[Illustration: Very truly yours
Robt Vaughn (handwritten dedication and signature)
]
THEN AND NOW;
OR,
Thirty-Six Years in the Rockies.
Personal Reminiscences of Some of the First Pioneers
of the State of Montana.
INDIANS AND INDIAN WARS.
The Past and Present of the Rocky Mountain Country.
1864-1900.
BY
ROBERT VAUGHN.
MINNEAPOLIS:
TRIBUNE PRINTING COMPANY.
1900.
COPYRIGHTED, 1900.
BY
ARVONIA ELIZABETH VAUGHN.
DEDICATION.
ARVONIA ELIZABETH VAUGHN,
Great Falls, Montana.
MY DEAR LITTLE DAUGHTER:
The following series of letters, which include a short history of
Montana’s early days, together with a brief sketch of your father’s
life and a copy of my letter to you, giving an obituary of your dear
mother, I dedicate to you, knowing that they will be appreciated, and
hoping that you will have the pleasure of reading them after I am gone.
Your affectionate father,
ROBERT VAUGHN.
Great Falls, Montana, May 15th, 1900.
PREFACE.
It may not be out of place to explain how this book came to find its
way into print. It was written for my little daughter, in the form of
letters at various times, and not intended for publication, but many
friends after reading them insisted that they should be published. One
said: “You must not wait until you are dead before these letters are
given to the world.”
As my desire is, by the grace of God, to live many years yet, I now
present these letters to the reader, supplemented by others from old
time friends who braved the perils and dangers of pioneer life; and as
they are intended to be a part of the history of this great state, care
has been taken to keep strictly to the truth.
It is hoped that a line here and there will be appreciated by those
who ride in palace cars as well as the old pioneers who came west in
prairie schooners.
ROBERT VAUGHN.
CONTENTS.
Page
From Home to the State of Illinois, 17
Crossing the Plains, 22
On a Stampede to the Yellowstone, 35
The Discovery of Alder Creek, the Richest Gold Gulch on the
Globe, 39
The James Stuart Prospecting Party, 46
From Alder Gulch to Last Chance, 57
From the Mines to the Farm, 64
A Letter to My Little Babe, 72
From the Farm to the City of Great Falls, 77
Montana Pioneers, 84
The Dark Side of the Life of the Pioneer, 89
The Indian Praying, 103
Indians Stealing my Horses, 106
The Great Sun River Stampede, 109
A Trip from Virginia City to the Head of Navigation on the
Missouri River in 1866, 113
My First Buffalo Hunt, 124
Tom Campbell Running the Gauntlet, 127
Edward A. Lewis’ Early Days in Montana, 130
A Brave Piegan War Chief, 141
Bloody Battles and Tragedies in the Sun River Valley, 147
Charles Choquette Coming to Montana in 1843, 163
A Trip to the Twenty-eight Mile Spring Station, 171
John Largent’s Early Days in Montana, 176
A Visit to Fort Benton, 188
John D. Brown, a Narrative of his Early Experiences in the
West, 201
A Pioneer Minister, 216
An old Letter, 223
Warren C. Gillette’s Early Experiences in Montana, 229
A Meal in an Indian Camp, 245
The First Settlement of What is now Montana, 247
Montana Then and Now, 266
A Sample of the Pioneers of Montana, 275
The Indian, 288
The Sioux War, 297
General Sherman’s Letters, 329
The Nez Perces War, 345
An English Tribute to the American Scout, 367
Returning of Sitting Bull from Canada, 370
The Indian Messiah and the Ghost Dance, 377
An Indian Legend, 395
The Roundup, 403
Traveling “Then” and Traveling “Now,” 410
Yellowstone National Park, 422
From the Prospector’s Hole to the Greatest Mining Camp on
Earth, 447
ILLUSTRATIONS.
Page
Robert Vaughn, 6
Leaving Home, 19
My First View of the Rockies, 28
An Indian Grave, 31
In the Rockies, 32
Nature’s Grand Masonry Work, 33
Indian War Dance, 42
A Prairie Schooner Crossing the Plains, 59
A Scene in the City of Helena, 61
Great Falls, Montana, 78
Copper Smelter at Great Falls, 80
Lewis and Clark Meeting the Mandan Indians, 81
A Group of Pioneers, in front of Old Court House, Helena, 85
Mrs. James Blood (a Piegan woman), 111
Freighting in the Early Days, 115
Indians Hunting Buffalo, 126
Wolf Voice (Gros Ventres), 139
The Piegans Laying their Plans to Steal Horses from the
Crows, 143
Going Home with the Stolen Horses, 145
Father De Smet, 149
Little Plume, (Piegan Chief), 153
Alone in the Rockies, 166
The Mule and Mountain Howitzer, 195
Indians with Travois, 197
“Then,” Buffaloes; “Now,” Cattle, 199
“Then,” Deer; “Now,” Sheep, 200
Rev. W. W. Van Orsdel, 217
A Mountaineer in his Buckskin Sunday Suit, 226
Indian Camp, 246
General George Crook, 299
General George A. Custer, 305
Colonel William F. Cody (Buffalo Bill), 309
Rain-in-the-face (Sioux War Chief), 323
A Crow Scout (winter costume), 325
General Sherman, 331
General Miles, 362
Chief Joseph (Nez Perces), 363
Robert S. S. Baden-Powell, 368
Sitting Bull (Sioux Chief), 373
Agency Indians having their pictures taken, 387
Cree Manuscript, 390
Mo-See-Ma-Ma-Mos (Young Boy), a Cree Indian, 391
Cree Alphabet, 392
Little Bear (Cree Chief), 393
Roping a Steer to Examine the Brand, 403
St. Ignatius Mission Stock Brand, 404
Pioneer Cattle Company’s Brand, 404
The Roundup--Turning Out in the Morning, 406
First Attempt at Roping, 408
Lake McDonald, 412
In the Rockies on the Great Northern Railway, 414
Gate of the Mountains, Montana Central Ry., 420
Old Faithful Geyser, Yellowstone Park, 428
Mammoth Hot Springs, Yellowstone Park, 432
Castle Geyser, Cone and Diana’s Pool, Yellowstone Park, 433
Norris Geyser Basin, Yellowstone Park, 435
Grand Canyon of the Yellowstone, 438
Quartz Mining at Niehart, Montana, 456
THEN AND NOW;
OR,
THIRTY-SIX YEARS IN THE ROCKIES.
