STORIES OF THE PIONEERS
From many sources have been gathered the personal narratives, sketches and relations that follow, many of them from the lips of the men who were actors in the scenes they describe, and they are given without regard to time, place or order of occurrence, promising only that they are true and illustrate historically the early days of Wyoming. To begin with some of the early experiences of the author, in which I have given some notes of what I saw and "a part of which I was."
Pete got up somewhat flustrated and said: "Boys you know I can't make a speech."
"Yes you can, go on, go on," shouted the members.
He hesitated, cleared his throat and assumed a belligerent attitude. "I tell you I'm no speech maker, but I want you fellers to understand if I tackle this job I am going to do it right. I'm told that fish is the greatest brain food in existence. If that's the case, I'm going to stock up our streams to beat the band, and I'm going to make it my special business to see that the next Legislature has a damn sight more brains than this one has!"
As he said this his voice rose and rang through the hall, he swung his fist around and hit the desk a resounding whack and sat down. The house broke out in a roar of laughter and applause. I have heard many orations and speeches but none so instantaneously effective.
I wish to state here, sub rosa, that since then, several Wyoming Legislatures have convened and adjourned, that certainly appeared to be shy on brain food.
"That's good," said I, "but when I crossed the plains in 1864, I saw 10,000,000 buffalo in practically one herd extending along the Arkansas River for five hundred miles."
"How do you know there were 10,000,000" said Patrick.
"I counted 'em," said I.
This raised a laugh on Patrick and he came back with this:
"How did you count them?"
"Psychologically and in my mind's eye," said I.
There might have been more but a million or so difference in the estimate wouldn't cut much figure. Our route lay along the Arkansas Valley from Manhattan to Ben's old fort and being in the month of November all the big herds of the North were moving South and found their best feeding grounds in this section. They therefore delayed in crossing south during the pleasant weather and rapidly accumulated in numbers. The western Indians were on the warpath then and might be classed as wild animals, but that makes another story.
Showing how tame wild game was at that time, Mr. Patrick mentioned the incident of a young antelope getting in between his team of horses for protection from a dog.
In the summer of 1879 with my wife and children, I made a camping out trip to and through North Park for a month's vacation. We took a tent, camp equipage and grub. There were few ranches and for days at a time we saw no human habitations. Game was very plentiful, especially antelope. At the southern end of the park we camped near a ranch where the owner had seven or eight elk he had captured and was training them for work and selling them to animal collectors. These elk were as tame as a domestic cow.
On the trip we had a dog who was fired with the ambition to catch an antelope, but he got his lesson and quit. In the last attempt he started after a bunch when the leader, a big buck, turned around suddenly and jumped on him with his forefeet, stiff-legged. The dog, who was hit only by a powerful glancing stroke, rolled over down the hill yelling in terror. He came back to the wagon with scars on his head and the side of his body and never chased any more antelope.
Twice on the trip we found little baby antelopes in the sage brush where the mother had left them. One little one that was running around we captured and took along for a pet, feeding him on canned milk, warm and diluted. He thrived well for several days, but at one of our camping places got away long enough to drink some very cold spring water, which caused his death.
Another thing–in laying out the streets a great many pine trees had to be cut down. Therefore the streets and roadways were full of stumps and it required the utmost skill in a driver to get through without smashing a wagon or breaking the horses' legs. Therefore, there were many stump speeches made, brief and emphatic, interlarded with "strange oaths" unfit for publication. However, we escaped safely with our team and our morals.
Afterwards I learned that the miners got up this little show for our entertainment. Things had been rather quiet with them for a week, no shooting scrapes or lynchings, and they wanted to liven up matters and give us a sample of what life in a genuine mining camp should be. We were entertained all right, but had the time of our lives trying to drive the horses under that suspended figure.
The smelter was located on the banks of Platte River at the mouth of the canyon about one mile and a half above Guernsey. It had been noted as the finest pike fishing resort on the river and was a favorite place for the sport of United States officers from Fort Laramie, which was then garrisoned and was the principal army post of the department.
One day Superintendent Bartlett (no relation) and myself looking down the river, saw an immense school of pike swimming up, their fins agitating the surface with dimpling waves. They kept in the center of the stream, and we could not reach them with poles. Accordingly we improvised a raft, having plenty of lumber and tools, rigged up our lines, got some fresh meat for bait and secured some heavy irons for an anchor. Taking one of our big ore tubs we placed it in the center of the raft and anchored in mid-stream where the water was alive around us. We had two hooks on each line and as soon as they were dropped they were grabbed by the hungry fish, and we hauled them in two at a time until the tub was nearly full and we were exhausted by our efforts and the excitement of the catch.
The serpent entered this Eden, but without his ancient fascination. In the summer time the doors and windows were open. On two occasions we captured rattlesnakes that had entered the house and one time we got two big bull snakes who were making a home under the bed, lying in wake for mice. The bull snake is harmless but so much resembles a rattler that any tenderfoot will be deceived.
