Then and Now; or, Thirty-Six Years in the Rockies
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Title: Then and Now; or, Thirty-Six Years in the Rockies
Author: Robert Vaughn
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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THEN AND NOW; OR, THIRTY-SIX YEARS IN THE ROCKIES ***
[Illustration: Very truly yours
Robt Vaughn (handwritten dedication and signature)
]
THEN AND NOW;
OR,
Thirty-Six Years in the Rockies.
Personal Reminiscences of Some of the First Pioneers
of the State of Montana.
INDIANS AND INDIAN WARS.
The Past and Present of the Rocky Mountain Country.
1864-1900.
BY
ROBERT VAUGHN.
MINNEAPOLIS:
TRIBUNE PRINTING COMPANY.
1900.
COPYRIGHTED, 1900.
BY
ARVONIA ELIZABETH VAUGHN.
DEDICATION.
ARVONIA ELIZABETH VAUGHN,
Great Falls, Montana.
MY DEAR LITTLE DAUGHTER:
The following series of letters, which include a short history of
Montana’s early days, together with a brief sketch of your father’s
life and a copy of my letter to you, giving an obituary of your dear
mother, I dedicate to you, knowing that they will be appreciated, and
hoping that you will have the pleasure of reading them after I am gone.
Your affectionate father,
ROBERT VAUGHN.
Great Falls, Montana, May 15th, 1900.
PREFACE.
It may not be out of place to explain how this book came to find its
way into print. It was written for my little daughter, in the form of
letters at various times, and not intended for publication, but many
friends after reading them insisted that they should be published. One
said: “You must not wait until you are dead before these letters are
given to the world.”
As my desire is, by the grace of God, to live many years yet, I now
present these letters to the reader, supplemented by others from old
time friends who braved the perils and dangers of pioneer life; and as
they are intended to be a part of the history of this great state, care
has been taken to keep strictly to the truth.
It is hoped that a line here and there will be appreciated by those
who ride in palace cars as well as the old pioneers who came west in
prairie schooners.
ROBERT VAUGHN.
CONTENTS.
Page
From Home to the State of Illinois, 17
Crossing the Plains, 22
On a Stampede to the Yellowstone, 35
The Discovery of Alder Creek, the Richest Gold Gulch on the
Globe, 39
The James Stuart Prospecting Party, 46
From Alder Gulch to Last Chance, 57
From the Mines to the Farm, 64
A Letter to My Little Babe, 72
From the Farm to the City of Great Falls, 77
Montana Pioneers, 84
The Dark Side of the Life of the Pioneer, 89
The Indian Praying, 103
Indians Stealing my Horses, 106
The Great Sun River Stampede, 109
A Trip from Virginia City to the Head of Navigation on the
Missouri River in 1866, 113
My First Buffalo Hunt, 124
Tom Campbell Running the Gauntlet, 127
Edward A. Lewis’ Early Days in Montana, 130
A Brave Piegan War Chief, 141
Bloody Battles and Tragedies in the Sun River Valley, 147
Charles Choquette Coming to Montana in 1843, 163
A Trip to the Twenty-eight Mile Spring Station, 171
John Largent’s Early Days in Montana, 176
A Visit to Fort Benton, 188
John D. Brown, a Narrative of his Early Experiences in the
West, 201
A Pioneer Minister, 216
An old Letter, 223
Warren C. Gillette’s Early Experiences in Montana, 229
A Meal in an Indian Camp, 245
The First Settlement of What is now Montana, 247
Montana Then and Now, 266
A Sample of the Pioneers of Montana, 275
The Indian, 288
The Sioux War, 297
General Sherman’s Letters, 329
The Nez Perces War, 345
An English Tribute to the American Scout, 367
Returning of Sitting Bull from Canada, 370
The Indian Messiah and the Ghost Dance, 377
An Indian Legend, 395
The Roundup, 403
Traveling “Then” and Traveling “Now,” 410
Yellowstone National Park, 422
From the Prospector’s Hole to the Greatest Mining Camp on
Earth, 447
ILLUSTRATIONS.
Page
Robert Vaughn, 6
Leaving Home, 19
My First View of the Rockies, 28
An Indian Grave, 31
In the Rockies, 32
Nature’s Grand Masonry Work, 33
Indian War Dance, 42
A Prairie Schooner Crossing the Plains, 59
A Scene in the City of Helena, 61
Great Falls, Montana, 78
Copper Smelter at Great Falls, 80
Lewis and Clark Meeting the Mandan Indians, 81
A Group of Pioneers, in front of Old Court House, Helena, 85
Mrs. James Blood (a Piegan woman), 111
Freighting in the Early Days, 115
Indians Hunting Buffalo, 126
Wolf Voice (Gros Ventres), 139
The Piegans Laying their Plans to Steal Horses from the
Crows, 143
Going Home with the Stolen Horses, 145
Father De Smet, 149
Little Plume, (Piegan Chief), 153
Alone in the Rockies, 166
The Mule and Mountain Howitzer, 195
Indians with Travois, 197
“Then,” Buffaloes; “Now,” Cattle, 199
“Then,” Deer; “Now,” Sheep, 200
Rev. W. W. Van Orsdel, 217
A Mountaineer in his Buckskin Sunday Suit, 226
Indian Camp, 246
General George Crook, 299
General George A. Custer, 305
Colonel William F. Cody (Buffalo Bill), 309
Rain-in-the-face (Sioux War Chief), 323
A Crow Scout (winter costume), 325
General Sherman, 331
General Miles, 362
Chief Joseph (Nez Perces), 363
Robert S. S. Baden-Powell, 368
Sitting Bull (Sioux Chief), 373
Agency Indians having their pictures taken, 387
Cree Manuscript, 390
Mo-See-Ma-Ma-Mos (Young Boy), a Cree Indian, 391
Cree Alphabet, 392
Little Bear (Cree Chief), 393
Roping a Steer to Examine the Brand, 403
St. Ignatius Mission Stock Brand, 404
Pioneer Cattle Company’s Brand, 404
The Roundup--Turning Out in the Morning, 406
First Attempt at Roping, 408
Lake McDonald, 412
In the Rockies on the Great Northern Railway, 414
Gate of the Mountains, Montana Central Ry., 420
Old Faithful Geyser, Yellowstone Park, 428
Mammoth Hot Springs, Yellowstone Park, 432
Castle Geyser, Cone and Diana’s Pool, Yellowstone Park, 433
Norris Geyser Basin, Yellowstone Park, 435
Grand Canyon of the Yellowstone, 438
Quartz Mining at Niehart, Montana, 456
THEN AND NOW;
OR,
THIRTY-SIX YEARS IN THE ROCKIES.
FROM HOME TO THE STATE OF ILLINOIS.
I was born in Wales June 5, 1836, and was reared on a farm until I
was nineteen years old. My parents’ names were Edward and Elizabeth
Vaughan. There were six children--Jane, Hugh, Robert, Edward, John and
Mary. Edward lives in the old home at the present time. His address is:
“Dugoed Bach, Dinas Mowddwy, Mereoneth Sheir, G. B.”
My parents were of good family; by that I mean they and their ancestors
were good Christian people, father and mother were members of the
Episcopal Church. Father was a warden as long as I can remember. Mother
was my only teacher. She taught me to obey, to tell the truth, to be
kind, to respect others, and above all to fear God.
I left home when I was between nineteen and twenty. At this time I
could speak but the Welsh language. I had a great desire to learn to
acquire English; therefore I went to Liverpool, where sister Jane
lived. I secured employment from the Hon. Benjamin Haywood Jones
to work in a flower garden at his beautiful home on the West Derby
Road. He was a rich banker in the city. I remained there over a
year. Brother Hugh had gone to America a year before I left home,
locating near Rome, N. Y. In the fall of 1858, instead of going home
as I intended, I concluded that it would be a good idea for me to go
to America and see my brother; then return in four or five months.
So, without the knowledge of my parents, I took passage on board a
steamship named the “Vigo” bound for New York. I was on the ocean
twelve days and a half. As soon as I landed I wrote home and stated
what I had done, and that I would be back home in four or five months,
and at that time it was my honest intention to do so. From New York
City I went to my brother’s, and stayed with him about three months;
then I went to Palmyra, Ohio, to see Aunt Ann, my father’s sister.
I was right at home now, and my father was satisfied since I was in
the care of his sister. I was there over a year, going thence to
Youngstown, Ohio, where I worked for Joshua Davies on a farm, and in
the coal mines. From here I proceeded to McLean county, Illinois, where
my brother had been for two years. I farmed with him one summer, then I
went to Fairbury, Livingston county, and mined coal until 1864. During
all this time I wrote home regularly and received letters in return.
Instead of going home I was continually getting further from it.
Somehow I could not resist the desire of venturing into the unsettled
regions of the West. I kept drifting further and further until I found
myself in the heart of the Rocky mountains, six thousand miles from
home.
[Illustration: LEAVING HOME.]
In this way forty-one years elapsed since I left my childhood home,
but the picture remains in my memory as though it were but yesterday;
everything appears to me as it was the last time I saw it. The house
still seems the same; the ivy creeping up its walls; the sycamore,
alder, birch and spruce trees stand there like sentries guarding it.
The rose bushes and the evergreens in front, the hollies where the
sparrows huddled together at night, the orchard and the old stone barn;
and I imagine that--
“I see the quiet fields around,
I stroll about as one who dreams;
’Til each familiar place is found,
How strangely sweet to me it seems.
“The old and well known paths are there,
My youthful feet so often pressed;
Gone is the weight of manhood’s care,
And in its place a sense of rest.
“The broad expanse before me lies,
Checked here and there with squares of green;
Where, freshly growing crops arise,
And browner places intervene.”
I see the dancing rill flowing by the garden gate, and the great arch
of white thorn overspanning the passage way that led to the main road.
There my mother embraced and kissed me and bade me good-bye for the
last time. Here my “only teacher” gave me her last instruction, it was
this: “My dear son, be careful in selecting your companions to go out
with in the evenings. God be with you, good-bye.”
Oh, how sweetly her voice fell on my listening ear,
And now, I imagine those soft words I hear;
If I ever view her silent grave,
My tears will flow like tidal wave.
There she stood staring at her wandering boy leaving home. We watched
one another until a curve in the road took me out of sight; that was
the last time I saw my mother. Father came with me about a quarter of a
mile. We spoke but very little; we were both very sad. Suddenly father
turned to me and took me by the hand and said: “Well, my son, fare thee
well, be a good boy.” I was weeping bitterly and after I had gone a
little way I looked back and saw father leaning against a gate which
led to the meadow, with both hands on his face; this caused my tears to
flow faster than ever. I shall always believe that father was praying
for me then. And that was the last time I saw him. Father and mother
are now sleeping in the silent tomb. But in my memory they appear like
statues as I saw them last, and that was forty-one years ago. Mother
standing at the gate with tears in her eyes waving the kind and tender
hand that soothed and fondled me when I was a babe, and father leaning
on that rude gate with his face buried in his hands offering a prayer
in my behalf. Nothing can efface that vision from my memory. Mother
more than once said in her letters to me that she always remembered me
in her prayers. I often think that I might not have fared so well and
perhaps be a worse man than I am, were it not for the prayers of my
father and mother.
ROBERT VAUGHN.
Great Falls, Mont., March 20, 1898.
CROSSING THE PLAINS.
I left Fairbury, Livingston county, Illinois, March 4, 1864, in company
with James Gibb, John Jackson, James Martin, and Sam Dempster and wife,
destined for the new gold fields in Idaho, for the Territory of Montana
had not then been created.
Our mode of traveling was with a four-horse team and a farm wagon. A
great portion of Illinois and Iowa was then but sparsely settled; we
would travel for hours without seeing any signs of habitation. The
roads were very bad through those states; and it took us twenty-five
days to come to Council Bluffs, which was then but a small frontier
settlement. An old man, one of the inhabitants of the place, called my
attention to two small hills on the bluff above the village and said:
“It was there General Fremont, with his men, held a council before
crossing the river to traverse the plains to California, and from this
incident the town derives its name.” We crossed the Missouri on a
ferry boat. Omaha had scarcely twelve hundred people. Here we made up
a train of sixty-five wagons, some drawn by oxen. It was a mixed train
as far as the destination was concerned. Some were going to California,
Oregon, Washington, and Salt Lake, but mostly to the new gold diggings
in Idaho. We were to travel together as far as Utah.
Our trail was on the north side of the North Platte river as far as
Fort Laramie, following most of the way the surveying stakes on the
line of the Union Pacific Railway. For several hundred miles, while
we traveled in the Platte river valley, we passed over fine land for
agriculture. Here we met a great many Indians of the Pawnee tribe, but
all appeared to be friendly. I was approached by one of them, who came
and asked me to give him some coffee; he was over six feet tall, and
had a very large bow and arrows. I made a mark on a big cottonwood tree
and stepped off fifty paces and told him if he put an arrow in that
mark I would give him some coffee. At once he began sending his arrows,
every one piercing the tree about two inches in depth, and the fourth
one into the center of the mark. I gave him his coffee. On another
occasion I put my hat on a bunch of sage brush for two Indian boys to
shoot at for a piece of bread; the next thing I knew there was an arrow
through my hat. Several days, when traveling in this valley, not a
stick of timber of any kind could be had; the only fuel we could obtain
was buffalo chips which were abundant.
The mail carrier told us that after passing a place called “Pawnee
Swamp,” which was about fifty miles west of Fort Kearney, we would be
in the Cheyenne and Sioux country, and that those Indians were very
hostile to the whites. It was two days after we crossed this line
before we saw an Indian. The third morning at day break, when I was
on guard, I discovered one from a distance who was coming towards our
camp. I kept watching him; finally he came to me and spoke, at the
same time making signs; of course I did not understand either. While
going on with his gibberish and making those motions with his hands he
stepped up and patted me on the breast and on my vest pocket. I told
him in plain English that he was getting a little too familiar for a
stranger, and to keep away from me. Then he picked up a stem of some
dried weed about the size of a match and scratched it on a stone as a
person would when lighting a match. This convinced me that he wanted
some matches. I gave him half a dozen and he thanked me, or at least I
thought he did, for he gave a kind of grunt with a faint smile and went
back in the direction he came from.
In the afternoon of the same day we crossed a small creek; on its bank
there was a newly made grave in which a young woman twenty-two years of
age had been laid to rest. At the head of the grave, for a head-board,
a round stick, which had been used at one time for a picket pin, was
placed, and on this some unskilled hand had written with a pencil
“In memory of ----,” the name I could not decipher, but the words
“dear daughter” were plainly written, which indicated that there was
a parent present to kiss her marble brow before it was lowered into
the silent tomb. This instance made a deep impression on me then when
viewing that lonely grave in the heart of the wilderness and thinking
of its occupant, who possibly was once the center star in some lovable
family, but was left there alone in her earthen couch to sleep and rest
forever; and when, on the coming of spring, no one would be there to
even pluck wild flowers and lay them on the grave of the unfortunate
young traveler. What more sorrowful sight could there be than
witnessing those parents leaving that sacred spot before continuing
their westward journey, and, when on that ridge, taking the last look
at the little mound by the winding brook in the valley below? Here the
curtain drops on this pitiful scene; the emigrant train is out of sight
and all is over.
At Fort Laramie we met the noted frontiersman, John Bozeman, after whom
the city of Bozeman, Montana, was named. He sought to organize a train
to take a cut-off route east of the Big Horn mountains. There was also
a man by the name of McKnight, who was a trader at this place. He had
two wagons loaded with goods for Alder Gulch, each wagon being drawn by
four fine mules, and he was getting up a train to go west of the Big
Horn mountains and through the Wind River country. McKnight said to me
that he wanted about one hundred wagons and about five hundred good,
resolute, determined men and they would get through all right. I told
him that there were five of us, and that we would accompany him. There
were scores of wagons passing Laramie every day and most of them were
bound for the new gold diggings.
The first day we got twenty wagons to join the McKnight train, and
we pulled out about a quarter of a mile in the direction we were to
travel. This new camp was a kind of “refinery;” here one and all might
consider the perils, dangers and privations likely to be encountered.
The faint-hearted ones took the safer route by way of the South Pass.
However, in a few days we had four hundred and fifty men and over one
hundred wagons. We were aware that we were going to travel through
several hundred miles of an untrodden wilderness, where Red Cloud and
Sitting Bull reigned over twenty or twenty-five thousand savages, so
it was very necessary for us to be well armed and organized. Before
starting we took a vote and selected a captain and two lieutenants, and
a committee of three to examine every one and see if he was prepared
with guns, sufficient ammunition, and if his outfit was substantial
enough to make the trip. A paper was drawn in which was inserted
a provision that we were to stand by and defend each other at all
hazards; to this we all signed our names. We realized that it was a
perilous undertaking, but we pressed onward. We depended a great deal
on our guide. He was a tall, well-built, straight, dark-complexioned,
resolute and intelligent man; he was reared in Canada and had been
in the employ of the Hudson’s Bay Company. He was a famous scout and
versed in the language of every Indian tribe from the Platte to the
Saskatchewan, and was both feared and respected by all. He was a
brave and true man, whose tact and courage, on more than one occasion,
resulted in avoiding trouble with hostile redskins.
Roll was called every evening. Each man had to be on guard in his turn
for four consecutive hours during the night. To form the camp the first
wagon had to make a circle until it faced the hindmost one, and each
one followed forming thus a stockade, the horses being driven past the
inside hind wheel of the wagon in front; after unhitching the tongue
was thrown over the wheel and rested on the axle. At night all the
horses and the tents were on the inside and those standing guard being
on the outside. We invariably formed our camp in this way, and were
always on our guard, for no man can tell when danger may be near in
an Indian country. When there is not an Indian to be seen it is the
time they are the most likely to make an attack. An incident I well
remember. The writer and Gibb were ahead of the train and about half a
mile on one side from the direction we were traveling. Crossing a small
ravine we saw two Indians hiding under some willows. They pretended not
to see us. It is probable that there were many more in that vicinity,
although there was no indication of the kind.
One day we came through a Sioux village of eighty-five tepees; there
were from two to three hundred Indians, chiefly women and children. On
a slope of a hill near by were over eight hundred horses in charge of
six Indians. Though we camped at noon but a short distance from them,
only two approached us, and their actions were different from those
of the other Indians whom we met. When the Sioux came to our camp
they would go from one tent or wagon to another in a sullen manner
with a contemptible look as if they were going to massacre every one
of us, and likely the reason they did not was that we had taken them
unawares and before they had time to prepare, besides we were as good
as an equal number of soldiers if it had come to fighting. But by the
year following they were better prepared, for they had obtained guns
and ammunition from the traders. They killed many immigrants. And the
year succeeding traveling through that part of the Sioux country was
entirely discontinued, and Fort Phil Kearney was established. A few
months later all the soldiers, eighty-one in number, were killed by the
Indians--not one was left to tell the story. And, these savages kept up
their murderous deeds until the Sioux war of 1876.
Many times I thought of the perils and dangers that we escaped on that
eventful journey, of which I now give an account.
It was against the rules of our camp for any one to kindle a fire after
dark. The object was to prevent the Indians from locating us at night.
We were obliged to camp where an abundance of water could be obtained.
A small spring would not meet our requirements, for we had nearly three
hundred horses, sometimes we had to make long drives to the next stream
or a place where there was plenty of water. Other times we had to stop,
from early noon until next day, for we could not make the drive in one
afternoon. For the balance of the day we frequently had considerable
sport by playing several games, shooting at a mark, short and long
distance jumping, wrestling and foot racing; but as the journey grew
longer the contraction of the muscles put a stop to the latter three.
On one of those long evenings we saw a torch light at the base of a
mountain not far off. It was swung back and forth for several minutes.
It was an Indian sign, and that put a stop to all games for that
evening. We looked for trouble that night, but had none. We were all
happy and had no sickness on that trip. There were six or seven men
from the southern part of Illinois who had the ague at the time they
joined the party, but as we came nearer to the mountains all traces
of it disappeared and returned no more. It was hard for us to secure
game of any kind, for the Indians kept driving it away as we went,
and it was not prudent for us to venture far from the course we were
pursuing to look for any. We saw many deer and buffaloes, but they were
a long ways off; occasionally we would get some of the smaller game.