FROM HOME TO THE STATE OF ILLINOIS.
I was born in Wales June 5, 1836, and was reared on a farm until I
was nineteen years old. My parents’ names were Edward and Elizabeth
Vaughan. There were six children--Jane, Hugh, Robert, Edward, John and
Mary. Edward lives in the old home at the present time. His address is:
“Dugoed Bach, Dinas Mowddwy, Mereoneth Sheir, G. B.”
My parents were of good family; by that I mean they and their ancestors
were good Christian people, father and mother were members of the
Episcopal Church. Father was a warden as long as I can remember. Mother
was my only teacher. She taught me to obey, to tell the truth, to be
kind, to respect others, and above all to fear God.
I left home when I was between nineteen and twenty. At this time I
could speak but the Welsh language. I had a great desire to learn to
acquire English; therefore I went to Liverpool, where sister Jane
lived. I secured employment from the Hon. Benjamin Haywood Jones
to work in a flower garden at his beautiful home on the West Derby
Road. He was a rich banker in the city. I remained there over a
year. Brother Hugh had gone to America a year before I left home,
locating near Rome, N. Y. In the fall of 1858, instead of going home
as I intended, I concluded that it would be a good idea for me to go
to America and see my brother; then return in four or five months.
So, without the knowledge of my parents, I took passage on board a
steamship named the “Vigo” bound for New York. I was on the ocean
twelve days and a half. As soon as I landed I wrote home and stated
what I had done, and that I would be back home in four or five months,
and at that time it was my honest intention to do so. From New York
City I went to my brother’s, and stayed with him about three months;
then I went to Palmyra, Ohio, to see Aunt Ann, my father’s sister.
I was right at home now, and my father was satisfied since I was in
the care of his sister. I was there over a year, going thence to
Youngstown, Ohio, where I worked for Joshua Davies on a farm, and in
the coal mines. From here I proceeded to McLean county, Illinois, where
my brother had been for two years. I farmed with him one summer, then I
went to Fairbury, Livingston county, and mined coal until 1864. During
all this time I wrote home regularly and received letters in return.
Instead of going home I was continually getting further from it.
Somehow I could not resist the desire of venturing into the unsettled
regions of the West. I kept drifting further and further until I found
myself in the heart of the Rocky mountains, six thousand miles from
home.
[Illustration: LEAVING HOME.]
In this way forty-one years elapsed since I left my childhood home,
but the picture remains in my memory as though it were but yesterday;
everything appears to me as it was the last time I saw it. The house
still seems the same; the ivy creeping up its walls; the sycamore,
alder, birch and spruce trees stand there like sentries guarding it.
The rose bushes and the evergreens in front, the hollies where the
sparrows huddled together at night, the orchard and the old stone barn;
and I imagine that--
“I see the quiet fields around,
I stroll about as one who dreams;
’Til each familiar place is found,
How strangely sweet to me it seems.
“The old and well known paths are there,
My youthful feet so often pressed;
Gone is the weight of manhood’s care,
And in its place a sense of rest.
“The broad expanse before me lies,
Checked here and there with squares of green;
Where, freshly growing crops arise,
And browner places intervene.”
I see the dancing rill flowing by the garden gate, and the great arch
of white thorn overspanning the passage way that led to the main road.
There my mother embraced and kissed me and bade me good-bye for the
last time. Here my “only teacher” gave me her last instruction, it was
this: “My dear son, be careful in selecting your companions to go out
with in the evenings. God be with you, good-bye.”
Oh, how sweetly her voice fell on my listening ear,
And now, I imagine those soft words I hear;
If I ever view her silent grave,
My tears will flow like tidal wave.
