In 1781 the Yuma Indians, angry at Spanish colonialization of their members and on their lands, rose up and killed all the Spaniards and converted Indians at a new settlement and Mission set along the Colorado River.
The small memorial monument reads as follows:
"IN MEMORIAM
FR. Francisco Garces
Capt. Dn. Fernando de Rivera
& other Yuma massacre victims
1781-1961
Ellen Schaeffer and TW Temple II"
A harrowing first-person account of the Yuma Massacre can be found here: (
visit link)
"Altar.
December 21, 1786.
TO FATHER FRANCISCO ANTONIO BARBASTRO.
In your much appreciated letter, Your Reverence asked me to comment on, as you phrased it, "the events surrounding the death of the missionaries on the Colorado River."
Father Juan Barreneche celebrated the first mass that morning [July 17, 1781], which I myself attended. Father Francisco Garcés had the second mass. His mass-server was Ensign Santiago Islas, my deceased husband. As my husband was moving the missal from one side of the altar to the other for the gospel of the mass, the war whoops of the Indians began.
Corporal Pascual Baylón was the first to fall into their hands. As they were putting him to death with their war clubs, Father Juan Barreneche rushed out just in time to force his way through the yelling Indians and witness the corporal's last act of life as he squeezed the good padre's hand. Though battered by war clubs, Father Barreneche was able to regain the sanctuary of the church. My husband had observed a few armed Indians arriving in the village before he left for the service. As commander of the Colorado settlements, he took the precaution of placing Baylón on temporary guard, never dreaming that a full rebellion of the Yuma nation was about to break out. Though the mass was already begun, Father Garcés cut it short when the battle started.
Realizing that the whole Yuma nation had risen up against us, I gathered the women together and we fled for our lives to the church. There we found more refugee Spaniards arguing with Father Garcés about who should be blamed for the uprising. "Let's forget now whose fault it is," Father Garcés replied, "and simply consider it God's punishment for our sins." His voice was compassionate, though his face was an ashen gray.
That night the Yumas began to burn our houses and belongings and kill as many of our people as they could. That was the night my heart was broken, when my beloved husband was clubbed to death before my very eyes.
As day dawned on the 1 8th of July, Father Barreneche encouraged those of us who were still alive with the words: "The devil is on the side of the enemy, but God is on ours. Let us sing a hymn to Mary, most holy, that she favor us with her help, and let us praise God for sending us these trials." With great fervor of spirit, he intoned the hymn, "Arise, arise!" All during the night, he and Father Garcés had moved stealthily about the village, administering the sacraments to the wounded and dying, consoling them in their hour of death.
When the hymn was finished, Father Barreneche offered mass for all of us, as we awaited death at any moment. After mass, he occupied himself by pulling out arrows and spears from the walls of the church and the houses and climbing up onto the roofs to review the movements of the enemy.
About three o'clock in the afternoon, when the Indians had finished killing Captain Rivera and his party on the other side of the river, Father Barreneche arrived from ministering to the last of the dying and told us that each of us should try to escape as best we could. He picked up his breviary and crucifix and, together with Father Garcés, the women, and the rest of the people, started out of the settlement, leaving behind forever the new mission of La Purisima Concepcion and its property and possessions. He asked Father Garcés if they should perhaps try to reach our other settlement. Father Garcés assured him that it was completely destroyed and its inhabitants killed.
Father Barreneche was following the trail of blood of a wounded man named Pedro Burgues, who had sent for him to come and hear his confession. The trail led across a seemingly shallow lagoon. The priest waded in, armed with crucifix and breviary. Before he knew it, he was in over his head. Though he did not know how to swim, he thrashed about till he was able to grasp a log and some roots. By pulling himself along the roots, he was able to reach the other bank. Though he miraculously escaped drowning, he lost his breviary and crucifix.
From here, the two fathers went on alone. We women stayed beside the lagoon. Father Garcés warned us: "Stay together, do not resist capture, and the Yumas will not harm you." With this, he plunged into the lagoon to join Father Barreneche on the other side. This was the last we saw of the two fathers as we sat huddled together awaiting death at any moment.
Through another Spanish woman captive, who was not with my group, I later learned that Fathers Garcés and Barreneche were not killed until three days later [July 21, 1781]. After leaving the lagoon, the fathers were discovered by a friendly Yuma whose wife was a fervent Christian. He hurried the fathers to his own rancheria, where his wife was waiting.
The enemy fell upon them as they sat in the Yuma's dwelling, drinking chocolate. The rebel leader shouted: "Stop drinking that and come outside. We're going to kill you."
"We'd like to finish our chocolate first," Father Garcés replied.
"Just leave it!" the leader shouted. The two fathers obediently stood up and followed him.
The Indians tell the story that at the first attack of the executioners, Father Garcés disappeared from their sight, and they were left clubbing the air.
Word had spread among the Yuma nation that he was more powerful than their own witch-doctors. Time and again I heard that many of the Yumas did not want to see the fathers killed. Nevertheless, their blood was spilled, and the woman who told me of this was close enough to hear their pitiful moans as they lay dying. The husband of the pious woman recovered their lifeless bodies and buried them.
The woman who told me this was Gertrudis Cantud, wife of the wounded man that Father Barreneche was following to hear his confession when the fathers crossed the lagoon.
This is all I can remember to tell Your Reverence concerning the ill-fated settlement of the Colorado River, Mission La Purisima Concepcion, and the rest of the territory we traveled until the fathers left us beside the lagoon.
MARIA ANA MONTIELO"