Mr. Clay was one of the pioneers and like Judge Gibson Clark and John Hunton was at one time employed at the post trader's store at Fort Laramie as clerk and assistant. Afterward he engaged in freighting. When the town of Douglas was located he opened a general store and for several years did the leading business there. Later he was elected county treasurer for two or three terms. He came to Washington, D. C. with a view of pushing a claim of losses sustained by Indian depredations, and having access to the Government departments I had the pleasure of giving him some assistance. We spent several evenings together, and as I was becoming interested in mining ventures and he was familiar with the placer grounds worked by the old gold miners, our conversation drifted that way. One evening just before he left Washington he said to me:
"I am going to tell you what I know about the Lost Cabin mines. I have kept the story to myself for nearly forty years expecting to go personally and locate the place, but something has always come up to prevent giving it my time and money. I think you can find it, and all I ask is give me a show in the find."
I have kept the story sub rosa for twenty years but now release it, trusting the directions given will enable some prospector to locate these rich placers, and I leave it entirely to him as to whether he owes me anything for the information. This is the story :
The Lost Cabin gold placers were discovered in the fall of 1865, and were worked three days by seven men from the Black Hills country. Five of the seven men were killed by the Indians. Two escaped and brought away seven thousand dollars in coarse gold. Since that time no effort for the discovery of the place has been successful although many attempts have been made by small and large parties to reach these wonderfully rich placers where the gold could almost literally be picked up from the ground. Under a treaty made by the Government with the powerful Indian tribes then occupying this territory they were given undisturbed possession of this area for many years and all white men were warned not to invade their hunting grounds.
Mr. Clay said that the two men who escaped came into Fort Laramie and as soon as they got in went to the Sutler's store and asked him to put their gold in the safe. In doing this they confided to him the story of the find and the fortunes of the expedition. This was in October, 1865. Early in that month the two men reached old Fort Reno at the point which is now the crossing of Powder River. They arrived there in a terribly weak and exhausted condition. They explained that they had belonged to a party of seven gold prospectors who went into the Big Horn Mountains on their eastern slope from the Black Hills of Dakota. They traveled along the base of the range in a southwestern direction, prospecting and testing the ground at all points where the streams came down from the mountains until they reached a park surrounded by heavy timber through which ran a bold and swift mountain stream, and which a few yards below joined a larger stream. Here they found rich signs of the yellow metal and on digging down struck bed rock at a depth of three or four feet where gold was very plentiful and coarse, with many good sized nuggets.
They immediately went into camp having tools and grub in addition to the wild game they had hunted which was then very plentiful. They had brought two pack animals to carry their tools and supplies. Among the tools was a big log saw especially valuable to gold miners, and they soon sawed the logs they needed to construct a flume. In two days by almost continuous hard work they also built a substantial log cabin. They then began to dig and wash out the gold in good earnest.
Late one afternoon on the third day they were suddenly surprised and attacked by Indians. It seemed to be a large band but they were almost concealed by the surrounding timber. The men fought as best they could until nightfall, but being in the open were at such disadvantage that five of their number were killed. The Indians would not expose themselves. The night was cloudy and as it soon became very dark the two men who had not been hurt gathered up the gold and succeeded in escaping without being seen by the Indians.
In addition to the gold, they carried their arms and some grub. Traveling on foot they put as much distance as they could between themselves and their foes during the first night and in the morning hid themselves among the trees where they remained until night came on. They then continued their journey not knowing where they were going. After three nights of continuous walking they reached Fort Reno, where there was a small garrison of United States soldiers stationed to protect the old trail and furnish a camp for settlers driven out by the Indians. They told their story to the lieutenant in command, but he did not credit it fully. About that time there had been a number of desertions of soldiers who wanted to hunt for gold and were willing to face dangers in the quest, so he held them under guard and sent them with a detachment and wagon train then about to leave for Fort Fetterman. When they reached Fort Fetterman, the commanding ofificer had them under investigation and becoming convinced of the truth of their story allowed them to go to Fort Laramie with the next military wagon train departing for that point.
For the next twelve or thirteen years it was unsafe for any party to go into that region as the Indians were very numerous and powerful, as well as generally hostile, so that the mystery that hung over the Lost Cabin mines was not lifted and hangs over them to this day, with the exception of this rift of light that comes from Charley Clay's narrative.
It would be difficult to put into cold type the interesting episodes of his life and of the early settlers who were in his group of comrades, like Colin Hunter. Hi Kelley, E. W. Whitcomb, Dan McUlvan and Gibson Clark, but his story is so typical of early days in Wyoming that the writer journeyed to Fort Laramie in May, 1918, to get from his own lips a relation, that only he could give.
Mr. Hunton was born in Madison County, Va., in the Blue Ridge Mountain. June 18, 1839. His father and mother, Alexander and Elizabeth (Carpenter) Hunton, were among the oldest, historic families of the South and it was natural that John should be among the first to join the Confederate army and remain in its ranks as a fighting man till the surrender at Appomattox. Even before the Civil war, Mr. Hunton, as one of the Mrginia State Guards, was on duty at Charlestown, Va., eight miles from Harpers Ferry with four thousand of the guard, when John Brown was hung. Later, he was in Pickett's famous charge at Gettysburg.
