Indian Depredations--The model Mail Contractor--Rifles and
Revolvers--Importance of a Scalp--Indian Chief
reconnoitering--Saving dead Bodies--Death of a Warrior--The
Charge--A proud Trophy.
Sunset on the Prairie--Animal Life--A solitary Hunt--The Buffalo
Chase--Desperate Encounter with an Indian--Ingenious
Signal--Returning to Camp--Minute Guns--A welcome Return.
Previous to the year 1850 there was no regular mail service between
the valley of the Mississippi and New Mexico and Utah Territories. In
selling lands to settlers and taking these communities under the
protecting care of the nation, the Government was bound in good faith
to give them a regular mail. This, like all other mail service, is
carried on without much regard to the question whether the actual
receipts from the locality will be remunerative or not.
The commencement of this service in 1850, called out the energies of
some of our most daring and enterprising business men. A tract of
country nearly one thousand miles in extent had to be traversed, where
there were no civilized inhabitants, and but one or two military
posts.
The Indian tribes, finding their game disappear before the unerring
rifle of the white hunter, and learning the taste of the luxuries of
civilized life without the industry to procure them, became at first
sullen and despairing, then hostile and revengeful. A detailed account
of the "hair breadth 'scapes," the dangers, losses, and tragedies in
encounters with hostile Indians, in transporting the United States
mails across these plains, would form one of the most remarkable
chapters in the postal history of the world.
One mail contractor on the route from Independence, Missouri, to Santa
Fé, by his success in transporting the mails safely, and his daring
and diplomacy with the Indians, has become eminent among his
countrymen, and dreaded by the hostile tribes whom he has encountered.
The treachery so fatally prevalent in meetings between small bands of
whites and these dark sons of the forest, and the cunning and boldness
displayed in stealing the horses and cattle that belong to the "pale
faces," have made it necessary that great caution should be used, and
also that the Indians should be made to feel the force of that
terrible weapon the modern rifle. The Indian has long since learned
the superiority that the possession of "revolvers" gives to the white
hunters. And he has also learned at what distance it is safe for him
to approach the camp or the traveling party of his foes. They do not
consider that there is much security in any distance less than three
hundred yards, when well mounted and in rapid motion.
The honor attached to the possession of scalps, and the dismal
forebodings attending the loss of a beloved chief, make all the tribes
particularly cautious that their leaders shall not be too much
exposed, and that their slain shall not fall into the hands of the
enemy. A reckless daring displayed by a chief, always gives him honor
with his tribe, and this is proportioned to the success which attends
his efforts and skill, whether in the offensive or defensive.
The mail contractor before alluded to, is a man of great humanity as
well as courage, and prefers making now and then a terrible example,
rather than wage an indiscriminate warfare with tribes inveterately
hostile.
After the tragic occurrences attending the capture and terrible death
of Mrs. White, with several others in a party of California emigrants
near Santa Fé, the Indians, emboldened by success, seemed to feel that
they had the power and did not lack the will to drive all white
travelers from the plains. Our "model mail contractor," in addition to
the heavy responsibility of conveying from fifteen hundred weight to a
ton and a half of the United States mails, often had intrusted to his
care, coin and gold dust in considerable quantities, and the lives and
effects of numerous passengers.
A usual "mail train" consisted of three covered wagons, with elliptic
springs, each drawn by six mules, guarded by eight or ten men, and
carrying perhaps as many passengers.
Thirty miles a day was a usual drive, and this gave several hours'
rest in every twenty-four. By having plenty of Sharp's rifles, and
Colt's six-shooting cavalry pistols, the entire company of men and
passengers formed a terrible phalanx, able to fire three or four
hundred shots without any delay in loading.
The Indians soon learned to _respect_ these parties, and usually gave
them a wide berth, not venturing to attack them though outnumbering
them by more than ten to one.
Soon after the above-mentioned barbarous transactions near Santa Fé,
the mail was on its way accompanied by the contractor himself. One
morning, marks of hostile Indians were quite frequent. A large camp
was passed where the fires still burned, and newly picked bones of
buffalo and deer were scattered around.
In the course of the forenoon, several Indians were seen, and at the
noon rest, their whole party was in sight, numbering apparently one
hundred and fifty or more. The main body kept three or four hundred
yards off, but one daring warrior, evidently their chief, would ride
in a wide circuit, approaching sometimes within a hundred and fifty or
two hundred yards of the mail wagons. He seemed to be reconnoitering;
and though the mail party, passengers and all, did not exceed a dozen
persons, there seemed to be little disposition to attack them. The
chief--as he proved to be--was splendidly dressed; the long feathers
on his head waving in the wind, and mounted on a milk white horse, he
seemed the Murat of his nation.
