The Killing of General J. J. Byrne

Duane's take

The marker here in Hudspeth County tells it straight, and I'm gonna tell it to you the same way. Now, there are stories that come out of the Texas borderlands so fierce and final that the land itself seems to remember them. This is one of those stories.

The killing of General J. J. Byrne.

First, you have to understand who was riding through this country in the summer of 1880. Victorio, Apache chieftain, feared across the whole southwest, had spent two years leading a band numbering somewhere between a hundred and two hundred warriors through southwest Texas, New Mexico, and Mexico. Two years of raiding so relentless and so bloody that the U.S.

Army, for all its training and numbers, couldn't pin him down. Victorio's guerrilla tactics were brilliant enough that even the soldiers hunting him couldn't help but admire the man, grudgingly. That's the kind of enemy that gets under your skin even when you're the one trying to stop him.

Now. J. J.

Byrne. Born in Ireland around 1842. A surveyor by trade at this point in his life, retired military, a man who had fought in the Civil War from 1861 to 1865 and had been cited (cited officially) for both gallantry and meritorious conduct.

This was not a man who had lived a soft life. And yet, on August the thirteenth, 1880, he found himself the lone passenger on a stagecoach bound for Fort Davis. The stage left Fort Quitman, a former Army post sitting right there on the Rio Grande, drawn by small, swift Mexican mules.

Those mules could move. And maybe, on any other day, that speed would've been enough. But as that coach entered a steep canyon, Victorio's men attacked.

General Byrne was killed almost at once. The driver, Ed Walde (and remember that name, because what he did next is the only reason we have any account at all), Ed Walde turned that stage around in the middle of an ambush and raced back to Fort Quitman. He got out.

Byrne did not. Later that same year, 1880, the United States and Mexico together put five thousand soldiers in the field to hunt Victorio down. Five thousand.

And eventually, in Mexico, Victorio was killed. The marker calls him one of the most notable Indian chiefs in the southwest, and after two years of holding off armies across three territories, it's hard to argue otherwise. J.

J. Byrne, born in Ireland about 1842, was buried near Fort Quitman. Later, he was reinterred in Fort Worth, a long way from that steep canyon, and a long way from home.

One attack. One final act of violence in Victorio's two years of raiding. And a man cited for gallantry didn't make it out of a canyon in Hudspeth County.

That's the weight this marker carries.

What the marker says

One of the final acts of violence in raiding led during 1880 by the feared Apache chieftain, Victorio. Just prior to this incident, Victorio's band--100 to 200 strong-- had finished a sanguinary two years of raiding in southwest Texas, New Mexico, and Mexico. His brilliant guerrilla tactics baffled his U. S. Army pursuers and earned their grudging admiration. J. J. Byrne, a surveyor and retired military man, had fought in U. S. Army in the Civil War (1861-65), having been cited both for gallantry and meritorious conduct. At the time of his death, he was the lone passenger on the stage bound for Fort Davis. Drawn by small, swift Mexican mules, the coach left Fort Quitman, a former Army post on the Rio Grande, August 13, 1880. As it entered a steep canyon Victorio's men attacked. Gen. Byrne was killed almost at once but the driver, Ed Walde, turned the stage and raced back to the fort for safety. Later in 1880 the United States and Mexico fielded 5,000 soldiers to hunt down Victorio, who was finally killed in Mexico. Thus ended the career of one of the most notable Indian chiefs in the southwest. Byrne, born in Ireland about 1842, was buried near Fort Quitman but later reinterred in Fort Worth.