AN ATTACK BY THE INDIANS
[Illustration: O] O'Fallow's Bluffs was the most dismal spot on the
entire trail. Its high walls of earth and over-hanging, jagged rocks,
with openings to the rolling plain beyond, made it an ideal point for
the sneaking, cowardly savages to attack the weary pilgrims and
freighters. The very atmosphere seemed to produce a feeling of gloom
and approaching disaster. The emigrants had been repeatedly instructed
by the commander at Fort Carney to corral with one of the trains. Many
of the bullwhackers were desperate men, so that the poor pilgrims were
in danger from two sources, and very seldom camped near either corral.
Our consort was a day's drive in the rear. That evening the emigrants
camped about a half mile in advance of our train. It was at this
point, when unyoking our oxen at evening that a large band sneaked
over the bluffs for the purpose, as we supposed, of stampeding our
cattle. They did not take us unawares, however, for we never turned
cattle from corral until the assistant wagon boss surveyed the
locality in every direction with a field glass, for the tricky redskin
might be over the next sand hill.
[Illustration: INDIANS ATTACKING CORRAL]
Fifty good men could whip five times their number, especially when
fortified by those immense white covered prairie schooners in corral
formation. On they came in single file, their blood-curdling war whoop
enough to weaken the bravest. Closer they came, bedecked in war-paint
and feathers, their chief in the lead resembling the devil incarnate
with all his aids bent on exterminating as brave a band of freighters
as ever crossed the plains. Nearer they came, their ponies on a dead
run, the left leg over the back, the right under and interlocking the
left, firing from the opposite side of them, ducking their heads,
encircling the camp and yelling like demons. Their racket, together
with the yelping of their mongrel dogs and the snorting and
bellowing of the cattle, made it an unspeakable hell. Every man stood
to his gun, and from between the wagons, at the command of the wagon
boss, poured forth with lightning rapidity his leaden messengers of
death. For about an hour they made it very interesting for us. It was
almost impossible to hit one as they kept circling the camp, drawing
nearer with each circle made. How many were killed we did not know as
they carried them off, but from the number of riderless ponies, a
dozen or more must have been dispatched to their happy hunting
grounds. During the fight a portion of them bore down on the poor
pilgrims' camp, in plain sight, and massacred all, running off their
cattle and such of their outfit as they wanted.
[Illustration: MASSACRE OF EMIGRANTS]
SAVAGES IN THEIR GLORY
Mothers with babes at their sides and with uplifted, clasped hands,
implored the cruel warriors for mercy, but it was like pouring water
on the desert sands. Crazed by thirst for blood and the scalps of the
whites, they knew no mercy. The hatchet-like tomahawk glittering in
the evening twilight, held with a vice-like grip in the hand of a
cowardly savage, came down at last with such force as to crush through
skull and brain, and all was over. We were powerless to render
assistance. The scene was heartrending. The depredations of these
savages is too revolting to relate, and after completing their hellish
work, they sneaked back as they came, keeping up their sickening yell
until distance drowned it entirely. Few days passed that they were not
seen as evening approached, and after dark we were able to know that
they were in the vicinity, watching their opportunity to surprise us
at early morning, by signal arrows of fire shot into the heavens to
make known their whereabouts to companions. Could these silent bluffs
of sand but unfold the butchery and unspeakable outrages inflicted on
innocent men, women and children, could the trail through the valley
of the Platte, and even more dangerous trail of the Smoky Hill give up
its secrets, it would reveal a dark page in the history of our
Government, which was directly responsible for a great deal of it;
responsible in so far as sending unscrupulous peace commissioners to
the different agencies to make treaties of peace with tribes of
Indians, and who kept them just long enough to become liberally
supplied with provisions, clothing, guns, ammunition and whiskey, then
ravish and murder in the most diabolical manner pilgrims and
freighters alike. On both trails many a silent monument of stone was
all that remained of their cruel depredations. Such was not the
uncommon work of the fiends, known to readers of fiction as the noble
red men of the plains. More dastardly cowards never existed. Their
struggles against destiny have long since been broken, and the
offspring of those cruel warriors are being educated by a gracious
government.
