carried us. Again we turned our faces to the rear, and again were
thrilled anew with fear. The wolf was only a short distance behind. The
time had come when it seemed there must be a hand to hand grapple with
the savage beast of prey. The top of the next hill was reached, and in
full view, only a few rods away, rose the beautiful village of Bellevue.
Descending the slope we looked back. The wolf had just reached the brow
of the hill, and seeing the village, stopped for a moment, then turned
aside. A moment afterwards our panting horse drove up to the parsonage
and we were safe. A prayer of thanksgiving went up to God for
deliverance.
“Forty-one years have passed away since that eventful ride on the bleak
prairies of Nebraska, but that race for life is as fresh on memory’s
page as if it had taken place but yesterday.
“We have seen with our own eyes the buffalo path transformed into the
public highway and the Indian trail to the railroad, with its fiery
steed snuffing the breeze and sweeping with lightning speed from the
Missouri River to the gold-washed shores of the Pacific.”
* * * * *
One of the hottest, bloodiest little fights on American soil occurred at
Beecher Island, seventeen miles south of Wray, Colorado, September 17,
1868, which Thomas Murphy, of Corbin, Kansas, had the honor of selecting
as the place of defense.
Forsyth’s Rough Riders, numbering fifty-four men, made as heroic a stand
as the defenders of the Alamo, and from their rifle pits on the “Island
of Death,” in the Arickaree fork of the Republican River, defeated 1,000
Cheyenne Indians, in which their chief, Roman Nose, was killed.
At that time the Cheyennes were a devastating horde that swept over the
plains of Kansas, Nebraska and Colorado. Major George A. Forsyth, who
was with Sheridan on his ride from Winchester, and who has since become
a general, was given permission by that general to organize a force
against the marauding Indians. This he did, choosing a small body of
picked men from plainsmen, hunters and ex-soldiers from Ft. Harker and
Ft. Hayes.
Mr. Murphy recently gave me the following account of the fight.
On the 15th of September our little band of troopers arrived in the
valley of the Arickaree and on the following morning at daybreak we were
attacked by a rifle fire from the Indians, who had us almost surrounded.
There was only one way out for retreat, but Major Forsyth shrewdly
decided that it was done for the purpose of ambush, and instead of
falling into the trap, took position on the small island in the river.
We used our tin cups and plates to dig rifle pits in the sand. Our
horses were hitched to the young cottonwoods on the island.
Roman Nose apparently had us in a trap. His riflemen were posted on the
banks on either side of the island and poured a galling fire into the
rifle pits all that day. Lieutenant Frederick H. Beecher, a nephew of
the illustrious Henry Ward Beecher, was killed at the side of Major
Forsyth. Dr. Mooers was hit in the forehead and mortally wounded.
Several of the most valuable scouts also fell and many were wounded.
Toward the close of the day Major Forsyth was wounded near unto death,
but when merciful night came he rallied the men and gave directions for
the fight the next morning.
At daybreak the second day Roman Nose led in person fully one thousand
warriors on horseback, who rode up the shallow waters of the stream to
attack the rifle pits. The charge was a magnificent one, but we poured
volley after volley into their midst until Roman Nose fell and they
retreated in confusion.
A second charge was made at 2 o’clock in the afternoon, but there was no
longer a great war chief in command and the Indians broke within two
hundred yards of the rifle pits. At 6 o’clock at night they made another
charge from all sides, but our men deliberately picked them off before
they set foot on the island, until the waters of the river were red with
blood. The place was a very hornet’s nest to the Indians and they
withdrew baffled.
The casualties now amounted to twenty-three killed and wounded out
of fifty-four men. Ammunition was running low and we were out of
provisions, but there was plenty of horse meat, for our mounts had
nearly all been killed. When darkness had settled down volunteers were
called for to carry the news of our predicament to Fort Wallace. Peter
Trudeau and Jack Stillwell volunteered. They skilfully ran the enemy’s
lines and brought relief seven days later.
Meanwhile the sufferings of the men were terrible. The horse meat had
become putrid and unfit to eat. The days were hot and the nights were
cold, and there was no surgeon to alleviate the sufferings of the sick
and wounded.