There she stood staring at her wandering boy leaving home. We watched
one another until a curve in the road took me out of sight; that was
the last time I saw my mother. Father came with me about a quarter of a
mile. We spoke but very little; we were both very sad. Suddenly father
turned to me and took me by the hand and said: “Well, my son, fare thee
well, be a good boy.” I was weeping bitterly and after I had gone a
little way I looked back and saw father leaning against a gate which
led to the meadow, with both hands on his face; this caused my tears to
flow faster than ever. I shall always believe that father was praying
for me then. And that was the last time I saw him. Father and mother
are now sleeping in the silent tomb. But in my memory they appear like
statues as I saw them last, and that was forty-one years ago. Mother
standing at the gate with tears in her eyes waving the kind and tender
hand that soothed and fondled me when I was a babe, and father leaning
on that rude gate with his face buried in his hands offering a prayer
in my behalf. Nothing can efface that vision from my memory. Mother
more than once said in her letters to me that she always remembered me
in her prayers. I often think that I might not have fared so well and
perhaps be a worse man than I am, were it not for the prayers of my
father and mother.
ROBERT VAUGHN.
Great Falls, Mont., March 20, 1898.
CROSSING THE PLAINS.
I left Fairbury, Livingston county, Illinois, March 4, 1864, in company
with James Gibb, John Jackson, James Martin, and Sam Dempster and wife,
destined for the new gold fields in Idaho, for the Territory of Montana
had not then been created.
Our mode of traveling was with a four-horse team and a farm wagon. A
great portion of Illinois and Iowa was then but sparsely settled; we
would travel for hours without seeing any signs of habitation. The
roads were very bad through those states; and it took us twenty-five
days to come to Council Bluffs, which was then but a small frontier
settlement. An old man, one of the inhabitants of the place, called my
attention to two small hills on the bluff above the village and said:
“It was there General Fremont, with his men, held a council before
crossing the river to traverse the plains to California, and from this
incident the town derives its name.” We crossed the Missouri on a
ferry boat. Omaha had scarcely twelve hundred people. Here we made up
a train of sixty-five wagons, some drawn by oxen. It was a mixed train
as far as the destination was concerned. Some were going to California,
Oregon, Washington, and Salt Lake, but mostly to the new gold diggings
in Idaho. We were to travel together as far as Utah.
Our trail was on the north side of the North Platte river as far as
Fort Laramie, following most of the way the surveying stakes on the
line of the Union Pacific Railway. For several hundred miles, while
we traveled in the Platte river valley, we passed over fine land for
agriculture. Here we met a great many Indians of the Pawnee tribe, but
all appeared to be friendly. I was approached by one of them, who came
and asked me to give him some coffee; he was over six feet tall, and
had a very large bow and arrows. I made a mark on a big cottonwood tree
and stepped off fifty paces and told him if he put an arrow in that
mark I would give him some coffee. At once he began sending his arrows,
every one piercing the tree about two inches in depth, and the fourth
one into the center of the mark. I gave him his coffee. On another
occasion I put my hat on a bunch of sage brush for two Indian boys to
shoot at for a piece of bread; the next thing I knew there was an arrow
through my hat. Several days, when traveling in this valley, not a
stick of timber of any kind could be had; the only fuel we could obtain
was buffalo chips which were abundant.
The mail carrier told us that after passing a place called “Pawnee
Swamp,” which was about fifty miles west of Fort Kearney, we would be
in the Cheyenne and Sioux country, and that those Indians were very
hostile to the whites. It was two days after we crossed this line
before we saw an Indian. The third morning at day break, when I was
on guard, I discovered one from a distance who was coming towards our
camp. I kept watching him; finally he came to me and spoke, at the
same time making signs; of course I did not understand either. While
going on with his gibberish and making those motions with his hands he
stepped up and patted me on the breast and on my vest pocket. I told
him in plain English that he was getting a little too familiar for a
stranger, and to keep away from me. Then he picked up a stem of some
dried weed about the size of a match and scratched it on a stone as a
person would when lighting a match. This convinced me that he wanted
some matches. I gave him half a dozen and he thanked me, or at least I
thought he did, for he gave a kind of grunt with a faint smile and went
back in the direction he came from.
In the afternoon of the same day we crossed a small creek; on its bank
there was a newly made grave in which a young woman twenty-two years of
age had been laid to rest. At the head of the grave, for a head-board,
a round stick, which had been used at one time for a picket pin, was
placed, and on this some unskilled hand had written with a pencil
“In memory of ----,” the name I could not decipher, but the words
“dear daughter” were plainly written, which indicated that there was
a parent present to kiss her marble brow before it was lowered into
the silent tomb. This instance made a deep impression on me then when
viewing that lonely grave in the heart of the wilderness and thinking
of its occupant, who possibly was once the center star in some lovable
family, but was left there alone in her earthen couch to sleep and rest
forever; and when, on the coming of spring, no one would be there to
even pluck wild flowers and lay them on the grave of the unfortunate
young traveler. What more sorrowful sight could there be than
witnessing those parents leaving that sacred spot before continuing
their westward journey, and, when on that ridge, taking the last look
at the little mound by the winding brook in the valley below? Here the
curtain drops on this pitiful scene; the emigrant train is out of sight
and all is over.
At Fort Laramie we met the noted frontiersman, John Bozeman, after whom
the city of Bozeman, Montana, was named. He sought to organize a train
to take a cut-off route east of the Big Horn mountains. There was also
a man by the name of McKnight, who was a trader at this place. He had
two wagons loaded with goods for Alder Gulch, each wagon being drawn by
four fine mules, and he was getting up a train to go west of the Big
Horn mountains and through the Wind River country. McKnight said to me
that he wanted about one hundred wagons and about five hundred good,
resolute, determined men and they would get through all right. I told
him that there were five of us, and that we would accompany him. There
were scores of wagons passing Laramie every day and most of them were
bound for the new gold diggings.