The monotony of that lonesome and tedious tramp was enlivened only by
fights among the men, and an occasional lay-over for a day to set the
tires of the many wagons, having had no rain to keep them tight
during the entire trip after leaving Atchison, Kansas.
With many encounters and bearing scars received from warring tribes of
Indians, we tramped along in moccasin covered feet, now and again
throwing our long lashed whips with such force as to awaken the
dead-head ox to life and quicker action.
Day after day the same scenery faced us; yet, it was an experience
never to be forgotten. We passed Fort Julesburg and Cottonwood with
the loss of but three men, arriving late at night after a forced drive
at the junction or division of the two trails leading to Denver. The
distance to Denver by the "Cut-off" was seventy-five miles; by the
river route one hundred miles; but as water was to be found only at
long distances on the former, all cattle trains took the river route.
It was early in November, the nights and mornings were cold and
frosty, the air exhilarating. We were up the next morning at the usual
time, and as the sun rose in all its splendor and warmth, one hundred
miles in the far away distance could be seen with the naked eye, the
gigantic range of the Rockies whose lofty snow-capped peaks, sparkling
in the morning sun, seemed to soar and pierce the clouds of delicate
shades that floated in space about them, attracted, as it were, by a
heavenly magnet. It was a sight I had not dreamed of, and one that
made an impression on my young mind to last through life.
DENVER AT LAST!
When about ten miles from Denver--so we at least thought, and fearless
of danger, my chum and myself obtained permission from Mr. Perry to
walk to the city over the rolling ground. We tramped until the sun was
well up in the heavens. One would think it but a few miles to those
mighty and solemn mountains of rocks, so deceptive was the distance,
yet, they were twenty miles beyond the city. At noon we knew we had
made ten long miles and were completely tired out. We were on the
point of taking a rest when I urged my chum to cross the next knoll,
and if the city did not loom up we would halt. We did so and to our
surprise and joy were right in the city of Denver, the "Mecca" of
nearly all Western freighters and distributing point for the far
Western territories. It seemed to have risen beneath our feet. The
grand old range of mountains with their sky-soaring pinnacles and
scenic background of grandeur, together with the surrounding
landscape, made it the sight of one's life. Our sixteen mile walk and
previous seventy days' living on a diet of bacon, beans, and dried
apples, certainly placed us in condition for a civilized meal.
We were directed to a first-class restaurant, both in price and
quality of food. We were about famished, and to satisfy our hunger
seemed impossible. We ate and ate, and probably would have been eating
yet, had not the waiter presented us with a ticket demanding a five
dollar gold piece from each, when we decided we had better call a
halt, if we intended to remain in the city over night.
AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE
On walking up the street we stepped into the first hotel we came to,
the old "Planters," registered, paid for our supper, lodging and
breakfast. When about to leave the hotel, who should walk in but a
Genevan by name, Michael C. Pembroke, with his arm in a sling. He had
been propelled across the plains by mules, and one of the ugly brutes
had broken his right arm with one of his ever active hoofs. I asked
Michael why the mule kicked him? He replied, "Charlie, I may look
foolish but was not fool enough to go back and ask him." Never
approach a Missouri mule from the rear, for there certainly will be
trouble if you do. He asked if we had any money.
We replied that we would have when paid off.
He advised us to go direct to the Ben Holiday stage office and buy a
ticket for the States as soon as we received our pay, as Colorado was
no place for boys.
[Illustration: MICHAEL C. PEMBROKE]
At his suggestion we started out to do the town, and came very near
being done ourselves. Colorado at this time was a territory with a
Governor appointed by the President. Law, except as executed by a
vigilance committee, did not amount to much more than the word. If one
wished to depart life in full dress, he could be accommodated by
simply calling another a liar or cheat at gambling. If desirous of
taking a long rest by being suspended by the neck from a limb of the
only tree in Denver at that time, which was on the west side of Cherry
Creek, all he had to do was to appropriate to himself an ox, mule, or
anything of value, and the vigilance committee would manipulate the
rope.
The gambling places, which occupied long halls on the ground floor of
tall buildings--nearly always on the business street of the city--kept
open until the small hours of morning. There was always a brass band
in front, and a string band, or orchestra, in the extreme rear, so if
one wished to dance, he could select a partner of most any
nationality; dance a set, step up to the bar, pay two bits or
twenty-five cents for cigars, drinks or both and expend his balance
on any game known to the profession, which games occupied either side
of the long room.
