THE OREGON TRAIL
We were now upon the most frequented thoroughfare of western
transcontinental travel, known as the old Oregon trail, and this course
was pursued for the succeeding two weeks. It was the route taken by
Major Stephen Long, who in 1820 explored this valley as far west as the
junction of the North and the South Platte. It also appears to have been
followed by Captain E. D. Bonneville and his company in 1832, and in
1834 and 1839 by Whiteman and Spalding, the missionaries to Oregon; also
by Colonel John C. Fremont in 1842, when on his first exploring
expedition.
[Illustration: THE OREGON TRAIL THROUGH MITCHELL PASS]
While these western trails may not have been the scenes of conflict in
which numbers were engaged on any one occasion, nevertheless, for two
generations they have doubtless been the theatre of a greater number of
encounters with Indians than have ever occurred in any other equal area
of our country. The reasons for this become apparent on a moment's
thought. The numerous tribes that occupied this vast territory were in
every sense of the word warriors, having had experience in their
peculiar mode of warfare in frequent conflicts between the tribes. The
majority were expert horsemen, which peculiarly fitted them for
guerrilla tactics. The California, Pike's Peak, and Mormon settlements
formed nuclei for a rapidly increasing population, the supplies for
which were transported chiefly by this thoroughfare across the plains,
which until a later date remained the undisputed home of these nomadic
tribes.
The travel across this broad stretch of Indian territory was in the main
confined to a very few well defined pathways through an open,
unprotected country on which the strength of a traveling outfit could be
fairly estimated by the enemy concealed in the many hiding places in
ravines intersecting the prairie, so that freighter and emigrant were
exposed to unexpected forays at any moment, and especially when the
relations with the Indians were not entirely friendly. It was
exceedingly difficult, at times, for the traveler to ascertain with
certainty what was the present spirit of any tribe. An unprovoked wrong
inflicted by some one reckless white man upon an Indian was liable to be
avenged by an attack on some train, the owners of which were ignorant of
the inciting cause. In like manner, the insult of a white by an Indian
led to the conclusion that the tribe was hostile and on the war-path,
and the freighters governed themselves accordingly. The reckless
destruction of buffaloes by the whites was the cause of intense
bitterness on the part of the Indians; and moreover, the ill-adjusted
relations between our War Department and the tribes, to which we may
make future reference, were not always favorable to a friendly attitude
on the part of the Indian.
This Oregon trail, however, as far as it followed the main channel of
the Platte River, had now become a well-traveled, natural road. Because
of the fact that the country remote from this stream was arid and devoid
of water courses, the Platte valley was the only practicable route for
freighting, except the one far south along the tributaries of the
Arkansas.
On my first opportunity I took a stroll back from the river to the
bluffs, which were three or four miles distant, and which mark the
boundary between the valley and the higher lands to the south, with a
view to ascertaining if there were any evidence of civilization beyond.
The air was wonderfully clear, dry, and hot. There was a marked contrast
between this country and the prairies of Eastern Nebraska. The thin
grass was parched and brown, and the surface of the valley was barren
and apparently lifeless. A solitary black buzzard, poised upon a carcass
which I passed, added but little of attractive life to the inanimate
scenery.
Observing the skeletons and carcasses of numerous buffaloes it occurred
to me to count those which I might pass on my walk to the foothills. The
number observed near my path reached nearly two hundred. There are but
few objects that could be more suggestive of desolation than were these
huge, bleaching skeletons. The killing of the greater number of these
buffaloes was doubtless a result of the vandalism of so-called
sportsmen, who regarded even the crippling of a few of these noble
animals as a laudable achievement, even though the buffaloes were shot
while in a compact herd of a thousand or more. Hundreds of thousands of
their bodies were scattered over the country, especially near the river
valleys of Kansas and Nebraska. From personal observation, it was
evident that a great number of them were not killed by the Indians,
because the skins, which were of value for their own uses, and for
traffic with the whites, in many instances had not been removed.