We traversed much good grazing land where water was plenty; also many
valleys with rich lands for farming and an abundance of good timber.
[Illustration: MY FIRST VIEW OF THE ROCKIES.]
The atmosphere was very clear when we first saw the Rocky mountains.
They were several hundred miles distant; an old Californian pointed
them out. They appeared to be of immense height and it was difficult
to convince many of us that they were mountains, for they looked more
like thunder clouds to us who came from the prairie states. Every
day brought us nearer, and soon the perpetual snow was visible, then
the green pines and the rocky cliffs above the timber line, where no
vegetation exists, were plain to be seen, and, as I gazed at those high
rocky peaks, reaching above the clouds, it was plain to see why the
Rocky mountains were called “The Rockies.”
It did not take many days to skirt those lofty mountains and wind our
way through their canyons, listening to the rebounding echo of our
wagons rattling over the rocks and boulders as we went.
In one of those narrow valleys in the mountains we camped one June day
for dinner. Trout was abundant in the creek. On both sides there was
a dense growth of pine. Thinking that it was a good place to look for
deer, I took my gun and climbed the mountain side until I reached where
the land was almost level. After I had gone about a mile, I arrived at
an opening in the woods; two or three hundred yards away I saw a large
brown bear and elevating my gun I took aim at the big brute; just then
a second thought came to me, and I said to myself: “If I kill it, all
well and good; if I only wound it I’ll get the worst of it.” I paused
for a minute, looking at the bear, and the longer I looked the larger
it seemed; the bear stood and looked at me, and finally he walked away
slowly, occasionally looking back. I was walking as the bear did, only
in the opposite direction. Soon the bear stopped and faced towards me
and I made a bee-line for the camp, for I was not looking for that kind
of game that day.
We frequently passed trees in the branches of which a dead Indian was
placed on a kind of scaffold eight or ten feet above the ground. This
place of burial was constructed of poles and branches of trees tied
together with strips of rawhide. The remains were carefully wrapped in
beaded and painted robes, in Indian fashion, and secured with rawhide
ropes to the scaffold. Thus the dead Indian rested, high and dry, on
his sacred roost until his gorgeous couch was destroyed by the elements
and his bones picked by birds of prey. We also passed several scaffolds
built on four forked stakes, on which remains of Indians were placed,
and wrapped in the same manner as those on the trees.
Very often some aged Indians would visit our camps and go from one
tent to another and peep in as if they were counting to ascertain how
many there were. We treated them kindly and gave them something to
eat; they always asked for matches and were very fond of tobacco. Our
guide warned us that they were spies and for us to have our guns in a
conspicuous place so they could see our strength. We had many obstacles
to contend with on our journey. One day we had to travel forty miles
without water. It was very hot; many of the horses giving out, their
tongues being swollen until they protruded from their mouths. At
another time we had to let the wagons down the mountain with ropes,
with the hind wheels locked; and we had to cross rivers on rafts and
wagon boxes; again fording streams where there was great danger of
being taken down by the surging waters. Four of our men came very near
losing their lives in this way; but being good swimmers they avoided
drowning. We crossed the Powder, Clark’s Fork, Rosebud and Yellowstone
rivers and many other streams. The first we came to were very high, for
at that time the snows were melting off the mountains.
[Illustration: AN INDIAN GRAVE.]
Upon reaching the Rosebud we pitched our tents and camped till the next
morning. It was in the latter part of June; the trees and shrubs were
in full foliage and the wild flowers perfumed the air. The Rosebud is
one of the prettiest rivers I ever saw; like all mountain streams the
current is swift and its water as clear as crystal. Its beds are inlaid
with pebbles of all imaginable colors, with occasional large boulders,
where the speckled trout hides as one approaches the water’s edge.
Along its banks are groves of ancient trees, with underbrush of many
varieties and wild roses in great profusion. The bottom lands for miles
are but nature’s meadows, while the rolling hills, as far as the eye
can see, are a vast pasture land dotted here and there with clumps of
timber. Although away from civilization, the small birds flutter among
the branches, singing their sweet songs with as tender cadence as if in
somebody’s front yard in the civilized East. The same can be said of
nearly all of the streams and valleys that we crossed and came through
on our journey. On first view of these beautiful landscapes a person
would think that some prehistoric race had cultivated these fertile
valleys and planted those ancient trees and groves that grew as uniform
as if the ground had been laid out by some expert landscape gardener.
On further observation, we could see high, tempest tortured towers of
grand masonry work, which had withstood the elements for ages. All is
but the handiwork of nature, directed by the Great Architect of the
Universe.
[Illustration: IN THE ROCKIES.]
[Illustration: NATURE’S GRAND MASONRY WORK.]
When in the Yellowstone valley we saw from a distance a party of
Indians all mounted and coming towards us. Our captain at once gave
orders to form into a camp, and, before the Indians got near, we were
formed into a stockade and ready for battle, if necessary. As the
Indians approached our guide stepped forward about two hundred yards
to meet them. They were eighty-five in number. Then they whipped their
horses to greater speed and began yelling. When within about two
hundred yards of him, he lifted his hand and the Indians stopped as if
they were shot. The chief of the party and our guide had a sign talk
for a few minutes; the chief came forward and stated that they were
“Crows” and he wished to know who we were. He was informed who we were
and where we were going. They talked for about ten minutes, then the
balance of the Indians came forward and were invited to come to our
camp. They were mounted on good horses and had on their war paint and
all were stripped to their waists. We gave them bread and coffee and
took a smoke with them. Smoking with an Indian signifies that he is
friendly. They all left very peaceably and never came back. They were
the last Indians we saw until we got to Alder Creek.
Some distance after crossing the Yellowstone river the writer and two
others were considerably ahead of the wagons and crossing our course
was a ripple of clear water. The sun was hot and the effect of the heat
made us thirsty. All three, nearly at the same time, got down to quench
their thirst with the sparkling water. The first one cries at the top
of his voice: “My God, it is hot;” the second remarked: “Well, boys, we
must be near to the jumping-off place,” while the third thought that
we were getting near to the infernal regions. However, it was a great
wonder to us, for this was the first hot spring that we had ever seen.
This spring is to-day the renowned Hunter Hot Springs, a place of
resort for its mineral properties, where hundreds of people are treated
every year for rheumatism and kindred diseases. It has fine hotel
accommodations and all modern conveniences and improvements for the
comfort of its patrons. What was “then” but a ripple of hot water is
“now” a Western Saratoga.
After a journey of two thousand miles over plains and sandy deserts,
up the hills and down the canyons, crossing rivers and through many
beautiful valleys, fatigued by much suffering, hardships and dangers,
we arrived in Alder Gulch July 13, 1864. We found it to be a great
camp, and were told how many dollars to the pan and how rich the mines
were, and of the “road agents” robbing and killing people; of the
organization of the vigilance committee and the good work they were
doing by hanging the desperadoes, and suppressing lawlessness. Not
until we arrived did we learn of the organization of the Territory
of Montana, for it was completed May 26th, while we were in the
wilderness. Truly, Montana “then” was but an infant in its cradle.
ROBERT VAUGHN.
Feb. 11, 1898.
ON A STAMPEDE TO THE YELLOWSTONE.
In September, 1864, James Gibb, Jack Williams, Charles Howard, myself
and a man named Wilson, left Alder Gulch on a “stampede” to the upper
Yellowstone country. It was reported that a rich gold discovery had
been made not far from the canyon at the Yellowstone river. Each of
us procured a saddle pony, and a pack horse. We undertook to follow
the base of the mountains; crossing the headwaters of the Madison,
Jefferson, and Gallatin rivers. We were traveling by direction of a
map and the use of a compass, but made the mistake of keeping too near
the mountains, for we were delayed several times by the dense pines
that grew so thick in some places that we had to chop our way through.
In one small valley there was a great quantity of petrified wood, and
in the bed of the creek nearly all the stones were petrifactions.
I remember that we stopped on the banks of this creek for dinner.
The mountains were very steep. On a cliff about one hundred yards
off stood a Rocky mountain goat. At first we thought it a domestic
sheep, for it was very white, bleated, and acted as if it was glad to
see us. But then, as there were no settlers within several hundred
miles, we could not imagine how a sheep could get to such a place.
While we were discussing the matter, the animal leaped over cliffs
and up the mountain as if it was on level ground, and this satisfied
us all that it was a Rocky mountain goat. Not one of us had seen one
previously. The next day we came to a small lake on top of a mountain,
on approaching which we could see a big black bear rooting in the edge
of the water, but it disappeared before we had a chance to shoot.
After that we were on the watch for bear. Sometimes we would travel
for several miles on a well-beaten trail made by wild animals. At one
time Jack Williams was considerably in advance of the balance of the
party, and on one of these game trails, at a point where the ground was
a little marshy so an impression of any kind would show very plainly.
Suddenly we could see Jack coming around the bend helter-skelter as
fast as his pony could carry him, saying that he had seen the track of
a grizzly bear coming straight towards him. I asked, “Do you mean to
say that you saw a grizzly bear coming straight towards you?” “No,”
said Jack, “I saw its track coming this way.” “And you went after the
bear, did you?” Jack studied a minute and said: “I’ll be hanged I never
thought of that, but I’ll tell you, boys, those tracks are fourteen
inches long and eight inches wide; I don’t care what direction they
point to, the sight of them is enough to convince a man when he is
alone that he has not lost any bears.” On the seventh day we camped on
the Yellowstone and stayed until the next morning. The river was not
wide, but the current was very swift and the banks and the bed of the
stream were very rocky. It was a fine place for trout fishing, and we
caught some that weighed two pounds. We could not see any indications
of travel up the river, but we went as far as the canyon. Wonderland
was not known then. We concluded that the new Eldorado was not in that
direction, so we turned back and went down the valley for many miles;
we did some prospecting along the route. Finally we found about fifty
men working in a place which had been named Emigrant Gulch. There
were but few taking out gold in paying quantities; most of them were
prospecting in the gulch and on the bars. We remained there several
days, but found nothing that we thought would pay, although a great
deal of gold has been taken out of this gulch since. Consequently we
decided to go home. This time we took the lowland until we reached the
emigrant trail. On our way, on the divide between the Yellowstone and
Gallatin valleys, we saw about one hundred and fifty elks all in one
herd, on a slope of a hill, grazing. Grass was abundant and game was
plentiful; wherever we traveled we had all the trout and deer meat
that we could eat. At the crossing of the Gallatin we met Mr. John
Bozeman, for whom the City of Bozeman, Montana, is named, as I have
mentioned in a previous letter. The last time that I met him was on
the North Platte. There were with him three or four Indian people. He
was returning from Alder Gulch, having made a successful trip with a
train of emigrant wagons, of which he was guide. He brought this train,
which was about one hundred and twenty wagons, from the North Platte
river and by his “New Bozeman route,” east of the Big Horn mountains,
to the Yellowstone valley and thence to the gold fields; now he was
on his way back to organize another train for the same place and by
the same route. Some time afterwards and but one day’s travel from
the place where I met him last he was murdered by the treacherous
Indians, for whom he had done many kind acts. Thus the brave pioneer
and frontiersman John Bozeman, came to the end of his route. We
had been very lucky; we saw but few Indians; the weather had been
delightful, and all enjoyed the trip. We saw grand scenery, groves of
lofty pines, natural parks stocked with wild deer and elks, brooks of
clear water where the speckled trout played among its pebbles and had
all the harbor to themselves; beautiful springs bursting forth from the
mountain side, still higher the majestic peaks stood in bold relief
above the mountain pines, where lay the perpetual snow; and to render
man’s enjoyment complete, his lungs are filled with pure mountain air
perfumed with scent of pines and herbs that grow everywhere. I know of
no place like the mountains for one that loves nature in all its glory.
After twenty-nine days of “roughing it” we returned to Alder Gulch, not
any richer, but wiser, men.
ROBERT VAUGHN.
Feb. 12, 1898.
THE DISCOVERY OF ALDER CREEK, THE RICHEST GULCH ON THE GLOBE.
On April 9, 1863, several courageous miners met at Bannock City,
and formulated plans to organize an expedition to the country of
the Yellowstone and Big Horn rivers for the purpose of prospecting
for gold, and if successful, the idea was to lay out townsites,
and so forth. James Stuart, a brother of Granville Stuart (now of
Butte), and William Fairweather, were the prime movers in getting
up the expedition. It was agreed that those who were going to join
the expedition should meet at Rattlesnake creek the next day. There
the form of organization was to be adopted; the original manuscript,
which is now in the possession of the Historical Society of Montana,
reads thus: “Having determined to explore a portion of the country
drained by the ‘Yellowstone’ for the purpose of discovering gold mines
and securing townsites, and, believing this object could be better
accomplished by forming ourselves into a regularly organized company,
we hereby appoint James Stuart captain, agreeing upon our word of honor
to obey all orders given or issued by him, or any subordinate officer
appointed by him. In case of any member refusing to obey an order or
orders from said captain, he shall be forcibly expelled from our camp.
It is further understood and agreed that we all do our equal portions
of work, the captain being umpire in all cases, sharing equally the
benefits of the said labor both as to the discovery of gold and
securing townsites.
“(Signed.) James Stuart, Cyrus D. Watkins, John Vanderbilt, James N.
York, Richard McCafferty, James Hauxhurst, Drewyer Underwood, Samuel
T. Hauser, Henry A. Bell, William Roach, A. Sterne Blake, George H.
Smith, Henry T. Greery, Ephraim Bostwick.”
George Ives overtook the party the next day; he had not yet signed the
agreement, but he intended doing so.
William Fairweather, Lewis Simons, Bill Sweeney, Thomas Cover, Barney
Hughes, Henry Edgar and Rogers intended to meet Stuart and his party
at a given place, but on account of losing their horses they failed to
make the connection, but arrived there three or four days after Stuart
and his party had passed. They took their trail, making as good time
as possible, with the expectation of overtaking them in two or three
days. But, on the upper Yellowstone, they were met by a large party of
Crow Indians who took them prisoners. And this is the reason why the
“Bill Fairweather party” and “the James Stuart party” became separated.
The consequence was that Fairweather and his men were forced to turn
back, and, when returning from what they thought was an unfortunate
trip, they discovered Alder Gulch, which proved afterwards to be the
richest gulch in the world. And it appears to a man in the moon that
the Crow chief had a hand in making this discovery, and likely if Bill
Fairweather had thought of it he would have staked him a claim.
When the news reached Bannock that Fairweather’s party had made a rich
discovery everybody rushed for the new Eldorado, and in a few days
Bannock was almost deserted. June 6, 1863, the Fairweather district was
organized (in Alder Gulch), with Dr. Steele president and James Fergus
recorder. And then and there the sills and rafters of the State of
Montana were hewn.
Since then over $85,000,000 has been taken out of this remarkable gulch.
Recently a correspondent of the Anaconda Standard had an interview with
the Henry Edgar referred to, which interview was published in the
“Standard” Sept. 5, 1899, from which the following extracts are taken.
Mr. Edgar said:
“In February, 1863, I sold my claim, which was No. 8 on Stapleton’s
bar at Bannock, and went to Deer Lodge to get an outfit for this
expedition. We intended to join Stuart’s party, which left Bannock
about the same time we departed from Deer Lodge. That was the latter
part of April or the first part of May. We were in reality bound for
the Black Hills. Simmons accompanied us as our guide. There were six in
the party. We had got two days’ travel below the mouth of Clarke’s Fork
in the neighborhood of Pompey’s Pillar, when we were captured by the
Indians. There was no fighting. That would have been sure death, they
so far outnumbered us. They took us into camp and made medicine over us
for three days.
“It was jointly through Bill Fairweather and Lewis Simmons that we
were saved. I do not understand why it was, but a rattlesnake would
never bite Bill. When he saw one he would always take it up and carry
it along with him. They never seemed to resent anything he would do
with them and he never killed one. As we were going towards the Indian
village he picked up a rattlesnake, and just at the outskirts of the
village he picked up another. When the Indians saw him come in with a
rattlesnake on each arm they were awed. He put the snakes in his shirt
bosom and Simmons told the Indians that he was the great medicine man
of the whites.
“They took us into the medicine lodge, where a large bush was placed in
the center. They marched us around that several times and finally Bill
said if they repeated it he would pull up the sacred medicine bush.
They marched us around again and Bill pulled up the bush and walloped
the medicine man on the head with it. We then were formed three to
three, back to back. We had refused all along to give up our guns and
revolvers. The old chief drove the other Indians back with a whip. They
had a council which lasted from noon till midnight. In the meantime we
were sentenced. If we proceeded they would kill us. If we turned back
and relinquished our horses we would not be harmed. It was Hobson’s
choice. I received for my three horses an old horse, blind in one eye,
and a yearling colt. For my three pairs of Oregon blankets a buffalo
robe and a half, and for my grub, consisting of flour, bacon, coffee,
beans, etc., a dozen dried buffalo tongues. Simmons remained with the
Indians.
[Illustration: INDIAN WAR DANCE.]
“We came back on the north side of the Yellowstone, after one day’s
travel. We met an old squaw, who warned us not to cross the river. We
took up into the mountains and camped there until morning, fearful of
the Indians. We then saw thirty or forty of them looking for our trail.
We remained until night and then crossed to the south side of the
river. We came up pretty near to Shield’s river or Twenty-five-Yard
creek, where we crossed to the north. There we found the Indians
were ahead of us and had gone over the hills toward West Gallatin.
We came on over the pass where the city of Bozeman now lies, and saw
the Indians coming up the valley. We concealed ourselves in the brush
along the creek and exchanged shots with them. There was a parley. They
agreed that if we came out they would not harm us, but we wouldn’t
trust them. We waited until dark and then struck for the Madison
river, crossed it and went into the hills between the Gallatin and the
Madison. The following day we crossed the Madison river and came up
what is now known as the head of Wigwam gulch. We camped beside a lake
at the foot of Bald mountain. We killed an elk there, and remained
during the afternoon and over night to dry and smoke the meat.
“The day after we came down by the lake and over the bridge to Alder
gulch. That was on May 26, 1863, about 4 o’clock in the afternoon, and
the sun was shining brightly. Fairweather and I were to make camp and
stand guard. The other four proceeded up the gulch, to what is now
Highland, prospecting. About sundown Bill went across the creek to
picket the horses.
“‘There is a piece of bed rock projecting,’ said Bill, ‘and we had
better go over and see if we cannot get enough money to buy a little
tobacco.’ So Bill took the pick and shovel and I took the pan and we
crossed the creek. He dug the dirt up and shoveled it into the pan.
I went down to the creek to wash it. While I was washing the dirt he
scratched around in the bedrock with his butcher knife and picked out
a piece of gold and called: ‘I’ve found a scad.’ I had the pan about
half washed down and I replied: ‘If you have one I have a thousand.’
And so I had. That first pan weighed about $2.30. We washed three pans
before dark and the three aggregated twelve dollars and some cents.
As we finished, the other four returned tired and hostile because we
hadn’t taken care of the horses. They had only found a color. I showed
Sweeney what we had and asked him what he thought of the pan. ‘Salted,
by G--d,’ exclaimed Sweeney. ‘You know well enough if you pike me down
and run me through a sluice you couldn’t get a color,’ said I. Then all
were in good humor. We had dried elk meat for supper.
“The next morning, as soon as daylight, we were all out. Sweeney’s
first pan weighed five dollars. Hughes and Cover went up the gulch.
Fairweather, Rogers, Sweeney and I went down. We staked two claims
apiece, two hundred feet to the man, all connecting. We took fifty feet
adjoining the claims on each side of the creek.
“We obtained about $180 that day altogether. We were tired and hungry
and all out of provisions. As we panned the last gold we saw five
antelope on the hill. Bill said to me: ‘Old man, if you ever looked
straight for your supper, look straight now.’
“He went around one way and I went up the hill the other side, and
each of us secured an antelope. We had neither coffee nor bread. Our
supper consisted of antelope straight and visions of gold. We spent the
next morning measuring the ground and staking it off. I wrote out the
notices. The first I wrote was for Barney Hughes.
“‘What shall we call the gulch?’ I asked. ‘You name it,’ he said. So I
called it Alder Gulch on account of the heavy clump of alders along the
banks of the creek.”