We had been in the place less than fifteen minutes when bang went a
revolver and on the instant the room was in total darkness. I
mechanically ducked under a table. Where my companions were, I knew
not; I began to think that Mike's advice was about correct, and before
emerging wished more than once I was back in my home. When the lights
were turned on, I discovered my chum occupying a like berth of safety
on the opposite side of the room.
Mike had evidently followed his own advice and taken his departure,
for he was nowhere to be found. The band struck up a lively tune; the
fiddles, a waltz; dancing began, gold and chips commenced to fly, and,
if I had not passed through the ordeal, I never would have known
anything had happened. The dead were quickly disposed of, the wounded
hurried to physicians, and old timers gave it no further thought, as
it was of frequent occurrence, and one soon became hardened. Denver
at that time was a hotbed of gambling, with murder and lynch law a
secondary pastime. Not being deterred by our experience, we continued
our sightseeing, ending up at the only theatre in the city, afterwards
called the "Old Languish."
JOINING THE CATTLE TRAIN AGAIN
The following afternoon our train reached town and we joined it during
the evening to be ready for an early start for Golden City, the
entrance to the mountains leading to Black Hawk and Central City where
our freight was consigned. The most hazardous part of our trip was
before us, one that to this day makes me shiver when I think of it.
The first team entered the canyon at 11 A. M. in a blinding snowstorm.
The road for nearly the entire distance was hewn from solid rock out
of the side of steep mountains, gradually ascending to a great height,
then descending to what seemed a bottomless canyon. We finally arrived
at Guy Hill, the most dangerous part of the route. It took us one
entire day to reach its pinnacle, where we camped for the night. The
road at the top was cut through solid rock at a height of twenty feet,
seven feet in width and led to a steep precipice. It then made a sharp
turn to the right and, in a serpent shape drive, continued to the
canyon below. At this point it was said to be fifteen hundred feet
straight down, and a number of outfits had previously gone over its
rocky edge and been hurled to destruction by a slight error of
judgment on the part of the driver.
The cold and snow, together with summer clothing, made our suffering
indescribable. The following morning I started in the lead of the
train with a nine thousand pound boiler, with the rear wheels securely
locked, and twenty yoke of oxen to haul it to the edge of the
precipice. Then discarding all but the wheelers and leaders, we began
the descent. There was not room enough on either side for the driver
to walk. He generally rode the off ox, but I took my position on the
rear of the wagon tongue and found it decidedly the safest place in
case of an accident. By night all wagons were safely in the canyon
below. The road for nearly the entire distance presented the same
dangers, taking ten days to reach our destination from Denver, the
entire trip occupying eighty days.
A THRILLING COACH RIDE
On receiving our pay, which was our promised salary less twenty
dollars for the Hostetter's Bitters, my chum and myself decided to go
direct to Denver, our friend remaining in the Mountain City. We
boarded a Concord coach with six snow-white horses to wheel us on a
dead run over and around steep mountains and through dismal canyons,
first on four wheels, then three, then two and occasionally one,
keeping us constantly busy retaining our seats and fearing at every
turn that we would be dashed into eternity; and yet, it was one of the
most picturesque and thrilling rides one could take. Being tossed from
side to side in the roomy coach, now and then grabbing a fellow
passenger with desperation, gazing down from lofty peaks to yawning
chasms below, hearing the crack of the long-lashed whip urging the
noble steeds to faster speed, turning the rough, ragged,
serpent-shaped drive, thundering through clouds and mist with
lightning rapidity, and always in constant terror of a breakdown or
error on the part of the fearless driver, gave one a sensation that
would nearly make his hair stand on end. During the descent a slight
error on the part of the horses or driver, would have hurled all to a
horrible death; but those mountain drivers, strapped to their seats,
were monarchs of the Rockies and unerring in every move. From among
the snow-covered glaciers sparkling in the morning sun, emitting the
many tints of a midday storm-bow and presenting a sight of unsurpassed
grandeur, we emerged from the mouth of the last canyon and struck the
smooth rolling trail. All the way from Golden we were going, it
seemed, on the wings of the wind and were landed in Denver on
scheduled time.