THROUGH TO BANNOCK.--A DANCE OF PEACE.--FRIGHT OF THE NEGROES.--A
FREIGHT TRAIN SNOWED IN AND A TRIP ON SNOW-SHOES.--SOME VERY TOUGH
ROAD AGENTS.
While I was at Fort Kearney another long train of emigrants came
along, en-route for Bannock, Montana. They did not know just where
Bannock was, and through the influence of Jim Bridger and Gen.
Kearney, I was offered employment in guiding them at seventy-five
dollars per month, with provisions.
I told them I did not know where Bannock was, but that I could
take them to any portion of Montana they asked to go, I was not
long making the bargain and making preparations to get started. We
went back over the same road as far as Fort Bridger that I had
come only a short time before. There was not a person in the
entire train that had ever seen a hostile Indian, and very few of
them had ever traveled outside of their own state. The most of
them were from Indiana, and most of the men had families, and I
presume they were fleeing from the draft; that being the time of
the late war.
I experienced a great deal of trouble in getting those people
organized and trained in a manner to enable us to protect
ourselves against the hostile Indians.
In this train there were two negros, whose names were Joe and Bab.
Joe was driving a team for his grub and Bab was cooking for two
families for his grub. The people of the train fell into the habit
of calling me Captain, and every time I would ride along where
this Joe or Bab were, they would invariably salute me by lifting
their hats or by taking them off entirely and then they would say:
"Marse Capting, de ye see any Injuns?"
One day my scouts came in from the south and reported seeing a
band of Indians, about ten or fifteen in number, two miles away
and coming direct for the train. I struck out alone at full speed
in that direction to ascertain what kind of Indians they were,
there being another man whose business it was to take charge of
the train at any time I was away, and in case of an attack or
danger of such, it was his business to corral the train and
prepare for battle.
I had only gone a half mile when I met the Indians, and they
proved to be Arapahoes. I was personally acquainted with all of
them and asked them to go to the train with me, telling them it
was just over the ridge. This they agreed to do, saying: "We will
go to the train and then all will go out and kill some buffalo
this evening."
We rode leisurely along until in sight of the train, and the
moment the people saw me riding with the Indians on each side of
me, they felt sure that I had been taken prisoner, and all the
hustling and bustling around to get those wagons corralled, beat
anything I had ever seen, and they were all so badly excited that
it was no use to try to hello at them.
They were afraid to shoot at the Indians for fear they might shoot
me, or if they did not shoot me, they were afraid that if they
should shoot the Indians they would retaliate by shooting me down.
The wagons being corralled, we rode around the entire train. I
left the Indians and rode inside of the corral and told the people
that these were peaceable Indians and were all friends of mine,
and that I wanted every man, woman and child to come out and shake
hands with them. Quite a number hesitated, believing that I had
been taken prisoner by the Indians and had been compelled to do
this in order to save my own life, and believing that those
Indians wanted to murder the entire train.
But after reasoning with them for a while I succeeded in
convincing them that the Indians were peaceable. Then they all
went out and shook hands except the two darkies, who were not to
be found any where about the train at that time. I then told the
man whose duty it was to look after the train in my absence, to
drive about three miles and camp, describing the place, and that I
would go with the Indians and kill some buffalo, so that we might
have fresh meat, telling him to have each family cook a little
bread extra for the Indians, and that they would furnish meat
enough to do to-night and to-morrow, and was off for the buffalo
hunt.
The Indians told me there was a band of buffalo about two or three
miles ahead of us near the road.
We pushed on, on the main road, and sure enough right in the
little valley where I had told the captain to camp, we saw a band
of buffalo feeding. We all made a dash for them, and succeeded in
killing five fat buffalo, and on the ground, enough for the entire
train.
As soon as the train was corralled and the stock turned loose, we
appointed four men, who claimed to know something of butchering,
to cut up and distribute the meat among the people of the train.
Up to this time the darkey cook had not been seen since I came
over the hill in company with those Indians. A certain lady in the
train said she thought that when he saw the Indians coming he had
run off and hid in the sage brush, but after the fires were
started he crawled out of one of the wagons where he had been hid,
and claimed that he had been asleep all this time and did not know
anything about any "Injuns," but it was a difficult matter to make
the people in the train believe this yarn. I had the Indians build
their fire outside of the corral, and while they were preparing
their meat I went around and collected bread enough of different
ones in the train for them, also a bowl of molasses. After all had
their supper over I proposed to the Indians that we have a dance.
This dance is what they call a dance of peace, and is carried on
in a manner like this: They--or all that wish to participate in
the dance--form in a circle around the camp-fire, singing, or
rather humming, a certain tune. I went to the people of the train
and told them that the Indians and myself were going to have a
peace dance, and all that wished to see it could come to the camp-
fire and look on. I think every man, woman and child came out to
see the dance, which lasted about two hours. After the dance was
over one of the young Indians in the crowd came to me and said if
I would interpret for him he would be pleased to make a speech for
my friends, providing they were willing for him to do so. When he
told the other Indians he was going to make a speech they all sat
down in a circle around the camp-fire, seventeen in number, and
were perfectly silent. I told them that this young Indian wanted
to know if they would care to hear him make a speech. All were
anxious to hear him, which would be something new to them. I told
them that he would make the speech in his own language and I would
interpret it word for word as near as I knew how.