Mr. Edgar was born in Dumfries, Scotland. He came to the United States
when eighteen years of age. In 1850 he was in the Michigan lumber
region; in 1857 he lived at Fergus Falls; in 1858 he was at Fort
Geary, in the British possessions; in the fall of 1862 he was mining in
Bannock and the following spring joined the party that discovered Alder
gulch. Mr. Edgar is now past seventy-four years of age, and lives with
his wife in a cozy mountain home near Plains, in Missoula county, in
this state.
ROBERT VAUGHN.
Sept. 25, 1899.
THE JAMES STUART PROSPECTING PARTY.
This expedition had the most desperate experience of any party of
men in the Rocky mountains. They were chased by hostile Indians for
hundreds of miles, endured untold privations, perils and hunger, some
being killed; and during all this time they were in an unexplored
region where assistance could not be obtained.
The first part of the history of this expedition has been given in the
foregoing letter. The day the Fairweather party discovered Alder gulch
the James Stuart party was being chased by Indians. The following are
extracts from Captain Stuart’s diary, which he kept on that eventful
prospecting trip in the “Yellowstone Country” in the spring of 1863.
“April 28, 1863.--We have traveled twenty miles today. About an hour
before sundown, while lying around camp resting from the fatigues of
the day, we were startled by hearing several guns fired from a clump
of cottonwoods across the river, and immediately afterwards we saw
about thirty Indians fording across. They came on a run, vociferating
‘How-dye-do,’ and ‘Up-sar-o-ka,’ which latter means ‘Crow Indians,’
in their language. By the time they were fairly in camp we had our
horses all tied up, and every man prepared for emergencies. They first
inquired who was our captain. I told them, and asked which was their
captain. They showed me three, one big and two little ones. The large
chief told me to have my men put all our things in the tents, and keep
a sharp lookout or we would lose them. I then gave him a small piece
of tobacco to have a grand smoke, and I also found that one of them, a
very large man with a big belly, could talk the Snake Indian language,
and he was at once installed as interpreter. They (the interpreter and
chiefs) sat down in a circle and requested the pleasure of my company.
I accepted the invitation, and our party soon stood guard over our
horses. Meanwhile the other Indians began disputing with each other
about who should have our best horses. I requested the chief to make
them come from among the horses and behave themselves, which he did.
At eight p. m. I put on double guard, and at ten p. m. all except the
guard retired to rest. The Indians wandered around camp all night,
like evil spirits; and such an odd night’s sleep as we had! Every
few minutes somebody would have to rush out of his tent and capture
something which the Indians would steal from under the tents, in spite
of the guard, and this, too, when it was bright moonlight. At daylight
I aroused the party, and we proceeded to ascertain our losses; each had
lost something. As soon as we began to pack up they at once proceeded
to forcibly trade horses, blankets, etc., and to appropriate everything
they wanted. I saw that the time had come to do or die; therefore I
ordered every man to be ready to open fire on them when I gave the
signal. With one handful of cartridges and my rifle in the other, I
told the Indians to mount their horses and go to their camp. They
weakened, mounted their horses and left. Two of the chiefs, however,
very politely requested to accompany us, which we refused, but they
came along. After the Indians fed on the fragments of the breakfast,
the chiefs and five others offered their robes, which we refused, I
saying to keep them until we met again. After breakfast they went back
and we traveled on down the river. After sundown we saw two Indians.
“April 29.--Started at sunrise accompanied by the two chiefs and six
others. One of them had a letter from Agent Schoonover of Fort Union,
which stated that the bearer was ‘Red Bear,’ one of the principal
chiefs of the Crow nation. We gave them some supper, etc. He then
presented me with a black horse; said he was all right; friend of ours,
etc. Had a long talk with him, in the course of which he asked about
old Jim Bridger, and also Peter Martin, desiring to know where they
were and why they never came to see the Crows. The other Crows had told
me that the Sioux had attacked the Fur Company’s express boat from Fort
Benton, near Fort Union, and some said they had taken it, and others
said they had killed some of the crew, but had not captured the boat.
I asked Red Bear if it was so, and he replied that a rumor to that
effect was current among the tribes, but he did not know whether it
was true or not. When we retired to rest I gave orders to the guards
not to kill, but take prisoners, any Indians which they might discover
prowling around after our horses, and sure enough, about eleven p. m.
they discovered one crawling up to two of our best horses that were
tied to the same tree. They watched and waited until they got dead
wood on him, and then captured him and called me up. I introduced him
to Red Bear as one of his good Indians, who, he had just been telling
me, would not annoy us any more, as he had told him not to, etc. He
said the man was crazy and had no ears, etc. The old story, anything to
excuse him. We had already had a practical illustration that stealing
or attempting to steal is far from being considered a crime by even
the best of them. We turned the thief loose, and early in the morning
they all started back, leaving us alone in our glory. Traveled eighteen
miles.
“April 30th.--Traveled all day down a valley between terraced table
lands and buttes; valley about eight miles wide; snowy range to the
west about eighty miles distant; no other snowy mountains in sight;
low, open country around base of mountains. Camped three miles below
the mouth of a large stream coming in on the south side; suppose it
to be Clark’s Fork. I accepted Red Bear’s black horse last night and
presented him my white mare in return. I thought at the time I had a
little the best of it, but I found, during the day’s travel, that I was
mistaken. We are so far away from any high mountains that all the party
feel discouraged and lonesome. Give me the mountains in preference to
plains, where one can see more level ground than he can ride over in a
day. The ground is literally covered with young crickets. Between them
and the grasshoppers I am afraid the grass will soon be used up. Course
of river, six degrees north of east. Traveled fifteen miles.
“Friday, May 1, 1863.--About one o’clock last night Bostwick had his
roan horse stolen while he and Greery were on guard. It was taken
by two Indians, one of whom showed himself, but not plain enough to
shoot at; while the guards were both watching to get a shot at him,
his companion crawled into the other end of the camp and cut the horse
loose and got away with him without attracting their attention; and
this, too, when the moon was nearly at the full and without a cloud.
Verily, the Crows are world-beaters, and words cannot do the subject
justice. Fortunately, Bostwick was on guard himself, so he cannot
charge anybody with carelessness. Course of river nearly northeast.”
The summary of the journal for the next eleven days is as follows:
May 2d they saw large herds of buffalo and elk. May 3d they camped a
few miles from Pompey’s Pillar. Arriving at this natural monument,
they found the names of Captain Clarke and two of his men cut in the
rock with the date, July 25, 1806. There were also two other names
inscribed--Derick and Vancourt--dated May 23, 1834. On May 6th five
men were detailed to cross the Big Horn river and survey a townsite
and ranches, and another party of four was sent out prospecting for
gold. On this day James Stuart and four others engraved their names
on a sandstone up the river. On the 7th the party went up the west
bank of the Big Horn, traveling eighteen miles that day. On the 8th
they traveled fifteen miles through a desolate country. On the 9th the
remains of an Indian were found buried up a tree. On the 11th a party
of three white men was observed a little ways across the river; they
would neither answer nor halt. It proved afterwards that this party
were J. M. Bozeman and John M. Jacobs and his daughter, eight years
old. They were on their way from the Three Forks of the Missouri river
to Red Butte, on the North Platte river, and were then selecting a
route for a wagon road, which was afterwards located and known as the
“Jacobs and Bozeman cut-off.” This party had been chased by a party
of Indians a few days before, and when they saw the Stuart party they
at once mistook them for Indians. But two days afterwards they met
about eighty mounted Indians. Knowing that they would be plundered of
everything they had, if not murdered, Jacobs dropped his rifle and
ammunition into a bunch of sage brush. Sure enough, the Indians did
capture and stripped them of nearly everything they had and many were
for killing them on the spot, but, after holding a kind of council,
they let them go after giving them three miserable ponies for all
their horses; most of their clothing and what provisions they had were
taken away from them. They started off slowly until the Indians were
out of sight, then returned and got Jacob’s gun and ammunition, but,
unfortunately, there were but five bullets. Soon these were exhausted,
and when they got through to North Platte they were in a famishing
condition.
Again Mr. Stuart says: “May 13, 1863.--Last night Smith and I had the
first watch, and about eleven o’clock the horses at my end were scared
at something, but it was very dark and I could not see anything. I
thought it might be a wolf prowling around the camp. A few minutes
before eleven o’clock I sat up and lit a match to see what time it
was, and also to light my pipe, but at once lay down again; we were
both lying flat on the ground trying to see what made the horses so
uneasy, and to this we owe our lives. Just then I heard Smith whisper
that there was something around his part of the horse herd and a few
seconds later the Crows fired a terrible volley into the camp. I was
lying between two of my horses and both were killed and nearly fell on
me. Four horses were killed and five more wounded, while in the tents
two men were mortally, two badly, and three slightly wounded. Smith
shouted, ‘Oh, you scoundrels!’ and fired both barrels of his shotgun,
but, as far as we could tell next morning, without effect; he most
probably fired too high. I could not fire, for the horses were in the
way. I shouted for someone to tear down the tents to prevent their
affording a mark for the murderous Indians a second time. York rushed
out and tore them down in an instant. I then ordered all who were able
to take arms and crawl out from the tents a little way and lie flat on
the ground, and thus we lay until morning, expecting another attack
each instant and determined to sell our lives as dearly as possible.
When, at last, day dawned we could see a few Indians among the rocks
and pines on a hill some five or six hundred yards away watching to see
the result of their bloody work.
“An examination of the wounded presented a dreadful sight. C. D.
Watkins was shot in the right temple, and the ball came out at the
left cheek bone; the poor fellow was still breathing, but insensible.
E. Bostwick was shot in five different places--once in the back of the
shoulder, shattering the shoulder blade, but the ball did not come out
in front; three balls passed through the right thigh, all shattering
the bone, and one ball passed through the left thigh, which did not
break the bone; he was sensible, but suffering terrible agony. H.
A. Bell was shot twice--one ball entered at the lowest rib on the
left side and lodged just under the skin on the right side; the other
entered near the kidneys on the left side and came out near the thigh
joint. D. Underwood was shot once, but the ball made six holes; it
first passed through the left arm above the elbow, just missing the
bone, and then passed through both breasts, which were large and full,
just grazing the breast bone. H. T. Greery was wounded in the left
shoulder blade with an arrow, but not dangerously hurt. George Ives was
shot in the hip with a ball--a flesh wound; S. T. Hauser in the left
breast with a ball, which passed through a thick memorandum book in his
shirt pocket and lodged against a rib over his heart, the book saving
his life. Several others had one or more ball holes through their
clothes.”
Mr. Stuart continued his diary until they arrived at Bannock on June
22, 1863.
As the “Standard” man always camps on the trail of the pioneers, again,
November 5, 1899, he met John Vanderbilt, who was with the James Stuart
expedition of which I have spoke. During his conversation with the
“Standard” reporter, Mr. Vanderbilt consented to give an account of
that historical event. He said:
“We left Bannock on April 9, 1863. Our principal object was to explore
the Wind, Big Horn, and the Stinking rivers. We got down among the
Crows on the Yellowstone, when our troubles began. As we went into
camp they tried to rob us of this thing and that, whatever happened to
strike their fancy. We had a parley, but it did no good. They became
so desperate that we had to show we were ready for action. There were
probably thirty or forty Indians in the party, but they all gave in
after we showed fight. That was in the latter part of April. They put
down their bows and arrows and retreated. We immediately packed our
camp and moved on. They followed along some distance behind. It was
this band of Indians who turned back the Edgar and Fairweather party,
which was just one day behind us.
“After that trouble we followed on down the Yellowstone, keeping guard
at night. We frequently saw signs of the Indians, but had no more
trouble for a few days. We camped seven days at the mouth of the Big
Horn and laid out a townsite which we called Big Horn City. It still
bears that name. We merely took a survey and platted the town, but took
up no land. On May 3d we camped at Pompey’s Pillar, where we were much
interested in reading the inscription bearing the names of Captain
Clarke and two men, and the date, July 25, 1806.
“Then we started up the east side of the Big Horn river, crossed the
Little Horn and went further up as far as the canyon. That was probably
seventy-five miles from the mouth. On that night--the night of May 12th
to 13th--took place our great fight with the Indians.
“It was just about midnight when the Indians attacked us. Stuart and
Smith were on guard. They didn’t hear the Indians until they began
firing on us. They first fired one or two shots and then a volley.
Bostwick was the first one wounded. Then Watkins was shot through the
head. Bell was shot in the side. A ball went through Underwood’s arm
and into his breast. Another ball struck a memorandum book in Sam
Hauser’s pocket and glanced onto a rib, saving his life.
“After this attack the Indians withdrew. Stuart told us, however, to
lay low, as it is a common custom with Indians to attack again just
before daylight. Some of our men were groaning, and in the darkness we
could not tell the full extent of our casualties, nor could we tell at
what moment the attack might be renewed. It was, indeed, a terrible
night.
“Morning came without any further attack. Watkins died just about
daylight. We found that three or four of our horses had been killed.
Bostwick was badly wounded in the side. Bell was also severely injured.
We held a consultation. To remain meant the certain extermination of
the entire party. Yet we were reluctant to leave the wounded behind,
and it was impossible to take them along. Sometime before we had all
agreed that, in case we had a battle, each man would reserve one bullet
for himself, so that he could not be captured and tortured. It was also
agreed at that time if any were wounded he would not permit the others
to remain behind to help him, but would end his own existence. It was,
however, decided that if a man’s wound was not mortal the others were
to stay with him. It was decided that Captain Stuart should be sole
judge as to whether a man’s wound was mortal or not.
“That being the previous agreement, it was decided to wait until noon
to see how serious the wounds of Bostwick and Bell might be. It was
not considered possible to delay longer and save any of the party.
All the forenoon the Indians were in sight on the side of the canyon.
Stuart approached them and challenged them to come out and fight, but
they made no response. As noon approached Bostwick asked us to go on
and leave him, as he could not live long. We did not want to leave him
while life was left in his body. He then asked Greery for a revolver,
and at the last moment it was given him. He put the revolver up to his
head and killed himself.
“We started at noon, leaving all our camp except provisions, for eight
days. Bell said he couldn’t travel and didn’t want to kill himself,
so we left him on the ground. We got about a quarter of a mile away,
going toward the east, when we saw Bell motioning us to wait. We went
back, put him on a horse, and he kept along with us. He got through all
right.
“That same evening Greery accidentally shot himself with his rifle. We
made the practice of laying our guns in the same place. His rifle, as
he picked it up, became entangled in the sage brush, exploded and shot
him. After fifteen or twenty minutes he begged us to kill him, as he
said that he was suffering intensely and could not live. We refused,
however. Finally, when it was necessary for us to go on, we let him
have his revolver. He asked Stuart where the surest place for him to
shoot himself was situated, and Stuart told him in the ear. All bade
him good bye. I was the last to see him alive. I pleaded with him not
to, but he said he couldn’t live long anyway. I stood on a little
raise. He was behind it. He was very weak. He pulled the trigger, but
it didn’t go off. Then he pulled a second time and killed himself. We
dug a hole in the ground and buried him in his blanket. The Indians
were constantly in sight during this time.
“We then packed up and continued that long and terrible journey. We
traveled nights and rested part of the day. In that way the Indians
following our tracks would almost overtake us, but we would get ahead
again during the night. We suffered hardships that can never be told.
We took only eight days’ provisions along after the battle, and that
was soon consumed. One night we had nothing to eat. Then Stuart killed
an antelope. The next day we had nothing but a fawn two or three days
old, which made us all sick. After that we had plenty of buffalo meat,
and for eight or ten days we had nothing else, and only alkali water
to drink. For a long distance we traveled through snow two or three
feet deep and would sometimes sink down into pools of ice water. While
crossing the Big Horn range we were wet nearly all the time. We hadn’t
been able to buy boots or shoes at Bannock and had nothing on our feet
except moccasins. Crossing the Big Horn mountains we were guided by the
stars, changing our course a good deal.
“We struck the Wind river above the canyon and followed it up, going
in a southerly direction. Bell complained of pain all the time, so we
could only go at a walk. When we crossed the divide we saw emigrant
wagons on the road twelve miles away. Hauser felt so overjoyed he tied
his handkerchief to a stick and hurrahed. Then we traveled rapidly
along towards the road, which we soon reached. The emigrants thought we
were Indians; we were so black and dirty, and they came out to fight
us. We soon convinced them that we were all right. They let us have
flour, potatoes and everything we wanted. They didn’t want to charge
us, but we had plenty of money and so paid them for what we obtained.
We went on to Pacific Springs, on the California road, by the Snake
river to Bannock, which we reached sometime in June. We left Bell at
a soldiers’ station, where the bullet was extracted, and he remained
until he had recovered.”
Mr. Vanderbilt has made his home for several years past in New York
state, but recently he returned to this state, where he has met many of
his old-time friends. He says that the changes made in the “Rockies”
by “Then and Now” are great, but that the old mountains that he used
to climb in search of gold are the same; and that the high peaks that
reached to welcome him back to his old camping ground are the same
“now” as they were “then,” otherwise he would have thought that he was
still in the East.
ROBERT VAUGHN.
Nov. 14, 1899.
FROM ALDER GULCH TO LAST CHANCE.
Having remained in Alder gulch all summer working in the mines for Boon
and Vivian at ten dollars per day in gold dust, in December, 1864,
four of us made a bargain with a man who had two small Mexican mules
and an old spring wagon, to take us and our baggage to the new gold
mines called Last Chance (now Helena). It was understood that we were
to walk, and help the mules (or “Jerusalem ponies,” as one of the boys
called them) up the hills. The little animals were not over thirteen
hands high, and would weigh about 400 pounds each. We came down the
Prickly Pear creek, where now the Montana Central railway is. “Then”
there was no town of Clancy, nor a quartz mill nor a smelter on the
creek; not a sound could be heard there, except that of the pick of the
prospector on the mountains, hunting for gold. We kept on the trail
until we got to the new Eldorado, where several hundred miners were
at work; many were taking out gold in great quantities, others were
prospecting their claims.
Before going any further we will stop a minute and listen to “Now”
telling a short story in connection to the creek referred to. “A few
days ago I was invited to go to the roundhouse at this place to see two
new locomotives which had just arrived from the East. They were the
largest in weight and dimensions ever built in any country up to that
time, each weighing one hundred and fifty-four tons. Mr. Bruce, the
master mechanic at the railway shops, informed me that they were to run
on the Montana Central railway from Clancy, on Prickly Pear creek, and
over the Rocky Mountain divide. Although this is one of the heaviest
pulls in the country, the big engines each are to draw six hundred and
seventy tons. Several hundred passengers are drawn over this divide
every twenty-four hours, besides about seven thousand tons of freight,
principally coal from Cascade county to Butte and Anaconda, and copper
ore from the Butte mines to the copper smelters and refiners at the
falls of the Missouri river, near Great Falls, and lead and silver ores
to the East Helena smelter.
When looking at those two great locomotives I could not avoid thinking
of the contrast between them and the two Mexican mules, and of the
motive power on the old trail, and the motive power on the new. The
little mules were thirteen hands high and drew one thousand pounds;
each of the big locomotives is fifteen feet, or forty-five hands, high,
and draws six hundred and seventy tons. It is to me like a dream to
think of the great changes that have taken place since that time.
Then Helena was but a mining camp, consisting of but a few log cabins.
There is where I helped to run a drain ditch, commencing at Discovery
Claim, near where now stands the Montana Club building. We reached
bed rock in the upper end of the city. Among the gravel in this drain
ditch, about forty-five feet from the surface and near where the
Helena fire department building is, a mastodon tooth was found; it
was a grinder, three inches on top, six inches deep and eight inches
lengthwise; it was as perfect as it was when it came from the monster’s
mouth, when this northern country was a tropical region. In another
claim a tusk was found like that of an elephant. Many other remains of
animals have been found in mines and rock formations in the Rockies,
showing that the Rocky mountain region has, at one time, been the home
of animals that are not now in existence, at least not in the western
hemisphere. It is estimated that thirty millions of dollars have been
taken out of Last Chance gulch and its tributaries, and most of it from
where the streets of Helena now are.
[Illustration: From Painting by C. M. Russell.
A PRAIRIE SCHOONER CROSSING THE PLAINS.]