The first day we got twenty wagons to join the McKnight train, and
we pulled out about a quarter of a mile in the direction we were to
travel. This new camp was a kind of “refinery;” here one and all might
consider the perils, dangers and privations likely to be encountered.
The faint-hearted ones took the safer route by way of the South Pass.
However, in a few days we had four hundred and fifty men and over one
hundred wagons. We were aware that we were going to travel through
several hundred miles of an untrodden wilderness, where Red Cloud and
Sitting Bull reigned over twenty or twenty-five thousand savages, so
it was very necessary for us to be well armed and organized. Before
starting we took a vote and selected a captain and two lieutenants, and
a committee of three to examine every one and see if he was prepared
with guns, sufficient ammunition, and if his outfit was substantial
enough to make the trip. A paper was drawn in which was inserted
a provision that we were to stand by and defend each other at all
hazards; to this we all signed our names. We realized that it was a
perilous undertaking, but we pressed onward. We depended a great deal
on our guide. He was a tall, well-built, straight, dark-complexioned,
resolute and intelligent man; he was reared in Canada and had been
in the employ of the Hudson’s Bay Company. He was a famous scout and
versed in the language of every Indian tribe from the Platte to the
Saskatchewan, and was both feared and respected by all. He was a
brave and true man, whose tact and courage, on more than one occasion,
resulted in avoiding trouble with hostile redskins.
Roll was called every evening. Each man had to be on guard in his turn
for four consecutive hours during the night. To form the camp the first
wagon had to make a circle until it faced the hindmost one, and each
one followed forming thus a stockade, the horses being driven past the
inside hind wheel of the wagon in front; after unhitching the tongue
was thrown over the wheel and rested on the axle. At night all the
horses and the tents were on the inside and those standing guard being
on the outside. We invariably formed our camp in this way, and were
always on our guard, for no man can tell when danger may be near in
an Indian country. When there is not an Indian to be seen it is the
time they are the most likely to make an attack. An incident I well
remember. The writer and Gibb were ahead of the train and about half a
mile on one side from the direction we were traveling. Crossing a small
ravine we saw two Indians hiding under some willows. They pretended not
to see us. It is probable that there were many more in that vicinity,
although there was no indication of the kind.
One day we came through a Sioux village of eighty-five tepees; there
were from two to three hundred Indians, chiefly women and children. On
a slope of a hill near by were over eight hundred horses in charge of
six Indians. Though we camped at noon but a short distance from them,
only two approached us, and their actions were different from those
of the other Indians whom we met. When the Sioux came to our camp
they would go from one tent or wagon to another in a sullen manner
with a contemptible look as if they were going to massacre every one
of us, and likely the reason they did not was that we had taken them
unawares and before they had time to prepare, besides we were as good
as an equal number of soldiers if it had come to fighting. But by the
year following they were better prepared, for they had obtained guns
and ammunition from the traders. They killed many immigrants. And the
year succeeding traveling through that part of the Sioux country was
entirely discontinued, and Fort Phil Kearney was established. A few
months later all the soldiers, eighty-one in number, were killed by the
Indians--not one was left to tell the story. And, these savages kept up
their murderous deeds until the Sioux war of 1876.
Many times I thought of the perils and dangers that we escaped on that
eventful journey, of which I now give an account.
It was against the rules of our camp for any one to kindle a fire after
dark. The object was to prevent the Indians from locating us at night.
We were obliged to camp where an abundance of water could be obtained.
A small spring would not meet our requirements, for we had nearly three
hundred horses, sometimes we had to make long drives to the next stream
or a place where there was plenty of water. Other times we had to stop,
from early noon until next day, for we could not make the drive in one
afternoon. For the balance of the day we frequently had considerable
sport by playing several games, shooting at a mark, short and long
distance jumping, wrestling and foot racing; but as the journey grew
longer the contraction of the muscles put a stop to the latter three.
On one of those long evenings we saw a torch light at the base of a
mountain not far off. It was swung back and forth for several minutes.
It was an Indian sign, and that put a stop to all games for that
evening. We looked for trouble that night, but had none. We were all
happy and had no sickness on that trip. There were six or seven men
from the southern part of Illinois who had the ague at the time they
joined the party, but as we came nearer to the mountains all traces
of it disappeared and returned no more. It was hard for us to secure
game of any kind, for the Indians kept driving it away as we went,
and it was not prudent for us to venture far from the course we were
pursuing to look for any. We saw many deer and buffaloes, but they were
a long ways off; occasionally we would get some of the smaller game.
We traversed much good grazing land where water was plenty; also many
valleys with rich lands for farming and an abundance of good timber.
[Illustration: MY FIRST VIEW OF THE ROCKIES.]
The atmosphere was very clear when we first saw the Rocky mountains.
They were several hundred miles distant; an old Californian pointed
them out. They appeared to be of immense height and it was difficult
to convince many of us that they were mountains, for they looked more
like thunder clouds to us who came from the prairie states. Every
day brought us nearer, and soon the perpetual snow was visible, then
the green pines and the rocky cliffs above the timber line, where no
vegetation exists, were plain to be seen, and, as I gazed at those high
rocky peaks, reaching above the clouds, it was plain to see why the
Rocky mountains were called “The Rockies.”
