A Thrilling Experience on the Plains.--The Stampede.
In 1863, I was living in southern Utah. It was believed the Mormon
immigration would be unusually heavy that year; hence great exertions
were put forth by the people, to bring the season's gathering to a
successful termination. Cooperation was the power which, under the wise
guidance of Brigham Young, made it possible to build up a prosperous
commonwealth in that isolated desert.
Teams were raised in all parts of the territory, organized into
companies of fifty wagons each, four yoke of cattle to each wagon,
and placed under the care of experienced men. These were sent to the
Missouri river, fourteen hundred miles, to haul back the luggage of the
immigrants. The people were required to walk.
Rules of government were established in each camp, and firmly carried
out. No swearing was allowed; all assembled for prayers at the call of
the chaplain, morning and night; usually at nine o'clock all retired
for rest; and at five all arose. These camps were practical training
schools of great value.
It fell to my lot to drive a team in Captain John R. Murdock's train.
Upon arriving at Omaha, I was selected to take charge of an independent
company; people who had means to immigrate themselves to Utah. On the
8th of August, I commenced the task (mission, we called it, for we all
served without pay) of leading these people, who were Scandinavians,
from Omaha to Salt Lake City. When it is remembered that these people
spoke a language that I did not understand; that they were not
accustomed to driving teams; that I had to teach them even how to yoke
their cattle, and hitch on to their wagons, it will be easy to imagine
the magnitude of the task I had undertaken.
For the first week we made only from five to ten miles a day; but at
the end of two weeks, we could make twenty-five. At Wood River centre,
the western line of civilization, and the last telegraph station,
I received a dispatch from our immigration agent, Feramorz Little,
telling me that the Sioux were on the war-path, and that we must be
watchful or they would run off our cattle. As a word of encouragement,
he added that Captain Preston would overtake me in a few days, and
would give me four mounted Utah men to aid me as scouts and night guard
for my cattle.
Thus cheered, I pushed boldly out into the hunting grounds of the
Sioux. But day after day passed, and Captain Preston did not come. At
last I reached Ash Hollow, where there was a stockade and five Utah
men guarding supplies left by the down-going trains. Leaving early the
next morning, we made a drive of twenty-five miles, across the big
bend of the Platte. In the evening a squad of U. S. troops camped on
the opposite side of the river, and helloed across to us to look out,
for "the devil was let loose"--meaning that "Sitting Bull" was on the
war-path.
In the morning they were gone, and when we brought up our cattle, one
of our best oxen was missing. It belonged to a Swede, who had only a
light wagon and one yoke of oxen. Selecting a large cow from the herd,
I yoked her in, and started the train in charge of the interpreter. I
then circled the night herd-ground; and being a good trailer, I soon
found the track of the ox going back and caught him at Ash Hollow
twenty-five miles from camp.
Giving my horse a feed of grain, and taking lunch with the men, I
started with the ox to overtake my train. The long, weary day went by,
the sun was near setting, and I had just passed the night camp ground,
I had left in the morning, when a small cloud of dust coming from the
foothills attracted my attention. Just as I was entering a gorge, I
drove the ox into the wash, then turned back up the hill, until I could
see the dust again.
With the aid of my telescope I made out four Indians rapidly driving
a herd of horses toward a patch of timber on the river. A careful
inspection convinced me that the loose animals were American horses,
and I soon recognized them as Captain Preston's. It now flashed through
my mind why he had not overtaken us: The Indians had stolen his horses
and crippled his movements.
Well, there I was, twenty miles from camp, alone, with no weapon but
my revolver, and almost face to face with the robbers who had stolen
my friend's horses. I stood and watched until they reached the timber.
Selecting a large tree for a camping place, they threw down their
traps, and three of them bunched the horses, while the fourth caught
and hobbled them. Then they cut poles, and started down the river,
evidently to catch fish for their supper.
I saw that the arroya, that I was in, emptied into the river near their
camp; and knowing that the moon would not rise until a few minutes
after dark, I instantly formed a plan, and went to work to put it into
execution. I was averse to shedding blood, having always been taught to
avoid it except in self defense. I resolved, however, to recapture the
horses, and then, if followed, I would fight.
Leaving the ox, I moved cautiously down the ravine, and reached the
mouth of it just as the gloom of night settled over the plain. The
Indians had returned and built a large fire. One of them walked out and
bunched the horses, and their movements attracted the attention of my
mare. She threw up heir head and started to neigh, but I gave the bit
a jerk in time to check her. The movement, slight as it was, showed me
how dangerous was the enterprise I had undertaken.