Later in these records reference will be made to the vast numbers of
these valuable animals, which we saw further South. In the interesting
work of Colonel Henry Inman, statistics are given concerning the number
of buffaloes killed in the thirteen years 1868 to 1881. He states that
the facts as written were carefully gathered from the freight
departments of the railroads, which kept a record of the bones that were
shipped; and the quantities were verified from the purchase of the
carbon works at various points from which was paid out the money for the
bones. These figures show that during the period named there was paid
out $2,500,000 for buffalo-bones gathered on the prairies of Kansas
alone; and at the rate paid this sum represented the skeletons of more
than thirty millions of buffaloes, a number that seems almost
incredible. Sheridan, Custer, Sully, and Inman report having ridden in
1868, two years later than my visit, for three consecutive days through
one continuous herd which must have contained many millions. The writer
had a similar experience in the autumn of 1866. The wanton destruction
of the last of these magnificent and valuable animals is but a single
illustration of the folly and improvidence of the American people in
dealing with their magnificent natural resources, and their disregard
for the comfort and the needs of future generations.
The bluffs on the margin of the valley which have been already referred
to, were next ascended. From them, looking outward over the high,
rolling, and arid plains beyond, nothing could be seen except one
interminable brown, with hardly a shrub visible, to relieve the dull
monotony. Toward the north and skirted by a strip of cottonwood trees
and brush, the turbid river glistened in the glaring light, its
chocolate-colored waters bearing to the distant gulf its unceasing
tribute of clay and sand. Here and there its tawny breast was scarred
with barren sand bars, but over all the broad landscape nothing could be
discerned that was the product of human agency save the distant trail
near the river, along which our train was lazily creeping, like a
wounded anaconda.
Buzzing around me, as if seeking some companionship on that lonely
bluff, was a solitary bee. For some time I watched its erratic
movements, hoping to discover the nature of its engagements. I could see
nothing, except here and there a cactus or a thistle, from which it
seemed possible that it could extract the sweets needed for future use.
It was possibly an adventurer that had drifted off as I had done, from
the parent colony. Bryant writes of this busy insect in words which, if
applied to the future of this then desolate plain, seem prophetic:
"THE BEE"
"A colonist more adventurous than man
With whom he came across the eastern deep,
Fills the Savannas with his murmurings,
And hides his sweets, as in the golden age,
Within the hollow oak. I listen long
To his domestic hum, and think I hear
The sound of that advancing multitude
Which soon shall fill these deserts. From the ground
Comes up the laughter of children, the soft voice
Of maidens, and the sweet and solemn hymn
Of Sabbath worshippers. The low of herds
Blends with the rustling of the heavy grain
Over the dark brown furrows. All at once
A fresher wind sweeps by and breaks my dream,
And I am in the wilderness alone."
So vividly was mirrored in the poet's fancy the future of the Nebraskan
desert. I must confess my inability, as I sat alone on the highest lump
of earth available, to have in any degree forecast the future of that
country, for I would have hardly given my jack-knife for all the land in
sight, with forty years' exemption from taxes. Yet to me this waste was
profoundly interesting and impressive, not unlike the great deserts of
Africa, although I could see in it no promise or potence of prosperity.
To one who has personally observed the final reclamation of those broad
lands, the words of Bryant picture with wonderful accuracy the
transformation that really has taken place, and my own early
observations now seem like a dream.
In proof that my impressions were shared by others, we may quote the
statement of Colonel William A. Phillips, that at the Wyandotte
convention, which was held about that time, the line of the future state
of Nebraska was being drawn at the 100th meridian, which was supposed to
be the border of the desert region. An attempt was being made to annex
to it all the land south of the Platte, and delegates from Nebraska were
in attendance to urge it. One delegate, a Mr. Taylor, who seemed
thoroughly penetrated with the annexation idea, urged that the Platte
River had a quicksand bottom, and could not be forded; that it could not
be bridged, because there was no bottom, for piers; and that it could
not be ferried, for want of water. In short, in the minds of many,
Western Nebraska, with its river, its climate, and its expanse of
sterile soil, was of no value except to hold other portions of the earth
together. But there lay the great undeveloped West, its prairies and
beyond these its mountains, an inert expanse ready to be developed into
vast productive states rich in soil and minerals.
