find the horses. However, after eleven days from the time the horses
were stolen, the morning of the twelfth, the first thing after opening
my cabin door was to see the two gray mares feeding on the grass only
a few yards from my door. And I was a happy man. No one asked for the
reward. That was the only time the Indians ever stole anything from me.
ROBERT VAUGHN.
Jan. 25, 1898.
THE GREAT SUN RIVER STAMPEDE.
In the years 1865-66 there were from fifteen to twenty thousand people
in the various mining camps of Montana, and its mountains were swarmed
with daring prospectors. In those times nearly every day had its new
discovery, and the slightest whisper of a new “find” would create a
stampede, in which instances the most extraordinary endurance and
courage were displayed. There is no animal on earth that will stampede
quicker, keep on going with the same stubbornness and determination,
as a fortune hunter; they are worse than Texas cattle. For one
instance, I will relate the following: McClellan, an old mountaineer
and prospector, and who was the discoverer of the “McClellan Gulch,”
but sold his claim in that renowned mine for a song, and, after having
two or three weeks’ good time in town, he began laying his plans for
another prospecting tour.
In the following fall (1865) he decided to go to the Sun river country,
that was about one hundred miles north of Helena, and hunt for more
mines. He was considered a lucky prospector in finding gold, and when a
report came from him it could be relied upon.
After having prospected for two or three months the cold weather began
to set in, and, as he had already found some gold, he decided to build
a cabin and keep on prospecting till spring. In a week or so he had his
house up and everything in apple-pie order, except one thing, and that
was, to have some one to have his meals ready after returning from the
hills where he had been working hard all day. As there was a Piegan
camp not far off he went there one day and engaged a squaw to come and
cook for him. As the new employe had many relations, who became her
frequent visitors, it was not long before the proprietor discovered
that a few extras in the line of groceries had to be gotten, an extra
sack of flour, a few pounds of soap, and so forth; besides some calico,
beads, brass ear rings and bracelets for the new housekeeper, who was
trying her hand for the first time in her life at house-keeping.
One day Mc mounted his pony, and, with another pack horse, struck
for Helena to get the goods. On his arrival he met many of his old
friends, and of course they were anxious to learn what success he had
prospecting. He said that so far he had not discovered anything that
would pay, although he had found what he called good indications. For
all that a close watch was kept on the old prospector during the few
days he was in town, and a suspicion was aroused among many that on
account of the fact that he was buying considerable goods he must know
of something greater than he wanted to tell. To one of his confidential
friends he told of the pleasant home he had in the Sun river country,
and, in a whisper, his last sentence was: “I have got as good a thing
as I want,” meaning his new housekeeper and the household outfit that
he had just purchased. Two of the anxious ones stood near and overheard
him saying, “I have got as good a thing as I want.” They decided at
once that a new find was meant. The news spread like wild fire to every
camp in the vicinity, and, like the story of the “three black crows,”
something was added to the first report as it went from camp to camp.
A tremendous stampede followed, and, although it was in the month of
January and the thermometer stood thirty-five degrees below zero, and
there was over a foot of snow on the level, this did not check the
rush. From twelve to fifteen hundred rugged miners participated in
this stampede; some went on horseback, others on foot, and, after
traveling about one hundred miles, the new Eldorado could not be
found. Before returning home several suffered severely from cold and
hunger and two died from exposure. Some threats were made against the
one giving the false report, but no foundation could be found that
McClellan had said that a discovery of gold had been made, but to the
contrary it was proven that he had said that no diggings had been
found. And, when the particulars of what started the stampede were
learned, no further complaint was made. All returned home except a few
who had supplied themselves with enough provisions; they stayed and
prospected.
[Illustration: MRS. JAS. BLOOD (A Piegan Woman.)]
Mr. Thomas Moran of St. Peter, who was on this stampede, told me only a
few days ago that at least seven hundred men were one night in camp in
a bend of the Missouri river and near where the St. Peter’s Mission was
then. He said that Father C. Imoda, who was in charge of the Mission,
treated them kindly and gave assistance to many that were suffering
from cold and hunger. Mr. Moran said that the thermometer registered
forty degrees below zero that night.
All of the old timers remember this event, and it is known at the
present time as the “Great Sun river stampede in the winter of 1866.”
ROBERT VAUGHN.
April 21, 1899.
A TRIP FROM VIRGINIA CITY TO THE HEAD OF NAVIGATION ON THE MISSOURI
RIVER IN 1866.