The Indian soon returned to camp, and threw some more wood on the fire,
which in the still night flamed high in air, rendering objects visible
for some distance round, and greatly assisted my movements. I felt
that now was my time to act. Approaching carefully the outer circle of
horses, and dropping my bridle reins, I moved quietly from horse to
horse, cutting their hobbles, then regaining my own horse, moved the
band slowly until they found they were unfettered, when I leaped into
my saddle, and started them on a run.
The wild yell that rang out on the night air curdled my blood, and
made my hair stand on end. For a moment I was quite unnerved, but soon
recovered, and lashed the horses at a wild rate across the plain. By
the time I reached the ox the moon had risen, and it seemed as light as
day. I drove the horses and the ox across the gully, and then wheeled
back and stood in the darkness at the bottom of it, waiting for my
pursuers.
Soon the pattering of feet reached my ears; and holding my breath until
two dark forms came into view, I opened fire. The quick somersault and
rapid retreat convinced me that Mr. Indian had been twice surprised by
the white man. Emptying my revolver to give the idea that there were
several of us, I sent the stock hurrying toward my camp. The road was
tolerably straight and free from hill and hollow, so I was not much
afraid of being ambushed. Yet I was keenly alert, and the fluttering of
a bird or starting of a hare would rouse me.
As several hours passed, however, without interruption, I concluded
that my shots had taken effect, at least so far as to discourage the
Indians from following me. But I was suddenly aroused from this feeling
of security by another danger I had not counted on. It was the low
distant howl of a wolf. Soon an answer came, then another, and another.
I smiled, for I had a contempt for the whole wolf tribe, believing them
to be cunning and cruel, but cowardly. I turned the cylinder of my
pistol to see if it was properly reloaded, and finding it all right,
calmly awaited the gathering of the howling pack.
With lolling tongues and fiery eyes they came galloping up, falling
into small groups, snapping, snarling, and fighting. I hesitated to
shoot for fear the smell of blood would whet their ferocious appetites.
My hesitation ceased, however, as a large grey wolf trotted up to my
side and crouched to spring at me. Instinctively I put a bullet through
his shoulder and he fell backward with a yell. In an instant a score of
hungry brutes sprang on to him, and tore him to pieces.
At the same moment, a fresh pack came sweeping across the road in
front, enclosing us in a circle. The frightened horses recoiled back
upon me, and I began shooting right and left. One of the excited
ponies suddenly bolted from the herd, and ran wildly across the plain.
Instantly every wolf joined in pursuit. For a moment, there was a
rushing sound, which gradually died out in the distance, then I was
left alone with my trembling ponies, and my heart wildly beating.
At four a.m. I reached the camp in safety. The Danes had put the
children to bed; but the men and women were sitting around a fire
in the centre of a corral formed by the wagons. When I rode up they
greeted me with four hurrahs, and strong hands lifted me from my saddle
and bore me triumphantly to the watch fire.
When the joy had somewhat subsided, I said: "Brethren, that ox has
traveled one hundred miles, and I have ridden seventy-five. These
horses are Captain Preston's.[B] I took them from the Indians who had
stolen them. Now, double the guards around the camp and cattle, put out
your fire; and let me sleep until sunrise."
[Footnote B: The horses were not Captain Preston's; they belonged to a
small company of men who were returning from Oregon.]
It is strange how susceptible of impression the mind of man is. As the
first glint of sunshine rested upon my face, I awoke. The camp was
bustling with activity. The Danes, though naturally a slow, stolid
people, yet when aroused to enthusiasm are like a deep stream almost
irresistible in force. And present conditions were such that the
deepest feelings of their hearts were enlisted. Their faith, begotten
of new convictions, was leading them to gather to Utah. It was their
Mecca, their Zion upon earth; and every possible effort was cheerfully
put forth to bring them to that haven of rest. Hence, camp rules and
regulations were willingly adopted. Even the children seemed to vie
with one another in carrying them out.
And needful it was that such faith should exist, for the journey
before them was beset with trials and dangers; and no one could tell
how or when trouble would come. The first day after my adventure
passed pleasantly. We made a good drive and camped on a small clear
stream--and the usual horse-shoe corral was formed. At dusk, the horses
were placed on the inside, and guards placed at the ends of the corral.
In the morning it was reported that the horses had been restless. I
circled the camp; and near the mouth of the creek I found where two
Indians had jumped across. I knew that mischief was intended. That
night I was cautious in selecting a camp ground, and careful in forming
the corral; being sure that no gaps were left.
Before our company left Omaha, two American families joined us. They
were rough Nebraskan farmers; and one of the men, whom I will call
Jerry, was of great service to me. He was good-natured, strong and
fearless. A younger brother of mine was also with me. He, too, was
quiet and reliable. At prayer time I told the people that I feared the
Indians were following us, and that they would try to stampede our
stock, which I dreaded above all things.