Returning to the train after my long tramp, we lunched, and after the
usual noonday rest for the stock, mounted our horses and proceeded on
our afternoon drive. We had not advanced far, when we saw that we were
approaching a single covered wagon some distance ahead, near which were
riding two young ladies, and a gentleman of fine appearance. Ben and
Fred commented with much satisfaction on the agreeable prospect of
meeting two interesting girls in whom they might find occasional
companionship on the long journey that lay before us.
The gentleman addressed us cordially and naturally inquired whither we
were bound. As a fact, we could not state definitely what our route
would be beyond Julesburg, except that our first objective point was
Salt Lake City. We learned that he with his family was destined for
Denver, where he expected to follow his profession as physician. He
ventured to introduce us to his daughters, one of whom was a brunette;
the other bore a wealth of bright auburn hair, and was of fair
complexion, except that a little tan and a few freckles, caused by the
Nebraska sun and breezes, were noticeable. Their ages were between
eighteen and twenty-one years, about the same as my companions. Fred was
an attractive, cheerful young fellow, an agreeable converser, and always
popular at home. Ben was more vigorous physically, and at once impressed
one with his sterling qualities and good sense. So Dr. Brown, as we may
now call him, expressed pleasure at the prospect of sharing with us the
adventures of the journey. We camped near a ranch which a few months
before had been attacked by the Indians.
Along this road, as far as Julesburg, these so-called ranches, strewn
from eight to twelve miles apart, were maintained chiefly in the
interest of Ben Holliday's stage line, for the care of the horses,
which were exchanged at such stations. With few exceptions, the
buildings were made of adobe and contained two rooms. No attempt even at
simple gardening was made; in fact, we observed no phase of agriculture
along this route. Some of the buildings were partially surrounded by a
wall built of sods, as an enclosure for the horses. The interior was for
the main part a grog shop, with a combined sleeping and cooking room
attached at the rear.
On the 18th of June, when fully ten miles from Fort Kearney, the flag of
that post became visible in the distance, as we looked up the level
valley. Ben and Paul hastened in advance to ascertain where we might
camp. They returned to meet us, with the information that two miles in
each direction from the Fort extended the Government reservation, and
that a notice had been posted on the wayside forbidding the driving of
teams across that property. On reaching these sacred precincts, we rode
through on horseback and discovered that there was really no fort at
Fort Kearney. There was a small plaza or park, bordered by cottonwood
trees, in the center of which stood the flagstaff from which floated the
nation's colors; near by were mounted two or three small brass cannon;
around the plaza were built the barracks and officers' quarters, with
other buildings used apparently by officers. A soldier was pacing back
and forth before the open door of the magazine, and another was
performing a similar duty in front of the guardhouse, from which came
the notes of a familiar melody sung by the recreants within, who were
making the best of their confinement. The only semblance of a
fortification was an adobe wall facing the bluffs. The fort was
garrisoned by two companies of the 5th U. S. Volunteers.
Fort Kearney is the oldest white settlement in the interior of Nebraska,
and was named after a general who served in the Mexican war. A station
two miles west from the Government post was dignified by the name of
Kearney City and embraced half a dozen small adobe structures, each of
which was said to be a whiskey dive; its small population of men and
women was apparently of a worthless type. The spot was usually referred
to as Dobytown. The post itself was abandoned long ago.
We learned from the provost, that by order of the War Department, no
trains were allowed to move westward with less than twenty wagons and
thirty armed men. As yet we had seen no Indians, and travelers from the
West made the same observation, but stated great numbers of Indians were
reported to be in the vicinity of Laramie, where they were being fed and
petted by Government agents as preliminary to an effort to make a
treaty. Many travelers affirmed that the Indian agents were temporizing
and procrastinating, and that some officers did not desire permanent
peace, believing that it would make unnecessary certain fat offices then
existing, and would also check opportunities for the profitable barter
which was being conducted with the tribes.
