turned and retreated. The posse chased them— right into the trap. Eight other Comanches suddenly appeared and launched an attack. The battle lasted until sundown, and the white men got the worst of it. The following day, the Comanches cut the arms and legs off the dead enemies and strung them from trees.

  Clinton Smith reported that the Comanches called Uncle Adolph “Cachoco,” but he didn’t say what that meant. Comanche nicknames typically described a noteworthy trait or an event that happened either to the bearer or someone else. Naturally, I wanted to believe that “Cachoco” referred to something lofty, like “Eagle’s Heart” or “Runs from No Fight.” On the other hand, given Adolph’s known physical characteristics, I realized it might mean something derogatory, such as “Walks with a Limp” or “Scar on His Chin.”

  I got in touch with three Comanche language experts. The first, Barbara Goodin, is a historian and an enrolled member of the Comanche Tribe. She invited me to ask some elders at a meeting of the Comanche Language and Cultural Preservation Committee in Lawton, Oklahoma, who informed me that cachoco does not seem to be a Comanche term, at least not anymore. The word, like many, may have disappeared from the language since the 1870s. It’s also possible that Clinton Smith remembered it imperfectly, or that his editor transcribed it incorrectly. In fact, “Cachoco” must be an approximation of Adolph’s actual name, for the Comanche language has no true “ch” sound.

  Tom Kavanagh, an anthropologist and author who has studied the Comanches for three decades, suggested that the choco component might be a corruption of tsukuhpu?, a Comanche word for “old.” The Ca prefix could be a variant spelling of ke, which means “not.” Thus, his name might translate simply as “Not Old.”

  Dan Gelo, a professor of anthropology who has also delved into the language and culture, reached the same conclusion independently: “Not” plus “Old Man.” “It is impossible to know the precise meaning,” he informed me, “but it is probably something like ‘youngster’ or ‘not one of the elders.’ ”

  That was not what I was hoping for. But it fits; several observers thought Uncle Adolph looked young for his age. Furthermore, Not an Old Man is no more prosaic than Herman Lehmann’s name: White Boy. Or Rudolph Fischer’s: Gray Blanket. It’s not as enigmatic as Clinton Smith’s: End of a Rope. Or as demeaning as Dot Babb’s: Tired and Give Out. Or Jeff Smith’s: Horse Tail. And it’s not nearly as derisive as Banc Babb’s: Smell Bad When You Walk.

  The Plains Indians conferred nicknames spontaneously, and the ones they came up with were seldom heroic. In fact, some of them seem to have been intended as ribald jokes, memorializing a humiliating incident or characteristic. Anthropologist E. Adamson Hoebel, who interviewed many Comanches in the 1930s, quoted tribal members with sobriquets as inglorious as A Big Fall by Tripping, Breaks Something, Face Wrinkling Like Getting Old, Not Enough to Eat, She Blushes, and She Invites Her Relatives. In the nineteenth century, Southern Plains tribesmen rose to influential positions despite having been saddled with epithets such as Always Sitting Down in a Bad Place, Dog Eater, and Coyote Vagina. I was pleased to find that the Comanches I met in Oklahoma maintained a healthy sense of humor about their ancestors’ nicknames. They assured me that I shouldn’t feel disappointed to be a lateral descendant of a young warrior with a name as ordinary as Not an Old Man.

  The Comanches’ nicknames weren’t nearly as merciless as some of their practical jokes. They didn’t just play pranks on one another. Occasionally, the victims of their raids were good for a few laughs. On one trip into Texas, the raiding warriors emerged from the woods and unexpectedly found themselves at a clearing on the edge of a farm. The homesteaders looked up and were just as surprised to see the painted horsemen. Terrified, they sprinted for their log shanty. Adolph, Clinton, and the other raiders all let out war whoops just to watch them run faster. The Comanches also managed to startle a team of mules hitched to a wagon. When the mules tried to flee, a wagon wheel got caught against a tree, and the animals struggled and kicked so hard they almost uprooted it. The Comanches laughed uproariously at the commotion they’d caused. Finally, they decided to leave before the trapped family started shooting at them.