Major Forsyth had given up hope of relief and begged us to leave him and
cut our way out, but we said, “No, we have fought together, and if need
be, we will die together.” When relief came some of the men wept for
joy.
It was I who suggested the island as a place of defense at the first
attack. It was seconded by Jack Stillwell.
A reunion of Forsyth’s men was held on the historic island September 17,
1905, when a monument given by the state of Colorado and the state of
Kansas was unveiled, bearing the names of all who participated in that
famous fight.
* * * * *
“It seems to me people were happier in Colorado City in early days than
now,” said J. B. Sims, a pioneer of the sixties.
“At Christmas times we had shooting matches, a horse race or two, plenty
of Tom and Jerry, and usually wound up the day with a dance at the Anway
Fort and a supper at Smith and Baird’s hotel. Often half a dozen
families would arrange a friendly dinner at some neighbor’s house, and
the hotel men would make a big dinner and invite the ranchmen to come in
and enjoy the festivities.
“The pious people who were averse to horse-racing would generally pitch
horseshoes and sometimes end the day in a big game of draw poker. There
was not much money in circulation, and the betting on a horse race was
commonly a sack of flour, a side of bacon or a shotgun.
“No, we never hung the horsethieves on Christmas. Those festivities were
held until the new year, so as to start the community off with good
resolutions.
“A premonition of danger warned me once of lurking hostile Indians on
Cottonwood Creek on the morning of December 26, 1868, resulting in a
preparation for battle that probably saved my life.
“It was the day after Christmas. I was in the employ of the Beatty
Brothers Cattle Company and was looking up some stray cattle near the
head of the Cottonwood Creek, twenty miles north of Colorado City.
“I had been riding through the timber and was about to emerge into the
open when a premonition of danger came over me. The feeling was so
strong that I loosened my Henri rifle from the saddle holster and looked
to the two heavy Colt revolvers I carried about me.
“Half an hour passed and while I had not yet seen anything, I could not
shake off the feeling of approaching danger. Twenty minutes more and
sure enough, from out of a ravine came about sixty Cheyenne and Arapahoe
Indians in their war paint, riding rapidly toward me.
“I instantly wheeled my horse and rode for a rocky butte about half a
mile distant. My horse climbed the butte almost with the agility of a
goat. As the bullets tore up the ground about us I led him behind some
big rocks and then paid my respects to the advancing war party.
“My Henri rifle carried eighteen shots. The repeating rifle being then
unheard of by these Indians, was the greatest surprise they ever met. My
first shot emptied a saddle, and then when they thought to rush me, two
or three more went down. They could not understand the rapidity of my
fire, and by the time I had emptied my rifle I had them on the run and
out of range.
“They advanced two or three times during the day and I became amused and
allowed them to come within easy range, when I would turn loose as fast
as I could work the rifle, and scatter them.
“Late in the afternoon they gave me up as bad medicine and rode away
toward Gomer’s hill, where they killed a Mexican boy. They then swung
back toward Palmer Lake and killed Mrs. Teeterman, who chanced to be
alone on a ranch near the headwaters of Plumb Creek.
“From that day I have never doubted the existence of an unseen power
which may warn us of approaching danger.”
* * * * *
Antelope Jack, bronzed and grey, a grim warrior of the early frontier
days, who made his home in Colorado City off and on for many years,
would respond to no other name, whatever it may have been.
No one appeared to care much for old Jack, but Jack had a history that
would have made him an idol in certain circles, for in 1874 he was one
of the fourteen men who fought the Battle of Adobe Walls in northwest
Texas, one of the fiercest fought on the plains.
Long before Napoleon signed the Louisiana purchase treaty, and while all
the vast territory lying south of it belonged to Mexico, a party of
traders from Santa Fe established a fort in northwest Texas. It was of
adobe or sun dried brick and had stood deserted in that arid region,
almost intact, for perhaps more than one hundred years.
In 1874, when the extermination of the buffalo had become a military
necessity in order to deprive the Indian of his commissary on his
marauding expeditions, a party of buffalo hunters took up headquarters
in the adobe walls and it being in the heart of the buffalo country,
others came, and it was soon made a trading post.
