A SILVER EXPEDITION.
In the summer of 1827 my father, Benjamin Majors, with twenty-four other
men, formed a party to go to the Rocky Mountains in search of a silver
mine that had been discovered by James Cockrell,[1] while on a
beaver-trapping expedition some four years previous.
At that time, men attempting to cross the plains had no means of
carrying food supplies to last more than a week, or ten days at the
outside. When their scanty supply of provisions was exhausted, they
depended solely upon the game they might chance to kill, invariably
eating this without salt. These twenty-five men elected James Cockrell
their captain, as he was the only man of the party who had crossed the
plains. Being the discoverer of what he claimed was a rich silver mine,
they relied solely upon him to pilot them to the spot. The only
facilities for transportation were one horse each. Their scant amount of
bedding, with the rider, was all the horse could carry. Each man had to
be armed with a good gun, and powder and ball enough to last him during
the entire trip, for the territory through which they had to pass was
inhabited by hostile Indians. No cooking vessels were taken with them,
as they depended entirely upon roasting or broiling their meat upon the
fire. When they could not find deer, antelope, elk, or buffalo they had
to do without food, unless they were driven to kill and eat a wolf they
might chance to get. When they reached the buffalo belt, however, 200
miles farther west, there was no scarcity of meat. The country where
they roamed was 400 miles across, reaching to the base of the Rocky
Mountains, and extending from Texas more than 3,000 miles, very far
north of the Canadian line. The buffalo were numbered by the millions.
It often occurred in traveling through this district that there would be
days together when one would never be out of sight of great herds of
these animals. They stayed in the most open portion of the plains they
could find, for the country was one vast plain, or level prairie. The
grass called buffalo grass did not grow more than one and one-half to
two inches high, but grew almost as thick in many places as the hair on
a dog's back. Other grasses that were found in this locality grew much
taller, but one would invariably find the buffalo grazing upon the short
kind, especially so in the winter, as the high winds blew the snow away
from where this grass grew. There were millions of acres of this grass.
The buffalo's teeth and under jaw were so arranged by nature that he
could bite this short grass to the earth; in fact no small animal, such
as a sheep, goat, or antelope, could cut the grass more closely than the
largest buffalo. Strange to say this short grass of the prairie is
rapidly disappearing, as the buffaloes have done. In crossing the plains
with our oxen in later years we found it impossible for them to get a
living by grazing on the portions of the plains where this grass grew.
The party in question soon reached the Raton Mountains not far from
Trinidad, now on the Atchison, Topeka & Santa Fé Railroad. It is proper
to state that after leaving their homes in Jackson and Lafayette
counties, Mo., they traveled across the prairie, bearing a little south
of west, until they reached the Big Bend, or Great Bend, as it is lately
called, of the Arkansas River. At this point they found innumerable
herds of buffalo, and no trouble in finding grass and water in plenty,
as well as meat. They followed the margin of the river until they
reached the foot-hills of the Rocky Mountains; then their captain told
them he was in the region where he had discovered the mine. He found
some difficulty in locating the spot, and after many days spent in
searching, some of the party grew restless and distrustful, doubting as
to whether he ever discovered silver ore, or if so, if he was willing to
show them the location, and became very threatening in their attitude
toward him. He finally found what he and they had supposed was silver
ore. This fact pacified the party and perhaps saved his life, as it was
a long way for men to travel through peril and hardships only to be
disappointed, or, as they expressed it, "to be fooled." They were
disappointed, however, when they found nothing but dirty-looking rock,
with now and then a bright speck of metal in it. Not one of them had
ever seen silver ore, nor did they know anything about manipulating the
rock in order to get the silver out of it. Many of them expected to find
the silver in metallic form, and thought they could cut it out with
their tomahawks and pack home a good portion of wealth upon their
horses. They thought they could walk and lead their horses if they could
get a load of precious metal to carry, as their captain had done a few
years before, when he sold his beaver skins in St. Louis, took his pay
in silver dollars, put them in a sack, bought a horse to carry it, and
led him 300 miles to his home.
It must be remembered that this was the first prospecting party to look
for silver that ever left the western borders of Missouri for the Rocky
Mountains. After finding what they supposed was a silver mine, each one
selected some of the best specimens and left for their homes. Everything
moved along well with them until they arrived at about the point on the
Arkansas River where Dodge City now stands. They camped one evening at
the close of a day's travel, ate a hearty supper of buffalo meat, put
their guard around their horses, and went to bed. Two men at a time
guarded the horses, making a change every three hours during the night.
This precaution was necessary to keep the Indians, who were in great
numbers and hostile, from running off their horses. But on that fatal
night the Indians succeeded in crawling on their bellies where the grass
was tall enough to conceal them from the guard. It was only along the
river bottoms and water courses that the grass grew tall. When they got
between the guard and the horses, they suddenly rose, firing their guns,
shaking buffalo robes, and with war-whoops and yells succeeded in
frightening the horses to an intense degree. Then the Indians who were
in reserve, mounted on ponies, ran the horses off where their owners
never heard of or saw them afterward. Part of the Indians, at the same
time, turned their guns upon the men that were lying upon the bank of
the river. They jumped out of their beds, over the bank and into the
water knee-deep. The men, by stooping under the bank, which was four
feet perpendicular, were protected from the arrows and bullets of the
enemy. There they stood for the remainder of that cold October night.