When I told him they would be pleased to hear from him he walked
up to me, laid his hand on my shoulder, and said:
"I have known this friend of mine a great many years. A long time
ago when he use to come to our village, we always killed a dog,
and after we would have a feast on dog meat, we always smoked the
pipe of peace, and all of the Arapahoes are his friends."
He continued this manner of speaking about fifteen minutes, to the
amusement of the entire train, and when he took his seat he wanted
some one else to speak, but no one would attempt to respond to
him, thus winding up the amusements for the evening.
In a conversation that evening with the Indians, they told me
their business out there, which was to keep the Sioux Indians off
of their hunting ground.
The Sioux and they were on friendly terms, but sometimes the Sioux
would steal over on their hunting ground. They proposed to
accompany us through the dangerous part of the country.
The morning following I told the men in the train of the generous
proposition which the Indians had made me, and told them if they
would furnish the Indians with bread they would keep them in meat.
I also told them that we were now in the most dangerous part of
the Sioux country, and that as long as those Indians were with us
we were in no danger whatever from the fact that when the Sioux
saw those Indians with us we were supposed to be their friends,
and they dare not trouble us in the least.
This, however, was more than agreeable to the entire train,
relieving the scouts of their duty, also the night guards. I made
arrangements with the Indians to travel three days, and we then
pulled out. Just when we were almost ready to start, one young
lady in the crowd said to me; "Captain, I want to ask you one
question, and will you tell me the truth?" I said: "Most assuredly
I will." She said: "I want to know whether it was true that when
you visited those Indians they always killed a dog and ate the
meat?"
I told her it was true as gospel, and said we always considered
dog meat the finest in the land, and only the chief and his most
intimate friends were able to afford dog meat. She said she was
astonished to hear me talk in such a manner. She said: "The most
laughable part of the proceedings the evening before was the
action of the darkey cook, Bab, who stood away back in the outer
edge of the crowd when you and those Indians were dancing. You
could have knocked his eyes off with a frying-pan and not have
touched his face."
All went well. The Indians traveled with us three days as they had
agreed to, which brought us to the head of Bitter creek. We killed
a few buffalo all along the way, and when the Indians were ready
to leave us they had killed all the meat that the train could take
care of.
This being as far as they had agreed to accompany us, they were to
start back the following morning and that night we had another
peace dance. The Indians invited all in the train to participate
in the dance, but none would take a part; so they and myself had
the dancing to ourselves again The next morning when they were
ready to leave us I told the people in the train to all come
outside of the corral, both old and young, and form in line so
those Indians could shake hands with all of them, telling them
that they had done us a great favor in escorting us through the
dangerous part of the country, and that this shaking hands they
considered a great token of friendship.
This request was complied with, and the Indians all passed down
the line of people, shaking hands with each one. After they were
done shaking hands with all the train they all came and shook
hands with me, mounted their ponies, and rode away as fast as
their horses could run.
We pulled on for Fort Bridger, all going smoothly, for we were in
the Bitter creek country and had no fear of Indians in that
section. The day we arrived at Fort Bridger we sent four men on
ahead to ascertain, if possible, where Bannock was. Here they met,
by chance, some men from what was then called East Bannock and
from them we learned just where Bannock was located, it being on a
west tributary of the Missouri river. We also learned from these
parties that there was a great excitement at this time over mines
that had been struck some eighty miles east of Bannock, on what
was known as Alder Gulch, or Stinking Water, but they were not
able to advise us as to whether or not we could get there with
wagons.
Now I knew just where we wanted to go, and we took what was known
as the Landers cut-off, and pulled for Fort Hall, reaching the
fort without encountering any trouble with the Indians or
otherwise. The second day after passing Fort Hall, while we were
crossing Snake river, we met a crowd of miners just from Alder
Gulch, on their way to Denver, Colorado, for their families. From
them we learned where Alder Gulch was, and those miners spoke in
such high terms of the richness of that place that a great many in
the train wanted to go there instead of going to Bannock, while
others wanted to go to Bannock, that being where they had started.
That night they took a vote to decide as to which place they
should go, which resulted in favor of Alder Gulch, so we pulled
for Alder Gulch instead of Bannock.
We were now in the Bannock country. I did not hear of any
depredations being committed by the Indians, but I used all
precautions possible in order to prevent a surprise by the
redskins.
Every few days we would meet a little squad of miners, all telling
exciting stories about the richness of Alder Gulch. They were
going home to their families with the expectation of moving them
out there the following spring; most of their families being in
Denver, Colorado. This all helped to create an anxiety among the
people to push on and get through as quick as possible.
They moved somewhat faster now than before, reaching Virginia
City, Montana, about the last of September, this being the trading
point for Alder Gulch. Here we stopped and the train paid me off.
