ARRIVAL AT FORT CARNEY
[Illustration: A] Arriving at Fort Carney we struck the Platte River
trail leading to Denver. We were compelled by United States army
officers to halt and await the arrival of a train of fifty armed men
before being allowed to proceed. In a few hours the required number
came up, together with three wagon loads of pilgrims. No train was
permitted to pass a Government fort without one hundred well-armed
men; but once beyond the fort, they would become separated and therein
lay the danger.
A captain was appointed by the commander of the fort to take charge.
Here we struck the plains proper, or the great American desert, as it
was often called, the home of the desperate Indians, degraded
half-breeds, and the squaw man--white men with Indian wives--who were
at that time either French or Spanish; also the fearless hunters and
trappers with nerves of steel, outdoing the bravest Indian in daring
and the toughest grizzly in endurance. It is a matter of record that
these men of iron were capable and some did amputate their own limbs.
A knife sharpened as keen as a razor's edge would cut the flesh;
another hacked into a saw would separate the bones and sensitive
marrow; while an iron heated to white heat seared up the arteries and
the trick was done. There was no anesthetic in those days.
There were also the cattle and mule thieves who lived in the bluffs,
miles from the trail of white men, a tough lot of desperadoes,
believing in the adage "Dead men tell no tales."
There were the ranchmen at intervals of twenty, fifty and a hundred
miles, who sold to the pilgrims supplies, such as canned goods,
playing cards, whiskey of the vilest type, and traded worn-out cattle,
doctored to look well for a few days and then give out, thus cheating
freighters and pilgrims alike.
These adobe ranches were built of sod cut in lengths of from two to
four feet, four inches in thickness and eighteen inches in width and
laid grass side down. The side walls were laid either single or
double, six feet in height, with the end walls tapering upward. A long
pole was then placed from peak to peak and shorter poles from side
walls to ridge pole. Four inches of grass covered the poles and the
same depth of earth completed the structure making the best
fortifications ever devised; no bullet was able to penetrate their
sides nor could fire burn them. The poles used for building these
adobe ranches were in most cases hauled two hundred miles and in some
cases three hundred miles.
WILD ANIMALS OF THE WEST
On a graceful slope roamed immense herds of buffalo, bands of elk,
thousands of antelope, herds of black-and white-tail deer and the
large gray wolf. Coyotes about the size of a shepherd dog would
assemble on the high bluffs or invade the camp and make night hideous
by their continuous and almost perfect imitation of a human baby's
cry, making sleep impossible. The prairie dog, the fierce rattlesnake,
and the beautiful little white burrowing-owl, occupied the same hole
in the ground, making a queer family combination. Contrary to the
belief of all dwellers and travelers of the plains in that day,
Colonel Roosevelt claims it is not a fact that the three mentioned
animals occupied the same quarters together, and that the story is a
myth.
The little prairie dogs had their villages the same as the Indians. I
have frequently seen a prairie dog come out and return into the same
hole in the ground. I have also seen a beautiful little white owl
silently perched at the side of the same hole and finally enter it,
and a few moments later a fierce rattlesnake would crawl into the same
hole. Whether it was the snake's permanent abode and it went in for a
much needed rest, or whether it was an enemy to the others and the
snake went in for a game supper of prairie dog puppies and owl squabs,
departing by another route, I am unable to say, as I never took the
trouble to investigate one of the holes to confirm the fact. If I had,
I would in all probability still be digging. However, in this case, I
am inclined to give Colonel Roosevelt the benefit of the doubt for the
reason that if nature had not created an enemy to check their
increase, the prairie dog would now over-run the country, as they
multiply faster than any known animal, and are very destructive to the
farm. The Government, through its agents, have destroyed thousands
every year in the West by distributing poisoned grain. Last, but not
least, of the life of the plains was the Pole Cat. Conscious of his
own ability to protect himself, he would often invade the camps at
night, making the life of the sleeper miserable.
TROUBLE EN ROUTE
After leaving Fort Carney our troubles began. Many of the drivers were
as treacherous as the Indians and would bear watching. One of them in
our mess was a former bushwhacker, who bore many scars of his former
unsavory life, one of which was the loss of an eye, which did not make
him a very desirable acquaintance, much less a companion. He was of an
ugly disposition, very seldom speaking to anyone and very few taking
the trouble to speak to him. At times he acted as if he had been
taking something stronger than coffee, but as we had not camped near
any ranch where the poison could be procured, I came to the conclusion
that he was a dope fiend. In some mysterious manner we had lost one of
our cups, and at each meal for a week it fell to the lot of this
particular bushwhacker to get left. He at last broke his long silence,
and in anger with oaths, vowed he would not eat another meal without a
cup, and would certainly take one from somebody, if obliged to. As
soon as the call for grub was heard the next morning, all rushed
simultaneously for a cup, and Mr. Bushwhacker got left again. Without
ceremony he proceeded to make good his threat, the second cook being
his victim.