Miners’ wages were then ten dollars per day; common laborers seven
dollars. During the winter of 1865 eatables of all kinds were very
dear, except meat, for game was plentiful; flour sold for one hundred
and twenty-five dollars per one hundred pounds. “Then” my friend
Charley Cannon was an humble baker, and was selling dried apple pies
that were not sweetened, with crusts as thin as a wafer, for one dollar
a piece. “Now” he is an honored and respected citizen and one of the
wealthiest men in the state. “Now” Helena is a city of twelve thousand
inhabitants and the capital of the state. The capitol building is in
course of construction, and, when completed, will be one of the finest
in the West. Where the log cabins stood, handsome business blocks and
pleasant homes are everywhere visible.
Besides the Montana Central, which runs north and south and through
Helena, the transcontinental line of the Northern Pacific connects the
Atlantic and Pacific by extending east and west. Their freight and
passenger depots are located on the old mining claims, where husky
miners, in their overalls and flannel shirts, swung the picks and
tossed the shovels with their brawny arms and contributed thousands of
dollars to the world’s treasury. Today railroad conductors and other
officials are skipping over the same ground in broad cloth, with pen
and pencil behind ears that are braced up by high collars attached to
boiled shirts.
And so it goes--the miner, the mechanic, the herdsman and plowman, the
conductor, the railroad official and the man with the pencil, yes, the
tie ballaster and the newsboy, all are linked in the endless chain of
Western progress. And now a commerce is created which brings a revenue
to our government amounting to millions of dollars annually, besides
many millions more to the laborers and those who furnished the money
to carry on these industries and enterprises that are continually
developing and adding to the wealth of the nation.
Thus the wheel of progress has moved forward with tremendous speed
since my first arrival in Helena in 1864 with the man who had the two
“Jerusalem ponies.”
[Illustration: A SCENE IN THE CITY OF HELENA.]
From Helena I went to Nelson gulch, where there were some very good
diggings. The richest was that owned by the Maxwell & Rollins company,
near the head of the gulch. In July, 1865, this company had a crew of
ten men running a set of sluice boxes in very rich gravel. The man who
used the fork to throw the stones which were too heavy for the water to
carry out of the boxes, noticed that one small stone that he cast away
was very heavy for its size. Wishing to know what kind of a stone it
was, he went to the pile and examined it. To his astonishment it was
a nugget of gold worth two thousand and seventy-three dollars. All
hands quit work to see the big nugget, and the men on the adjoining
claims came also to view it. Finally three cheers were given, and
repeated several times until the echo went up and down the canyon. I
was about a quarter of a mile down the creek at the time. Hearing the
yelling, many thought that a serious accident had occurred. Soon the
men came down the gulch with the big nugget suspended from the center
of a pole, with the crowd following, and, as they marched down the
gulch, everybody joined the mob: and when they reached the town which
was near the lower end of the gulch where there were two stores and as
many saloons, besides several miners’ cabins, the crowd numbered three
hundred or more. From two to three hundred dollars was spent by the
Maxwell & Rollins company in treating the boys. The nugget was pure
gold with no quartz. It was the shape of a hand with the thumb turned
under. In 1877 another nugget worth one thousand and fifty dollars
was found in the same gulch by Mr. Rogers. The gold of the Nelson and
Highland gulches is the purest of any ever found in Montana.
The largest nugget was found in Snow Shoe gulch in 1865, which weighed
one hundred and seventy-eight ounces and was worth three thousand two
hundred dollars; there was some quartz attached. This nugget was long
in shape, more like a foot than a hand. Snow Shoe gulch is located on
top of the main range of the rockies, and near the Mullen tunnel on the
Northern Pacific railway.
Deitrick and Brother found a nugget on their claim in Rocker gulch in
1867 worth eighteen hundred dollars. Many other large nuggets were
found in different gulches, but these were the largest. The placer gold
varies in size from microscopic powder to the monster slugs spoken of,
and in quality from 600 to 990 in fineness.
Several hundred bars and gulches were in operation in the years
1865-1866, and were producing thousands of dollars daily. Those mines
extended through a region one hundred and twenty-five miles square.
The greatest producer of all was Alder gulch, with thirteen miles of
pay ground. It is estimated that from seventy to eighty-five million
dollars have been taken out of this gulch. Last Chance ranks next.
Many other gulches were as rich, but not so extensive. It is safe to
say that Confederate gulch produced more gold from the same number of
square yards and in less time than any other placer mine ever found in
the state. In the summer of 1866 a party of men took out of this gulch
two and one half tons of gold worth one and one half million dollars.
Early in the fall of the same year it was hauled by a four-mule team,
escorted by fourteen armed men, to Fort Benton for transportation down
the Missouri river. Mr. Lindiman and Mr. Hieediman, the two men who
were the owners of most of the gold, accompanied the outfit.
ROBERT VAUGHN.
Dec. 18, 1898.
FROM THE MINES TO THE FARM.
I remained in Nelson gulch over three years; during this time I did
some mining, afterwards kept a meat market.
I had not the least idea of establishing a home in Montana, and,
in truth, the field was not, just then, an inviting one for the
homeseeker. All of us then were seeking gold and nothing else. Nearly
everyone had made up his mind as to the specific amount he wanted,
after which he was ready to return to the states to enjoy the same.
Many made fortunes and carried out precisely this programme, but others
were not so successful--among the latter myself. I was not ready to
return at the end of the first or second year. I observed, with others,
that our ponies and work cattle fattened readily on weathered bunch
grass, and would live on this provender through the winter without
care or shelter; that the meat of the deer, elk and buffalo was in
prime condition, even in the dead of winter; and that experiments on a
small scale in growing vegetables and grain in the valleys were very
successful, and that the climate of the country gave health and vigor
to both man and beast. In view of these observations, I concluded that
Montana was a good enough country for me to live in.
In the fall of 1869 I came to the Sun river valley and located a ranch
on the north side of the river, nine miles down the valley from Sun
River Crossing, and near the Leaving Stage Station (now Sunnyside), on
the Helena and Benton road. I remember well when I made the entry in
the land office at Helena, that the register said to me: “Well, Vaughn,
this is the first entry made in Choteau county.”
A few weeks later Colonel Baker made a raid on the Indians on the
Marias river. During the years 1867, 1868 and 1869 the Blackfeet and
Piegan Indians caused a great deal of trouble by attacking freighters,
killing settlers and stealing their horses. These outrages became so
frequent that the war department finally decided that those bands of
bloodthirsty Indians must be taught a severe lesson.
General Sheridan was in command of the military division of the
Missouri, which embraced Montana. Direct telegraph communication
existed between General Sheridan’s office and Fort Shaw. In December,
1869, all the minutiae of the campaign were worked out at the division
headquarters, and the necessary details sent to the commanding officer
at Fort Shaw. Cavalry from Fort Ellis and infantry from Fort Shaw were
detailed for the expedition, and the forces were under the command of
Colonel Baker of the Second cavalry, with Joe Kipp, Henry Martin and
Joe Cobel as guides. Every effort was made to keep the destination of
the troops secret. It was late at night when they marched to the point
where the guides intended to take them. On account of frost in the air
and a few inches of snow on the ground they had some difficulty in
keeping the right course. Finally the command arrived at the bluffs
overlooking the Marias river; the tepees of the enemy were hardly
observable, but the scouts had located the Indian villages, and, before
daylight, they were completely surrounded by the soldiers. At an early
hour the firing commenced and before the bugle called a halt nearly
two hundred Indians had joined their ancestors in their happy hunting
grounds. Two soldiers were killed in this terrible battle. When the
news reached the stations along the Helena and Benton road, there were
a few who became alarmed for fear that retaliation would be made by
the Indians. But they did not retaliate; the battle was the best thing
that ever happened to Northern Montana at that time. For several years
afterwards the Indians were very shy, although some roving war parties
of different tribes would cross the country and kill people and steal
horses and cattle.
William Sparks and myself were only farmers in Northern Montana for
several years, although some farming had been done in Sun River valley
as early as 1858, by my namesake, Colonel Vaughn, who built the first
agency for the Blackfeet Indians, which was located on the north side
of the Sun river, about one-half mile above the crossing, and was
known as the “Government Farm.” Here is where Colonel Vaughn, as an
experiment in behalf of the government, cultivated a number of acres
of land, several acres of which were sowed in wheat. It proved to be a
grand success. The colonel estimated that the wheat crop would average
seventy-five bushels to the acre, and so reported to the department at
Washington. A story is told on the colonel that, in addition to his
agricultural report, he also reported that the beavers were so numerous
that the wheat crop was in danger of being destroyed by them, and to
send him immediately five hundred beaver traps. The traps were sent
at once by the fastest express then in existence, and arrived at the
“Government Farm” after the wheat was threshed and put in the granary.
The traps were used during the following winter by trappers, as they
were intended in the first place. It was a good joke on the officials
at Washington, for who ever heard of a beaver eating wheat.
In 1861 Mr. Sam Ford settled and located two miles above where now
stands Fort Shaw. In 1862, also, the following named people were living
on the government farm: J. H. Vail and family, a sister of Mrs. Vail’s,
Miss O’Brien (who, in 1863, married Henry Plummer, the only sheriff
then in what is now Montana; but he was a traitor, for at the same
time he was the leader of a gang of desperadoes, although unknown to
the young lady).
The following is from a letter written by Judge F. M. Thompson of the
probate court for Franklin county, Massachusetts, to a friend in this
city:
“It would give me great pleasure to visit your city, the site of which
I first saw June 5, 1863, under somewhat interesting circumstances. I
was at that time stopping with my friends, Mr. and Mrs. Vail, at the
‘government farm’ on Sun river, awaiting the arrival at Fort Benton
of the St. Louis steamers. Besides us at the farm were Joseph Swift,
who had wintered there, my partner, Mr. C. E. Wheeler, Henry Plummer,
Miss Electa O’Brien, two Vail children, and a hunter-herdsman. I quote
from my diary: ‘June 5, 1863.--About 3 p. m., with Mr. and Mrs. Vail,
Miss O’Brien and the two children in the government ambulance, and the
remainder of the party on horseback, we left the stockade in charge of
the hunter and started for the ‘Great Falls’ of the Missouri river.
The Indians are very saucy and are cleaning out small parties of the
whites, whom they can intimidate and steal from. We feel somewhat the
risk we run in taking the women and children on the trip. Near sundown
we had a scare, as Plummer, Wheeler and Swift in advance climbed the
top of a knoll and suddenly stopping made signs of Indians, but,
fortunately, the moving figures proved to be antelopes. Arriving at the
lower falls after dark, we camped in a ravine, so that the light of our
campfire might not be seen by the Indians. The next forenoon was spent
in fishing and viewing the falls and building a large stone cairn, in
which we deposited a paper claiming that the ladies of our party were
the first to view the falls. (In this I think we were mistaken, as
probably Mrs. La Barge and a friend visited the falls in the summer of
1862.) After dinner we started upon our return to the Fort, and, coming
within sight of the farm, we found that the bottom was covered with a
large number of Indian ponies grazing, under the charge of a guard.
Recognizing them as Spokanes, and friendly, we found a large party of
their warriors visiting the farm. Finding that only one man was in
possession, and he having locked the gates, they parleyed with him at
the front, while some young bucks scaled the walls in the rear and took
possession of the premises, compelling the hunter to cook from the
stores of the station dinner for the whole crowd.
After a full discussion of the situation, by aid of the little
‘Chinook’ I had picked up, and a vigorous exhibition of sign language
on our part, we finally persuaded the chief that it was best for him to
‘clatawaw,’ which he did much to our relief. (Clatawaw means go away.)
On the 20th of June, 1863, at Sun river, Henry Plummer and Miss Electa
O’Brien were married by Rev. Father Minatre of the mission of St.
Peter, Mr. Swift acting as best man, and, for the only time in my life,
I acted as “bridesmaid.” The happy couple immediately left the farm
in the government ambulance, to which were attached four green Indian
ponies.
A few months later Henry Plummer had ended his career upon the gallows
at Bannock.”
There was no farming done by those settlers except gardening on a
small scale. In 1867 John Largent bought a cabin from a trader named
Goff, and built another one near where now stands his fine residence.
The same year Joe Healy built a cabin where now is H. B. Strong’s
residence. Those two men were the first settlers of the town of Sun
River.
In 1872 Ed Dennis, Hod Maine, James Strong and Charley Femeston farmed
in Sun river valley. John Largent had then a store and blacksmith shop
at Sun River Crossing; J. J. Healy and Al Hamilton kept a trading post
on the north bank of the river, near the bridge. They had a large
trade with the Indians.
In 1871 R. S. Ford and Thomas Dunn brought the first range cattle to
the Sun River country, and, for that matter, to Northern Montana.
They had 1,100 head. The following year O. H. and D. H. Churchill
brought eight hundred head. These cattle were turned out on the range
north of Sun River, between the Leaving and the falls of the Missouri
river. The following winter thousands of buffaloes came from the north
and we had to cross all domestic stock to the south side of the Sun
river, and herd them, to some extent, to keep the buffaloes away. A
few years later two brothers named Rock settled near the mouth of the
Sun river and were engaged in chopping wood. Near where now stands
the Montana Brewery plant was an empty cabin which had been built by
hunters (the same cabin, which is made of logs, has been removed and
now stands half a mile southwest of its first location, and is the
property of the Great Northern Railway company). One morning, as one
of the brothers was going to his work, twelve Indians, who had been
secreted in the old cabin, rushed out and murdered him. The other
brother was on the opposite side of the river, the present site of the
city of Great Falls, and saw the Indians perpetrate this cold-blooded
murder, but could render no assistance. After shooting him, they all
made a rush to see which one would get there first to secure his scalp.
Just then the brother, who was across the river, fired several shots.
This scared the Indians and they fled before reaching their victim,
who was killed instantly by eleven bullets, ten through the body and
one in the head. “Scalping” is a cruel practice that these savages
commit after capturing an enemy. They take off the crown of the head;
sometimes they do this first and the killing afterwards. They preserve
the scalp, and the one who has the greatest number to his credit is
considered the bravest and is promoted in his tribe, and often obtains
the chief’s daughter in marriage. It was not long after the killing
of Rock that an Indian, while in the act of skinning a young domestic
cow, was shot by one of the settlers. At this point on the Missouri
river, where now stands the railroad bridge, there was a good ford.
Here the Flatheads, Pend d’Oreilles, Nez Perces, Bloods, Piegans and
Black feet crossed to get to the Judith and the Musselshell country en
route to their winter hunting grounds; returning in the spring laden
with dried meats, buffalo robes and pemmican. It was also a lurking
place for the Blackfeet warriors when on their way to steal horses from
the Crows. In returning the Crows would follow them up and commit all
sorts of depredations upon the settlers along the line of their forays.
As the buffaloes were getting scarce and more cattle were being put
on the range the Indians became more troublesome by killing cattle.
Once, as a party of Sun River settlers were crossing the country, they
met eight young warriors on foot and among the cattle. They were on a
horse-stealing expedition and well equipped with lariats and guns. The
settlers, all well armed and mounted, made a swoop on the Indians and
rounded them up. They took their arms and marched them out about five
miles on the prairie towards the agency; then they gave back their
guns and released them, telling them to make quick tracks for the
reservation. As the Indians expected to be shot, they lost no time in
getting away. This put a quietus on their cattle killing, and from that
time they became more peaceable.
As more mines were discovered and operated, the population of the
territory rapidly increased. The traffic on the Helena and Benton road
was very great during the boating season on the upper Missouri, and
before there was a railroad nearer than Ogden, Utah, consequently more
settlers came into the valley. There were twelve locations between the
Sun River Crossing and The Leaving. We joined together and constructed
an irrigation ditch. We succeeded in growing a large crop of oats,
wheat and barley; as high as eighty to one hundred bushels to an acre
were raised by the writer and others. Also the largest and finest crops
of potatoes I ever saw were raised there.
Now the Sun river valley and its tributaries have developed into some
of the most extensive and wealthy settlements in the state. It has
several towns with populations ranging from one hundred to thirteen
thousand, having schools, churches, railroads, telegraph and telephone
lines, flouring mills, refineries and smelters, electric lights and
power and many public works.
The once hostile Indians have been subdued and are now on their
reservations cultivating the soil by following the plow, running the
mower and self-binder, raising horses, sheep and cattle, and are fast
becoming civilized. Fort Shaw military post has become an Indian
school. The parade ground, where the soldiers used to drill and prepare
for Indian wars, is now used for picnic grounds and for the young
Indian students to hold their Fourth of July celebrations.
ROBERT VAUGHN.
Jan. 29, 1898.
A LETTER TO MY LITTLE BABE.
_My Darling Little Babe_--Your mother died January 13, 1888, when you
were but thirteen days old. Today you are seven weeks old. Your tongue
and communicative powers are tied with the tie of infancy. You can’t
tell papa how dear mamma was loved and how sweet her last kiss was. You
can’t tell papa that mamma said, “Take good care of darling babe,” and
how she embraced you to her bosom and blessed you for the last time.
Neither can you comprehend papa telling you how happy papa and mamma
lived together. You are now sleeping in the cradle, and I am sitting
alone by your side thinking of your dear mother and how she loved you
before you were born, and the pleasure she had when making your little
clothes during the last four months, before she was confined to her bed.
But she has gone to that land where rivers flow over golden sands;
where pearls and many a gem deck the shores. Last night as I was
mourning over her and thinking of her loving companionship and her kind
words, a still voice came to me saying: “Tell our darling babe that we
lived happy.” This set me to thinking that I may have passed through
the “valley” before you will be old enough for me to tell you this
happy tale. But, by the grace of God, I comfort myself with the hope
that you and I will be companions to each other for many years to come,
and that I will have the pleasure of listening to you reading me this
letter which I am now writing. God bless you, sweet angel!
Your dear mother was born near Toronto, Canada, March 19, 1855. She
was the daughter of Matthew and Jane Donahue. We were married August
25, 1886, at the home of Uncle and Aunt Spencer (where also she made
her home), by Rev. J. H. Little. The same morning we left for Helena.
We arrived there next day. It was fair week. We remained five days
and met many friends. Here we had our photos taken and purchased our
household goods--the organ, sewing machine, etc. And this is the time
I had her ring made out of a nugget of gold I had taken from the mines
twenty years before. We came home happy and went to work and organized
our little home, and in about three weeks we had it--to us, a little
palace. And oh! such a welcome she always gave me when I came home!
What a heart she had! So large and pure, so kind and womanly! She
always kept everything so neat and nice. She made me love home and gave
me new thought--how very little happiness depends upon money. Often in
the still hour of the evening we would stroll away through the meadows,
sometimes down along the banks of Sun river, and carelessly hold each
other’s hands. She walked closely at my side, telling me some sweet
words and sometimes rhymes, and often we sang some favorite hymn. And
now it seems to me how beautiful those happy days were. They are like
dreams.
Your dear mother was always pleasant. I never left the house to be
away all day without her giving me a kiss before I left, and she never
failed to meet me at the door to give me a kiss and a welcome on my
return. We truly loved each other. No wedded couple ever lived happier.
Whatever I would do she always thought was done right, and whatever
she would do I could not improve. It was impossible. Anything in the
house, if it was moved from the place she had for it, I could preceive
it at once. Even a picture on the wall could not be moved anywhere else
to look as well as the place she already had selected for it. She was
a perfect mechanic. She was genial. She was gentle and polite in her
manners. A more faithful partner never lived. A more true, affectionate
wife and more loving mother never existed. Your dear mother was a
Christian. She lived and died as such. The first time we met in our
little chamber to go to rest for the first night together, your dear
mother knelt by the bedside and prayed to God to give us grace and
bless us as we started on the voyage of life together. She asked Him to
give us grace to live a happy life, to live so we could die happy. And
many, many times I have thought of her prayers during our happy life,
and of her sweet words, “Tell the folks I die happy.” From that time
until she went to her final rest she always prayed before she retired
at night. Also in the morning she kneeled before the Throne of Grace
and thanked the Lord for his loving kindness. She always had her bible
on the dresser or on the table in our bed room and perused it with
care. She said one day: “If we can’t attend church regularly in this
country, we can be good by prayer to God and read our bible regularly.”
And her motto, in her own handiwork, is now over our bed-room door,
chosen by herself years ago. It is this:
* * * * * * * * * * * * * *
* Simply *
* To Thy Cross I Cling. *
* * * * * * * * * * * * * *
She illustrated on her death bed how this beautiful motto was engraved
on her heart, for among her last sayings was: “Blessed be the Saviour
who died on the cross, and I cling to that cross.” Oh, what a treasure
she was! Our short life together was but a holiday, and a happy one.