It did not take many days to skirt those lofty mountains and wind our
way through their canyons, listening to the rebounding echo of our
wagons rattling over the rocks and boulders as we went.
In one of those narrow valleys in the mountains we camped one June day
for dinner. Trout was abundant in the creek. On both sides there was
a dense growth of pine. Thinking that it was a good place to look for
deer, I took my gun and climbed the mountain side until I reached where
the land was almost level. After I had gone about a mile, I arrived at
an opening in the woods; two or three hundred yards away I saw a large
brown bear and elevating my gun I took aim at the big brute; just then
a second thought came to me, and I said to myself: “If I kill it, all
well and good; if I only wound it I’ll get the worst of it.” I paused
for a minute, looking at the bear, and the longer I looked the larger
it seemed; the bear stood and looked at me, and finally he walked away
slowly, occasionally looking back. I was walking as the bear did, only
in the opposite direction. Soon the bear stopped and faced towards me
and I made a bee-line for the camp, for I was not looking for that kind
of game that day.
We frequently passed trees in the branches of which a dead Indian was
placed on a kind of scaffold eight or ten feet above the ground. This
place of burial was constructed of poles and branches of trees tied
together with strips of rawhide. The remains were carefully wrapped in
beaded and painted robes, in Indian fashion, and secured with rawhide
ropes to the scaffold. Thus the dead Indian rested, high and dry, on
his sacred roost until his gorgeous couch was destroyed by the elements
and his bones picked by birds of prey. We also passed several scaffolds
built on four forked stakes, on which remains of Indians were placed,
and wrapped in the same manner as those on the trees.
Very often some aged Indians would visit our camps and go from one
tent to another and peep in as if they were counting to ascertain how
many there were. We treated them kindly and gave them something to
eat; they always asked for matches and were very fond of tobacco. Our
guide warned us that they were spies and for us to have our guns in a
conspicuous place so they could see our strength. We had many obstacles
to contend with on our journey. One day we had to travel forty miles
without water. It was very hot; many of the horses giving out, their
tongues being swollen until they protruded from their mouths. At
another time we had to let the wagons down the mountain with ropes,
with the hind wheels locked; and we had to cross rivers on rafts and
wagon boxes; again fording streams where there was great danger of
being taken down by the surging waters. Four of our men came very near
losing their lives in this way; but being good swimmers they avoided
drowning. We crossed the Powder, Clark’s Fork, Rosebud and Yellowstone
rivers and many other streams. The first we came to were very high, for
at that time the snows were melting off the mountains.
[Illustration: AN INDIAN GRAVE.]
Upon reaching the Rosebud we pitched our tents and camped till the next
morning. It was in the latter part of June; the trees and shrubs were
in full foliage and the wild flowers perfumed the air. The Rosebud is
one of the prettiest rivers I ever saw; like all mountain streams the
current is swift and its water as clear as crystal. Its beds are inlaid
with pebbles of all imaginable colors, with occasional large boulders,
where the speckled trout hides as one approaches the water’s edge.
Along its banks are groves of ancient trees, with underbrush of many
varieties and wild roses in great profusion. The bottom lands for miles
are but nature’s meadows, while the rolling hills, as far as the eye
can see, are a vast pasture land dotted here and there with clumps of
timber. Although away from civilization, the small birds flutter among
the branches, singing their sweet songs with as tender cadence as if in
somebody’s front yard in the civilized East. The same can be said of
nearly all of the streams and valleys that we crossed and came through
on our journey. On first view of these beautiful landscapes a person
would think that some prehistoric race had cultivated these fertile
valleys and planted those ancient trees and groves that grew as uniform
as if the ground had been laid out by some expert landscape gardener.
On further observation, we could see high, tempest tortured towers of
grand masonry work, which had withstood the elements for ages. All is
but the handiwork of nature, directed by the Great Architect of the
Universe.
[Illustration: IN THE ROCKIES.]
[Illustration: NATURE’S GRAND MASONRY WORK.]
When in the Yellowstone valley we saw from a distance a party of
Indians all mounted and coming towards us. Our captain at once gave
orders to form into a camp, and, before the Indians got near, we were
formed into a stockade and ready for battle, if necessary. As the
Indians approached our guide stepped forward about two hundred yards
to meet them. They were eighty-five in number. Then they whipped their
horses to greater speed and began yelling. When within about two
hundred yards of him, he lifted his hand and the Indians stopped as if
they were shot. The chief of the party and our guide had a sign talk
for a few minutes; the chief came forward and stated that they were
“Crows” and he wished to know who we were. He was informed who we were
and where we were going. They talked for about ten minutes, then the
balance of the Indians came forward and were invited to come to our
camp. They were mounted on good horses and had on their war paint and
all were stripped to their waists. We gave them bread and coffee and
took a smoke with them. Smoking with an Indian signifies that he is
friendly. They all left very peaceably and never came back. They were
the last Indians we saw until we got to Alder Creek.
Some distance after crossing the Yellowstone river the writer and two
others were considerably ahead of the wagons and crossing our course
was a ripple of clear water. The sun was hot and the effect of the heat
made us thirsty. All three, nearly at the same time, got down to quench
their thirst with the sparkling water. The first one cries at the top
of his voice: “My God, it is hot;” the second remarked: “Well, boys, we
must be near to the jumping-off place,” while the third thought that
we were getting near to the infernal regions. However, it was a great
wonder to us, for this was the first hot spring that we had ever seen.