TROUBLE EN ROUTE
For his trouble he received a stinging blow over his good eye, and was
sent sprawling in the alkali dust. Not being in the least dismayed, he
rushed for another and received a similar salute on the jaw, doubling
him up and bringing him to the earth. By this time both messes joined
in forming a ring and called for fair play. Mr. Perry tried hard to
stop it, but was finally convinced that it was better, policy to let
them have it out. How many times the fellow was knocked down, I do not
remember, but the last round finished him. We carried him to the shady
side of his wagon, covered him with a blanket and resumed our meal. On
going into corral, we always took our revolvers off and placed them
where they could easily be reached. We had been eating but a short
time, when the report of a gun rang out and each man fairly flew for
his weapons. Indians seldom made an attack except at early morning,
when the oxen were being yoked or when we were going into corral at
night. To the surprise of everyone Mr. Bushwhacker had taken another
lease of life and with a revolver in each hand was firing at anyone
his disturbed brain suggested. He was quick of action, firing and
reloading with rapidity, and soon had the entire camp playing hide and
seek between, around and under the wagons to keep out of the range of
his guns, which we succeeded in doing, for not a man was hit. Finally,
two of the drivers succeeded in getting behind him and overpowered
him. His brother bushwhackers were in for lynching him on the spot,
but wiser council prevailed, and his disposal was left to Mr. Perry
who sentenced him to be escorted back three miles from the corral and
left to walk the remaining two miles to Fort Carney alone. He covered
less than a mile when he was captured by the Indians. I was obliged
then to drive his team. A few evenings later my chum and friend were
lounging by the side of my wagon smoking, and otherwise passing the
time away, when finally the conversation turned to the departed driver
who by that time had undoubtedly been disposed of by the Indians--not
a very pleasant thought--but we consoled ourselves with the fact that
no one was to blame but himself. My chum inquired the contents of my
prairie schooner, and I replied that I did not know, but would
investigate. Suiting the action to the word I crawled in, struck a
match, and found a case labeled Hostetters' Bitters. Its ingredients
were one drop of Bitters and the remainder, poor liquor. I soon found
a case that had been opened, pulled out a bottle and sampled it. The
old story came to me about the Irish saloonkeeper and his bartender. I
called my chum and asked him if Murphy was good for a drink, he
replied, "Has he got it?" "He has?" "He is then!" and we all were. I
thought it would be impossible for the secret to be kept, but it was
until we were on the last leg to Denver. The entire load consisted of
cases of the Bitters. Fights were of frequent occurrence during the
remainder of the trip, Mr. Perry being powerless to prevent them.
Arriving at Central City where the Bitters were consigned, the
consignee reported to the freighter that the load just received
consisted of one-half Bitters, the remainder Platte river water. Each
man had twenty dollars deducted from his pay, and a large number of
the drivers, in addition, bore earmarks of its effect.
The country from Fort Carney for four hundred miles up the Platte
river valley and back from the high bluffs, that skirted the river on
either side, was one vast rolling plain with no vegetation except a
coarse luxuriant growth of grass in the valley near the river and
beyond the bluffs; in spots that were not bare grew the prickly pear,
and a short crisp grass of lightish color and of two varieties--the
bunch and buffalo grasses--which were very nutritious, as the cattle
thrived and grew fat on them. There was the clear sky and sun by day,
with an occasional sandstorm; the moon (when out) and stars by night,
but no rain--a vast thirsty desert. On the small islands of the river
a few scattered cottonwood trees were to be seen. Their high branches
embraced a huge bunch of something that resembled the nest of an
American Eagle, but on close inspection was found to be the corpse of
a lone Indian a long time dead. This was the mode of burial of some of
the tribes in the early days, using fur robes or blankets for a
casket. There was nothing to relieve the monotony in this desert land,
except desperate Indians, immense herds of animal life, daily
coaches--when not held back or captured by the Indians or mountain
highwaymen--returning freight trains, and the following points where
there were adobe ranches: Dog Town, Plum Creek, Beaver Creek,
Godfrey's, Moore's, Brever's at Old California Crossing and Jack
Morrow's at the junction of the north and south Platte, Fort
Julesburg, Cotton Wood and the Junction, each one hundred miles apart,
and John Corlew's and William Kirby near O'Fallow's Bluffs. It was
said of these ranchmen that some were honest and some were not; others
were in league with the Indians, and cattle and mule thieves, and, as
a rule, a bad lot. They traded supplies to the Indians for furs of
every kind. The winter passed in hunting, trapping, drinking, and
gambling.