The demands of these latter appeared to be that the Powder River country
and the Smoky Hill route should be absolutely abandoned by the whites
and left in the undisturbed possession of the Indians. The Red Man could
not fail to recognize the fact that he was losing his most valuable
hunting grounds by the encroachment of civilization, and the current
belief among the whites was that the Sioux were preparing to make
trouble. In view of the general interest in the subject which prevailed,
it was natural for travelers to exchange views upon it with those who
might have any new information; and a stage station ranchman a few miles
from Kearney also gave us his views on the situation. This man, after
advancing some opinions concerning the personnel of the troops that had
been sent for their protection (views that were anything but
complimentary), said that a common expression among those not well
informed was that one white man was enough for ten Indians. In front of
the little ranch where we then stood, he had recently been witness to
the fact that six Indians armed only with bows and arrows had driven ten
cavalrymen, armed with carbines and revolvers, back into the ranch,
where they were supported by a greater number of troops. We asked if any
of the soldiers had been wounded. "Yes," he replied, "one of them
intercepted an arrow which fortunately did not enter a vital part, but
it did penetrate certain muscles in his back, which made it painful for
him to sit." The action of the troops was reported in such glowing terms
to the Department by the officer in command that the soldier who was
shot in the back and could not sit, received a medal for his bravery.
This, however, was not a fair report concerning the valor of our
soldiers as a whole, for before that year ended some of them performed
heroic acts and deeds of daring hardly surpassed in history.
We camped away from the trail, to the west of the post and in sight of
the miserable huts of Dobytown. There was but little feed for the stock,
yet we had to remain. It was either at Dobytown or at the post itself,
that a party of travelers who were parked near us secured a box
containing bottles labelled "Hostetter's Bitters." These so-called
stomach bitters were a widely advertised concoction purporting to be a
valuable tonic and a never failing remedy for dyspepsia, and all the
other ills that the stomach, and the inner man generally, is ever heir
to. If the extraordinary box said to have been presented by Zeus to
Pandora is worthy of mention as a magazine of innumerable pent-up ills,
which a girl unwittingly turned loose among men, then surely the eminent
Dr. Hostetter should have a high place in the classic lore of the
future, as the fabricator of a bottled-up compound, which when uncorked,
had wonderful potentialities, not in curing ills but in raising the
devil generally. As already stated, the men purchased the box of
bitters, which (as an eye-witness I testify) was as innocent in
appearance as a box of bottles of pepper sauce. They also used the
contents freely as a beverage, and soon were raving drunk. Having
neither tasted nor analyzed this potent and invincible anti-dyspeptic
and gastric regenerator, I know naught of its peculiar constitution and
virtue, but am informed that its base is a poor grade of raw whiskey and
is in fact the concentrated extract of "drunk." Having become absolutely
delirious from their potations of the infallible specific, the revellers
returned to the dens of Dobytown and began a season of Saturnalia which
had not ended when we moved from that camp. Supplies of the tonic were
secured by another party and enjoyed with similar results.
[Illustration: CHIMNEY ROCK, ONE OF THE OLD LANDMARKS OF THE '49 TRAIL
HEIGHT ABOUT 800 FEET ABOVE THE RIVER]
As we traveled on we learned that the wonderful demand for this nervine
was in some measure due to the convenient form in which it was sold; and
that these bitters were the element frequently used in barter with the
Indians, and for which they were ready to exchange their most valued
possessions. Some men wonder why the Red Man is at times so insane in
his brutality. The uncorking of bottles of bitters of this general type
has caused more than one of our protracted wars with the Indians, and a
cost of millions of dollars to our Government, a fact that is
attested by incontrovertible evidence. There were indeed other and more
notable causes of our Indian wars. It must be understood that the
savages knew nothing of our national boundaries made by treaty with
Great Britain. Some tribes with which we have been at war roamed freely
on both sides of that line. Every one of our territories from Wisconsin
to the Pacific has furnished scenes of Indian conflicts with the Whites.
Yet in some way, Canada has avoided these expensive experiences too
terrible to describe. As we follow our vagabond life with the emigrants,
and from time to time see the Indians in their various encounters, and
dodge the massacres that befall our companions, we hope incidentally to
discover some of the reasons why our Government has failed to cope
successfully with this problem.