This spring is to-day the renowned Hunter Hot Springs, a place of
resort for its mineral properties, where hundreds of people are treated
every year for rheumatism and kindred diseases. It has fine hotel
accommodations and all modern conveniences and improvements for the
comfort of its patrons. What was “then” but a ripple of hot water is
“now” a Western Saratoga.
After a journey of two thousand miles over plains and sandy deserts,
up the hills and down the canyons, crossing rivers and through many
beautiful valleys, fatigued by much suffering, hardships and dangers,
we arrived in Alder Gulch July 13, 1864. We found it to be a great
camp, and were told how many dollars to the pan and how rich the mines
were, and of the “road agents” robbing and killing people; of the
organization of the vigilance committee and the good work they were
doing by hanging the desperadoes, and suppressing lawlessness. Not
until we arrived did we learn of the organization of the Territory
of Montana, for it was completed May 26th, while we were in the
wilderness. Truly, Montana “then” was but an infant in its cradle.
ROBERT VAUGHN.
Feb. 11, 1898.
ON A STAMPEDE TO THE YELLOWSTONE.
In September, 1864, James Gibb, Jack Williams, Charles Howard, myself
and a man named Wilson, left Alder Gulch on a “stampede” to the upper
Yellowstone country. It was reported that a rich gold discovery had
been made not far from the canyon at the Yellowstone river. Each of
us procured a saddle pony, and a pack horse. We undertook to follow
the base of the mountains; crossing the headwaters of the Madison,
Jefferson, and Gallatin rivers. We were traveling by direction of a
map and the use of a compass, but made the mistake of keeping too near
the mountains, for we were delayed several times by the dense pines
that grew so thick in some places that we had to chop our way through.
In one small valley there was a great quantity of petrified wood, and
in the bed of the creek nearly all the stones were petrifactions.
I remember that we stopped on the banks of this creek for dinner.
The mountains were very steep. On a cliff about one hundred yards
off stood a Rocky mountain goat. At first we thought it a domestic
sheep, for it was very white, bleated, and acted as if it was glad to
see us. But then, as there were no settlers within several hundred
miles, we could not imagine how a sheep could get to such a place.
While we were discussing the matter, the animal leaped over cliffs
and up the mountain as if it was on level ground, and this satisfied
us all that it was a Rocky mountain goat. Not one of us had seen one
previously. The next day we came to a small lake on top of a mountain,
on approaching which we could see a big black bear rooting in the edge
of the water, but it disappeared before we had a chance to shoot.
After that we were on the watch for bear. Sometimes we would travel
for several miles on a well-beaten trail made by wild animals. At one
time Jack Williams was considerably in advance of the balance of the
party, and on one of these game trails, at a point where the ground was
a little marshy so an impression of any kind would show very plainly.
Suddenly we could see Jack coming around the bend helter-skelter as
fast as his pony could carry him, saying that he had seen the track of
a grizzly bear coming straight towards him. I asked, “Do you mean to
say that you saw a grizzly bear coming straight towards you?” “No,”
said Jack, “I saw its track coming this way.” “And you went after the
bear, did you?” Jack studied a minute and said: “I’ll be hanged I never
thought of that, but I’ll tell you, boys, those tracks are fourteen
inches long and eight inches wide; I don’t care what direction they
point to, the sight of them is enough to convince a man when he is
alone that he has not lost any bears.” On the seventh day we camped on
the Yellowstone and stayed until the next morning. The river was not
wide, but the current was very swift and the banks and the bed of the
stream were very rocky. It was a fine place for trout fishing, and we
caught some that weighed two pounds. We could not see any indications
of travel up the river, but we went as far as the canyon. Wonderland
was not known then. We concluded that the new Eldorado was not in that
direction, so we turned back and went down the valley for many miles;
we did some prospecting along the route. Finally we found about fifty
men working in a place which had been named Emigrant Gulch. There
were but few taking out gold in paying quantities; most of them were
prospecting in the gulch and on the bars. We remained there several
days, but found nothing that we thought would pay, although a great
deal of gold has been taken out of this gulch since. Consequently we
decided to go home. This time we took the lowland until we reached the
emigrant trail. On our way, on the divide between the Yellowstone and
Gallatin valleys, we saw about one hundred and fifty elks all in one
herd, on a slope of a hill, grazing. Grass was abundant and game was
plentiful; wherever we traveled we had all the trout and deer meat
that we could eat. At the crossing of the Gallatin we met Mr. John
Bozeman, for whom the City of Bozeman, Montana, is named, as I have
mentioned in a previous letter. The last time that I met him was on
the North Platte. There were with him three or four Indian people. He
was returning from Alder Gulch, having made a successful trip with a
train of emigrant wagons, of which he was guide. He brought this train,
which was about one hundred and twenty wagons, from the North Platte
river and by his “New Bozeman route,” east of the Big Horn mountains,
to the Yellowstone valley and thence to the gold fields; now he was
on his way back to organize another train for the same place and by
the same route. Some time afterwards and but one day’s travel from
the place where I met him last he was murdered by the treacherous
Indians, for whom he had done many kind acts. Thus the brave pioneer
and frontiersman John Bozeman, came to the end of his route. We
had been very lucky; we saw but few Indians; the weather had been
delightful, and all enjoyed the trip. We saw grand scenery, groves of
lofty pines, natural parks stocked with wild deer and elks, brooks of
clear water where the speckled trout played among its pebbles and had
all the harbor to themselves; beautiful springs bursting forth from the
mountain side, still higher the majestic peaks stood in bold relief
above the mountain pines, where lay the perpetual snow; and to render
man’s enjoyment complete, his lungs are filled with pure mountain air
perfumed with scent of pines and herbs that grow everywhere. I know of
no place like the mountains for one that loves nature in all its glory.