And here now, I ask you, my dear babe, let your creed be the bible and
your example your dear mother. If your father is not with you, ask
some one to teach you to pray when you are young, for He said: “I love
them that love me, and they that seek me early shall find me.” “The
same God who moulded the sun and kindled the stars watches the flight
of an insect. He who balances the clouds and hung the worlds upon
nothing notices the fall of a sparrow. He who gives Saturn his rings
and placed the moon like a ball of silver in the broad arch of the
heaven, who gives the rose leaf its delicate tint and makes the distant
sun to nourish the violet, the same being notices the praises of the
cherubim and the prayers of a little child.”
It is He who is the father of the orphan; He whom your dear mother
placed her trust in and who comforted her through life and death.
The following is her testimony on her death bed of a happy life ending
in a happy death. She said to your sorrowful father: “My dear, do
not let this worry you. Trust in the Lord and he will support you. I
have trusted in Christ through all my life; now I trust in Him and He
comforts me, for the Lord doeth all things well. I am ready to meet
Him. I am ready to die. Take good care of our darling babe and tell
her that we lived happy. God bless the little angel. It seems hard to
us that we must part after living but a little while together, but it
is God’s will; it is well. Do not be sad! be happy. The ring you made
for me in Helena I will take to the grave with me. Call my loved ones
to my side and let me kiss them and bid them good bye. Tell the folks
I die happy. Blessed be the Saviour who died on the cross. Oh Lord!
I am ready--take me, Oh Lord! Take me at midnight or in the dawning
of the morning. Dear Lord, take me. Let me go home in peace. The
valley is lighter. I see the great white throne. I want to go home.”
She frequently said: “I want to go home” or “Take me home,” during
her last hours on earth. Thus your dear mother passed away in peace,
prepared to meet the God in whom she had placed her trust. I imagined
hearing the soft wings of the angels fluttering in the room when they
came to take her home and their soft whisperings saying: “She is dying
happy. She is clinging to the cross;” then a voice: “Open the gates of
heaven; she is coming home.” Her remains are sheltered safe from sorrow
in the cemetery at Great Falls. Dear is the spot where she sleeps.
“Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear
no evil, for Thou art with me.”
Now, my dear little daughter, I am about to close this
joy-mingled-with-grief letter, hoping that you and I will be loving
companions to each other to scatter flowers over your dear mother’s
grave for many decoration days to come.
Remember dear mother’s words, her Saviour’s cause extend--
Live pure and holy here, as through life’s way you wend--
And when the journey is over and you come to the valley,
May her words be your words: “Tell the folks I die happy.”
The grace of our Lord Jesus Christ be with you. May He be your guide.
Put your trust in Him. And that He will comfort you in life and in
death is the prayer of your affectionate father,
ROBERT VAUGHN.
P. S.--This letter and your mother’s jewels, which she willed to you, I
will deposit in the First National Bank of Great Falls for safe keeping
for you.
R. V.
Sun River, Mont., Feb. 18, 1888.
FROM THE FARM TO THE CITY OF GREAT FALLS.
[Illustration: GREAT FALLS, MONTANA.]
In the year 1889, after meeting with my great loss in the death of my
wife, I sold my farm in the Sun river valley and came to Great Falls,
and built the “Arvon Block,” and the “Vaughn Building,” in which I now
live, in rooms fifteen and sixteen, with my dear little ten-year-old
daughter. Like the man who chased his shadow, I have chased myself from
place to place for the period of sixty-one years, and for the distance
of six thousand miles, and at last have caught up with myself. Now it
is in order to give a sketch of my first visit to this spot where I now
reside. It was in the winter of 1870, and it was rather a cold day,
when, mounted on my gray mustang and looking down from the summit of
the hill on the west side, where now stands the residence of Hon. T.
E. Collins, I first saw the beautiful landscape, the site of the city
of Great Falls. As I bent in my saddle to view the panorama before me,
I longed to be an artist, that I might portray it. It was a picture
that I shall never forget. On the south side of Sun river lay an Indian
village, two tepees were on the north side, and one on Indian hill. The
latter, I was afterwards told, sheltered a lookout who watched for the
approach of an enemy and to observe in what direction the buffalo herds
were moving. On Prospect Hill was a band of antelope, and through the
low divide, west of J. P. Lewis’, a herd of buffalo were slowly moving
in single file towards the river. In the grove some of these monarchs
were rubbing against the trees, and, I should judge, were enjoying
themselves immensely. Further east, on what is now Boston Heights,
several hundred more were feeding on the grasses of the bench lands.
While viewing the open plains, stretching on to where the Highwood
and Little Belt ranges rose, covered with the first fall of snow, the
winding rivers, the confluence of the Sun and the Missouri, following
the latter in its course until lost to view between high bluffs, I
forgot all save the scene before me, hearing only the roaring of the
waters as they rushed over the Missouri falls further down the river.
Just then I saw an Indian about half way between myself and the two
tepees; he was on foot and coming towards me. As I had not lost any
Indians, I put the spurs to my horse and headed for home. When I had
gone about a mile I looked back and saw the Indian standing where I had
been but a few minutes before. Today I once more looked down from the
summit of the same hill, but what a changed picture was spread before
me! The plains that were “then” dotted with buffaloes are “now” covered
with pleasant homes and imposing business blocks. Where was once an
Indian village, today the stock farm of Hon. Paris Gibson is located.
The two tepees are replaced by The American Brewing and Malting
company’s plant, and at the foot of Prospect Hill, where the antelopes
were, a water plant for a city of fifteen thousand inhabitants is
in full operation. On the commanding bluff, “then” occupied by the
lookout tepee, “now” the lofty smokestack of the Boston and Montana
copper smelter stands in bold relief against the blue background of
the sky, a landmark for hundreds of settlers for many miles around.
The Missouri river is spanned by several steel bridges which carriages
and locomotives cross at will. The buffalo trails have given place
to electric railways, and the grove, where these shaggy-looking
animals used to rub their coats, is now a beautiful park echoing with
children’s laughter. But the greatest change of all has been wrought at
the falls of the Missouri. Its mighty voice “then” paramount, “now”
has been overpowered and well nigh silenced by the humming of dynamos
and the sound of the great ore crushers as they labor on day and night,
the slaves of the white man’s civilization. A brief sketch of these
falls is proper at this time. The falls of the Missouri river were
first made known in 1805. Thomas Jefferson, the third president of
the United States, was a leading figure in the purchase of Louisiana,
which embraced the country west of the Mississippi from its mouth north
to the forty-ninth parallel at the Lake of the Woods. The forty-ninth
parallel constituted the northern boundary to the Rocky mountains; the
western line was the summit of the Rockies to the Arkansas river, to
the one-hundredth meridian, thence south to the Red river, thence down
that river to the ninety-fourth meridian, thence southerly along that
meridian to the Sabin river, thence down the Sabin river to the Gulf of
Mexico.
[Illustration: COPPER SMELTER AT GREAT FALLS, MONTANA.]
In 1803 Jefferson sent a message to congress, asking for an
appropriation of $2,500 for the exploration of the Missouri and
Columbia rivers. The result was that the amount was granted. Lewis and
Clark were chosen to take charge of the expedition.
The expedition spent the winter of 1803-1804 near the mouth of the
Missouri river. The Northwest was then a wilderness. The expedition
ascended the Missouri river to Fort Mandan north of Bismarck, where
they laid over during the winter of 1804-1805. Their means of transport
were several rowboats. July, 1805, they arrived at the falls of the
Missouri river, where they spent two weeks surveying and making a
portage. Lewis and Clark were the first white men who visited the falls
of the Missouri river, or at least they were the first to make its
existence known to the world.
The lower falls, known, as the Great Falls, is a perpendicular fall
of about ninety feet. The river at this point is estimated to contain
a volume of water about three times greater than that of the Ohio at
Pittsburg. This immense volume is here confined between rocky walls
on either side, from two hundred to five hundred feet in height and
about three hundred yards in width. Next to the right bank nearly
half the stream descends vertically with such terrific force as
to send continuous and always beautiful clouds of spray sometimes
two hundred feet or more in the air. The other side of the river
is precipitated over successive ledges of from ten to twenty feet,
forming a magnificent view some two hundred yards in breadth and ninety
feet in perpendicular elevation. A vast basin of surging, foaming
waters succeeds below, its deep green color and commotion betraying a
prodigious volume and depth.
[Illustration: From Painting by C. M. Russell.
LEWIS AND CLARK MEETING THE MANDAN INDIANS.]
Five miles above are the Crooked and Rainbow Falls, the latter fifty
feet in perpendicular descent. Here the entire river, one thousand two
hundred feet wide, hurls itself over an unbroken rocky rim, as regular
in its outline as a work of art, into a vast rock-bound amphitheater,
where when the sun is shining a rainbow spans the river from bank to
bank. This with the sprays, the roar and commotion of the water make a
fascinating scene. From this rainbow the falls received its name.
Another two miles up the stream is the Black Eagle Falls. Here the
entire river takes a vertical plunge of twenty-six feet. On an island,
and just below this falls, there formerly was a large cottonwood tree,
in the branches of which a black eagle had built its nest. It is from
this that the Black Eagle Falls received its name.
The river where these falls are located flows through a grand natural
canyon, where in its ceaseless flow, has cut a path for itself through
the rock of the plains, sometimes to a depth of five hundred and fifty
feet. The series of falls and cascades add a wild beauty to the scene.
In no place has there been found so great a water power. Within a
distance of ten miles, including falls and cataracts, there is a
descent of five hundred and twelve feet.
ROBERT VAUGHN.
June 27th, 1899.
MONTANA’S PIONEERS.
Who were the pioneers of Montana? They were the brave men and noble
women who came here first; they were descendants of many countries,
and were the most courageous of the nations from which they came. They
were the heroes who rescued this beautiful mountain land from the hands
of the savages and laid the foundation and moulded the destiny of this
great state.
The cut-throats, robbers and murderers who were here in the early days
were not worthy of being called pioneers, for they made a desperate
effort to demolish what the real pioneers were building up. To expose
their kind, I will refer to two of this class who were hung at Virginia
City in the presence of several hundred citizens. They belonged to a
gang of highwaymen and murderers. Each stood on a separate box with a
rope around his neck, which was attached to a crossbeam, and, while
in this position, one was using the most profane language and cursing
every one present; just then a friend of the victim whom he had robbed
and killed shoved the box from under his feet; while this one was
dangling in the air the other one looked at him, and with an oath
said: “Kick away old boy, I will be in hell with you in a minute,”
then jumped off the box himself and into eternity. Though these men
were human beings, the wicked and vicious habits they had contracted
had destroyed all the humanity they possessed. Now, in consequence,
nothing was left of them but the brute, for they neither feared God nor
respected their fellowmen. Between those ruffians and the Indians the
pioneer had his hands full. He had to work for himself, and at the
same time he was ready at a moment’s notice to defend the right and his
fellow-man with as much pluck and bravery as any soldier ever displayed.
[Illustration: A GROUP OF PIONEERS.]
Many think that most of the early settlers of Montana were of the rough
element, but this impression is wrong. Most of the old pioneers were of
the best law-abiding citizens that could be found in any country, men
of culture as well as courage. Many of them afterwards helped to frame
the constitution and the laws that govern the state at the present
time (1899). Edgerton, her first governor, was here before the name
“Montana” was thought of.
Ex-Governor S. T. Houser is now carrying a scar which he received at
the time the James Stuart party, of which he was a member, had that
terrible battle with the Indians on the Yellowstone in 1863. W. A.
Clark, recently elected United States senator, and Ex-United States
Senator Wilbur F. Sanders, and others who have already represented
Montana in the halls of congress, also have worked in the prospector’s
hole. Granville Stuart, who was appointed Envoy Extraordinary and
Minister Plenipotentiary to Paraguay and Uruguay in 1894, and served
a term of four years, were here among the first comers. Nathaniel P.
Langford (now of St. Paul, Minn.), the author of “Vigilante Days and
Ways,” and who at one time was bank examiner for Montana, Idaho and
Washington, was one of the first pioneers. Ex-Chief Justice W. Y.
Pemberton was one of the pick and shovel brigade. Judge Knowles, Judge
Hedges, and many others who are now holding high positions were with
us. Judge Frank H. Woody is a Montana pioneer, for he came to what
is now Montana in 1856, when the western portion of this state was a
part of Washington Territory. Many of the leading lawyers that are now
pleading at the bar of the state also have spoken in those “miner’s
courts which were held in the open air.” Jack Fisk, Will H. and Robert
N. Sutherlin and others who are to-day among the leading journalists of
the state, were here before a single type was set. And there are scores
of the veterans of early days, who, when the opportunity was given,
have ranked themselves with the best business men of the state. When
the roll is called of the self-made men of Montana, her pioneers will
head the list.
And there were men who held divine services wherever the opportunity
was given them; they were no cowards, either, for it took a pretty good
man to fight the devil on his own half acre and whip him, too. I am
glad to state that there are some of these old reverends “still in the
ring.”
Peace be to the memory of those who have gone to receive their rewards
for the good work they have done. With all respect to the Christian
people, Catholics and Protestants alike, they did considerable for
Montana in the early days and more than anyone knows, for a great deal
of their work was done in the “Sacred chamber” without making any
noise. I now recall two old prospectors who were up in the mountains
searching for gold. After delving all day, they cooked and ate their
supper, and then sat by the camp fire. One was telling about the dear
ones at home, and that he was almost certain that they were thinking of
him that very night. The other one spoke of his wife and three little
children whom he had not seen for four years, but that he was writing
to them constantly and he was receiving letters in return, and said he
was in hopes of “striking it” soon and then he would go home. They sat
up rather late that night; the moon had gone down, and the shade of the
dark green pines made it still darker. It was in autumn when the leaves
were falling. As the fire was getting low, they both went to bed side
by side. It was a calm, still night; the rustling of the dead leaves
that were strewn on the ground could be heard as some wild animal was
passing their silent chamber, with occasionally the rumbling sound of
a piece of rock which had broken loose from some distant cliff and
went rolling down the mountain to the canyon below, re-echoed by the
screeching of night birds, while the cataracts of many ripples swelled
the midnight melody. Not a word was spoken for some time, each thinking
that the other was asleep. But one began saying his evening prayers in
a low, murmuring voice, which was as follows:
“Near the camp fire’s flickering light
In my blanket bed I lie,
Gazing through the shades of night
At the twinkling stars on high;
O’er me spirits in the air
Silent vigils seem to keep,
As I breathe my childhood prayer
Now I lay me down to sleep!
“Sadly sings the whippoorwill
In the boughs of yonder tree,
Laughingly the dancing rill
Swells the midnight melody;
Indians may be lurking near
In the canyon dark and deep,
Low I breathe in Jesus’ ear
I pray the Lord my soul to keep,
“’Mid the stars one face I see,
One the Saviour called away,
Mother, who, in my infancy,
Taught my baby lips to pray,
Her sweet spirit hovers here
In this lonely mountain brake,
Take me to her, Saviour, dear,
If I should die before I wake!
“Fainter grows the flickering light
As each ember slowly dies,
Plaintively the birds of night
Fill the air with saddening cries;
Over me they seem to cry,
‘You may nevermore awake,’
Now I lisp, if I should die,
I pray the Lord my soul to take!
“Now I lay me down to sleep,
I pray the Lord my soul to keep,
If I should die before I wake,
I pray the Lord my soul to take.”
These things that I have mentioned indicate that there was much of
the better element here in the early days, and also a great deal of
intelligence among those who wore the buckskin shirt, and to them a
large portion of the credit should be given that Montana is today one
of the brightest gems in our star spangled banner.
ROBERT VAUGHN.
March 4, 1899.
THE DARK SIDE OF THE LIFE OF THE PIONEER.
In another letter giving an account of Indian depredations, I stated:
“I will not attempt to follow their war path, for it is too long,”
but allow me at this time to vary a little from that assertion. My
object in doing so is to add to the already written history of this
portion of the Northwest, where I have lived from my early manhood, and
this portion of the country which was then in its infancy as far as
civilization and settlement were concerned, therefore, to use a common
expression, “we growed up together.”
Though a frontier life is free and fascinating, still, like everything
else, there is a dark side to it, and this letter is principally
intended to show the “dark side” of the life of the pioneer.
As a frontiersman, I, myself, may not care to again experience what I
have passed through, yet, with all its perils and dangers I would not
give my pioneer days in the West for all the balance of my life.
The following events occurred in Northern Montana. All are facts,
and some of them I know of my own personal knowledge. Some of those
whose names appear hereafter were killed by Indians, others died from
exposure. I have often thought of the many victims that have fallen in
the West; even their death never has been known nor heard of by anyone.
Many remains of white men have been found without a trace of anything
to lead to their identification.
Once there were three of us in the mountains prospecting. In a
sheltered place under a projecting cliff there lay the skeleton of a
man. It appeared that he had laid down to rest or to sleep. Nothing
could be found to indicate whose remains it was. The clothing was
weatherbeaten and torn, and an old silver watch and a gun laid on the
ground with the scattering bones. The hair was light in color. It
was one of those instances of “somebody’s boy” dying without even a
stranger to record his last words.
By examining the following list the reader will find that the
identification or names of twenty per cent of the unfortunate victims
herein mentioned were not known, and that all included in the list,
except six or seven, were killed in what was then Choteau county. They
are but few in comparison to all that were killed in what is now the
state of Montana.
First on the list is Little Tex, who was killed in 1866 by Blood
Indians at the agency on what was then known as the government farm,
on Sun river; then Indians set fire to the buildings. There is no
certainty as to the number that perished.
Early in the spring of 1866 three men were murdered by Blackfeet
not far from old St. Peter’s mission, which was then located on the
Missouri river near Ulm on the Montana Central railroad. April 6th of
the same year John Fitzgerald, an employe of the mission, was killed
almost in sight of the buildings by Bloods. His grave and that of a
man by the name of Johnson, a blacksmith, who was formerly at Fort
Benton, and about fifteen other graves, mostly of Indians, are at the
foot of the hill and near the Montana Central track, about half a mile
from Ulm. The next day after the killing of Fitzgerald, Father Giorda,
and all the inmates of the mission left for Helena, fearing that more
trouble might come.
Lagree and Hunicke were murdered by Blackfeet and Bloods at Three
Tree Coulee, Jan. 9, 1866. James Chembers was killed by Blackfeet at
Dearborn in 1866, and old man Thebeaw killed at Dearborn the same year.
The murder of the builders of the town of Ophir occurred in May, 1865.
Ophir was a new place located at the mouth of the Marias river, twelve
miles below Fort Benton. At this period there had been only one or two
houses built. The men, eleven in number, were about one mile above
the location cutting logs and some of them were chopping wood for the
steamers that were coming up the Missouri to Fort Benton. They were
at work when the Indians killed them; not one escaped. When the news
reached Fort Benton a party went and buried the unfortunate victims on
the bank of the Missouri river near where they were killed. Thirty-four
years have passed since then and the gradual cutting of the bank by
the swift current has washed away that little graveyard, and now the
resting place of these founders of states and builders of cities has
been swept from the face of the earth and its occupants swallowed up by
that mighty stream.
Six men were killed by Bloods on Old Man’s river early in 1865. The
victims came from Fort Garry (now Winnipeg), and were reported to
possess a large amount of money. Their leader was an old white-haired
man.
William Berry was killed by Bloods on Elbow river, and Joe Monroe was
killed by Bloods on Old Man’s river in 1874.
Miller was killed by Bloods on Old Man’s river in 1872.
McMillan was wounded by Assinnaboines, near Bow river, in 1874.
Two unknown men were killed by Assinnaboines, near Milk river, in 1874.
The bodies were found tied to trees and riddled with bullets. Cottle
and another man were killed in their house on Flat creek in 1877. The
Nez Perces were supposed to be the murderers, as a few stragglers of
that tribe were seen in the vicinity about the time the deed was done.
A party of men, women and children were killed by Bloods near Porcupine
mountain in 1865. Their identification could not be obtained.
A soldier was killed by Piegan Indians on Marias hill, not far from
Fort Benton, in 1873.
