Besides extant family correspondence, army reports and documents (for example, Letters to the Adjutant General) and official journals, good evidence for the usual writing style of Philip St. George Cooke appears in a section of Rodenbough's From Everglade to Canyon titled "Personal Recollections." In one passage Cooke ventures to describe what he considers a dramatic and even "romantic" episode from the Apache War of 1854. In unaffected prose, Cooke describes the 1854 engagement with Jicarilla Apaches and killing of their leader, Lobo Blanco or "White Wolf." Cooke does not say and may not have known that White Wolf's daughter had been kidnapped and killed before the widely reported massacre of the White family.
Lieutenant David Bell, of our regiment—whose early death was a great loss to the whole service—was very conspicuous in extraordinary marches and in action. He was an accomplished horseman and shot. I have seen him, in a run of a quarter of a mile, kill or stop five buffaloes! In partisan war—all he lived to see—he was admirable, and a rare compound of bravery and prudence.The plain style of narrative description in Cooke's "Personal Recollections" contrasts markedly with the romantic and poetical style of Scenes and Adventures in the Army, especially the second part which is based on the 1851-1853 magazine series, Scenes Beyond the Western Border. One easy way to see the difference is by the absence of figurative language. Unless I'm missing something, I don't find a single metaphor in the passage above. It's all literal and to the point.
Of these Apaches a chief named White Wolf had been head man in an atrocious tragedy—that of a Mrs. White and family, whose fates thrilled the public sensibilities.
It was Bell's fortune to avenge them, and in an extraordinary manner. The action might be called dramatic, or perhaps romantic, and I hesitate to attempt its description.
He was on a scout with his company (H) from Fort Union, about seventy miles eastward, near “Red River” (Cimarron), but perhaps thirty miles below the great road-crossing. He had less than thirty men, and met nearly the same number of Indians. At that stage of operations a parley was in order.
Bell had assigned his baggage-mules to the charge of five or six men, and held a mounted interview with White Wolf, who stood in front of twenty-two Indians on foot, well armed and in line. Bell was in front of his troopers, who were about twenty paces from the Indians—exactly equal in number and extent of line. Both parties were prepared to use fire-arms.
The parley was almost tediously long, and this duel had arranged itself as described. White Wolf was very bold, and became defiant. At last—the chief sinking on one knee and aiming his gun, and fell throwing his body forward and reining up his horse—they exchanged shots. Both lines, by command, followed the example, the troopers, however, spurring forward through or over their enemies. The warriors mostly threw themselves on the earth, and several vertical wounds were received by horse and rider. The dragoons turned short about, and again charged through or over their enemies, the fire being continued. Turning for a third charge, the surviving Indians were seen escaping to a steep and deep ravine, which, although only one or two hundred paces off, had not previously been discovered. A number thus escaped, the horsemen having to pull up at the brink, but sending a volley after the descending fugitives.
In less than five minutes, in this strange combat, twenty-one of the forty-six actors were killed or wounded. Bell was not hit, but four or five of his men were killed or wounded. He had shot White Wolf several times, and afterwards others did so; but so tenacious of life was he that, to finish him, a man got a great rock and mashed his head. One of the baggage-guard, against positive orders, left the mules, and charging, sabre in hand, split in two the skull of an Apache, and the next instant was himself shot dead.
It was then discovered that there were more Apaches in the vicinity, and, weakened and embarrassed by the wounded, Bell immediately concluded to send for assistance. About two P.M., accordingly, he sent his first sergeant (Lawless), a famous rider and woodsman, with a pencilled report to me at Fort Union. At ten o'clock in the night he was in my quarters—by any road or trail it was seventy miles! The quarters, the stables, and corral were then scattered over a great prairie space—some were a quarter of a mile apart. It was necessary to arouse nearly everybody; the surgeon to prepare with instruments, etc.; the quartermaster, to get ready an ambulance; a dozen troopers to be equipped and mounted on the best invalid horses. At noon that day this reinforcement, surgeon, and ambulance met Bell at the road-crossing of Red River, forty miles from the fort. --From Everglade to Canyon
By contrast, "Scenes Beyond the Western Border" is notable for its romantic sensibility. Metaphors abound, not to mention numerous dialogues with an imaginary prairie friend:
" Amigo mio, my dreams are — not what they were ! — Well, the night passed quietly enough, though I was disturbed by the coming in of women and children; and right early I got over my other horses and men, and — a breakfast.
" I sallied forth then, ripe for adventures. I 'scoured,' as was right, the three miles of open forest — we have to borrow this word from the scullery, while the French say, euphoniously, eclairer — then emerged upon prairies, and soon reached a lofty hill-top.
"O! how beautiful and fresh was all before me! It was a surprise; not a trace of man blurred the expanded view, where free Nature had tried her genial hand. It was the year's prime; sparkling under the early sun, were meadows and murmuring streamlets; glades, where sported herds of deer; grassy slopes swelling to smooth hillocks; old oaks, here expanded in solitary magnificence, — there, disposed like garlands on the gentle hills; and again, gathered in imposing groves. Strangely beautiful in the midst were two hill-cones, rising like a triumphal gate, from forest bases. Far extended hill and dale and plain, until lost in the blue slopes of a mountain range; and about its airy outline clustered the rosy morning clouds..."
--September 1852 Scenes Beyond the Western Border; and Scenes and Adventures in the Army