He left home in the early spring of 1867, and went to Julesburg, Colo. From there he went to Fort Russell with a freight train carrying finished lumber to use in building Fort Russell, then a military camp established to protect the men engaged in building the Union Pacific Railroad. The camp had been started with the construction of log buildings and when the Government had decided to establish the fort, finished lumber and imjjroved equipment was freighted in. This was before Cheyenne was started.
Mr. Hunton knew personally some of the most famous Indian chiefs of that day, such as Red Cloud, Otter Tail, American Horse, Spotted Tail and Young-man-Afraid-of-his-Horse. and attended many of their conferences and treaty councils. In the famous Treaty of 1868, Mr. Hunton was a witness to the names of the Indian chiefs, their signatures being a cross mark. Mr. Hunton remained at the fort till October, 1870. For several months while there he roomed with Jim Bridger, the famous guide and scout. In 1874 he established the S. O. Ranch and put in a herd of cattle at a point where the Overland Trail crossed the Box Elder, about twelve miles west of Fort Fetterman. This ranch passed through various hands till it was finally sold to Judge Carey and has since become one of the great farm and ranch establishments of the state.
At various times Mr. Hunton engaged in contracting with the Government for hay, wood and beef at Fort Laramie. Fort Fetterman and Fort McKinney, finally located a home ranch at Bordeaux and engaged extensively in the cattle business in that section. For several years "Hunton's," as the place was known then, being on the Fort Laramie and Black Hills Trail, accommodated travelers, stock men, cowboys, Black Hills gold hunters, soldiers and Government freighters with meals and supplies as a road station and stopping place.
Roving bands of Indians remained in that section till 1877, stealing stock and occasionally "sniping" a settler. While at Bordeaux, Mr. Hunton's brother James, was killed by the Indians. That was in 1876. About this time the road agents and horse thieves became numerous on the Black Hills road and the treasure coaches with their passengers were frequently held up and robbed. These were exciting times and the Cheyenne-Fort Laramie Road was the most frequented and best traveled route in the Mountain West.
In 1888 Mr. Hunton was appointed post trader at Fort Laramie succeeding John London. Fle held that position till the order was issued abandoning the fort, the last Government troops leaving the garrison April 20, 1890. The order of abandonment was issued in March, 1890, and shortly thereafter two public sales were made, one in March of the army material accumulated there, and one in April of the Government buildings. The reservation lands excepting forty acres where Mr. Hunton had his sutler's store, his residence and various other buildings he had erected at his own expense were thrown open to homestead settlement. A special act of Congress granted him the privilege of purchasing this forty acre tract at one dollar and a quarter per acre.
The reservation lands covered an area of six miles east and west by nine miles north and south, or fifty-four square miles. The best portion of this land was soon taken up by homestead settlements and Mr. Hunton by homesteading and purchase of choice land at the center of the post secured several hundred acres through which a canal was built making a beautiful ranch home with fertile lands and the picturesque scenes of his early life in Wyoming.
Mr. Hunton also acquired the Bullock Ranch, one of the most valuable ranches on Laramie River, which is now known as "Gray Rocks." In the meantime Mr. Hunton and his wife have made their home at Fort Laramie where all around them a rich agricultural region is being developed under the Interstate and Laramie canals recently constructed by the United States Reclamation Service, on each side of Platte River, from the Whalen Dam about five miles above Fort Laramie. Mr. Hunton has the distinction as an engineer, of individually making the original survey for the Whalen Dam and Canal System which became the basis of a Government reclamation project that cost over eleven million dollars, including the Nebraska canals.
He sold his survey notes, filings and water rights to Lingle & Company who began the construction, but they afterward sold to the United States Government which has completed here one of the great irrigation enterprises of the West with canals extending into Nebraska and watering one hundred thousand acres of land in Wyoming and much more in Nebraska.
Among other pioneers and builders of Wyoming who were contemporary with Mr. Hunton and often connected with him in business enterprises, were Colin Hunter, E. W. Whitcomb, H. B. Kelley, and Dan McUlvan. Hunter and Whitcomb have crossed the divide within the past two years, but Kelley and McUIvan are still living and in vigorous health at the time of this writing.
In the meantime he had built a fine residence at Cheyenne, where he made his home with his family. After reaching the age of eighty-five years he was killed by lightning while on a visit to his Belle Fourche Ranch. While living in Cheyenne he was elected one of the commissioners of Laramie County. He was a gentleman of ability and honor and in every respect a fine example of the character of our best pioneers.
Grouard was one of the most interesting men that I have ever met, and had the most thrilling and adventurous life of any of the great scouts known to western history. He had lived six years among the Indians as the adopted brother of Sitting Bull, where he gained the respect and admiration of the whole Sioux tribe and visiting tribes, for his achievements as hunter and marksman, athletic powers and feats of dare-devil bravery. As a scout and Indian trailer he never had a superior, his endurance was wonderful, when on expeditions in pursuit of Indians he was always accurate and unerring in his knowledge of their location, and in his advice as to the best method of approaching and fighting them. Generals Sheridan, Crook, Merritt and other noted commanders have testified to Grouard's remarkable genius as a scout, and various correspondents and newspaper men like Gen. James S. Brisbin, Capt. John G. Bourke, Capt. Jack Crawford, John F. Finnerty, have been on expeditions with him and importuned him for the story of his life without success.