After twenty-nine days of “roughing it” we returned to Alder Gulch, not
any richer, but wiser, men.
ROBERT VAUGHN.
Feb. 12, 1898.
THE DISCOVERY OF ALDER CREEK, THE RICHEST GULCH ON THE GLOBE.
On April 9, 1863, several courageous miners met at Bannock City,
and formulated plans to organize an expedition to the country of
the Yellowstone and Big Horn rivers for the purpose of prospecting
for gold, and if successful, the idea was to lay out townsites,
and so forth. James Stuart, a brother of Granville Stuart (now of
Butte), and William Fairweather, were the prime movers in getting
up the expedition. It was agreed that those who were going to join
the expedition should meet at Rattlesnake creek the next day. There
the form of organization was to be adopted; the original manuscript,
which is now in the possession of the Historical Society of Montana,
reads thus: “Having determined to explore a portion of the country
drained by the ‘Yellowstone’ for the purpose of discovering gold mines
and securing townsites, and, believing this object could be better
accomplished by forming ourselves into a regularly organized company,
we hereby appoint James Stuart captain, agreeing upon our word of honor
to obey all orders given or issued by him, or any subordinate officer
appointed by him. In case of any member refusing to obey an order or
orders from said captain, he shall be forcibly expelled from our camp.
It is further understood and agreed that we all do our equal portions
of work, the captain being umpire in all cases, sharing equally the
benefits of the said labor both as to the discovery of gold and
securing townsites.
“(Signed.) James Stuart, Cyrus D. Watkins, John Vanderbilt, James N.
York, Richard McCafferty, James Hauxhurst, Drewyer Underwood, Samuel
T. Hauser, Henry A. Bell, William Roach, A. Sterne Blake, George H.
Smith, Henry T. Greery, Ephraim Bostwick.”
George Ives overtook the party the next day; he had not yet signed the
agreement, but he intended doing so.
William Fairweather, Lewis Simons, Bill Sweeney, Thomas Cover, Barney
Hughes, Henry Edgar and Rogers intended to meet Stuart and his party
at a given place, but on account of losing their horses they failed to
make the connection, but arrived there three or four days after Stuart
and his party had passed. They took their trail, making as good time
as possible, with the expectation of overtaking them in two or three
days. But, on the upper Yellowstone, they were met by a large party of
Crow Indians who took them prisoners. And this is the reason why the
“Bill Fairweather party” and “the James Stuart party” became separated.
The consequence was that Fairweather and his men were forced to turn
back, and, when returning from what they thought was an unfortunate
trip, they discovered Alder Gulch, which proved afterwards to be the
richest gulch in the world. And it appears to a man in the moon that
the Crow chief had a hand in making this discovery, and likely if Bill
Fairweather had thought of it he would have staked him a claim.
When the news reached Bannock that Fairweather’s party had made a rich
discovery everybody rushed for the new Eldorado, and in a few days
Bannock was almost deserted. June 6, 1863, the Fairweather district was
organized (in Alder Gulch), with Dr. Steele president and James Fergus
recorder. And then and there the sills and rafters of the State of
Montana were hewn.
Since then over $85,000,000 has been taken out of this remarkable gulch.
Recently a correspondent of the Anaconda Standard had an interview with
the Henry Edgar referred to, which interview was published in the
“Standard” Sept. 5, 1899, from which the following extracts are taken.
Mr. Edgar said:
“In February, 1863, I sold my claim, which was No. 8 on Stapleton’s
bar at Bannock, and went to Deer Lodge to get an outfit for this
expedition. We intended to join Stuart’s party, which left Bannock
about the same time we departed from Deer Lodge. That was the latter
part of April or the first part of May. We were in reality bound for
the Black Hills. Simmons accompanied us as our guide. There were six in
the party. We had got two days’ travel below the mouth of Clarke’s Fork
in the neighborhood of Pompey’s Pillar, when we were captured by the
Indians. There was no fighting. That would have been sure death, they
so far outnumbered us. They took us into camp and made medicine over us
for three days.
“It was jointly through Bill Fairweather and Lewis Simmons that we
were saved. I do not understand why it was, but a rattlesnake would
never bite Bill. When he saw one he would always take it up and carry
it along with him. They never seemed to resent anything he would do
with them and he never killed one. As we were going towards the Indian
village he picked up a rattlesnake, and just at the outskirts of the
village he picked up another. When the Indians saw him come in with a
rattlesnake on each arm they were awed. He put the snakes in his shirt
bosom and Simmons told the Indians that he was the great medicine man
of the whites.