I stayed around there about three weeks. One day while I was at
Virginia City two men, Boon and Bivian, who owned the only store
of any note in Virginia City at that time, came to me and said
that they had a train of twenty-two wagons some where on the road,
but just where they did not know, and they wished to employ me to
go and pilot it in, as their men with the train were all
inexperienced in that line of business, and not acquainted with
the road, not having been over any part of it before, and they
were afraid that through carelessness they might fall into the
hands of Indians.
The train was loaded, principally, with flour, bacon, sugar,
coffee and tobacco. Flour was then worth twenty-five dollars per
hundred, bacon forty cents a pound, and other things in
proportion. On the twentieth of September I took two horses and
started off to meet the freight train.
Three days from the time I left Virginia City I crossed the summit
of the Rocky Mountains and it was snowing hard. I thought it
doubtful whether or not they would be able to cross the mountains
this winter, but I went on, and met them between Fort Hall and
Soda Springs. I gave the wagon-boss a letter which Boon and Bivian
had sent him, and after reading the letter he asked me if I
thought they could cross the range this fall. I told him that it
was about one hundred and eighty miles from there to the summit,
and if he could make that distance in ten days he would be able to
get through, but if not, he could not cross the mountains this
fall. He said it would be impossible to make it in that length of
time, as the cattle were all getting very poor and weak and the
teams very heavily loaded. The next morning I struck out, taking
another man with me, to try and find if possible, another ford on
Snake river some thirty or forty miles above the old crossing,
knowing if I could do that it Would save us two or three days'
travel, and might be the means of our getting across the mountains
that fall. I told the wagon-boss that I would meet him at Fort
Hall, so in company with one other man, I struck straight across
the country for Snake river. The second day about noon we reached
the river, and that afternoon we succeeded in finding a good ford,
which we called the Island ford, there being a little island just
above.
We camped on Snake river bottom that night, and the next morning
about daybreak we were on our journey for Fort Hall, reaching the
fort one day ahead of the train. Here we waited until the train
arrived. From Fort Hall we struck out for Snake river. This was
all an open country, with the exception of sagebrush. The first
night after leaving the fort snow fell four inches deep on the
valley, and I felt satisfied then that we would not be able to
cross the mountains that winter. The next day the snow all melted
in the valley, but hung low at the foot of the mountains.
The third day after leaving Fort Hall we reached Snake river, and
were successful in getting across without any mishap whatever.
This new ford is near where Pocatello, Idaho, now stands. The
first night after crossing the river we camped on a little stream,
which I gave the name of Rock creek, and I am told that it is
still known by that name. That night the snow fell one foot deep.
I told the wagon-boss the next morning that he was at his
journey's end for the present fill. We unloaded one wagon and he
took one wagon to haul his camping outfit and provisions for the
winter, and returned to the river bottom for the purpose of
wintering his stock there. Another man and myself went to work to
make two pairs of snow shoes, for which we had to use the side-
boards of a wagon, there being no timber suitable in reach for
that purpose. We were three days preparing for this trip, by which
time the snow had settled.
All being in readiness the morning of the fourth day in this camp
I, accompanied by two other men started on horseback, one man
going along to bring the horses back, and the other to accompany
me across the mountains. We rode to within ten miles of the summit
of the mountains. Here the snow was nearly two and a half inches
deep. Our horses were unable to get anything to eat except the
branches of quaking asp trees that we cut and carried to them. The
next morning we saddled our horses, one of my companions started
back again, and we mounted our snow shoes and started to climb the
mountain, this being my second attempt to travel on snow shoes. I
was somewhat awkward at this new undertaking, and you can rest
assured that I was tired when I reached the summit of the
mountains, which took the greater part of the day. Each had a pair
of blankets and enough provisions strapped on his back for the
trip.
After reaching the summit of the mountain and starting down on the
other side we found it much easier traveling. We worked hard all
day and made what we thought to be twelve miles, camping that
night in the fir timber. It was a cold, disagreeable night, with
our one pair of blankets each, we consoled ourselves that it was
much pleasanter than to have been here afoot and alone, and no
blankets at all. The second day's travel after crossing the summit
of this mountain we met a freight train on its return to Salt Lake
City. This train was owned by a man named Goddard. It had been
across the mountains with a load of freight and was returning,
like our train on the opposite side and was unable to proceed
farther, having to return to the low lands for the purpose of
wintering the stock. We abandoned our snow shoes and procured
conveyance to Virginia City. Messrs. Boon and Bivian were glad to
know that their train was safe from the hands of the hostiles, but
they said they would lose ten thousand dollars by not getting it
across the mountains that fall. These men having a room at the
rear of their store where they slept and did their cooking, kindly
proposed that I should stop and winter with them, which hospitable
offer I accepted.
At this time a stage ran from here to Bannock and from Bannock to
Boise and from Boise to Salt Lake City, and the news was coming in
every day of both stage and train robberies along this line, and
it actually got so bad that it was not at all safe for a man to
step outside of his own door after dark, if it was known that he
had any money. These robbers were known in those days as "road
agents."