He was naturally reticent and as modest as he was brave. General Crook, in his correspondence with the war department in 1876, referring to Grouard and his valuable services, said: "I would sooner lose a third of my command than Frank Grouard."
His affection for, and confidence in, Grouard was reciprocated and they became firm and steadfast friends. During Grouard's stay in our camp at different times he overcame his reticence and told us many events of his life. His ancestors were French Huguenots who fled to America and settled near Portsmouth, N. H. His father was born there and at the age of twenty went to the South Sea Islands as a missionary and married there a native woman, daughter of a chief. Frank was the second son and was therefore half French and half Malay. As he seldom referred to his childhood, his companions generally thought him to be a full or part Indian. Indeed he might be mistaken for a full-blooded Sioux, except he was handsomer than any Indian. He was six feet in height, weighed two hundred and thirty pounds, had broad shoulders and a heavy growth of black hair. He was-straight and symmetrical, had handsome dark brown eyes. His habits were temperate so that he retained his strength, vigor and athletic powers at all times.
Frank's father brought his family to California where his wife left him and returned to the Islands. Frank was left in the family of Addison Pratt at Beaver, Utah. He ran away from the Pratts and got a job as bull-whacker, hauling freight from San Bernardino to Helena, Mont. This was in 1865 when he was about fifteen years of age. A few years later he got a job breaking horses for the Holliday Stage Company and soon after was put in the Pony Express service from Diamond City to Fort Hall on the Missouri River. On his fourth trip the Indians captured him. He was suddenly surrounded by twenty Blackfeet who pulled him off his horse and stripped him entirely naked and told him to go back. Then they began to lash him with quirts following him for several miles as he ran over a country covered with patches of cactus. He was not long in reaching Fort Hall, seventy miles away.
He was next put on the mail line from Fort Hall to Fort Peck at the mouth of Milk River. He was then a boy nineteen years of age. The Sioux were getting ugly and committing depredations throughout that region. It was winter time and while making a trip, going through a gulch in a snow storm, without thought of anyone being near he was suddenly hit on the back of the head and knocked from his horse. A band of Sioux warriors surrounded him and began to quarrel over him, as to who should have his guns, his fur coat, gloves and leggings. During the quarrel another Indian rode up. He seemed to have great authority. He stopped the quarrel and knocked down the one who had taken the rifle. He then took Grouard to the Indian Village. During the three days travel before reaching the hostile camp he learned that his captor was the famous Indian Chief, "Sitting Bull," who, on arriving took Grouard to his own tent and motioned him to sit down on a pile of buffalo robes. He fell asleep from pure exhaustion, although he fully expected to be tortured and killed very soon. While he slept the Indians held a council to decide his fate. Chiefs Gall and No-Neck declared for his immediate execution and they had a majority of the tribe with them. Sitting Bull almost alone refused to consent to Grouard's death and he declared he would make him his "brother." His public adoption into Sitting Bull's family saved him from a cruel death. The chief had taken a great fancy to Grouard, named him "Standing Bear," and called him brother. The name, Standing Bear, was soon known to all the surrounding tribes. This name was given him because when captured he wore a heavy fur coat, fur leggings, cap and gloves, and was so bundled up, prepared for the storm, that he resembled a bear.
He lived with Sitting Bull for six years, during which time he became thoroughly acquainted with their language and traditions, their manners and customs in war and peace and he so excelled the best of them in athletic exercises, markmanship, running and wrestling that he was looked upon with superstitious fear as a superior being. He studied and made notes of the legends and mythology of the Sioux tribes and had prepared a very complete history which was destroyed in a fire which burned his residence near Buffalo, Wyo.
He described the torture test he had to undergo as a Sioux warrior. All the village was assembled. He was taken by four chiefs and stripped naked. His flesh was raised by pricking him with needles. Pieces about the size of a pea were cut out with sharp knives, from each arm, in all over four hundred pieces. They pulled out his eyebrows and eyelashes one by one. They set fire to pieces of the pith of the sunflower which burned like punk, and held them against his wrist until they bumed out. Although he endured untold agony he did not flinch and gave no sign of his distress. The ceremonies lasted four hours and he was declared a good Indian. Then he was put through the "sweat" as a sort of a healing process. During the latter part of his captivity he was entrusted with peace negotiations and on account of Sitting Bull breaking his agreement with him and the whites he determined to give up his Indian life.
For a long time he had been allowed his freedom and on one trip he went to visit a white friend on Snake River, Neb. An expedition against the Indians was being organized. Orders were sent out for scouts who knew the country and he was persuaded to go to the camp where the troops were gathered. They told him to go and see General Crook, who was then at Fort Laramie, ninety miles away. He started at night and reached there the next morning. Crook questioned him very closely about the chance of getting at the Indians, engaged him as a scout at $125 a month, and they went back to the Red Cloud Agency. They went on an expedition to Tongue River and camped at the present site of Dayton. Here he assisted in making a treaty with Crazy Horse, for which service the Government paid him $500. It was three months before he could talk good English. During this period he wore Indian costume and long hair and to all appearances was a genuine Indian. He then had his hair cut and adopted a white man's dress and customs.