O'FALLOW'S BLUFFS
O'Fallow's Bluffs was a point where the river ran to the very foot of
the bluffs making it necessary for all of the trains to cross, then
again strike Platte river trail at Alkali Creek, the waters of which
were poisonous to man and beast. The trail over the bluffs was of
sand, and those heavily ladened, white covered prairie schooners would
often sink to the hubs, requiring from fifty to seventy-five yoke of
oxen to haul them across, often being compelled to double the leading
yoke as far back as the wheelers, then doubling again, would start
them on a trot, and with all in line and pulling together, would land
the deeply sunken wheels on solid ground. It took one entire day to
again reach river trail, which was hard and smooth. O'Fallow's Bluffs
was a point feared by freighters and emigrants alike. At this point
many a band of pilgrims met destruction at the hands of the fiendish
redskins of the plains. Directly upon going into camp at night a party
of them would ride up, demand coffee, whiskey, or whatever they
wanted, and having received it, would massacre the men and children,
reserving the women for a fate a thousand fold worse, as they were
very seldom rescued by the tardy government, whose agents were
supplying the Indians with guns, ammunition and whiskey to carry on
their hellish work unmolested. When captured, which was seldom, were
they hung as they deserved? No, the chief with a few others, who stood
high in the councils of the tribe, were taken by stage to Atchison,
Kansas, there transferred to luxuriantly equipped sleeping cars of
that day, and whirled on to Washington; and, in war paint and feather
and with great pomp, were presented to their great white father (the
President) as they called him.
ABUSES OF THE INDIAN DEPARTMENT
They were then taken in charge by Representatives of the Indian
department of the Government, that in those days was honeycombed with
corruption from foundation to dome; a disgraceful and blood-stained
spot in the Nation's history. Day after day and night after night they
were shown the sights of that great city. The capitol of a free and
growing Republic whose people respected the Constitution their fathers
had drafted, signed and fought for. Day after day and night after
night they were courted, dined, toasted and wined until they had
become sufficiently mellow to be cajoled into signing another peace
treaty, and were then given money and loaded down with presents as an
inducement to be good. They were then returned to the agency at the
Fort, having been taken from there and back by those red-nosed,
liquor-bloated Indian Department guardians of the United States
Government and were freely supplied with whiskey until they were
willing to part with their cattle, furs, and beaded goods at
extremely low figures, in exchange for provisions, guns, ammunition,
and liquor at fabulously high prices. Robbed of their money and
presents, and in this condition allowed to return to their village,
where when they become sober, they would quickly awaken to a realizing
sense of how they had been deceived, swindled and robbed.
What could you expect from those copper-colored savages of the soil
after such treatment? With no regard for the treaty they had signed,
they would resume the warpath. Revenge, swift and terrible, was meted
out to the innocent pilgrims and freighters who had left home,
comforts and friends. Hundreds sacrificed their lives by horrible
tortures in their heroic efforts to settle the West, unconscious that
they were making history for their country and the nation, great.
With no respect for the United States Government, with no respect for
the flag with its cluster of stars and stripes of red, white and blue
that fired the heart of every living American soldier to win victory
at Valley Forge, which gained our independence, Antietam, and San Juan
Hill, saved the nation, reunited the union of states in lasting
friendship, lifted the yoke of tyranny from an oppressed people; and,
as if with one stroke, swept from the high seas two powerful naval
squadrons--the pride of the Spanish nation.
Washington, Lincoln and McKinley were backed by the old glory that
electrified every loyal American with patriotism to respond to the
call of duty for the love of their country and the "Star Spangled
Banner," that at that time fluttered high above the parapet of every
Government fort as an emblem of protection to all that were struggling
on and on over that vast expanse of unbroken and treeless plain; can
you wonder then that the unspeakable crimes and mistakes of the
Government of those days still rankle in the breast of every living
man and woman that in any way participated in the settlement of the
West? If you do, look on the painting of the terrible annihilation of
the gallant Custer and his five companies of the Seventh U. S.
Cavalry with the old chief, Sitting Bull, and his band of Sioux
Indians on the Big Horn River, June 25, 1876, from which not a man
escaped to tell the tale, and you may form some conception of the
hardships, suffering, and cruelties inflicted on the early pioneer. It
was left for the resourceful Remington to vividly portray life and
scenes of those days, perpetuating their memory on canvas and bronze
for all time. The name of Frederick Remington should not only go down
in history as the greatest living artist of those scenes, but his bust
in bronze should be given a place in the Hall of Fame as a tribute to
his life and a recognition of his great worth.