DENVER IN 1865
[Illustration: I] In that period Denver was appropriately called the
"City of the Plains." Situated sixteen miles from the base of the
nearest Rocky Mountain peak, and six hundred and fifty miles from
Atchison, Kansas, the nearest town to the East; while seven hundred
miles to the west loomed up as from the very bowels of the earth, the
beautiful city of the Mormons, Salt Lake City, Utah. The nearest
forts--two hundred miles distant--were Fort Cottonwood to the
northeast, Collins to the north and Halleck to the northwest. Its
northern limits extended to the South fork of the Platte River; Cherry
Creek running through one-third, dividing it into East and West
Denver. Its population numbered about five thousand souls. Here was to
be found the illiterate man--but a grade above the coyote--lawbreakers
of every kind and from every land, to men of culture and refinement.
Here it stood, a typical mining town, a monument to the indomitable
energy of man in his efforts to settle that barren and almost endless
plain and open to the world the Rocky's unlimited hidden gold. Here
were brick structures modern for that day, the brick being made from
the soil of the territory; a United States mint, a church, a school
house, large warehouses, stores, and the home of the _Rocky Mountain
Daily News_, which kept one partially in touch with happenings in the
faraway states. Isolated from the outside world, it was an ideal place
of refuge for those anxious to escape the outraged law. Knights of the
green cloth held full sway. Men in every walk in life gambled. A dead
man for breakfast was not an uncommon heading for the menu card, the
old tree on the west bank of Cherry Creek furnishing the man. Society
was just a little exclusive and to gain admission the pass was, "Where
are you from?" and in some cases, "Your name in the East."
Desperadoes made one attempt to lay the city in ashes and certainly
would have accomplished their purpose had it not been for the timely
action of the Vigilance Committee in hanging the ring-leaders. When
the guilt of a suspect for any crime was in doubt, he was presented
with a horse or mule and ordered to leave between sun and sun and
never return. During my four years of residence in Denver there was
but one Indian scare and it made a lasting impression on the tablet of
my memory. A church bell pealed forth the warning over the thirsty
desert of an Indian attack. Business places were closed, the women and
children were rushed to the mint and warehouses for protection, armed
men surrounded the city, pickets on horseback were thrown out in every
direction. Couriers kept thundering back and forth between picket line
and those in command and others were despatched to the different Forts
for assistance that never came. A look of determination stood out on
the face of every one and not a man, from clergyman to desperado,
within the confines of the city who would not willingly have given up
his life's blood to protect the honor of the women and lives of the
little ones. For three weary days and the same number of nights the
terrible suspense lasted, but no Indian came. It was a false alarm.
Denver, in its early settlement, was never attacked by the Indians
except in isolated cases. The only reason that I ever heard given for
their not doing so was that they knew not their strength, for there
was no time in the sixties that they could not have swooped down on
the place, massacred all and buried the little mining town in ashes.
SECURED WORK AGAIN
For a young man to obtain work other than oxen or mule driving, we
were told, was simply impossible. Not being deterred, however, by this
discouraging information we at once started out to secure work. Board
was twenty-five dollars a week in gold, and you had to furnish your
own sleeping quarters, so not to secure work at once would quickly
reduce our wealth. We had called on nearly all of the business
places, when my chum secured a position with a grocer and freighter.
As for myself, I received little encouragement but finally called at a
large restaurant where I was offered work. I told the proprietor it
was a little out of my line, but he told me that if I could not find a
position to suit me, I should walk in at any time, pull off my coat
and go to work, which I did three days later. About the tenth day the
proprietor told me his lease expired and that the man who owned the
building was going to conduct the business. He came in that afternoon,
and I was introduced to him. Before leaving he stepped into the office
and informed me that he wanted a man next to him; or, in other words,
an assistant and that the former proprietor had given me a good
recommend and he thought that I would suit him. He made me a tempting
offer and I accepted. The restaurant was located on Blake street, one
of the then principal business streets of the city, and kept open
until early morning as did the gambling places in the immediate
vicinity. I soon discovered that the new proprietor could neither read
or write and that he conducted one of the largest private club rooms
in the city where gambling was carried on without limit. He paid me a
large salary and allowed me everything my wild nature craved. I had
charge of the entire business as well as his bank account.