“They took us into the medicine lodge, where a large bush was placed in
the center. They marched us around that several times and finally Bill
said if they repeated it he would pull up the sacred medicine bush.
They marched us around again and Bill pulled up the bush and walloped
the medicine man on the head with it. We then were formed three to
three, back to back. We had refused all along to give up our guns and
revolvers. The old chief drove the other Indians back with a whip. They
had a council which lasted from noon till midnight. In the meantime we
were sentenced. If we proceeded they would kill us. If we turned back
and relinquished our horses we would not be harmed. It was Hobson’s
choice. I received for my three horses an old horse, blind in one eye,
and a yearling colt. For my three pairs of Oregon blankets a buffalo
robe and a half, and for my grub, consisting of flour, bacon, coffee,
beans, etc., a dozen dried buffalo tongues. Simmons remained with the
Indians.
[Illustration: INDIAN WAR DANCE.]
“We came back on the north side of the Yellowstone, after one day’s
travel. We met an old squaw, who warned us not to cross the river. We
took up into the mountains and camped there until morning, fearful of
the Indians. We then saw thirty or forty of them looking for our trail.
We remained until night and then crossed to the south side of the
river. We came up pretty near to Shield’s river or Twenty-five-Yard
creek, where we crossed to the north. There we found the Indians
were ahead of us and had gone over the hills toward West Gallatin.
We came on over the pass where the city of Bozeman now lies, and saw
the Indians coming up the valley. We concealed ourselves in the brush
along the creek and exchanged shots with them. There was a parley. They
agreed that if we came out they would not harm us, but we wouldn’t
trust them. We waited until dark and then struck for the Madison
river, crossed it and went into the hills between the Gallatin and the
Madison. The following day we crossed the Madison river and came up
what is now known as the head of Wigwam gulch. We camped beside a lake
at the foot of Bald mountain. We killed an elk there, and remained
during the afternoon and over night to dry and smoke the meat.
“The day after we came down by the lake and over the bridge to Alder
gulch. That was on May 26, 1863, about 4 o’clock in the afternoon, and
the sun was shining brightly. Fairweather and I were to make camp and
stand guard. The other four proceeded up the gulch, to what is now
Highland, prospecting. About sundown Bill went across the creek to
picket the horses.
“‘There is a piece of bed rock projecting,’ said Bill, ‘and we had
better go over and see if we cannot get enough money to buy a little
tobacco.’ So Bill took the pick and shovel and I took the pan and we
crossed the creek. He dug the dirt up and shoveled it into the pan.
I went down to the creek to wash it. While I was washing the dirt he
scratched around in the bedrock with his butcher knife and picked out
a piece of gold and called: ‘I’ve found a scad.’ I had the pan about
half washed down and I replied: ‘If you have one I have a thousand.’
And so I had. That first pan weighed about $2.30. We washed three pans
before dark and the three aggregated twelve dollars and some cents.
As we finished, the other four returned tired and hostile because we
hadn’t taken care of the horses. They had only found a color. I showed
Sweeney what we had and asked him what he thought of the pan. ‘Salted,
by G--d,’ exclaimed Sweeney. ‘You know well enough if you pike me down
and run me through a sluice you couldn’t get a color,’ said I. Then all
were in good humor. We had dried elk meat for supper.
“The next morning, as soon as daylight, we were all out. Sweeney’s
first pan weighed five dollars. Hughes and Cover went up the gulch.
Fairweather, Rogers, Sweeney and I went down. We staked two claims
apiece, two hundred feet to the man, all connecting. We took fifty feet
adjoining the claims on each side of the creek.
“We obtained about $180 that day altogether. We were tired and hungry
and all out of provisions. As we panned the last gold we saw five
antelope on the hill. Bill said to me: ‘Old man, if you ever looked
straight for your supper, look straight now.’
“He went around one way and I went up the hill the other side, and
each of us secured an antelope. We had neither coffee nor bread. Our
supper consisted of antelope straight and visions of gold. We spent the
next morning measuring the ground and staking it off. I wrote out the
notices. The first I wrote was for Barney Hughes.
“‘What shall we call the gulch?’ I asked. ‘You name it,’ he said. So I
called it Alder Gulch on account of the heavy clump of alders along the
banks of the creek.”
Mr. Edgar was born in Dumfries, Scotland. He came to the United States
when eighteen years of age. In 1850 he was in the Michigan lumber
region; in 1857 he lived at Fergus Falls; in 1858 he was at Fort
Geary, in the British possessions; in the fall of 1862 he was mining in
Bannock and the following spring joined the party that discovered Alder
gulch. Mr. Edgar is now past seventy-four years of age, and lives with
his wife in a cozy mountain home near Plains, in Missoula county, in
this state.
ROBERT VAUGHN.
Sept. 25, 1899.
THE JAMES STUART PROSPECTING PARTY.
This expedition had the most desperate experience of any party of
men in the Rocky mountains. They were chased by hostile Indians for
hundreds of miles, endured untold privations, perils and hunger, some
being killed; and during all this time they were in an unexplored
region where assistance could not be obtained.
The first part of the history of this expedition has been given in the
foregoing letter. The day the Fairweather party discovered Alder gulch
the James Stuart party was being chased by Indians. The following are
extracts from Captain Stuart’s diary, which he kept on that eventful
prospecting trip in the “Yellowstone Country” in the spring of 1863.