After that he was made chief of scouts and accompanied General Crook on his various expeditions, and was also with General MacKenzie, General Merritt and General Sheridan at different periods. He was with Crook's command in the campaign which resulted in the Custer massacre, was on the Custer battlefield the next morning after the fight and saw the bodies of the newly slain men. Grouard says Custer must have killed himself as his body was not harmed. The Indians will not touch the body of a suicide. He rode around their villages and estimated that they had nine thousand fighting men. He was with Merritt in the Nez Perce campaign, took a prominent part in suppressing the ghost dance and Messiah outbreaks at the Pine Ridge Agency, and made all the plans for the arrest of Sitting Bull which practically ended the Indian troubles of that time.
He was given a life position by the United States Government with a good salary whether on duty or not, but he was too proud to accept pay when he was rendering no service, and early in the '90s resigned and went into business for himself. He settled near Buffalo, Wyo., engaged in ranching and mining and while employed in the latter occupation we made his acquaintance. The details of his life and adventures have been told in an interesting volume written by Joe De Barth, a well known writer and newspaper man of Buffalo where Grouard spent his later years.
Dr. Grace Raymond Hebard, of the Wyoming State University, in her very interesting account of Sacajawea's services, says: "It was an epoch-making journey, a journey that moved the world along; that pushed the boundary of the United States from the Mississippi River to the Pacific; that gave us the breadth of the hemisphere from ocean to ocean; the command of its rivers and harbors; the wealth of the mountains, plains and valleys—a domain rich enough for the ambition of kings."
Sacajawea was a Shoshone Indian girl, the wife of Toissant Charbonneau. She was engaged as guide by Lewis and Clark when they reached the Mandan Indian village where she resided. Her husband, Charbonneau was first employed as an interpreter. He had two wives, the youngest being Sacajawea, who was sold to him as a slave when about fourteen years old. The following year, 1805, she gave birth to a child and this child she took with her on the long journey, strapped to her back. The babe grew up to become a skilled guide and scout and was known as "Baptiste." Before this time Sacajawea had been a captive for five years and had accompanied her captors over much of the ground over which tlie expedition went, and so by her knowledge and natural instinct in selecting trails she led the explorers on their way. That summer the party camped on the exact spot, at the junction of the Madison, Jefferson and Gallatin rivers, where as a child captive she had camped and played years before. She was the one who found the pass through the mountains and saved the party from long wanderings in an unknown wilderness.
Many dramatic incidents attended the trip. On one occasion when crossing a swollen stream one of their boats containing their valuable records was overturned and the records were floating away when she plunged into the dangerous stream and rescued the papers before they sank. On another occasion she found a brother who had been separated from the family many years had become an Indian chief. Neither recognized the other until the family relations were explained when they had a most affectionate reunion. The brother gave much assistance to the party in purchasing horses and supplies. She even assisted her husband in interpreting as she knew some Indian dialects better than he did. When starvation threatened them she collected artichokes and other nutritious plants and seeds which kept them alive till they reached places where better food could be had.
Lewis and Clark reached the coast December 7, 1805, and remained till March, 1806, when they began to retrace their journey to Mandan which they reached in August. Referring to Sacajawea, Lewis and Clark's Journal says;
"We found Charbonneau's wife particularly useful. Indeed she endured with a patience truly admirable the fatigues of so long a route incumbered with an infant now only nineteen months old. She was very observant, remembering locations not seen since her childhood.
"In trouble she was full of resources, plucky and determined. With her helpless infant she rode with the men, guiding us unerringly through mountain passes and lonely places. Intelligent, cheerful, resourceful, tireless and faithful, she inspired us all."
No better eulogium could be written of her personal character of the great service she rendered not only to the explorers but through them to our country. Her name is said to be derived from Sac, a canoe or raft, a—the, jawea, launcher— a launcher or paddler of canoes.
She was short of stature and was handsome in her girlhood days. She spoke French as well as several Indian tongues. She lived to a great age and during her whole life was wonderfully active and intelligent. She died at the Shoshone Agency near Lander, April 9, 1884, and was buried in the burial ground of the agency where her grave was marked by a small slab. The grave has been identified by her children and grandchildren, a fact ascertained and certified to, by Rev. John Roberts, who was a missionary at the reservation from 1883 to 1906. If the State of Wyoming ever becomes mindful of its patriotic and historic obligations it will erect a fitting memorial monument to Sacajawea, the brave pathfinding Indian girl, and also one to Chief Washakie, the greatest of Indian warriors and statesmen.