[Illustration]
A shield of raw hide, dried in the sun, quite common among the
Indians, covered his entire person from his saddle to his neck. Though
within rifle shot, his swift riding and the protection afforded by the
shield, gave but little chance for a successful shot. In the most
daring and impudent manner he rode several times in a semicircle,
reducing the distance between his followers and the little band of
whites, at least one half.
The mail contractor told his men to stand by their arms, and be ready
for an attack. He then took his Sharp's rifle and lay down on the
ground, resting his gun across a stone. He looked across the sights,
and saw the chief "wheel his daring flight" within good gun range, but
always on the full run with his head just in sight over the shield.
Each Indian is provided with a rope or _lariat_ made of hide, and this
is fastened by one end around the rider's waist, and by the other to
the saddle, that in the event of his being killed, the horse will drag
off the dead body and thus prevent its falling into the hands of his
enemies.
Some accident happened to the chief on the white charger; his stirrup
broke, or something took place which obliged him to dismount. He was
then about a hundred and seventy yards from the mail camp, and as he
dismounted on the farther side, he was no fairer mark than before. It
was easy enough to shoot down the horse, but that would accomplish
nothing, as the chief was nearer to his friends than to his foes. It
was evident that he must, to a certain extent, expose himself, when he
mounted, and as he sprang up in his stirrup, his breast for a moment
presented a fair mark.
The sharp ring of the rifle was heard, and the chief lay on the
ground, while the blood sprinkled the snowy flank of the beautiful
charger. He was shot through the heart!
The horse sprung, and the weight of the dead chief broke the _lariat_
clear from the saddle. The consternation among the Indians was
terrible. Drawing their knives and pistols, the mail carriers gave a
yell, and charged directly at the whole array of Indians. The head of
the little band, whose successful shot had so opportunely killed the
chief, had given orders not to attack except on the defensive, but
nothing could restrain them; and appalled as much by the daring
bravery of the whites as by the sudden death of their chief, the
warriors broke and fled.
The scalp of the unfortunate Indian was soon stripped from the skull,
and, with its dark and flowing locks, formed a trophy of the short
combat, and made the subject of a tale around the fireside of the bold
and hardy pioneer.
* * * * *
We have room for but one more narrative of border life, and the perils
of mail carrying in the backwoods; and this is also an incident in the
life of our "model mail contractor."
At a period anterior to the events just related, the mail, with quite
a number of wagons, was wending its way toward Santa Fé. The party
were near the banks of the Cimmeron, and then in the country of the
Arrapahoes. Large herds of buffalo were constantly visible, but no
Indians had been seen for some days.
It was a beautiful afternoon in June, the slowly descending sun
illuminating one of the grandest scenes in nature--a broad rolling
prairie covered with verdure, and presenting one checkered field of
animal life. Beautiful antelopes, that flew rather than ran, and
scarce seemed to touch the earth; stately elks, with branching horns,
gallantly guarding their gregarious herds, and the unwieldy bison, far
more numerous than all the rest, numbering hundreds of thousands, and
blackening the plain as far as the eye could reach. Our hero of many
an Indian skirmish and numerous buffalo hunts, mounted his horse to go
and select an animal from the vast herd, which should furnish supper
for his party.
He was mounted on a fleet animal, but after getting fairly away from
the train, he found he had omitted to put on his spurs. It was in a
section of country where small streams form deep ravines, some of them
nearly as abrupt, though not as deep as the awful _canons_ of the
Gila and the head branches of the Rio Grande. He singled out a fat
buffalo cow, and drawing his "Colt," dashed on to get near and be sure
of a fatal shot at the first fire. Not being able to spur his horse,
the animal led him a rapid race, and taking a path, followed it down a
dark ravine, where a slender stream gurgled idly between its banks.
His horse, accustomed to the sport, went faster and faster, and neared
the buffalo at every spring, till she suddenly turned the corner of
the bank, now near the bottom of the ravine, and some fifty or sixty
feet below the level of the prairie. The path that led down the ravine
was a gradual descent, and on each side were some scattering trees and
bushes.
When the bluff was rounded in pursuit of the buffalo, the animal was
but a few yards ahead, and then, for the first time, a fair mark. Our
hero was nearly ready to fire, when _whiz!_ went an arrow so near that
there was no mistaking its sound, especially to one whose ear was
practised in Indian warfare.