One of the party, a man named Mark Foster, when they jumped over the
bank, did not stop, but ran as fast as he could go for the other side.
The water was shallow, not being more than knee-deep anywhere, and in
some places not half that depth. The bottom was sandy, and at that place
the river was some 400 yards wide. In running in the dark of the night,
with the uneven bottom of the river, Mr. Foster fell several times. Each
time it drew a yell from the Indians, who thought they had killed him,
for they were shooting at him as he ran. After being three times ducked,
he reached the other side and dry land. His clothes were thoroughly
drenched, and his gun, which was a flint-lock and muzzle-loader,
entirely useless. Just think of a man in that condition--his gun
disabled, apparently a thousand wolves howling around him in all
directions, the darkness of the night, the yelling of the Indians on the
other side, and 400 miles from home; the only living white man, unless
some of his comrades happened not to be killed. He remained there
shivering with the cold the rest of the night. When daylight appeared he
started to cross the river to the camp to find out whether his comrades
were dead or alive. He reached the middle of the river and halted, his
object being to see, if possible, whether it was the Indians or his
party that he could see through the slight fog that was rising and
slowly moving westward and up the river. His comrades, who fortunately
were alive, could hear, in the still of the morning, every step he made
in the water. After standing a short time he decided that the men he saw
moving about were Indians, and he was confirmed in the belief that all
his party were killed, so he ran back to where he had spent such a
doleful part of the night and there remained until the fog entirely
cleared away. He then could see that the men at the camp from where he
fled were his comrades. He returned within about sixty yards from where
they were, stopped and called to my father, who answered him, after some
persuasion from the rest of the party, for they all felt ugly toward
him, thinking he had acted the coward in doing as he did. When my father
answered his call, he asked if they would allow him to join them. After
holding a consultation it was agreed that he might come. He walked
firmly up to them and remarked:
"I have something to say to you, gentlemen. It is this: I know you think
I have acted the d--d coward, and I do not blame you under the
circumstances. When you all jumped over the bank I thought you were
going to run to the other side, and I did not know any better until I
had got so far out I was in greater danger to return than to go ahead.
For, as you know, the Indians were sending volleys of bullets and arrows
after me, and really thought they had killed me every time I fell. Now,
to end this question, there is one of two things you must do. The first
is that you take your guns and kill me now, or if you do not comply with
this, that every one of you agree upon your sacred honor that you will
never allude, in any way, or throw up to me the unfortunate occurrences
of last night. Now, gentlemen, mark what I say. If you do not kill me,
but allow me to travel with you to our homes, should one of you ever be
so thoughtless or forgetful of the promise you must now make as to throw
it up to me, I pledge myself before you all that I will take the life of
the man who does it. Now, I have presented the situation fairly, and you
must accept one or the other before you leave this spot."
The party with one accord, after hearing his story, agreed never to
allude to it in any way in his presence, and gave him a cordial welcome
to their midst. They treated him as one of them from that time on, for
he was a brave man after all. Think of the awful experience the poor
fellow had during the night, and in the morning, to reach an amicable
understanding with his party. One can readily see that he was a man of
very great courage and physical endurance, or he could not have survived
the pressure upon him. It was a sad time for those twenty-five brave men
for more reasons than one. Knowing that they were 400 miles from home,
late in the fall, without a road or path to follow, no stopping place of
any kind between them and their homes on the borders of the Missouri,
which was as far as civilization had reached westward. The thought that
impressed them most deeply was in reference to one of their comrades by
the name of Clark Davis, whom they all loved and honored. He was a man
weighing 300 pounds, but not of large frame, his weight consisting more
of fat than bone. It was the universal verdict of the party that it
would be impossible for him to walk home and carry his gun and
ammunition as they all had to do. They would go aside in little groups,
so he would not hear them, and deplore the situation. They thought they
would have to leave him sitting in the prairie for the wolves to devour,
or hazard the lives of all the rest of the party. Some actually wept
over the thought of the loss of such a dear comrade and noble-hearted
man. Should they chance to reach their own homes, for they were all men
with families, the idea of telling his family that they were obliged to
leave him was more than they felt their nerves could endure. In my
opinion there never was a more brave and heroic group of men thrown
together than were those twenty-five frontiersmen. All were fine
specimens of manhood, physically speaking, between thirty and forty
years of age, and with perfect health and daring to do whatever their
convictions dictated.
They went to work and burned their saddles, bridles, blankets, in fact
everything they had in camp that they could not carry with them on their
backs. This they did to prevent the Indians from getting any more
"booty." After all their arrangements were made for leaving their
unfortunate camping-place, they started once more for their homes. They
traveled at the rate of twenty to twenty-five miles per day. They could
have gone farther, but for the fact that they had no trail to walk in.