| Ah, sad the need and sad the day. When Caspar Collins rode away And in the battle's fiery breath Rode undismayed and captured death. With courage rare his brave young heart Impelled to take a soldier's part And save his comrades on the trail. He counted no such word as fail. He rode to death nor cared to know The fearful numbers of his foe, How great the odds, how sure his fate; He rode to lead and not to wait. Where Casper's church spires pierce the ambient air And the young city rises proud and fair. Where children's voices mingle with the bells And sound of happy industry, that tells The story of a new and better life. We turn our memory to red-blooded strife, The toilsome march, the ambuscade, the yell Of painted savages and battle's hell. That made our pioneers a sturdy race Of iron blood and nerves of steel, to face The storms and dangers of the wilderness, A future race, a future land to bless. We tread historic ground; Casper's old fort And old Platte Bridge, were once resort Of men who braved the perils of the trail And perished there with none to tell the tale; Hunters and trappers. Uncle Samuel's troops. Gold seekers. Mormons, men in motley groups With prairie schooners, mounts and caravans. Trailed o'er the plains; 'twas in the Almighty's plans For they were empire builders, who should rear The splendid commonwealth that we find here; Thus Casper in the path of empire lies Bound to old memories with historic ties. In 'sixty-five one July day Near Casper's site the old fort lay; Thousands of Indians swarmed around. The hills near by with yells resound; Few were the garrison but brave. Hemmed in they sought all means to save Their little band; but worse than all A wagon train was due that day And even then was on its way From Sweetwater with twenty men; How could they reach the fort? 'twas then A terror new burst on their view; Could they be saved? Oh, who would dare To fight 2,000 Indians there? Their force was small and great their fear, But five and twenty volunteer To march at once, to do or die; But who will lead them was the cry; Old officers declined; too late They said, to challenge fate. Young Caspar Collins, a mere boy. Stepped to the front with courage grand And volunteered to lead the band, The mission to him was a joy. "Trot, gallop, charge," the order came, The troopers rode to death and fame, They dashed across the old Platte Bridge But met upon the frowning ridge Two thousand Indians swarming there; With yells resounding through the air They sprang from many an ambuscade And overwhelmed the cavalcade. Hot raged the battle; it was hell Transferred to earth and none could tell What man alone could save his life In that unequal, maddening strife. They fought retreating to the fort To reach there with a good report, But Collins turned to help a man Wounded and dying in the van, Alas for him, alas the fate That made his effort all too late. He rode with courage undismayed Into the Indian bands, arrayed In mad revenge; and met his death Fighting alone to his last breath. Thus Caspar Collins in the thrilling fray Died gloriously and left a name Written in letters bright as day Upon the annals of Wyoming fame. While Casper Mountain shadows fall at night, Or the keen lances of the morning light Dart o'er the foothills, or the light breeze blows Along the valley where the North Platte flows. The name of Caspar Collins will abide. Written with those who grandly strove and died To save their fellowmen and build a state Of happy homes, proud, prosperous and great. |
He was bom at Belvidere, N. J., November 29, 1838, and the next year his parents moved to Michigan where he lived till 1857. On March lOth of that year, his spirit of adventure and thirst for "the wild," led him to start for Leavenworth, Kan., as he expresses it, "to hunt buffalo, scalp Indians and get a piece of land to farm."
He first reached Wyoming in October, 1859, passing over what is now Cheyenne nearly eight years before the town came into existence. In a recent edition of the Cheyenne Leader, Mr. Voorhees gives a history of the Overland Stage Company, organized in 1857, which is replete with thrilling incidents. The main historical facts are given elsewhere in this work. Speaking of the perils they encountered, he relates the following incidents:
In the year 1857, Mr. Voorhees made the trip from Lawrence, Kan., up the Kansas River to the confluence of the Smoky Hill and Republican and thence west on the plains about one hundred and fifty miles, on a buffalo hunt, and later in 1859, made a trip up the Arkansas River via Bent's Old Fort to "Pikes Peak or bust," camped where Denver now stands and went over the country from the South Platte to Pawnee Buttes. On this trip he saw buffalo herds covering the plains for 200 miles and he says that the word "millions" would not express their number. He saw one of the greatest herds in the vicinity of Pine Bluffs, about forty miles east of Cheyenne, now the Golden Prairie district, where many dry farmers are getting rich raising wheat, oats and live stock. He also on this trip passed over the present site of Cheyenne. His early recollections of the city which are very interesting appear in other parts of this history. One incident is mentioned of a
"At that date it was a rare thing to have any of the Overland stages held up by any one but the Indians. However, on this special trip of Ben Holliday it really happened. For between Green River stage station and Salt Wells on Bitter Creek, Wyoming, three men suddenly sprang from a ravine, each armed with a double-barreled shotgun and two dragoon revolvers, calling to the drivers to halt, which order was quickly obeyed. The road agents ordered all passengers–'hands up high!' On seeing a lady passenger in the coach they said she need not get out as they (the robbers) were gentlemen of the first water and never molested a lady. But they warned Mr. Holliday to keep his hands above his head. During the search through the treasure box and mail, Ben Holliday's heavy, bristly mustache began tickling his nose. It became so acute and unbearable that he finally made a move to scratch it. Instantly the road agent ordered his hands up high. 'My God!' said Ben, 'I must scratch my nose, I can't stand it.' 'You keep your hands up where I told you,' said the agent, 'I will attend to the nose business.' So he proceeded to rub Ben's nose with the muzzle of the shotgun. Thus relieved he held up his hands until the search was finished.