The arrow had scarcely ceased its whir, before a mounted Indian came
down upon our buffalo hunter, from behind the bank of the ravine. His
lance was poised in its "rest," with the butt of it firmly against his
shoulder. The buffalo passed from sight, and the Indian instantly
appeared; and before there was a moment for reflection, the "white
hunter" had to "wink and hold out his iron."
The lance was a bright piece of steel, about twenty inches long, on a
pole of some twelve feet in length. This murderous blade was aimed
directly at his breast, and the two horses on a full run in opposite
directions. Our contractor had nothing on but a pair of trousers, his
red hunting shirt, and traveling cap.
The Indian, with the exception of some long feathers on his head, was
naked to the waist. The savage observed the "law of the road," and
took the right, and with one simultaneous and almost involuntary
movement, the "pale face" dropped the bridle, and with his left arm
parried the approaching blow by knocking the lance upward. The blade
in its course ripped the hunting shirt, and tore the muscles from his
shoulder; and simultaneously with this he fired his "Colt," and saw
the blood spirt from the naked breast of the Indian. The slain warrior
fell heavily to the ground, while the white man's horse turned
suddenly to the right, and mounted the bank of the ravine, which was
here so steep, that, having no longer a hold of the bridle, the rider
came near tumbling backward.
The surface of the prairie was gained, and near two hundred yards
measured off by the horse before the owner had time to gather his
scattered thoughts. He attempted to grasp the bridle, but found his
left arm quite powerless, not only from the wound on the shoulder, but
the stunning effect of the lance on his fore-arm, near the wrist. With
a rapid movement he plunged his pistol into the holster, and seizing
the bridle with his right hand, drew up his horse and dismounted.
Every movement had been so rapid since going down the path into the
ravine after the buffalo, until he emerged in safety on the plain,
that he had not reflected a moment. He had done better; he had
_acted_.
There now appeared five Indians, all mounted, and not more than two
hundred and fifty yards from where he stood. He instantly formed his
plan. His arms consisted of his revolver, and a double-barrelled
English fowling-piece, one barrel loaded with ball, and the other with
buckshot. He unstrapped his gun, kept himself on the farther side of
the horse from the Indians, and as they seemed to be approaching him,
he made his arrangements. He concluded to wait until they arrived
within about a hundred and fifty yards, and then fire with his ball,
and if possible, kill the foremost. The other barrel with the buckshot
would then be "good" for two more, when he would have five loaded
barrels of his "Colt," with only two foes. But the cowardly villains
dared not attack him. Four of them retreated, and the other rode a
little nearer to reconnoitre.
[Illustration]
The Indian, believing he knew the character of his foe as that of an
old hunter, was sure he was armed with one or more "six-shooters." He
communicated his thoughts to his red-skinned brethren, by riding
several times rapidly round in a circle, this being the sign given by
the Arrapahoes when they meet white men armed with "revolvers."
Being satisfied with this view of their foe, and the taste they had
had of his prowess, they turned their horses and disappeared down the
ravine.
Danger was not yet over, and our friend was determined to be ready for
whatever might happen. He rode slowly away for fifty or a hundred
yards, and stopped. Thinking he had better have his arms in as good
condition as possible, he dismounted and thought he would load the
discharged barrel of his pistol. On looking, this trusty weapon was
missing. The holster was entirely torn away, and the pistol gone. He
went back where he had waited for the Indians, and there lay the
pistol on the ground.
In his violent effort to put up the weapon and stop the horse while
one arm was totally disabled, he had evidently thrust it in the
holster so violently as to tear the leather away, and the weapon
unperceived had fallen to the ground.
Having loaded the empty barrel, he again mounted. The sun by this time
was just setting. The Indians and the long dark ravine lay between him
and the camp, and he took a circuitous route to meet the train.
After going some four miles to the south-west, he came to the road. By
the light of the moon he examined the track to see if his wagons with
their broad tires had passed. There were no ruts but those made by the
narrow-tired wagons of a Mormon train that was one or two days ahead
of them. He then followed back, and mile after mile not a sound, not a
person, not an animal, or a camp fire broke the vast solitude! But now
he hears a gun directly ahead of him.
Another minute and another gun; yes, 'tis his own party camped out for
the night, firing minute guns as a signal, and waiting with anxiety
and fear for their absent leader. He soon rode up, and--in the words
of the narrator, as he told us the story--"how the boys took me in
their arms and hugged me! They fairly screamed as I told them how I
missed the buffalo but didn't miss the Indian. They took me on their
shoulders and carried me three times round the camp. We saw no more of
the Arrapahoes during the journey to Santa Fé."
Such have been the adventures and perils of carrying the mails between
the far outposts of civilization, on our wild frontier.