Wey and Mitchell were killed by Piegans on Badger creek in 1875. Five
days before they were killed, both stayed over night at my ranch
and bought some oats to feed their horses while on this unfortunate
prospecting trip.
Joe Day and Howard were killed by Piegans, near the Marias river, in
1875.
John Rock was killed by Blackfeet, at the mouth of Sun river, in 1875.
An account of him I have given in my letter “From the Mines to the
Farm.”
Jack Gorman and Frank Keisser were killed by Assinnaboines, on the Milk
river, the same year.
Frank Robinson was killed by Gros Ventres Indians, near Cow creek, in
1877.
Joseph Spearson was killed by Bloods, on Belly river, in 1870.
Nelse Kyse, George Huber and one man, name unknown, were killed by
Sioux Indians, on Squaw creek, near the mouth of Musselshell river.
Andy Harris was killed by Assinnaboines on Milk river in the winter of
1867, and a soldier was killed by Piegans at Camp Cook in the spring of
that year.
Bozell A. Bair was wounded by Piegans on Eagle creek in 1867.
Paul Vermette was killed on the Teton river in 1866.
Champion was killed by Arrapahoe Indians at Fort Hawley in 1867.
Malcolm Clark was killed by Piegans in 1869. Clark had been a classmate
of General Sherman’s at West Point. The former, after finishing his
term, instead of entering the army, came west as an employe of one of
the fur companies which operated in the upper Missouri river country.
After following the Indian trading business for many years he located
in the Prickly Pear canyon, about twenty miles north of Helena, and
kept a stage station. The place is now known as “The Mitchell Ranch.”
Once a party of Piegan warriors came to the premises. One of the
Indians, who was well acquainted with Clark, approached the door and
asked for the latter; just as Clark stepped into the door he was shot
and killed by this Indian. Several shots were fired into the house. A
bullet struck Clark’s wife, and one of his sons was shot in the nose;
in course of time both recovered from their wounds, but the tragedy
caused the mother to go insane and she died a few years ago still in
that condition. Clark is buried near the house, and now his resting
place is marked by a railing crowning the grave. A few months later the
“Col. Baker Indian Massacre on the Marias river” occurred. And when the
firing commenced on the Piegan camp the murderer of Clark was there
sick in bed; when he was told that the soldiers had come there to kill
him, he took a long knife and plunged it into his heart.
When General Sherman passed through this section in 1875 on his tour of
inspection of the government posts at Fort Shaw and Benton, he stopped
for dinner at Clark’s old ranch. The general inquired for Malcolm
Clark. He said that Clark had been a schoolmate of his at West Point,
but had gone west to trade with the Blackfeet Indians while he was yet
but a young man. When the story of Clark’s career and of his death
had been told, and the grave of his early associate shown him, he had
been but a few moments on the spot when he showed signs of grief and
requested to be left alone for a while. He stayed for some time and
when he came away traces of tears could be seen on the cheeks of the
brave old warrior.
Charles Carson was killed by Piegans, near Dearborn river, in 1866. He
was a nephew of Kit Carson, of frontier fame. He was killed and buried
near the ford on the Dearborn.
Mrs. Jennie Smith, who at one time lived in Helena, was scalped alive
by Sioux Indians at the mouth of Musselshell river in 1869. The
unfortunate woman recovered and was still living in 1879.
Jack Leader was killed by Sioux at the mouth of the Musselshell river
in 1869.
A man named Lowe was killed by Blackfeet. His remains are buried on
the old Helena and Benton road at the crossing of what is now known as
“Deadman Coulee.” The place received its name because it is the place
of the death and burial of Mr. Lowe.
Macgregor and Tabor were killed by Sioux, and another man wounded, near
Fort Peck in 1868. Also two unknown men were killed by Sioux near the
same place and in the same year.
Ross and McKnight were killed in 1868, by Sioux, at the mouth of
Musselshell river. McKnight was a brother to the Hon. J. H. McKnight of
this city. At the time the tongue of their wagon had broken, and, while
they were cutting a tree to make a new one, they were killed.
Nat Crabtree was killed by Piegans, near Camp Cook, in 1868.
Old man Lee was killed, and Charley Williams and Drew Denton wounded
by Sioux, near Carroll, 1870. Denton’s life was saved by the bullet
striking his pocket in which he had a plug of tobacco and some letters.
A Frenchman was killed by Piegans in the summer of 1868 on Sun river,
south of where now stands Pressle Rowls house.
McArdle and a comrade were killed by Crow Indians near Benton in 1869.
Tom Ross was killed by Sioux near Fort Peck in 1873.
Michael Thebault was killed by Piegans on the Teton in 1868.
James Quail was killed by Piegans, near Silver creek, in 1869. He was
killed only half a mile from where I was mining at the time, and about
nine miles from Helena. He was getting his horse, which was grazing on
the slope of a hill near his cabin, when he was shot and killed by an
Indian who robbed him of his horse and of a gold watch on which his
name was engraved. The watch was seen afterwards in the possession of
an Indian in a Piegan camp on the Marias river.
Clark was killed by Piegans on Sun river in 1868, of whom I have given
an account in my letter, “Indian wars and tragedies on Sun river.”
Dauphant was killed by Sioux near the mouth of Milk river in 1865.
Charley Desronin was killed by Indians near the Bear Paw mountains in
1870.
Little Frenchie was killed by Assinnaboines on Milk river in 1869.
A man who was taking care of some cattle for Carroll and Steell was
killed by Indians on Milk river in 1869, and Sam Rex was killed by
Bloods the same year on Eagle creek.
Fifteen men and one woman and two children were killed by Sioux in
1863. They were returning from the mines, and on their way by the
Missouri river route in a Mackinaw boat, which they had built at Fort
Benton. Their names I cannot give, except one whose name was Thomas
Mitchell, and who joined the party at one of the trading posts further
down the river.
It was plain to be seen that the Indians did not kill them for their
gold, for it was spilled on the shore where the mutilated bodies of
the men lay. The woman was hanging to a limb of a tree, the limb being
driven through her chin; the two children, one on each side of the
mother, were hanging in the same manner, and the bodies were full of
arrows.
Jim Matkins was wounded by Piegans, near Benton, in 1868. Mr. Matkins
was one of my best friends. At the time he was shot by the Indians he
was an employe of the “Diamond R. Company,” a firm that had several ox
teams engaged in hauling freight from Fort Benton to various towns and
points in the territory. He related to me the following particulars of
the chase he had with the Indians at the time he was shot. He said:
“One day at Fort Benton I loaded sixteen of the company’s wagons with
freight for Helena. Tom Clary and J. C. Adams had charge of the outfit.
They pulled out that day and camped the following night at Eight Mile
spring. I was clerking for the company at the time. I could not get the
bills of lading ready at the time they left; so, late in the evening,
after dark, I got on my saddle horse and started for their camp. After
I had gone about three miles I heard the clatter of horses’ hoofs,
and, looking back, I saw eight Indians coming as fast as their horses
could carry them, and bullets began whizzing by me; but what frightened
me the worst was their fearful “Indian yell.” I put the spurs to my
horse and rode for dear life towards Clary and Adams’ camp, which was
five miles further. I had a Winchester rifle that had sixteen loaded
cartridges; I fired several shots at the Indians. In this way I kept
them at bay for a while. But there was one who had a very fast horse
and he was the only Indian that could keep pace with me, for mine was
a good runner; but this redskin could run up to my side whenever he
wanted to. After running in this way for about three miles, and in a
shower of bullets, I discovered that I was shot in the hip. I could
see but one Indian and he had slacked up his pace to load his gun.
I dismounted and took as good aim as I could in the dark and fired
four shots. I believe that I wounded him or his horse, for he came no
further. I could feel that my boot was filling up with blood and I was
getting very weak; it was as much as I could do to mount my horse.
When I arrived at the camp I told all that had occurred. I was put in
a wagon drawn by two yoke of oxen, and Clary and Adams, with two other
men took me back to Benton that night, and my wound was dressed. The
bullet is still in my hip.”
Mr. Matkins afterwards died from the effects of this injury. He is
buried in the Highland cemetery at Great Falls.
This recalls one Decoration day when the Grand Army veterans were on
their way to the cemetery with beautiful flowers to cover the graves of
their comrades. I spoke to one of them: “Say, comrade, I am a veteran
pioneer. An old comrade of mine is buried in that cemetery. He was shot
by the Indians and died from the effects. I have a few wild flowers
with me and I am going to decorate his grave. Won’t you ‘take me in’
and let me march with you?” I did not march, but the wild flowers were
placed on poor Jim Matkin’s grave.
Old man Long, Foster and Jordan were killed by Sioux near the mouth of
Pouchette creek.
Henry Simpson was killed near my ranch on Sun river in 1870. He was
shot twice.
A shepherd by the name of Hunt was killed near Grassy Lake, eight miles
north of my home, in 1883. He was found with several bullet holes
through the body.
George Horn was killed by Assinnaboines on Cow creek in 1874.
Bill Morrison and John Hughes were killed by River Crows on Arrow creek
in 1877.
Antelope Charley and Cook were killed by Piegans at the mouth of Eagle
creek in 1873.
Little Rock was killed by Sioux on Judith mountain in 1874.
Buckshot and Poulett were killed by Assinnaboines at Rocky spring in
1871.
Joseph Gipperich was killed by Bloods on Saint Mary’s river in 1872.
E. B. Richardson and Charles Steel, James Downey, Charles Buck, J. J.
Barker and an African were killed by the Nez Perces in October, 1877,
near Cow creek, during the tour of Chief Joseph through the country.
One man, name unknown, was found dead near the Marias in 1875. He was
killed by some of the Northern Indians.
One man, name unknown, was killed by Piegans on Sun river in 1868. No
clue to the murderers could be had.
Seven unknown travelers were killed by Sioux on the Missouri river,
above Fort Peck, in 1868. It was supposed that they were on their way
from the East to the gold mines, for they were well equipped for a long
journey.
Two men, names unknown, were killed by Sioux at the mouth of the
Musselshell in 1868.
Four men, names unknown, were killed by Sioux at the mouth of the
Musselshell in 1873.
One man, name unknown, was killed by Piegans on Warm Spring creek, near
the Judith river, in 1874.
The remains of a man were found a few miles up the Missouri river, from
the mouth of Sun river, in 1887. His identification could not be had.
The opinion was that death had come from exposure.
The above are a few of the shadows that darkened the life of the
pioneer.
It is human nature that every person is pleased to hear others saying
something good about him. Joaquin Miller said of the pioneers of
Montana that some fell from overtoil, others in battle with savages;
some died even as they sat for the first time by the new-laid
hearthstone waiting for wife and babes to arrive with the first flowers
of spring; and that the world does not, perhaps, understand what it
cost to come here in the early days.
And, as Mr. Miller says, the Pilgrim fathers set forth in the ship and
landed on Plymouth Rock; the Cavaliers of Virginia sailed pleasantly
up the James river and scarcely knew what a camp in the wilderness
was until they sat down in their future home; the Argonauts of
California, many of them, merely sailed from port to port; but Montana
was a thousand miles from any ocean, a wilderness in the center of an
untrodden country with savages in her every pass and valley, and so,
necessarily, every man that came here among the first was in some way
a soldier, yes, a veteran soldier, who had mustered, camped, marched
and battled, endured hunger and exposure to all kinds of weather--all
that the bravest soldier endures--before he ever came within sight of
the Mecca that he was toiling to reach. He truly says that there was
a great difference between the Montana veteran and the bravest of the
brave in any war that has ever been; that the soldiers Caesar, Napoleon
and Grant had their governments to clothe, feed, pay and pension them,
but the hero of Montana stood alone.
I have just given the names of seventy-six of those heroes who fell
victims to the wrath of the redskins, and of several that were wounded
and died afterwards. The names of the fourteen men, the woman and the
two children, I have not, but their relatives were informed of their
sad death. Of the other party of men, women and children no further
account of them but the finding of their bodies could be obtained. And,
in addition to all, we have twenty-two unknown who were killed; not a
trace of their identification could be found--no one knew either their
names or where their homes were--therefore, an account of their death
could not be given to friends or relatives, who may never know what has
become of their dear ones who went West years before.
Think of the affectionate sister who had ceased receiving letters from
her brother who had gone to the unsettled West to try and better his
condition in life. She said: “My brother John used to write to me
often, but now, for a long time he has not written. It may be that
he is in the mountains prospecting, and that he has no way to send a
letter to me. I expect the next letter, when it comes, will be full of
good news.” Month after month has passed and she is patiently waiting
for that newsy letter to arrive. Poor girl! She does not know the
fate that has befallen her brother. And thus of a loving wife, with a
babe on her arm, and with her other arm embracing her kind and loving
husband when he left home to go to the gold fields of the “Rockies” to
hunt enough of the yellow metal to pay off the mortgage that was on
their little home. She said that her husband had been gone nearly four
years; that during the first three years he wrote every month, and, in
every letter there was some money for her, and that in the last letter
he stated that he had good prospects and hopes of “striking it” before
she would get another, and would be home with enough money to pay off
everything. And she, too, is waiting, waiting. It has not entered her
mind that her beloved husband has been----.
Again a fond and loving mother, bent with age, and who parted with her
only son several years before. For a long time after he left for the
gold regions, she said: “He used to write to me very often and always
send me some money, and one time he sent me a nice specimen from the
mines, but now I have not heard from him for a long time and I am
afraid something has happened to him. I am getting so I can’t sleep at
night thinking of my darling boy.” He was advertised in the newspaper
nearest where his last address was, and the editor of the paper, for
the sake of a broken-hearted mother, left the advertisement in double
the time the contract called for, besides inserting, “other papers
please copy.” But no one responded. All this time an unheard voice was
saying: “He is one of the unknown that were killed by the Indians in
an isolated place in the Rocky mountains a long time ago.” It may be
that some of the relatives of those unfortunates are still hoping that
the lost son, brother, husband, or father is yet alive; but the fact
is, their remains are resting in an unmarked grave on the plains, or,
may be, far in some lonely gulch in the mountains, and the once little
mound is now leveled by the elements and the secret spot robed with
herbs and wild grasses, so that even his fellow pioneer who buried him
cannot designate the place where the remains sleep and rest forever.
One night, when lying in nay blankets under the spreading bows of a
pine tree, thinking of those lonely graves that are scattered here and
there through the west, in which lay the “unknown,” the following lines
occurred to me:
Slain by Indians a pioneer was found,
His home or his kindred nobody knew;
Over his cold form bendeth
The grasses in tears of dew.
A fellow pioneer, as best he could,
Laid the body in a newly made grave;
And after the task was done, he said:
Here’s where lies one that was brave.
Many memorial days have passed;
But no mother, no sister has ever come,
To lay beautiful flowers
On the grave of the unknown one.
There is a broken heart somewhere,
Bleeding from a terrible wound;
A hope that has nearly perished,
For the dear one that cannot be found.
There is a grave--in those grasses,
A pioneer’s grave--and lo!
Him whom those green sods cover;
His name no one knows.
But the name of the unknown
In the Great Book is recorded,
As well as those of the world’s rulers,
Kings, princes and potentates.
And, when comes the last day,
They, too, will be gathered
The same as those rulers--
Not one neglected.
Some people, after reading this letter, may say that it was wrong
for those daring men and brave women to go into such a country,
occupied only by savages. Well, that may be so, but the unexplored
West never would be developed were it not for the immigrants, miners
and prospectors who had the ambition, courage and pluck to commence
to conquer. They are the “John the Baptists” of civilization, and the
founders of states that are represented by stars in our banner and of
those yet to come.
I came to Montana when a young man, now I am old, enjoying excellent
health, but I may be robbed of this greatest gift to man, and I may,
like “Job,” be reduced to poverty, but there is nothing that can rob me
of the pride and glory of being a “hero of Montana,” one of those who
stood by its cradle.
ROBERT VAUGHN.
March 4, 1898.
THE INDIAN PRAYING.
The winter of 1869 and 1870 was my first winter in Sun River valley.
For a while I boarded with Mr. and Mrs. Armstrong, who kept the Leaving
Station adjoining my ranch. This place was so named because it was
at this point the road leaves (Leaving) the Sun River valley to Fort
Benton. (This was the winter that Col. Baker made a raid on the Indian
village on the Marias river.) Also this same winter and spring the
smallpox caused many deaths among the Indians. Several whites died also
from the same disease. Two stage drivers who drove from Benton to the
Leaving died; and as they stopped at the station where I boarded, I
took the smallpox in a mild form and was very sick for two weeks, but
it left no marks. About this time I concluded to fence the farm. Early
in the spring I went to a bend in the Missouri river about ten miles
south to cut posts and poles for this purpose. Here there were several
log buildings that had been erected sometime in the early sixties by
some of the Catholic missionaries and used as an Indian Mission (old
St. Peter’s Mission). In 1868 it was abandoned for missionary purposes.
After that it was occupied in winter by Indians. In the same bend is
now what is known as “The Churchill Ranch.” During the time I was
chopping I lived in an old empty cabin that had been built by some
trappers; it was in the edge of the woods about a quarter of a mile
from the old Mission buildings. There was neither a door nor a window,
but it had a good fireplace; I hung a blanket for a door, and cut lots
of wild rye-grass for my bed. Although alone, I was very comfortable
and slept well at night, for I worked hard all day. There were in all
about thirty Indians in the old buildings, many of whom were sick with
the smallpox; and a great many had died of the same disease. Their mode
of burying the dead was to wrap the corpse in a buffalo robe and lay
it under a tree in some secret place in the woods and cover it with
leaves and branches off the trees; others were placed on a scaffold in
trees, as heretofore described. There were a great many buried in this
way in the woods where I was working. One Indian buried his wife and
two children two days before I came. The female relations showed great
grief by hacking their legs from the ankle to the calf into many small
cuts barely through the skin; and they would sit alone with a robe over
their heads and mourn and sigh. Once in the dead of the night, when I
was asleep, some unearthly noise awoke me. It was at my cabin door. I
raised on my elbow in my bed which was on the ground. As usual, when
danger came, I grabbed my old gun which was under my head and pointed
it at the door where the blanket hung. I listened, and finally decided
that it was a human voice. It was a kind of chanting talking and in the
most mournful tone, with now and then a deep, pitiful sigh as though it
came from the bottom of the heart. It was the most mournful and pitiful
utterance ever made by a human voice. It was kept up for at least
twenty minutes. There was living with the Indians a half-breed who
could speak English. His name was Simpson. (Afterwards he was killed by
the Indians on the hill across Sun river from my ranch.) Next morning I
told the half-breed of what took place at my cabin the previous night
and he interpreted to me that it was an Indian, “the husband and father
of the woman and two children that died the other day,” and that he was
praying, and asking me to ask the Great Spirit to stop the smallpox.
A few minutes later the Indian and the half-breed came together to
see me; the Indian said to me that his wife and two of his children
were already dead and that more of his relations were sick. He firmly
believed that I could do a great deal towards preventing the disease.
I told him that the Great Spirit was listening to his praying last
night and heard every word, and as soon as the “warm winds” came the
smallpox would be no more. This appeared to be of great consolation to
him. It was plain to be seen that the poor fellow loved his family.
He was the Indian that saved Mr. and Mrs. Kennedy’s lives only few
months before at the Kennedy ranch near the mouth of the Prickly Pear
canyon when the Indians took them out of their home and were going to
kill them, but this Indian came forward and stood between Mr. and Mrs.
Kennedy and the other Indians that would be murderers. He raised his
gun and spoke in a firm voice: “If you kill this man and woman you
must kill me first.” He stood them off and saved the lives of two good
citizens. He was well known by the whites and was always friendly and
honorable. He went by the name of “Cut Lip Jack.” This kind and brave
Indian is dead, but Mr. and Mrs. Kennedy are alive and live in Missoula
county, Montana. Will Kennedy of this city is their nephew.
ROBERT VAUGHN.
Jan. 14, 1898.
INDIANS STEALING MY HORSES.
In the month of August, 1871, I went near the mouth of Sun river to
make hay. John Traxler, the man I had hired, was with me. I had a very
fine span of gray mares which were brought to Montana from the State of
Missouri, and they had cost me three hundred dollars. We pitched our
tent on the open prairie and away from the brush, for it was a safer
place in an Indian country, beside the mosquitoes were very bad. Each
of us had an old army needle gun with several rounds of ammunition.