However, the false bottom in the coach was a success for it saved the gold which Mr. Holliday carried safely through to New York where he changed it into greenbacks clearing the handsome sum of $56,000.
After he had got cleaned up, "Yeast Powder" started for a drink. "They brew a native drink out of wheat and potatoes called 'valley tan.' I never tried it but those who did said it was the stuff. It would make a man fight a Sierra grizzly bear or his grandmother. Bill bought one drink for fifty cents and it created such an increase in his estimate of the mines that he and Clemens didn't discover, that he bought another. The world looked brighter after taking the second drink and he wanted a square meal.
"He was directed to Salt Lake House. Bill laid off his belt and two navy revolvers so he could eat comfortably. The landlord said the dinner was $3, pay in advance. Yeast Powder said it seemed steep but he always tried to play the game to the limit so he paid the $3 and entered the dining room. The menu was not a printed one, but verbal. Little Mollie, the waitress, or head waiter, was a very good looking little English (Mormon) girl. Bill told her to call the roll for $3 worth of grub, as he wanted to chaw worse than a California grizzly wanted to chaw a Digger Indian. Mollie called over the grub as she thought of it. She said 'carrots, biled beef, cabbage, taters, turnips, tea, hog meat and beans (Brigham cautioned his people to say hog meat, not pork), dried apple pie, stewed calves' liver and curlew.' 'Curlew! what the hell is curlew?" asked Bill. Mollie said it was a bird that could fly away up and whistle. Well, Bill said, any d——d thing that could fly and whistle and would stay in this country, he did not want to tackle, so he took tea, hog meat and beans, taters, calves' liver and dried apple pie."
Among Mr. Voorhees' thrilling experiences with Indians and stage robbers, were the incidents connected with his starting and managing the Cheyenne and Black Hills Stage Line. He organized the company in February, 1876, and soon had stages running. At that time the wonderful stories of the rich gold placers of the Black Hills caused a stampede to the Hills, most of the rush being by way of Cheyenne. The magnitude of the enterprise of running a stage line to say nothing of its dangers, is shown by his first orders for equipment of thirty Concord coaches and 600 head of horses. The line was kept up till 1882, and the hair-raising experiences with Indians and stage robbers during that time, could fill a volume. He had seven stage drivers killed by stage robbers and Sioux Indians.
On giving up the stage line business Mr. Voorhees engaged extensively in the cattle business and has made Cheyenne his home. He has occupied the position of state treasurer and other prominent official positions and is enjoying a green old age, in robust health and active life, loved and respected by all.
The character of the material out of which the nervy, self-reliant men and women of the mountain and plateaus of our great Northwest are made, is shown in the unusual brightness of the children born and reared in the high altitudes of the Rocky Mountains, of which the men and women are the finished product. This is well illustrated by the following incident:
In a little frontier village, nestling close under one of the mighty Rocky Mountain ranges, down which, through a picturesque canyon, came rushing and tumbling a beautiful stream, a Christian lady gathered the children on Sunday afternoons to tell Bible stories and impart to their eager ears some instruction from the Holy Book. One Sunday she told the story of the Good Samaritan, in which the children were very much interested. The next Sunday she asked them if they could remember what the last lesson was about. Hands went up in all directions. In front of her sat a little boy, who, in his eagerness, rose to his feet, holding up both hands–
"I know, ma'am; I know all about it. It was "The Hold-up in Jericho Canyon."
"No! no! Johnnie," replied the teacher; "it was a Bible story that I told you."
"Yes, ma'am! I know it; I can tell the kids." So Johnnie stood up and told the story.
"Why, ma'am," he said, "a chap was goin' up the canyon and some fellers came out of the brush and slugged him, put him to sleep, took away his wad, and left him lying in the trail all covered with blood and dirt. Pretty soon, a doctor feller came along and when he saw him, he said, 'He ain't none of my medicine,' and hit the trail and went up the canyon.
"Then a preacher feller came along, and he saw him, and said, I ain't goin' to monkey with him,' and he hit the trail and followed the doctor.
"Then a cowboy came along on his bronc; just a good, honest cowboy. When he saw him, he lit off and felt him. He wa'n't dead! He looked again. They'd got his wad and left him sure in bad shape. So he pulled off his wipe, rubbed the blood off the feller's face, picked him up and put him on the bronc and took him up the trail till he came to a road house. Then he called out, 'Hi, Bill! Come out here; here's a chap I found down the canyon. They've slugged him, got his wad, and left him in bad shape. You must take him in and take care of him. Here's my wad and if there ain't enough to pay you, when I come back from the round-up, I'll bring you some more.' "
It was in a region of the Northwestern country unsurpassed for beauty and magnificence of scenery. The afternoon's sun was slowly sinking behind the mountains, when suddenly upon the summit of one of the foothills appeared two horsemen, their figures strongly outlined against the evening sky. As they stood there the strokes of an ax could be distinctly heard coming from a bunch of timber in a bend of the stream below. Evidently the sound attracted the attention of the quondam trappers, for after securing their horses in a dense thicket they made their way noiselessly to a point where a good view of the opposite bank could be had.