The Comanches, Arapahoes and Apaches, ever jealous of their domain,
formed a federation and proceeded against the settlements of northwest
Texas and Kansas. A raid was planned on Adobe Walls. The time set for
the attack was early dawn, when it was expected the men would be asleep.
The men, not apprehensive of danger, were asleep with the doors open,
but “Bat” Masterson rose early that morning and upon going to the stream
for water, caught sight of the advancing horde.
The men were quickly alarmed and the doors fastened. Two men asleep on
the outside in wagons were killed.
The Indians rode their ponies up to the heavy doors and threw them on
their haunches against them. The men inside barricaded the doors with
sacks of flour and fired through loopholes in the faces of the savages,
who numbered about five hundred.
The battle raged all day and dead Indians and ponies were piled up to
within a few feet of the doors.
One young brave, painted and bedecked with feathers, gained the roof and
tore away the adobe covering until he could reach through with his
revolver, which he fired at random below, filling the room with smoke.
He was killed before he emptied his weapon. There were only fourteen
guns of the defenders and at times every one had to be brought into
action to resist the renewed attack against the doors.
Finally the doors parted until there was a wide aperture on both sides
through which the Indians fired as they rode past, or hurled their
arrows and lances.
Fixed ammunition was running low, but there was an abundance of powder,
bullets and primers for reloading shells. Men were detailed for this
work so that there was a volcano of fire belching from the fort all day.
Meanwhile, Minimic, the medicine man of the tribes, who had planned the
fight, rode at a safe distance, urging on the Indians, saying the
medicine he had made was good and they could not fail.
Finally, late in the day, his horse was hit by a sharpshooter and with
this the Indians lost faith and withdrew.
“I was only busy like the rest,” was all Antelope Jack would say of his
courage on that day.
* * * * *
The massacre at the White River Indian agency in Colorado, and the
ambuscade of Major Thornburg’s command by Utes in 1879, was the last of
the serious troubles with the Indians in Colorado.
It was the cause, however, of a reign of terror on the plains, as it was
thought to be the signal for a general uprising.
When the news reached the C. C. Ranch on the Cimarron River, I was
especially interested in the fate of E. W. Eskridge, an employe of the
White River agency, who I would have joined within a short time, had the
terrible affair resulting in his death not occurred.
I have never met any of the soldiers under Major Thornburg’s command,
nor any settlers who were in the vicinity at the time, and the best
account I have been able to get of the massacre is the following by an
unknown writer:
“The White River Utes had been ugly for some time, and had prepared for
an outbreak. They committed many depredations among the settlers and
cherished resentment against the agent, Mr. Meeker. Only an hour before
the attack upon the agency by Chief Douglass and twenty braves Meeker
dispatched a message to Major Thornburg, known to be en route, in which
he said:
“‘Everything is quiet here and Douglass is flying the United States
flag.’
“At that hour Thornburg lay dead in Milk River canon, on the
reservation. The writer was cruelly slain and mutilated within an hour,
and the messenger, E. W. Eskridge, who carried the note, was shot down
before he had proceeded two miles from the agency.
“The attack on Thornburg was made at 10 o’clock on the morning of
September 29. When the news reached Chief Douglass by courier he at once
proceeded to execute his portion of the plot. He and his men went to
the agency and began firing upon the employes, continuing until all were
killed. The women, who were Mrs. Meeker, her daughter Josephine, Mrs.
Price, wife of the agency blacksmith, and her little girl three years
old, ran to the milkhouse and shut themselves in while the massacre went
on. After the bloody work was completed the building was fired and they
were forced out, to be taken captives.
“Meeker’s body was found a week later 200 yards from his house, with a
logchain about his neck, one side of his head mashed and a barrel stave
driven through his body. Eight other bodies were found near by and four
more on the road to the agency. The Indians stole all movable goods and
packing the plunder on ponies fled, taking with them the captives.
Through the influence and peremptory intervention of Ouray, head chief
of the Ute nation, and after troublesome negotiations, Chief Douglass
surrendered the captives, who were taken to Ouray’s home, on the
Southern Ute reservation, and reached Denver in November.