I had seen the effects of stampedes in my first trip across the
plains. A tornado is but little more to be dreaded than the rush of a
large herd of crazy, frightened cattle. I have seen wagons smashed to
stove-wood, and strong men trampled to death. I therefore requested
Jerry and my brother to spread their blankets near me, and I kept my
best horse saddled ready for any emergency.
And the emergency came about three o'clock in the morning. A wild yell
like an Indian war-whoop rang out on the air, followed by a rush of
cattle. In an instant, all was confusion; women and children tumbled
pell-mell out of the wagons in their night clothes, screaming and
fainting. The men, guns in hand, formed bands and, rushing in front of
the cattle, fought desperately to keep them from bolting; and caused
the crazy beasts to run in a circle. Every round brought them nearer
the wagons; and I knew if they struck them that we were ruined.
Grasping my two trusted men, I urged them to mount their horses and
throw themselves between the cattle and the wagons, and force the
cattle, if possible, to bolt from us. I seconded their efforts by
mounting my horse, and getting my interpreter, hurried to the men who
were fighting the cattle, and led them to where I could hear Jerry and
my brother's voices vainly trying at each returning surge of the dark
mass, to force the cattle farther from the wagons.
Massing my men at the most exposed angle of the corral, I ordered them,
on the return of the cattle, to fire a volley into the air. The sheet
of flame from the guns seemed for a moment to paralyze the stock; and
then with a rush that shook the ground beneath our feet, away they
thundered toward the foothills on the north.
I lay flat on my horse, and crowding him into the jam, was swept along
with the herd for about three miles, until I was satisfied no Indians
were following; then I straightened up and commenced talking to them.
This had the effect of quieting them. They slowed up, began lowing, as
if calling to each other, and finally stopped. I was soon joined by my
brother; but Jerry's horse, being slow, was soon distanced and lost,
and he did not find us. Nor did he reach camp until the next day.
As soon as it was light, we moved the cattle back to camp; but they
were nervous, and great care had to be taken in yoking them up. About
nine o'clock we broke camp. I put my brother's team in the lead, and
told him to drive briskly as I wanted to keep the wagons some distance
apart. I strung out the teams and instructed the drivers to not close
up. I purposed to drive fast until we should reach Goose Creek, fifteen
miles away, and then camp.
All went as I desired, until we reached the summit of the last ridge.
From there we had a mile of downhill grade to the creek. I glanced
back, and could see the line of white covered wagons following each
other like birds of passage, moving in orderly columns to a warmer
clime. A feeling of joy filled my bosom, for I felt that the labors of
the day would end in peace. I spurred my horse and galloped rapidly to
the front to select the best spot on which to form my camp.
Crossing the creek and ascending the bench a few rods to the west, I
turned and looked back just in time to see two Indians ride from the
head of a hollow on our left. As they rushed past the rear of the
train, they gave their wild, blood-curdling war-whoop. As quick as
lightning an alarm seemed to flash from one end of the train to the
other, and every team rushed wildly down the hill.
My pen is too weak to describe the heart-rending scene that followed
the fearful rushing of the wild, stampeded cattle. Wagons were jolted
against wagons with such force that the inmates were thrown out, to be
run over and trampled under foot by other mad teams following in their
rear. On they came, tearing blindly in any direction that their crazy
fear led them. Wagons were embedded in the mire of the creek, and the
tongues jerked out. At last they began to scatter, and then stopped.
Children ran instinctively to their parents for protection. In groups
they wandered from their teams, avoiding them as though they had become
beasts of terror to them. I rode to my brother, and directed him to the
selected camping place. He unhitched his team, and driving the oxen
some distance away, unyoked the right ox and turned its head toward the
off one's tail, then yoked it again. In this shape, as long as yoke and
bows held, there was no danger of stampeding.
The movement was like a revelation to the people, and they took new
hope. I rode from wagon to wagon directing their movements, and
checking noise and confusion. By sundown, the camp was formed, the
cattle secured, the guards placed, and fires lighted. Then I turned my
attention to the wounded ones. I had but little knowledge of surgery;
but all eyes were turned to me. With a prayer for God's blessings to
attend my efforts, I sewed up gaping flesh wounds. Providentially no
bones were broken but there were two lovely women and one man who
needed no help of mine. Loving hands smoothed the tangled hair and
closed the eyes of the dead, and loving lips kissed the pale brows.
Then white sheets were spread over them, and they were left to rest.
On the morrow, on the near hillside, we dug their graves, and of the
dear old family chests, coffins were made. Then a venerable man, in
workman's garb, spoke sweet words of comfort:
"Blessed are the dead who die in the Lord."
And whether they rest on prairie wild, or sleep in the city's polished
sepulchres, it matters not, so God's will is done. In the resurrection
morn, they shall come forth clothed with life and immortality.