ses went on foot. Caborca was soon surrounded by Mexicans, and
the forty-two Americans and one little boy took refuge in the church on
the east side of the plaza.

This proved only a temporary refuge. An Indian shot a lighted arrow into
the church and set it on fire. The Americans stacked arms and
surrendered. My God! had they lost their senses? These forty-two
American gentlemen, who had left their wives, children, and friends in
California a month or two before under a contract with Pesquiera were
butchered like hogs in the streets of Caborca, and neither God nor man
raised hand to stop the inhuman slaughter.

They had not come within two hundred miles of my place, and nobody could
have turned them from their purpose if they had. Many of them were old
friends and acquaintances in California, and their massacre cast a gloom
over the country.

There was only one redeeming act that ever came to my knowledge, and I
know it to be true. When Pesquiera's order to massacre the invaders were
read, Gabilonda, second in command, swore he would have nothing to do
with it, and mounting his horse swung the little boy Evans behind him
and galloped away to Altar. Gabilonda carried him to Guaymas, from where
he was afterwards sent to California.

It has been stated that the corpses were left in the streets for the
hogs to eat, but the cure of Caborca assured me that he had a trench dug
and gave them Christian interment. I never saw nor conversed with any of
the leaders, but a detachment came up the Gila River to Tucson and
Tubac, enlisting recruits, but could only raise twenty-five or thirty
men. The invasion was generally discouraged by the settlers on the Santa
Cruz. When they passed by Sopori on their way to join the main body, I
remember very well the advice of old Colonel Douglas, a veteran in
Mexican revolutions. He said,--

"Boys, unless you can carry men enough to whip both sides, never cross
the Mexican line."

I was at Arivaca when the Santa Cruz contingent returned, badly
demoralized, wounded, naked, and starving. The place was converted into
a hospital for their relief, with such accommodations as could be
afforded. Pesquiera was well aware of the adage that "dead men tell no
tales." Crabb was beheaded, and his head carried in triumph to
Pesquiera, preserved in a keg of Mescal, with the savage barbarity of
the days of Herod. The contracts which would have compromised Pesquiera
with the Mexican government were destro