“Major Thornburg’s command, consisting of one company of the Fourth
Infantry, Troop E, Third Cavalry, and Troops D and F, Fifth Cavalry,
left Fort Steele, Wyoming, on the Union Pacific railroad, and marched
over the mountains toward the agency to aid in quelling the threatened
outbreak, but the Utes struck before the troops reached their
destination and also intercepted and ambushed the command.
“When the troops reached Bear River, sixty-five miles from the agency,
they were visited in camp by Chief Captain Jack and several braves, who
were most friendly, and were entertained at supper by Major Thornburg.
The object of this call was to size up the force and to learn the route
to be taken by the troops the next day. They offered to guide the troops
to the agency, but this was declined.
“The next morning about 10 o’clock, while the troops were in a narrow
canon at the crossing of Milk River, fire suddenly opened upon them from
the bluffs on all sides. No Indians could be seen, but bullets poured
and smoke puffed from behind the rocks. Major Thornburg was killed while
in front of his men.
“Troop D was half a mile in the rear of the other troops with the wagon
train at the time of the attack, and Lieutenant J. V. S. Paddock, in
command, at once formed his wagons into a barricade and the other troops
fell back to the improvised breastworks, where for six days the soldiers
were besieged and nearly all their animals killed. On the morning of
October 2 Captain Dodge, with a troop of the Ninth Cavalry, colored, who
had been on his way to the agency, reinforced the beleaguered men, but
his force was not large enough to aid in repulsing the Utes. The first
night Private Murphy of D troop volunteered to go through the lines for
assistance. The heroic trooper made the ride to Rawlins, Wyo., a
distance of 170 miles, in 24 hours, and telegraphed for help.
“News of the plight of the Thornburg command reached Fort Russell on the
morning of October 1, and General Wesley Merritt immediately ordered a
relief expedition. Four troops of the Fifth Cavalry started at once to
Rawlins by train, reaching there at 1 o’clock the next morning, where
they were joined by four companies of the Fourth Infantry, and the
troops began their long march to the relief of their comrades.
“At dawn on the third day, with General Merritt ahead with the cavalry,
the troops entered the valley of death and were greeted with cheers by
the exhausted victims of treachery. The cowardly Utes withdrew when
reinforcements arrived, and the troops were unable to follow them
through the mountain trails.
“On the road to Milk River the relief party came upon the remains of a
wagon train which had been bound for the agency with supplies. All the
men were murdered, stripped and partly burned. After General Merritt
reached the agency Lieutenant W. B. Weir, of the ordnance department,
while out on a scouting expedition, was surrounded by Utes and killed.
“Of Major Thornburg’s command thirteen were killed and forty-eight
wounded.
“Although the government made a long investigation of the Meeker and
Thornburg massacres none of the leaders was ever punished. The only
action taken was the removal of the White River Utes to a new
reservation in Utah by an act of congress.”
* * * * *
In conclusion, we do not have to go to the annals of the past, nor to
distant shores to find heroes and heroines. They are in our midst today.
A nobler band of men and women never graced this planet than many of the
men and women who laid the foundations of the state and the church on
the frontier of the west.
Some of them lived in sod houses and dugouts, with barely enough to keep
soul and body together, and for years had hard work to keep the wolf
from the door. But they toiled on, undismayed by their hardships, and we
today are reaping the reward of their toils and sufferings.
THE END.
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES
Where the original work uses text in italics or bold face, this e-text
uses _text_ and =text=, respectively. Small caps in the original work
are represented here in all capitals.
Illustrations that were located mid-paragraph in the original work were
moved below the including paragraph.
Page numbers in the illustration captions and table of contents are page
numbers in the original work.
This text has been preserved as in the original work, including archaic
and inconsistent spelling, punctuation and grammar, except as noted
below. All quotation marks are preserved as printed.
Obvious printer’s errors have been silently corrected.
Page 130: ‘chapparalls’ changed to ‘chaparalls’.
Page 136: ‘measley’ changed to ‘measly’.
Page 165: ‘devlish’ changed to ‘devilish’.
Page 192: ‘peka’ possibly a coined word.
Page 205: ‘Azotic’ not known in this context.
End of Project Gutenberg's Thirty Years on the Frontier, by Robert McReynolds