The restaurant was the headquarters of nearly all oxen and mule
drivers and also of the miners who came from the mountains in winter,
and were of the toughest type of men of that day. All professional
oxen and mule drivers after making one round trip to the river and
points in the far Western territories were paid off in Denver and many
of them would deposit with me, for safe keeping, a large share of
their dangerously and hard earned dollars. They would then start out
to do the town, now and then taking a chance at one of the many
gambling games, always returning for more money, which I would give
them; and this they would continue until all was expended except
enough to keep them a week, when sober, and a commission for doing the
business, for which I was careful to look out. An individual who bore
the name of "One Eye Jack" boarded with us and I could always depend
upon him in time of trouble. His vocation for a long time was a
mystery, until one evening, as I was passing down a side street, he
popped out from an alley and with uplifted blackjack would have felled
and robbed me had he not recognized the unearthly yell I gave. I
forgave him, and afterwards he doubled his energies to protect me and
on more than one occasion saved my life. When in his professional
clothes he was a tough looking customer and could fight like a bull
dog. He was always liberally supplied with someone else's money. Yet
with all his bad traits, his word was as good as his gold; but like
other similar individuals that infested Denver at that time, he
finally went to the end of his tether, and was presented by the
Vigilance Committee with a hemp collar that deprived him of his life.
Before his demise, however, a party of ten tough-looking individuals
entered the restaurant and, in forceful language, demanded the best
the country offered in eatables and drink. My friend, or
would-be-murderer, was in at the time and I noticed a look of cunning
pleasure steal over his rough countenance. The strangers were dressed
in corduroy trousers, velveteen coats, slouch hats and black ties.
Their shirts and collars of red flannel made a conspicuous appearance
and caused their undoing later. After seeing them well cared for, I
returned to the office and calling Jack inquired his opinion of the
gents.
"Well," he replied, "I may be mistaken but I will just bet you a ten
spot they are road agents." "Yes," I said, "I am inclined to agree
with you, but keep mum."
You may think it strange I did not give this bold highwayman away; but
life in those days was sweet and I had no desire to have that young
life taken so I followed Commanche Bill's advice and strictly minded
my own business. If I had not, I would not be living today.
[Illustration: ROAD AGENTS HOLDING UP STAGE COACH]
HIGHWAYMEN OF THE WEST
Two mornings later on entering for breakfast one of the band had his
head done up in a bandage. From words he dropped I was satisfied that
Jack or one of his cronies had been improving their spare time by
relieving him of his over abundance of gold. The reckless manner in
which they disposed of their money and their conversation when flushed
with wine betrayed their true characters and stamped them a murderous
band of mountain highwaymen who had made their headquarters in the
fastnesses of the Rockies, near the overland mountain trail and there
devoted their time to holding up stage coaches, compelling the driver
with a shot from a carbine to halt, descend, disarm and be quiet. The
passengers were then ordered to alight and stand in a row, continually
being covered with guns by a part of the band and by others relieved
of their personal effects. Then the stage coach was systematically
gone through together with the Wells Fargo & Co's. safe, which often
contained gold into the thousands. These hold-ups were not infrequent
and were the fear of all who were obliged to pass through these
canyons of robbery and often death. The bunch that we harbored were
undoubtedly as bold a band of robbers and murderers as ever infested
the silent caves of the Rockies. Could their dingy walls but talk they
would reveal crimes unspeakable. I knew there were many strangers in
town and was almost certain their every movement was watched; nor was
I mistaken. The seventh day after their arrival a young school teacher
whom I knew by sight called at the restaurant and inquired by name for
one of the band. I asked if he knew him. He replied, no more than that
he had met him in one of the corrals of the city and had been offered
free passage to the States if he would do their cooking. I told him of
my suspicions and all I knew about them and advised him not to go with
them, but like many others he gave no heed. Two days later they were
missed at meal time. The next morning word came by courier that the
entire band including the school teacher were dangling by the neck
from the branches of cottonwood trees twelve miles down the Platte
River with their pockets inside-out and outfits gone. Thus was meted
out innocent and guilty alike the Vigilance Committee justice, which
was not of uncommon occurrence.
[Illustration: VIGILANCE COMMITTEE JUSTICE]
Mr. Pembroke secured a position at Black Hawk, Colorado, in the year
1865, with the first smelter works erected in the Rocky Mountains. He
was employed in the separating department where sulphur was freely
used, and he inhaled much of the fumes emitted therefrom, which was
the direct cause of a severe illness.
He fought retirement for a long time, but was finally forced to give
up.
The latter part of February, 1886, he arrived in Denver on his way to
his home in Geneva, N. Y., but remained with me at the restaurant for
ten days where he was cared for and given the best of medical aid
available in those days.
He finally prevailed on a mule freighter to take him as a passenger to
Atchison, Kansas. Arriving at Fort Carney, Nebraska, he had a relapse
and was ordered by the Commander of the Fort to be placed in the Army
Hospital for treatment, where he remained until able to continue his
journey by stage to Atchison, thence by rail home.