Before them lay a secluded plateau almost hidden by the heavy timber surrounding it. Close to its edge a band of rough-looking men were busily engaged in felling trees and building a long, low cabin and stable of heavy logs. Near by, almost hidden by underbrush, could be seen an opening into a cave of no mean proportions, to which the men could retreat in case of necessity. Tied to trees were a number of horses saddled and bridled for instant use, and the ever ready "Winchesters" were close at hand. This was the James' gang.
"Thar's my game by all that's lovely," whispered Bill. "Now that I've run 'em down, let's get out of here."
As the shadows of a moonless night fell upon mountain and plain the two men might be seen cooking their supper over a camp fire. The younger of the two, evidently the leader, was a man of medium size, with a mass of long, curly, brown hair, black eyes and a pleasant face, dressed in a suit of buckskin, with a soft felt hat placed jauntily upon his head. About his waist was a belt full of cartridges, to which was suspended a bowie knife and revolver of large size, while by his side lay a rifle that showed signs of wear.
His companion, larger in size and less attractive in feature, was similarly armed. The former, though scarcely thirty years of age, was a gtiide already known and respected in the Rocky Mountain country, going by the cognomen of "Young Bill." His known honesty and bravery had long before attracted the attention of those whose business it was to hunt down criminals, and of late he had added to his profession that of "detective"; though it was not known to any except those who employed him. When the hastily prepared supper was disposed of and all traces of the fire obliterated, the elder man said to his companion:
"Wall, Bill, I don't know what yer plans ar', but this ere is gettin' too uncomfortably hot to suit me, and I'm goin' to pull over the divide and hunt more congenial companions. If ye want ter gather in that James gang lone-handed, all right; but as fer me, I prefer to trap varmints which have more 'fur' and less 'fire'."
The hand of the younger man dropped naturally and suggestively to his belt as he softly replied: "Ye'll stay where ye be and help build me a cabin and start a ranch alongside my game, and then ye can get out as soon as ye please. I ain't afeared to play this game lone-handed if I know myself."
Two years elapsed. The cabin the road agents built and occupied as their northern retreat when hard pressed by the officers of the law still stands, but thanks to "Bill" and other daring officers, the gang is broken up. Upon the same plateau stood the detective's cabin and near it a "dugout" in which he spent his nights while hunting down the road agents. Midway between the two cabins a prosperous town has sprtmg up, comprising a hotel, blacksmith shop, two saloons, and several dwellings known as "Black Canon City."
It was a beautiful day; our friend, the detective, was just finishing his noonday meal when the sound of a horse's footfall broke the stillness, followed by the usual announcement of an arrival: "Hello, inside.'' "Hello, yourself," came the quick response.
"Is this town Black Canon City?"
"You bet it are, stranger."
"Do you have any preaching hereabouts ?"
"Nary."
"I'm a preacher and would like to make an appointment if it is agreeable to the citizens of this growing berg."
"See here, mister, I don't know how much nerve ye've got, or how preachin' will take, but I like yer spirit and I'll back ye in this thing; and when 'Bill' backs a feller he don't have no trouble and the thing goes. Get down and rest yer saddle while yer eat."
When the physical necessities of the preacher had been met the detective continued: "I haint got much of a cabin, ye see, but it's about as big as any in the town; so if ye can get along with the dirt floor ye can preach here and I'll rustle ye up a crowd."
Thus began a work for the Master in one of the outposts of the Rocky Mountain districts. Later in the season a Sunday School was started in the same cabin, to be removed afterward to a little log schoolhouse which the settlers built. When the day arrived for the removal of the Sunday School from the detective's cabin, a friend of the enterprise went to one of the saloons and spoke thus:
"See here, fellers, the people of this 'ere camp ar' goin' to start a Sunday School today over in the school house. They are goin' over now; money's scarce with them and I propose we give "em a boost."
"That's the talk," said the saloon keeper, "and this 'ere shop is goin' to close until that ar' thing is over: we'll all go acrost and give 'em a starter; but mind ye, boys, nothin' smaller than 'cartwheels' (dollars) go into the hat today."
The other saloon would not be outdone. As a result it was a "goodly" if not "Godly" crowd which filled the rear seats of the little log schoolhouse, and the Sunday School had more money that afternoon than ever before in its history.
From these beginnings, and this Sunday School, sprang a Congregational Church which has had much to do with shaping the character of the town and nearby country. The detective still lives, honored and respected; his cabin has been destroyed, but the entrance to both his and the James brothers' caves can still be seen. The old preacher has gone to his eternal reward.
| O Lord, I've never lived where churches grow: I've loved creation better as it stood That day you finished it. so long ago, And looked upon your work and called it good. Just let me live my life as I've begun! And give me work that's open to the sky; Make me a partner of the wind and sun, And I won't ask a life that's soft or high. Make me as big and open as the plains; As honest as the horse between my knees; Clean as the wind that blows behind the rains; Free as the hawk that circles down the breeze. Just keep an eye on all that's done and said; Just right me sometimes when I turn aside; And guide me on the long, dim trail ahead– That stretches upward towards the Great Divide. |
| — Author Unknown. |