  During another raid, Adolph, Clinton, and several Comanche men infiltrated a community of destitute farmers after dark. The people in that region lived like moles in pitiful underground dugouts covered with sod. They didn’t have any horses, cattle, or anything else worth taking. Disgusted, the Indians quietly withdrew. However, Adolph wasn’t going to let the sodbusters off that easily. To have a little fun, he fired his pistol at the night sky and gave a war whoop, leaving the families quaking as they huddled in their dark hovels.

  Another time, Adolph and Clinton went with a large party of Comanches on a raid into north Texas. They traveled many miles along the Red River until they sighted a campfire. The leader of their party sent a few young men, including Adolph, to investigate. When Adolph and the other spies returned with four horses, they reported that they’d found a wagon and tent. As Clinton Smith remembered, “We did not disturb the camp, but went on our way leaving the campers to discover as best they could that they were left afoot.” Perhaps those unlucky travelers were able to look back one day and also laugh at the Comanches’ joke—if they survived on the waterless prairie.

  The raiding party moved south and followed the Concho River. One day they came upon a log cabin and saw a white man outside. They galloped toward the house. By the time they got there, the man had fled and hid. The Comanches looked around the farm and helped themselves to a few horses and mules.

  This homestead along the river must have reminded Adolph of the Korn family’s place near Castell. It should have brought back warm memories of his mother and stepfather, his twin brother, and their German-American neighbors in the village. Adolph stepped into the deserted cabin. He grabbed a burning log from the fireplace and set the house on fire. Then he took the log outside to a haystack and set it ablaze.

  The battles and horse-gathering raids were the high points of their adventures, but the boy captives didn’t spend the majority of their days terrorizing settlers. For the most part, Adolph Korn, Clinton Smith, Herman Lehmann, Rudolph Fischer, and Temple Friend simply enjoyed the pampered, leisurely life of teenage males in the Indian camps. They were expected to do their share of the work, of course. However, most of their chores weren’t unenjoyable. For boys their age, the primary responsibilities were learning to hunt, ride, fight, and make weapons. As Indian men, they would be expected to be good protectors and providers so they wouldn’t shame their families.

  The boys enjoyed the sport of the hunt. Sometimes they disguised themselves to get closer to their prey. Clinton Smith recalled one occasion when his Comanche pal, Moniwoftuckwy,5 and Uncle Adolph dressed him like a bush, tying leaves and limbs to his body. That day Clinton killed his first elk, and his father, Tosacowadi, greatly praised his marksmanship.

  When they weren’t hunting or breaking horses or making bows and arrows, the boys did pretty much as they pleased. Although the captives h
ad been forced to carry water and gather wood at first, no manual labor was required of them as they grew older and became In-dianized. Nor was there much parental supervision. Clinton said, “The Indian boys and I would go in bathing every day, run horse races, rope buffalo calves and ride them, and take wild horses out into deep sand and ride them.” They also played ball and held shooting contests and footraces. They ate whenever they were hungry, and if they wanted anything, they just asked and usually got it. Some nights the boys would take their fathers’ best horses and go racing across the plains. The adolescent Indians got to live in their own tepees—a far cry from the cramped, one- or two-room log cabins the white boys had shared with their former families.

  Now and then, they got drunk. Clinton Smith gave a particularly vivid account of his first experience with whiskey:

  [W]hen it came my turn to drink I poured about a half a cupful and proceeded to swallow it. Great guns! I thought I would never get my breath. The Indians all laughed at me, and seemed to take great delight in my discomfiture…. In just a little while it began to get pretty warm in the wigwam and everything said sounded funny to me; then everything seemed to be going round and round. They were all laughing at me, so I told them to clear a place and I would show them how the Americans danced, and I began to sing, “Old Dan Tucker Came Too Late for His Supper.” They got me quieted down, and passed around the big pipe. When I got still everything was whirling around me. I got up and went over to the chief, threw my arms around his neck and tried to help him smoke the pipe…. Next morning I was still drunk, and awful sick…. [A]s I went along it looked to me as if all the hills had been moved, and were still gradually moving.6

  That wasn’t the only time the Comanches got to hear “Old Dan Tucker.” Sometimes Clinton agreed to entertain the Comanche men by singing the tune repeatedly if they would help him burn the lice out of his buckskin clothes. It was the only English song he could remember. Eventually, the Comanches got tired of “Old Dan Tucker” and asked him to sing something else. Stumped, Clinton told them, “That is the only song the Americans ever sing.”