When night came we picketed the horses about five hundred yards off
where there was good grass; the picket pins were iron and the ropes
were new, so we had the horses well secured. We went to bed and covered
our heads to keep the mosquitoes from biting us. When morning came
I went to change the pickets for the horses so that they could get
fresh grass, and John went to prepare breakfast. But to my surprise
the horses were gone, and on investigation I found that the ropes
had been cut near the picket pins, I decided at once that they had
been stolen and so reported to John. He could see that I was feeling
very badly over losing my fine team. “Well,” he said, “I will let you
have all the money I’ve got to get another team.” After breakfast and
discussing what was best to do, we went to see in what direction the
horses had been taken. We found moccasin tracks near where the horses
had been picketed, and we tracked them going north. It was plain to
be seen that Indians were the thieves. John went up the valley and
I took the direction the horses had gone, each of us taking his gun
and ammunition; we soon lost sight of each other. After I had gone
about four miles, and on the flat north of Alkali Springs, I found the
tracks of the horses and they were very plain, for the gray mares were
shod. Going a little further I discovered where they had been changing
saddles, for there were pieces of buffalo robes and old Indian blankets
that were full of horse hair and wet with sweat from horses; no doubt
there the change had been made from the Indian ponies to the gray mare.
I followed the tracks crossing the Benton road and in the direction of
the Teton river. After traveling in a northerly direction for fifteen
miles I changed my course and headed for the ranch. I was eight miles
from home. I got home in the afternoon and found John there. Early
next morning I went to Fort Shaw and told my story to the commanding
officer, who was General Gibbon. He at once called for Bostwick, the
interpreter, and asked him what Indians were camping up the valley.
Bostwick replied that they were Gray Eagle’s party. “Go and bring Gray
Eagle here to me,” the general said. Bostwick, with six mounted men,
went after the old chief, and in about three hours they had him and two
of his staff in the general’s headquarters. The general told Gray Eagle
(through Bostwick, the interpreter), that some of his men had stolen
my horses and if they were not returned immediately that he and his
people would be severely punished, and he further said that he was in
this country with his soldiers to look after such thieves as they. The
old Indian listened eagerly, and said, that he was very sorry that my
horses had been stolen; but he assured us that there were none of his
men out that night, and said in the most emphatic manner that none of
his men stole the horses; but that he would do all in his power to find
them and bring them back to me. After considerable discussion about the
matter, the general told the chief that if he would get those horses
and bring them to the fort that he would give him a sack of sugar, and
I said that I would give a sack of flour. Again the general said: “If
you let me know who stole Mr. Vaughn’s horses, I will give you a sack
of coffee and a sack of bacon.”
The old Indian promised faithfully that he would do all in his power to
find the horses. However, after eleven days from the time the horses
were stolen, the morning of the twelfth, the first thing after opening
my cabin door was to see the two gray mares feeding on the grass only
a few yards from my door. And I was a happy man. No one asked for the
reward. That was the only time the Indians ever stole anything from me.
ROBERT VAUGHN.
Jan. 25, 1898.
THE GREAT SUN RIVER STAMPEDE.
In the years 1865-66 there were from fifteen to twenty thousand people
in the various mining camps of Montana, and its mountains were swarmed
with daring prospectors. In those times nearly every day had its new
discovery, and the slightest whisper of a new “find” would create a
stampede, in which instances the most extraordinary endurance and
courage were displayed. There is no animal on earth that will stampede
quicker, keep on going with the same stubbornness and determination,
as a fortune hunter; they are worse than Texas cattle. For one
instance, I will relate the following: McClellan, an old mountaineer
and prospector, and who was the discoverer of the “McClellan Gulch,”
but sold his claim in that renowned mine for a song, and, after having
two or three weeks’ good time in town, he began laying his plans for
another prospecting tour.
In the following fall (1865) he decided to go to the Sun river country,
that was about one hundred miles north of Helena, and hunt for more
mines. He was considered a lucky prospector in finding gold, and when a
report came from him it could be relied upon.
After having prospected for two or three months the cold weather began
to set in, and, as he had already found some gold, he decided to build
a cabin and keep on prospecting till spring. In a week or so he had his
house up and everything in apple-pie order, except one thing, and that
was, to have some one to have his meals ready after returning from the
hills where he had been working hard all day. As there was a Piegan
camp not far off he went there one day and engaged a squaw to come and
cook for him. As the new employe had many relations, who became her
frequent visitors, it was not long before the proprietor discovered
that a few extras in the line of groceries had to be gotten, an extra
sack of flour, a few pounds of soap, and so forth; besides some calico,
beads, brass ear rings and bracelets for the new housekeeper, who was
trying her hand for the first time in her life at house-keeping.
One day Mc mounted his pony, and, with another pack horse, struck
for Helena to get the goods. On his arrival he met many of his old
friends, and of course they were anxious to learn what success he had
prospecting. He said that so far he had not discovered anything that
would pay, although he had found what he called good indications. For
all that a close watch was kept on the old prospector during the few
days he was in town, and a suspicion was aroused among many that on
account of the fact that he was buying considerable goods he must know
of something greater than he wanted to tell. To one of his confidential
friends he told of the pleasant home he had in the Sun river country,
and, in a whisper, his last sentence was: “I have got as good a thing
as I want,” meaning his new housekeeper and the household outfit that
he had just purchased. Two of the anxious ones stood near and overheard
him saying, “I have got as good a thing as I want.” They decided at
once that a new find was meant. The news spread like wild fire to every
camp in the vicinity, and, like the story of the “three black crows,”
something was added to the first report as it went from camp to camp.
A tremendous stampede followed, and, although it was in the month of
January and the thermometer stood thirty-five degrees below zero, and
there was over a foot of snow on the level, this did not check the
rush. From twelve to fifteen hundred rugged miners participated in
this stampede; some went on horseback, others on foot, and, after
traveling about one hundred miles, the new Eldorado could not be
found. Before returning home several suffered severely from cold and
hunger and two died from exposure. Some threats were made against the
one giving the false report, but no foundation could be found that
McClellan had said that a discovery of gold had been made, but to the
contrary it was proven that he had said that no diggings had been
found. And, when the particulars of what started the stampede were
learned, no further complaint was made. All returned home except a few
who had supplied themselves with enough provisions; they stayed and
prospected.
[Illustration: MRS. JAS. BLOOD (A Piegan Woman.)]
Mr. Thomas Moran of St. Peter, who was on this stampede, told me only a
few days ago that at least seven hundred men were one night in camp in
a bend of the Missouri river and near where the St. Peter’s Mission was
then. He said that Father C. Imoda, who was in charge of the Mission,
treated them kindly and gave assistance to many that were suffering
from cold and hunger. Mr. Moran said that the thermometer registered
forty degrees below zero that night.
All of the old timers remember this event, and it is known at the
present time as the “Great Sun river stampede in the winter of 1866.”
ROBERT VAUGHN.
April 21, 1899.
A TRIP FROM VIRGINIA CITY TO THE HEAD OF NAVIGATION ON THE MISSOURI
RIVER IN 1866.
It was about the 20th day of April, 1866, that the first wagon train
drawn by oxen pulled out of Virginia City and down the famous Alder
Gulch bound for Fort Benton, the head of navigation on the Missouri
river; and this train was the property of Sutherlin Brothers, of whom
the writer hereof was a member. The train was not a large one, for
our firm was not rich and had all it could do to equip four teams.
Work cattle were then worth from $130 to $160 per pair, and they could
be bought only for gold. One feature of this little train was the
coupling of wagons together which had never been in practice before,
so that one driver could handle five or six yoke of oxen pulling two
wagons carrying from seven to eight thousand pounds. This was the first
train of the kind to go on the road, a view to economy caused its
invention. Our firm had some wagons of four thousand pounds capacity
and could secure lighter ones for trails, while to buy big “Prairie
Schooners” was out of the question. We had tried the plan of coupling
wagons together for the saving of drivers the year before and found
it practicable, hence no risk was taken in outfitting upon a more
extensive scale for general freighting. The usual freighter had but one
heavy wagon to a team, but it was noticed that our little train hauled
as much per team as they, and made better time, consequently many
adopted the same plan, and in a few years rich firms had gone into the
freighting business, with teams of from nine to twelve yoke of oxen,
and four wagons; each team hauling from sixteen to twenty thousand
pounds. Eight to ten teams constituted a train. One driver to a team,
a night herder and wagon boss, was all that was necessary to make a
full crew.
At the time we made this trip to the head of navigation there were no
stage coaches, except the lines to Salt Lake and Helena, and there were
no liveries, the principal means of travel being on horseback, the
traveler taking his bed in a roll behind his saddle or upon an extra
horse, together with frying pan and coffee pot.
The large number of steamboats which had left St. Louis for Fort
Benton, laden with merchandise, seemed to offer an easier means of
going east and south, then fifteen days and nights of stage coaching
via Salt Lake to Denver, then to Omaha or Kansas City; and, as a great
many people had already made quite a fortune, passage on a freight
train to Fort Benton was acceptable, even with our ox train, which
was among the first to leave Virginia City. The mule trains had the
preference until reports came of the Indian raids and danger of loss of
mules when the business was quite evenly divided. An ounce of gold dust
was the customary fare from Virginia City to Fort Benton.
Our crew was fairly well armed and the passengers were generally
provided with revolvers; as many of them carried considerable gold dust
weapons of defense were considered essential to safety.
From morning until night our little train moved along, fifteen miles
being the usual extent of a day’s drive. Down the valley by Pete Daly’s
station, then to “Garney’s,” across the Jefferson, up White Tail
over the Boulder range, the Boulder valley and into “Last Chance.”
I remember my first glimpse of Bridge street, then the principal
thoroughfare of the new metropolis, Helena, for the greater part of
Main street was a winding wagon road over piles of tailings, around
sluice boxes and miners’ huts; and I remember, too, the winding road
out into the unsettled and apparently valueless valley that spread
out as we proceeded northwestward and the large herd of antelope that
scampered away as we approached, disappearing in the virgin meadows
which hid them. The little town of Silver City, where a few people
were placer mining, lay to the left of our road. The head of Prickly
Pear canyon, the home of the brave Malcolm Clark, has a place in my
memory, for it seemed to be the sunniest spot in the wilderness. Lyons
Hill, Medicine Rock, and other somewhat mountain-like high places were
passed, and then the crossing of the Dearborn river, which was made
between showers when the stream was so deep that the water came into
the wagon beds, I do not forget.
[Illustration: FREIGHTING IN THE EARLY DAYS.]
At “Bird Tail Rock” some of our party took their first hunt. Mountain
sheep in considerable numbers were seen at the base and far up the
rugged sides of that great landmark, and a taste of the rare mutton in
the mountain wilds they longed for before getting back, as they said,
to “God’s country, America,” but the jaunt was a long one, further
to the game than they had anticipated, and the ramble was abandoned,
the party reaching camp long after camping time satisfied to go home
without the taste of mountain mutton.
At Sun river an unexpected halt was made; we called it a “layover.”
There had been copious rains, together with the melting snow, and the
river was booming, out of its channel in some places. The ferry boat,
a small craft built of whip-sawed lumber and capable of carrying only
one wagon and one yoke of oxen, was intact, but the cable had to be
stretched. In doing this, after several efforts, the end was landed
on the opposite shore, but in drawing it up out of the water the
strong current parted it. This was repaired after much exertion, but,
in crossing, the first wagon of the Bullard train, which was among
the number in waiting, the trail rope again parted, and it was with
difficulty that the boat and contents was landed. J. J. Healey, the
ferryman of the boat crew had already departed for Benton to secure
a new cable, and there followed several days of waiting before his
return. During the days of waiting a number of trains arrived. Finally
the ferryman came with a new cable and then followed the task of
placing it in position, a job more difficult than the first, owing to
the continued rise of the river. Effort after effort was made, each
proving a failure. The end of the cable was brought across the river,
but it was not possible to draw it out of the water, and when, with
a long team of oxen, it had been drawn across from the east shore J.
J. Healey and many freighters had almost despaired of placing it in
position. Ben Anderson and his three associates volunteered to perform
the task. These Indiana boys had for years followed the business of
rafting saw-logs down the Wabash river and proved to be the right men
in the right place on this occasion. They made several rafts out of
dry cottonwood logs, and, locating them at intervals up the bank of the
stream, the cable was stretched on them in such a manner that it was
held above the water, then starting with the upper end the rafts were
swung around, the further one reaching the opposite shore, when it was
easily raised to the proper height without touching the rapid current.
It did me good to see the hats go up and hear the round of applause
that echoed out upon the beautiful Sun river valley as the cable was
anchored--“hurrah, hurrah, hurrah for the boys, the Indiana boys.” This
feat gave our little train the first right of way over the ferry, and
we crossed in time to drive as far as the “Leavings,” a nine-mile pull
down the river bank.
I almost forgot to state that Mr. Healey, besides bringing the big rope
from Benton, brought the report that a large body of Blackfeet Indians
were camped on the Teton river not many miles away to the north, and
that their mission was to steal horses, pillage and murder. This was
not pleasant news to the passengers who, though well armed, felt that
they “might be taken in.” It was sundown when camp was made at the
“Leavings,” and I cannot forget the anxiety manifest as I went around
to the several campfires. Up to that date we had no night watchman,
but it was easy to see the necessity of a night sentinel, therefore I
volunteered to perform that duty. It was not a new duty by any means,
for I had seen weeks of it in crossing the plains to Denver in 1863 and
coming to Montana in 1864. To make the night easy my friend, Joe Lacky,
volunteered to take the first half of the night and went on his beat at
nine, all rolling into bed about the same time.
It was 12:30 when I was awakened by a whisper, to which was added:
“The camp is all right.” With my revolver in my belt and Ballard rifle
in hand I was soon on duty. The oxen were lying down, broken clouds
hung over head, and all was quiet except the hooting of owls in the
hills across the river and who seemed to be keeping company with
their neighbors located some distance away. So far away were these
that they were but faintly heard. At first I paid little attention
to the hooting, but as the hours began to grow longer and the clouds
thickened, the hooting became more interesting. These hootings came at
intervals, while between them the stillness seemed almost unbearable.
There is much that I might write of that night of picket duty at the
“Leavings,” but least I may tire the reader the same is passed. Writing
at this time, thirty-three and a half years later, my thoughts go
back to more recent scenes of the place, and I cannot pass on without
recalling just one or two visits there quite as distinct as the first.
The Sun river tour of 1879, when introducing the “Rocky Mountain
Husbandman,” comes fresh. It was then I rested a day with my friend,
Robert Vaughn, who had cultivated on that lonely spot a fine farm,
built a good home, and owned herds of horses and cattle. We talked of
the early days gone by, of Indians and Indian hunting, and wound up
the day of pleasure in a hunt among the feathered tribes--geese, ducks
and swan. Mr. V. showed not alone his markmanship, but his skill in
selecting young birds of which it was less than an hour’s sport on the
river to capture a dozen. But this is digressing from my subject.
The morning of that lonely night in 1866 dawned, the oxen arose to feed
and the expected attack by Indians did not materialize. We were on the
road early, for the drive to the lakes was a longer one than we had
usually made. Without especial incident the day passed and we reached
the head of the lakes about sundown. The wagons were corralled--drawn
up in a close half circle, cattle turned out to graze, supper cooked,
etc. No Indians or signs of Indians had been seen and our passengers
were buoyant with hopes, for it seemed that the head of navigation
would be reached in safety, there being but two more days’ travel
before us. Having the lead from the ferry we were a day’s travel ahead
of the other trains, and realizing this added somewhat to the anxiety
and I might say fear. The night passed quietly, particularly the latter
part. We were too far away from the cliffs to hear the hooting of the
owls, and the only charm I can remember was when a breeze came up from
the southeast which brought with it the roar of the great Missouri
river falls, some twenty or more miles away.
The following day’s travel was also long on account of the scarcity
of water. Getting an early start the journey was made, arriving at
Twenty-eight-Mile Springs about sunset. Just before turning the summit
of the ridge west of this well known place we were overtaken by a
large mule train, probably forty wagons, four to six animals to each
wagon, and they were well loaded with passengers--probably about one
hundred and forty persons. This train pulled by, and, passing the
springs, turned south and went into camp on the summit of the elevated
lands six or seven hundred yards away, while our little train halted
for the night close to the springs. Soon after turning out our teams
several visitors came from the big train. Nearly all were from Virginia
City, and among them there were few ladies. Several of the passengers
carried large amounts of gold dust, the estimated amount in the train
being over $400,000. This train had been making fast time, having that
day come from the “Leavings,” a distance of twenty-five miles. Fresh
stories were told us of the large Indian camp and the probable raid,
for at this time we were near to their camp. We were solicited to join
the big party, but our teams were turned out and we had to decline.
This request came several times, and lastly in the shape of a message
from his excellency, Acting Gov. Thomas Francis Meagher, who was among
the passengers. This brought our firm and friends together for council,
at which it was decided to remain where we were. If an attack was made
by the Indians the object would be to secure the mules and horses, as
they could not expect to drive our cattle away, and if siege was made
we would be better off in reach of water than on the hill. Further
summing it up, we considered our people better off camped as we were,
and as the mule outfit was placing a strong guard for the night we
could all turn into our beds and sleep. Soon after dark the lights were
put out and quiet reigned. The night was cloudy, and in getting into my
bed under a wagon it was surmised that I might be driven out by rain
before morning. We had but one horse and he was tied with a long lariat
to a wheel of the wagon under which I slept. That horse was my body
guard. I knew that if Indians appeared he would snort and try to pull
away, which would awaken me.
It was perhaps 3 o’clock in the morning when a single report of a
gun rent the air south of the mule camp, and following close on this
I heard in the distance the sound of many hoofs. Then a general
commotion ensued at the mule camp. General Meagher was among the
first to rise and his strong voice could be heard giving orders. He
was the self-constituted commander on this occasion, and I could hear
him knocking on the sides of the wagon and commanding every one to
get out and prepare for an attack. A messenger came down to inform us
that Indians had attempted to stampede the mules, but the guards had
succeeded in rescuing them and driving them into the corral, and an
attack was expected. General Meagher sent us word to leave our wagons
and join the mule camp, and for a few moments it seemed that some of
our passengers were willing to do this, but better judgment prevailed,
and all decided to remain with their wagons and protect, if possible,
their own valuables, which could not well be removed at that hour. Our
men were all up and in readiness, but the night was too dark for one to
shoot with any degree of accuracy, and it seemed hardly reasonable that
the “Redskins” would make an attack until the beginning of daylight.
There was, however, no let up to the racket in the mule camp. General
Meagher got his fellow passengers out in line and marched them in
regular soldier form around and round the big corral in which the mules
were secured. This corral was composed of wagons drawn up in a circle
and ropes so tied between that the mules once inside could not get out.
I could hear the commands given and I listened with interest to the
exchange of words with some of the men who attempted to evade the duty.
“I have but a small pistol and can do no good if I come out there,”
said one of the men. “Yes, you can do good,” said Meagher, “these
helpless women and children must be protected and I beseech you to come
like a man to their rescue.” “Fall in line, shoulder arms, forward,
march!” “Why, sir, do you dare disobey orders?” “Oh, why, I was just
looking into the wagon to see if things were all right.”
The truth of the matter was that those fellows who protested had
little pets in their wagons in the shape of sacks of gold dust which
were unhandy to carry and they were afraid of losing the treasure. But
the energetic general appeared to take more interest in the safety
of those women and children than of those gold sacks, and his strong
voice echoed for nearly three long hours, as he gave commands to keep
in line ready for action and protect the camp. Quite an episode when,
after marching for more than an hour, the general chanced to find a
little Jew covered in his blankets and crouched down in one end of a
wagon. Loud calling did not seem to disturb him--all this time he was
playing that he could not hear--but by prodding he was aroused, and the
general, thinking him deaf, shouted very loudly trying to arouse him to
action in resisting the enemy. It was said that the fellow could hear
as well as anybody, but took that plan of evading the general’s orders,
preferring to keep closer watch of his treasures which, it appears,
were too heavy to be handily carried, but the general kept on urging
until he got the Jew into line. Perhaps the most laughable incident
that occurred during the scare was when the general’s messenger
returned from a visit to our camp and reported that “them folks with
the ox train are Missourians and won’t get up.” It was a mistake,
however, as our party did get out and were ready for the fray, and
afterwards one of them remarked that it was really too bad that the
“Redskins did not give us a fight, that we were entitled to have some
fun after so much preparation.”