He left Colorado with the full determination of returning on
recovering his health. A mother's influence, however, changed his
plans and he finally decided to remain in the East. He purchased a
grocery business and conducted it with great success until his death,
March 17th, 1910. By his strict attention to business, square dealing,
genial disposition and original wit, he gained the confidence and
respect of his fellow-men. He was buried in St. Patrick's cemetery in
his home city where a surviving sister has caused to be erected an
appropriate and costly monument to his memory.
NEW EMPLOYMENT
I remained with the restaurant keeper one year, when through the
assistance of influential men that boarded at the restaurant, I
secured a position with a grocer. Shortly after entering his employ I
made the acquaintance of an ex-army officer, a graduate of West Point
and a well educated man, who afterwards became my boon companion. At
that time he was an ex-pork merchant from Cincinnati; an eccentric old
fellow without chick or child, and with plenty of money to loan at 3%
a month. He owned a large warehouse on Cherry Creek in West Denver
where he slept and did his own cooking. His evenings were passed at
the store and many were the nights that we told stories and otherwise
enjoyed ourselves. He was a silent member of the firm and I was wise
enough to keep on the right side of him. During that time the head of
the firm ran for Congress on the Democratic ticket. Such an election I
never want to see or go through again. Large wagons loaded with
barrels of all kinds of liquor on tap were driven from poll to poll.
Many more ballots were cast in each precinct than there were voters
and by night nearly the entire male portion of the inhabitants were a
drunken, howling mass. The outcome of the election resulted in the
Governor giving the Democratic nominee the certificate of election;
the Secretary of the territory favoring the Republicans. The Governor
left the city that night and never returned. The contest terminated in
a Republican Congress seating the Republican candidate, and Andrew
Johnson--then President of the United States--appointing the
Democratic candidate Governor of Colorado. A year from that time
General Grant was inaugurated, and shortly afterwards the Governor's
head went into the basket and mine fell on the outside.
On another occasion there was to be a prize fight at Golden City,
sixteen miles from Denver. My friend, the ex-pork merchant, I could
see was anxious to attend but did not wish to lower his standard of
dignity by doing so, so the subject was not mentioned save in a casual
way until the morning of the fight, when he entered the store,
puffing and blowing, stamping the floor with his hickory cane and
mopping his crimson brow with an old-fashioned bandana handkerchief,
said "Charley, let's go to that infernal fight. I don't approve of it,
but let's go."
"All right," I said. I was in for any kind of sport.
AN EXPERIENCE IN MULE RIDING
I left everything, locked the store and started out to procure a rig,
but found there were none to be had for love or money. The only
article of propulsion we could hire were saddle mules. Both quickly
mounted and on a slow trot started for the ring. We had been there
less than an hour when both of us became thoroughly disgusted and
started on the return trip. When about seven miles from Denver and
going at a lively pace--for a mule--the Major's animal stiffened both
front legs, and placing his hoofs firmly in the sandy road, permitted
the Major's chunky little body to pass over his head and through space
for about ten feet, landing, with much force, on his stomach. The
old fellow was an artist at curse words and the more I laughed the
more he cursed. He was a sprightly little fellow and on gaining his
feet grabbed for the bridle, but Mr. Mule shook his head, made a side
step, and the devil could not have caught him again until he reached
the barn. I dismounted and with much difficulty my friend scrambled
into my saddle, with myself on behind. But my long-eared critter
objected and the fun commenced. He bunted and kicked. All of a sudden
his hind quarters rose and like lightning his long lanky legs shot
high into the air. First, I went off, and on gaining a sitting
position with mouth, ears and eyes full of sand, I witnessed a
spectacle befitting the clumsiest bareback rider on one of their first
lessons. The old Major had both arms affectionately entwined around
the mule's thick neck and was hanging on with desperation. Up and down
went the hind quarters of that unkind brute, bunting and kicking, the
Major's little body keeping taps with the ups and downs and every
time he caught his breath he let out a war whoop that would do credit
to a Commanche brave. The old mule finally dumped him all in a heap
and followed his mate to Denver. Such an appearance as both presented,
each blaming the other for our misfortune and vowing we would never be
caught at another prize fight. Lame, bruised, and crestfallen, we
walked the remainder of the way into Denver. Each cautioned the other
to say nothing of our misfortune; but the two Mauds had carried the
news ahead, and we were the laughing stock of the town for the next
nine days.