The grass in some places, and the drifting sand in others, made it
exceedingly irksome for footmen.
My father was frequently asked after his return:
"Was there no road you could follow?"
He would answer:
"No, from the fact that the drifting sand soon filled every track of a
passing caravan and no trace was left of a trail a few hours afterward."
A few years later on this shifting of sand discontinued, and grass and
small shrubbery soon began to grow and cover many places that were then
perfectly bare. One-half of the distance they had to walk was covered
with herds of buffalo, the other half was through desolate prairie
country, where game of any kind was seldom seen. It was on this part of
their journey that they came near starvation. It only took them a few
days after leaving the buffalo belt to consume what meat they had
carried on their backs, as men become very hungry and consume a great
deal of meat when they have long and tiresome walks to make. In the
first week of their march their convictions in regard to Clark Davis
were confirmed, as they thought, for his feet blistered in a terrible
manner, his fat limbs became exceedingly raw and sore, so he of
necessity would lag. Then they would detail of a morning when they
started, a guard of five or six men to remain with him for protection
from the Indians. The rest of the party would walk on to some point they
would designate for camping the next night, and he with his little guard
would arrive some three or four hours later. This went on for seven or
eight days in succession, each day they expecting the news from the
guard that he had given up the hope of going any farther. But in time
his feet began to improve, in fact his condition every way, and he would
reach camp sooner each day after the arrival of the party. After they
had passed the buffalo belt, where meat was abundant, and struck the
starvation belt in their travels, Mr. Davis' fat proved a blessing and
of great service. When fatigue and want were to be endured at the same
time, he began to take the lead instead of the rear of the party.
Several days before they reached home they would have perished, but for
the fact that he alone had sufficient activity and strength to attempt
to hunt for game, for they had seen none after leaving the buffalo. They
had reached a place called Council Grove--now a city of that name--in
the State of Kansas, about one hundred and thirty miles from their
homes. After so many weeks of hard marching they thought they could go
no farther, and some dropped on the ground, thinking it useless to make
the attempt. At this juncture Clark Davis said:
"Boys, I will go and kill a deer."
My father said the very word was tantalizing to a lot of men who were
almost dying of hunger. They did not know there was a deer in the
country, or anything else that could be eaten, not even a snake, for
cold weather was so near even they had disappeared. Davis, however,
determined on his hunt, left his comrades, and had traveled only a few
hundred yards until he saw two fine deer standing near. Directly the men
in the camp heard the report of his gun, and as soon as he could reload
they heard a second report, and then a shout, "Come here, boys! there is
meat in plenty." You may imagine it was not long until every one joined
him. They drank every drop of blood that was in the two deer, ate the
livers without cooking, and saved every particle, even taking the marrow
out of their legs. This meat tided them over until they were able to
reach other food.
Never before in the history of the past, nor since that time, did 150
pounds of surplus fat--so considered until starvation overtook
them--prove to be of such great value, and was worth more to them than
all the gold and silver in the Rocky Mountains. When the test came, it
was found to be one of nature's reservoirs that could be drawn upon to
save the lives of twenty-five brave men when all else failed them. Mr.
Davis, as well as the rest of the party, no doubt often wished it could
be dispensed with, as after losing his horse he carried it with great
suffering and fatigue, before they learned its use, and that it was to
be the salvation of the party. We often hear it said that truth is
stranger than fiction, and this certainly was one of the cases where it
proved to be so.
They finally reached home without losing one of their party; but they
all gave the man whom they expected to leave to the wolves in the start
the credit of saving their lives. When Mr. Davis reached his family the
first thing his wife did was to set him a good meal. When he sat down to
the table he said, "Jane, there is to be a new law for the future of our
lives at our table." She said, "What is it, Clark?" He answered, "It is
this. I never want to hear you or one of my children say bread again."
"What then must we call it?" asked his wife. "Call it bready," said he,
"for when I was starving on the plains it came to me that the word bread
was too short and coarse a name to call such sweet, precious, and good a
thing, and whoever eats it should use this pet name and be thankful to
God who gives it, for I assure you, wife, the ordeal I have passed
through will forever cause me to appreciate life and the good things
that uphold it."
The outcome of this trip was drawing the party together, like one
family, and they could not be kept long apart. It is a fact that mutual
suffering begets an endearment stronger than ties of blood. It was
interesting to me as a boy to hear them relate their experiences in
reference to their hard trials and forebodings that were undergone, with
no beneficial results. Some of them sent their specimens to St. Louis to
be tested for silver, but received discouraging accounts of its value.
If a very rich mine had been found at that time it would not have been
of any practical value, for they were more than thirty years ahead of
the time when silver-mining could be carried on, from an American
standpoint, with success. There was no one west of the Alleghanies with
capital and skill enough to carry on such an enterprise, and there were
no means whatever for transporting machinery to the Rocky Mountains.
FOOTNOTE:
[1] An uncle of Senator Cockrell of Missouri.