Early next morning our train was on the road, and the mule train, at
the general’s suggestion, fell in and kept company. Plenty of evidences
were seen to establish the fact of the near approach of the Indians
that night, and I attributed their failure to attack to the action of
General Meagher and men in the mule camp. Forty wagons and teams added
to our little train, with from eighty to a hundred armed men marching
by their sides and about thirty mounted on horseback scouting in
advance on either side, made up a pretty formidable procession. I had
the honor of accompanying General Meagher on horseback as an advance
picket during most of the day, and it was rare enjoyment listening
to sketches of his early life adventures, his leave taking of the
old country, and incidents of his connection with the war of the
rebellion.
The general was en route to meet his wife who came up on the
“Josephine.” Our trip of the day was without material interest, and
it was cheering to my soul to see the glad faces of our passengers as
our caravan hove in sight of the quaint little fort and city, nestled
beneath the rounded hills, and three Missouri river steamers, the “St.
John,” the “Waverly” and another moored at the wharf discharging their
cargoes.
WILL H. SUTHERLIN.
White Sulphur Springs, Mont., Nov. 12, 1899.
* * * * *
By request the above letter was written for publication in this book.
Mr. Sutherlin has been a resident of Meagher county ever since June,
1865, and has contributed much to the upbuilding of the county and the
state. He was elected and served two terms as sheriff, also filled
the office of county clerk and recorder one term, and was ex-officio
probate judge during the same time.
He was elected in 1886 to the office of territorial councilman, and
served two sessions. A number of the laws remaining on the statute
books of Montana were originated and passed through his efforts. He
was chairman of the committee on agriculture of the State World’s Fair
Board and erected and had charge of Montana’s agricultural exhibit
at the World’s Fair at Chicago in 1893. He was the commissioner
for this state and had full charge of the state’s exhibit at the
Trans-Mississippi Exposition at Omaha in 1898. He was one of the
founders of the Rocky Mountain Husbandman, November, 1875. His
brother, R. N. Sutherlin, was and still is associated with him in
its publication. Mr. Sutherlin is one of the best authorities on
agriculture in the Northwest.
ROBERT VAUGHN.
Great Falls, Mont., Jan. 7, 1900.
MY FIRST BUFFALO HUNT.
I do not think that there is anything more exciting, combined with
fun and enjoyment to a man, than a buffalo hunt, or, as some call it,
a chase, especially the first. I well remember my first experience
along that line. It was on the lake’s flat, between Sun river and Fort
Benton. John Argue and James Armstrong were with me. We could see for
several days buffaloes in the coulees on the Muddy. The weather had
been cold and snowing for some time. The first clear day we mounted our
horses and prepared for a chase.
After we arrived on top of Frozen Hill we could see that the Lake flat
and the region beyond was entirely covered with buffaloes. It was a
sight to behold. Without exaggeration there were a quarter of a million
buffaloes in sight; the main herd covered eight miles by three miles,
and they were so numerous that they ate every spear of grass as they
went. We rode slowly until we got near the herd, for they were quietly
feeding. Soon we could see that the outside ones discovered us, and we
made the charge with guns in hand. I had a dragoon revolver, the kind
that the cavalry used the time of the war. I was riding a very fine
horse. Soon we commenced shooting. It was not long before every buffalo
was on the move. And now the fun began. Tens of thousands of these
ponderous animals were running at a furious pace; the earth trembled,
and the clicking of their hoofs could be heard for miles away. By this
time my horse had me in the midst of the herd, for he could run like
a racer, and I had two big buffaloes badly crippled and they fell to
the rear. Now I had gone all of two miles and fired a dozen shots,
with buffaloes in front of me and buffaloes behind me and buffaloes on
each side of me; in fact I could see nothing but buffaloes. It takes
some practice to load a gun while on horseback and on full speed.
However, I was doing this with considerable accuracy. Now I had my old
dragoon loaded the third time, and I took after a fat young cow. The
chase began to tell on my horse for it was as much as he could do to
keep up with this particular buffalo. Soon I had two bullets in her
and one more in my gun; I was determined to make a sure shot with it.
I now could see that the pace of the buffalo was slower. I spurred
my horse and with a spurt he was at her side. As quick as lightening
the buffalo whirled around and caught my foot with her crooked horn
and came very near throwing me out of the saddle and as near goring
the horse. This warned me to be more cautious. The buffalo started in
another direction, but very slowly. I followed it; finally it stopped
and turned, looking directly at me. I was fifty yards off. I took a
deliberate aim at it and down she came. I shot it directly between the
eyes. This cow buffalo netted nearly nine hundred pounds and it was
as fine meat as I ever tasted. I was now in the center of the buffalo
herd and all running like mad and going in one direction; the clouds of
fine snow and dust making it very dangerous for a man, being liable to
be run over by the buffaloes. At this juncture I had to stand in one
place, hat in hand, yelling at the top of my voice to keep them from
running over me and my horse. Once a big bull, coming on a terrific
speed directly towards me, was in ten feet before he saw me, but made
a dodge and at the same time gave a snort and passed me, brushing his
shaggy coat against my buckskin suit. It was not long before the big
rush had gone by and I had had my first buffalo hunt. A few miles west
of me some Indians were chasing another herd. On my way back I found
the first two buffaloes that I crippled; one was dead and the other
could not get up. Armstrong and Argue had good luck. Next day we went
back and brought home a wagon load of as good meat as anyone could wish.
[Illustration: From Painting by C. M. Russell.
INDIANS HUNTING BUFFALO.]
The buffaloes are the most watchful animals that I ever saw. At the
least disturbance in the herd they are all at once on the watch as if
they had some way of telegraphing to each other; and their scent is
remarkably keen. When getting away from the hunter they all run one way
and invariably go north. They have remarkable lung power; it takes more
than an ordinary horse to keep up with the average buffalo for a mile,
and, if not in a mile, good bye horse, for about this time the buffalo
begins to warm up and is getting ready for a race. This was in the
winter of 1872.
ROBERT VAUGHN.
Jan. 23, 1898.
TOM CAMPBELL RUNNING THE GAUNTLET.
All of the old-timers of Northern Montana remember Tom Campbell (now
dead). He was always jolly and a good fellow in general. Tom told me
of what happened to him one time when out in the hills and alone. At
the time referred to he was employed at one of the trading posts down
the Missouri river. One day he was sent to get a deer for meat at the
post. When he was about six miles from the camp he came in contact
with four Indians. They at once captured him and wanted to know what
business he had to hunt in their country. One Indian leveled his gun at
Tom’s head, while another one took his horse and gun from him. One of
the Indians had seen Tom before at the trading store. This Indian told
his comrade, who was threatening to shoot, to lay down his gun. And the
four then held a kind of council to consider and decide what to do with
their captive. Tom understood their language and overheard what they
were saying. One wanted to tie him to a tree and all take a shot at
him; another one wanted to scalp him first and then kill him; the other
two were undecided. Finally, one of them, a strapping big fellow, said
that he knew this man and that he did not want to kill him, but that he
would take away everything he had and then let him go. Tom said that
this Indian had a great deal of influence over the others. After having
considerable talk about the matter with the other three, he turned to
Tom and said: “I want that coat.” “You can have it,” said Tom. Again
the Indian said: “I want that vest and shirt.” “All right,” said Tom.
“And I want them pants and shoes you have on,” said the lordly red
man. “You can have them, too,” said Tom. Tom was speedily divested of
all his clothing. The Indian who made the demand had a rawhide lariat
in his hand, and, with it, gave Tom a whack across the shoulders and
a kick where his coat-tail used to be, and told him to go home. Tom,
naked and barefooted, made a bee line towards the post. After he had
gone a certain distance the Indians began shooting at him, and at the
same time running after him, but, as Tom was in good condition and
stripped for a foot race, he outran them; though the bullets whistled
about him, he got home without being hit.
Tom said that it took him but a few minutes to cover the distance, and
that when he arrived his feet were bleeding terribly.
About two years afterwards, on Front street, in Fort Benton, Campbell
met the Indian who struck and kicked him and divested him of all his
clothing. He seized the Indian by the arm and demanded that he should
come with him. The Indian appeared greatly frightened and asked Tom
what he was going to do with him. “Come with me and ask no questions,”
said Tom. The Indian obeyed, and in a few minutes they were in I. G.
Baker’s store. “Now,” said Tom, “I want you to pick out the best shirt
and the best pair of blankets in this store and I will pay for them.”
The Indian was greatly surprised at this and it was evident that it was
the first time in his life that he ever was whipped with a golden rule,
for all this time he thought that Tom was taking him to some place to
receive punishment, or that he was going to be killed for what he and
his companions had done to Tom when out hunting two years before. Tom
said to the Indian: “You stole my clothing, you struck me, and the kick
you gave me was a hard one, but all that, I owe you my life and I am
glad to have the opportunity to return you this compliment.” The Indian
was much pleased and promised Tom his friendship as long as he lived.
This Indian was prominent in his tribe, and this “golden rule” act of
Tom Campbell’s was made known to every Indian in that tribe, and not
a hair of his head they allowed to be injured. And from that time he
was always treated with the greatest kindness, and many trophies he
received as a token of friendship from those Indians.
Mr. Campbell was well educated. For a long time he was in the
employment of the American Fur company, and always occupied a post
of trust. At the time I had the above conversation he was doing a
prosperous business for himself.
ROBERT VAUGHN.
April 7, 1899.
EDWARD A. LEWIS’ EARLY DAYS IN MONTANA.
Having been acquainted with Mr. Edward A. Lewis, who lives on a
thousand-acre farm in the foot hills near St. Peter’s Mission,
twenty-five miles southwest from this place, and, knowing that he is
one of the earliest settlers in Northern Montana, one day last week I
took a drive and had a very interesting interview with him in regard
to his early days in the West. In the year 1869 he was married to a
daughter of a Piegan war chief named Meek-i-appy (Heavy Shield). Father
Imoda officiated. Mrs. Lewis had been baptized in the Christian faith
previous to her marriage. She is an intelligent woman and speaks fair
English; she is a splendid housekeeper, and, above all, a true wife
and loving mother. They have three daughters who are well educated;
the oldest is married to Mr. John Taber, a well-to-do farmer and stock
raiser. When I arrived at the house Mr. Lewis, with his hired man, was
in a field near by stacking grain. I asked him how many crops he had
harvested off that field; he said: “This is the twenty-ninth crop.” I
should judge that forty bushels to the acre would be a fair estimate of
the present one.
This beautiful mountain home is but a natural park, of a horseshoe
shape, surrounded by high hills crowned with perpendicular cliffs to
the height of several hundred feet, with here and there a low divide
beyond which nothing is visible but the blue sky. One of the hills
east of the house is called Skull mountain. When Mrs. Lewis’ mother
was a young woman, the Flatheads and Piegans had a fight in the little
valley below, in which the Flatheads came out victorious. Eight of
the Piegans fled to the top of this mountain, and there fortified
themselves by building breastworks with stones and pitch pine logs.
They held the fort for one day and a night, but the Flatheads greatly
outnumbered them, and they were overpowered and killed; not one
escaped. Many years afterwards Mr. Lewis and Mr. Morgan, his neighbor,
found the skull of one of those Indians and brought it home. From this
“Skull Mountain” received its name. The little fort was standing until
a few years, when some school children tore it down, and now nothing
remains but the ruins.
Mr. Lewis, calling my attention to a clump of pine near the summit of
Skull Mountain, said: “There is where there is a bed of oyster shells
that are as perfect as those on the seashore.” Pointing his hand at
another high hill, he said: “And there is where there is another bed
of the same kind of shells.” On entering the house, and after I had
asked him a few questions in regard to his early adventures in the
West, Mr. Lewis said: “It was always my desire to go West. When but
eighteen years of age, at St. Louis, Missouri, I hired to the American
Fur company to go and work at Fort Benton on the upper Missouri
river. I left St. Louis the eighth day of May, 1857, on the steamboat
“Star of the West.” I arrived at Fort Benton the twenty-second day of
September of the same year. The boat was loaded with goods to pay the
Indians their annuities for the treaty they had made with Governor
Stevens in behalf of the government for the right of way for a wagon
road through their country. The American Fur company had taken the
contract to deliver the Indian goods. The boat came as far as about
five miles below the place now called Culberson on the Great Northern
railroad. There the goods were taken off the steamer and some of them
were issued to the Indians at that place. We had brought with us from
St. Louis enough lumber to build two Mackinaw boats, and we whipsawed
dry cottonwood logs into enough lumber to build the third one. With
these boats we took the balance of the goods up to Fort Benton. We
had to tow them all the way. There were seventeen men to the boat;
sometimes we had to cross the river on account of the high banks and
other obstacles. It was hard work, besides sometimes we were in the
water up to our waists. It took us sixty-five days to come to Fort
Benton from the place where the steamboat landed. In the fall of the
same year I, with others, was sent to Fort Union with Mackinaw boats
loaded with furs. For several years all the robes and furs belonging
to the company were taken from Fort Benton to Fort Union in this way.
The distance overland between the two places is three hundred and
seventy-four miles, but much greater by the river route. When on these
trips we often had to travel at night for the purpose of passing the
many hostile Indian camps that were along the river. Notwithstanding
all our precautions, many times we had narrow escapes from being robbed
and killed by those Indians. Immediately after arriving from the trip
referred to, I returned to Fort Benton overland in company with Bill
Atkinson, a Frenchman named Rinober, and Henry Bosdwike, who, for
several years afterwards, was an interpreter for the government. In
1877 he was killed in the Gibbon fight with the Nez Perces Indians at
Big Hole. We had in our charge two carts that were loaded with Indian
goods and were drawn by oxen, two to a cart. Then it was difficult to
get enough goods to Fort Benton to supply the Indian trade. In the
following spring I was sent down the river to Fort Union on the same
kind of a trip. When we got there the agent wanted volunteers to take
a dispatch boat to Omaha. Mr. Armel, Bill Fatherland and myself took
the job. We went down the Missouri in a small cottonwood boat twelve
feet long. For our provisions we had nothing but dried buffalo meat.
We were happy and contented until we got to a Mandan Indian village;
there we were informed that the Sioux chief, “Bighead,” who was a
bitter enemy of the whites, was in camp with five hundred lodges on the
bank of the Missouri river near the mouth of Cannonball river. This
was gloomy news to us, for we knew that Chief Bighead was one of the
worst Indians on the river. However, there was nothing for us to do
but take the chance and to pass the village in the dead of the night.
We glided along, stopping now and then to look for Indian signs in the
sand on the shores. After coming near Grand Prairie we decided to cache
our boat in the willows day times, and from there on run at night.
One evening after an hour of hard rowing, we came where we could see
the reflections in the sky from the fires in the Sioux camp, as from
a good-sized town lighted by electricity nowadays. As we were getting
near the village we stopped for a short time to lay our plans. It was
decided that we would wait until the Indians were asleep, and then let
the boat drift close to the high, steep bank next to the Indian’s camp,
for it would not do to use the oars for fear of making a noise. As we
floated close to the bank, we could hear the Indians talking to each
other. After we got past, one of the guards discovered us and gave the
alarm, but as the lay of the land and the thick brush along the bank of
the river were in our favor, and the way we worked the oars and made
the little craft fly, we were soon out of danger. We hid ourselves and
the boat in the willows on an island the next day, and the day after
in a similar place, but after that we traveled day and night until we
got to Omaha. There the company’s agent paid our fare to St. Louis, and
soon afterwards we returned back to the mountains.
It was in the year 1858 an agency was established in the Sun River
valley where now Mr. H. B. Strong’s ranch is. Here is where the annuity
of Governor Stevens’ treaty was issued to the Blackfeet Indians. Major
Vaughn was agent to issue the goods.
In December, 1859, the company sent nine of us to the Highwood
mountains, about twenty miles from Fort Benton to cut logs to make
lumber to build Mackinaw boats, for the fur trade was doubling every
winter, consequently a great many more boats were required to take the
goods, consisting of fur robes and pelts, to Fort Union. After being
in camp a few days we had everything running smoothly. Phil Barnes and
I drove the ox teams. Some of the men were new hands who had come from
St. Louis that summer and could not speak a word of Indian and did not
understand their sign talk. One day when Barnes and I were about half
a mile from camp we could hear from behind us the clatter of horses
and the cracking of whips; on looking back we discovered thirty Crow
Indians coming as fast as their horses could carry them, and were
coming right towards us, all having their bows strung and their hands
full of arrows, and as they approached us, they rent the air with their
Indian yells. One pressed an arrow against Barnes’ breast and demanded
where our camp was; we told them and pointed in that direction.
Twenty-seven of them left at once for our camp; the other three stayed
to pilot us the same way the others went. The Indians soon could tell
who the new men were and they stripped some of them, and then used the
ramrods of their guns on them. They made us cook for the whole gang,
and when night came they put us all together and stood guard over us
all night, and until the evening of the next day, when one Indian named
Red Bear, and who was the chief, told Barnes and I to get the oxen and
go to Benton after more goods; and that they were going to take all we
had, and he further said: “We have got all the horses your people had.”
Barnes and I took an ox team, as Chief Red Bear had told us, and left
for Fort Benton on that evening. We traveled all night, and when we
arrived at Fort Benton, we were told that the night previous the
Indians had stolen two hundred and fifty head of the company’s horses.
At the time they were holding us as prisoners the others of the party
were stealing the horses that were on Pablow Island, near Fort Benton.
It was Chief Red Bear and his gang that robbed and plundered the James
Stuart party on the Yellowstone four years later.
In 1860 Major Blake, with a detachment of troops, came up the Missouri
river to Fort Benton and was bound to Fort Colville in the then
Territory of Washington. Blake and his troops came on the steamboat
named “Chippewa,” and this was the first time a steamboat ever landed
at Fort Benton. The same year Captain John Mullan was building a
wagon road from Walla Walla to Fort Benton, which was afterwards
known as the Mullan road. Major Blake, when on his way up the river,
was very anxious to know the whereabouts of Captain Mullan, who was
then somewhere west of the main range of the Rocky mountains. Malcolm
Clarke, who had been in St. Louis attending to some business concerning
the American Fur company, was on the same boat. When at Fort Union
Clark volunteered to take a message overland to Fort Benton and from
there forward it to Captain Mullan, saying that he would get to Fort
Benton several days ahead of the steamer.
Clark mounted one of Major Blake’s government mules and arrived at Fort
Benton six days from the time he left Fort Union and five days ahead of
the “Chippewa.” From Fort Benton I was sent with the message to Captain
Mullan, whom I met on the Hell Gate river. I traveled on the old Indian
trail up the Prickly Pear canyon and crossed the main divide where now
the Northern Pacific Railway crosses.
At the mouth of the Deer Lodge river I met a Flathead Indian who could
talk a little English. I asked him where those soldiers were. He told
me that they were a little ways down the river and on the other side.
It was in the month of June, the snow was melting off the mountains,
and the streams were very high.
The Indian came with me to show where Mullan was, and we followed down
the banks of the Hell Gate river for a few miles until we came opposite
where Captain Mullan’s camp was. I told the Indian that I had a letter
for Mullan and he said he would swim the river and take it to him. I
gave the Indian the letter and he swam the swift current of that great
river with the letter between his teeth and landed, after going down
the stream nearly a mile. I was then a good swimmer, but I would not
undertake to swim that river then for any consideration. Mullan, after
reading the letter, wrote one to Major Blake, which I delivered on my
return to Fort Benton, where I met Blake. It took me seven days and a
half to make the trip. At the Benton Lake I met Captain W. H. Reynolds’
United States engineer corps expedition, which was in camp there at the
time. They had been viewing the Missouri Falls.
In the summer of 1861 the same steamer (Chippewa), when loaded with
goods for the company, blew up somewhere near Fort Union, when on her
trip up to Fort Benton. Mr. Sam Ford, who now lives at the city of
Great Falls, was on the boat at the time of the accident. The cargo was
lost, consequently they had to get another supply from Fort Union. The
goods had to be hauled overland to Fort Benton. I, with others, was
sent to bring the goods. We left Fort Union with several wagons and
carts dr
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