[Illustration: RETURNING FROM PRIZE FIGHT]
At another time I was attending a performance in the "Old Languish
Theater," when from the stage I was informed I was wanted in the bar
room of the building, a necessary adjunct to all western theaters in
those days. Upon entering I was taken by the hand by one of those
trusty and warm-hearted stage drivers of the plains and Rockies, and
told that my chum had been caught in one of those treacherous mountain
snow storms on the Catchla Purder River two miles above La Port and
was badly frozen, and, if he didn't receive medical aid at once, could
not survive. I left the theater at once and commenced preparing plans
for the trip. I started unaccompanied the following afternoon at 2:30
o'clock on a one hundred fifty mile ride.
A RIDE IN A STORM
My conveyance was a long old-fashioned buggy. The buggy, which was
well filled with straw, blankets, medicine, grub, and a commissary
bottle, had two good roadsters hitched in front to wheel me to the
rescue of my friend or to an ignominious death. I had not only Indians
to fear, but the treacherous elements. The trail ran close along the
base of the mountains. It was a lovely May day. I was obliged to make
thirty-two miles that night to reach cover. Less than half of the
distance had been traveled when the wind veered suddenly to the north,
mild at first, then a hurricane of anger, roaring and blowing with
such force as to nearly upset the buggy. Dark clouds gathered and
floated around those silent peaks of ages. Lightning darted hither and
thither among the stalwart pines, which were creaking, bending and
crashing. Clap after clap of thunder pealed through and from those
dismal canyons, vibrating between Nature's slopes of granite, quartz
and rock. The din was fearful, rain fell at first, then turned to
snow. Just before it became dark I adjusted the front piece of the
buggy. My compass was useless. I urged my faithful steeds to faster
speed, and at the same time gave them the rein. As I did so, they left
the trail. Cold and chilled to the marrow or very bone, I took
frequent drafts from the commissary bottle, and fought with all my
power against sleep, but it was useless.
On gaining partial consciousness two squaws were bending over me
rubbing me with all their Indian strength and a third forcing
something warm down my throat. Men, rough of dress, were smoking and
playing cards. Revolvers, chips and gold was in front of each, with
plenty of the latter in the center of the table. I knew not if they
were friends or mountain highwaymen. Many claim that horses are dumb
brutes with no instinct, but that faithful pair on leaving the trail
avoided a long bend and made straight for the adobe stage ranch,
sixteen miles away. On reaching it, they ran the buggy-pole through
the only opening of that mud shack rousing the inmates to action and
bringing me to safety.
The large Concord coach filled with passengers soon arrived from
Denver, and owing to the severity of the storm, put up for the night.
The time was passed in smoking, drinking and playing cards. At six
o'clock the next morning the coach pulled up at the door. The storm
was over, but not the wind. The cold was intense. My team soon came
up, but their ears and noses were badly frost bitten and otherwise
showed the effects of the storm. I followed the coach but for a short
distance only, as the snow which was drifting badly obliterated the
trail. The six black horses on the coach were too much for my two bays
and soon left me far in the rear. My compass had been lost and by
noon I was back at the ranch I had previously left, the horses having
made nearly a complete circle without my knowledge. I secured another
compass and at nine o'clock that evening rolled into La Port, a city
of adobe ranches, and stage station, where I put up for the night. (A
place of two or three houses in those days was called a city.) I was
informed that my chum was two miles up the river and in bad shape. The
next morning I was up at day break. After grub I started and found my
companion quartered in a little old log cabin at the base of the
mountains, and being cared for by an aged squaw and her daughter--the
old buck being out caring for the cattle. My chum had encountered the
same kind of a storm as his rescuer, and unable to find his way was
obliged to remain out the entire night and only one hundred feet from
the cabin. Both of his feet were badly frozen. The Indians had done
everything possible for him. The daughter, for an Indian, was
extremely pretty, and I soon discovered that she was very much taken
with my chum. I applied the remedies which I had brought. Then the
little Indian maiden bundled him up, and with the promise that he
would return they parted.
We were at once off on the return trip and arrived at the stage ranch,
where I was cared for the previous night at just six o'clock. On
driving up to the door of the station all three of the reaches of the
buggy broke and gently dropped us to the ground. Fortunately there was
a blacksmith connected with the station and I assisted him through the
long night, forging reaches and repairing the buggy. At daylight we
were off, reaching Denver in safety at 3:30 that afternoon and making
the trip in just three days.
Both of my chum's feet had to be amputated at the insteps. He was very
grateful and quite conscious of the fact that true friendship still
existed.
Before leaving the governor's employ, I accompanied a mule train of
ten wagons with supplies for the Ute tribe of Indians who lived in
one of the parks of the mountains in the vicinity of Pike's Peak. The
Utes, at that particular time, were on friendly terms with the white
men as there was a treaty of peace existing between them and the
Government.