It was about the 20th day of April, 1866, that the first wagon train
drawn by oxen pulled out of Virginia City and down the famous Alder
Gulch bound for Fort Benton, the head of navigation on the Missouri
river; and this train was the property of Sutherlin Brothers, of whom
the writer hereof was a member. The train was not a large one, for
our firm was not rich and had all it could do to equip four teams.
Work cattle were then worth from $130 to $160 per pair, and they could
be bought only for gold. One feature of this little train was the
coupling of wagons together which had never been in practice before,
so that one driver could handle five or six yoke of oxen pulling two
wagons carrying from seven to eight thousand pounds. This was the first
train of the kind to go on the road, a view to economy caused its
invention. Our firm had some wagons of four thousand pounds capacity
and could secure lighter ones for trails, while to buy big “Prairie
Schooners” was out of the question. We had tried the plan of coupling
wagons together for the saving of drivers the year before and found
it practicable, hence no risk was taken in outfitting upon a more
extensive scale for general freighting. The usual freighter had but one
heavy wagon to a team, but it was noticed that our little train hauled
as much per team as they, and made better time, consequently many
adopted the same plan, and in a few years rich firms had gone into the
freighting business, with teams of from nine to twelve yoke of oxen,
and four wagons; each team hauling from sixteen to twenty thousand
pounds. Eight to ten teams constituted a train. One driver to a team,
a night herder and wagon boss, was all that was necessary to make a
full crew.
At the time we made this trip to the head of navigation there were no
stage coaches, except the lines to Salt Lake and Helena, and there were
no liveries, the principal means of travel being on horseback, the
traveler taking his bed in a roll behind his saddle or upon an extra
horse, together with frying pan and coffee pot.
The large number of steamboats which had left St. Louis for Fort
Benton, laden with merchandise, seemed to offer an easier means of
going east and south, then fifteen days and nights of stage coaching
via Salt Lake to Denver, then to Omaha or Kansas City; and, as a great
many people had already made quite a fortune, passage on a freight
train to Fort Benton was acceptable, even with our ox train, which
was among the first to leave Virginia City. The mule trains had the
preference until reports came of the Indian raids and danger of loss of
mules when the business was quite evenly divided. An ounce of gold dust
was the customary fare from Virginia City to Fort Benton.
Our crew was fairly well armed and the passengers were generally
provided with revolvers; as many of them carried considerable gold dust
weapons of defense were considered essential to safety.
From morning until night our little train moved along, fifteen miles
being the usual extent of a day’s drive. Down the valley by Pete Daly’s
station, then to “Garney’s,” across the Jefferson, up White Tail
over the Boulder range, the Boulder valley and into “Last Chance.”
I remember my first glimpse of Bridge street, then the principal
thoroughfare of the new metropolis, Helena, for the greater part of
Main street was a winding wagon road over piles of tailings, around
sluice boxes and miners’ huts; and I remember, too, the winding road
out into the unsettled and apparently valueless valley that spread
out as we proceeded northwestward and the large herd of antelope that
scampered away as we approached, disappearing in the virgin meadows
which hid them. The little town of Silver City, where a few people
were placer mining, lay to the left of our road. The head of Prickly
Pear canyon, the home of the brave Malcolm Clark, has a place in my
memory, for it seemed to be the sunniest spot in the wilderness. Lyons
Hill, Medicine Rock, and other somewhat mountain-like high places were
passed, and then the crossing of the Dearborn river, which was made
between showers when the stream was so deep that the water came into
the wagon beds, I do not forget.
[Illustration: FREIGHTING IN THE EARLY DAYS.]
At “Bird Tail Rock” some of our party took their first hunt. Mountain
sheep in considerable numbers were seen at the base and far up the
rugged sides of that great landmark, and a taste of the rare mutton in
the mountain wilds they longed for before getting back, as they said,
to “God’s country, America,” but the jaunt was a long one, further
to the game than they had anticipated, and the ramble was abandoned,
the party reaching camp long after camping time satisfied to go home
without the taste of mountain mutton.
At Sun river an unexpected halt was made; we called it a “layover.”
There had been copious rains, together with the melting snow, and the
river was booming, out of its channel in some places. The ferry boat,
a small craft built of whip-sawed lumber and capable of carrying only
one wagon and one yoke of oxen, was intact, but the cable had to be
stretched. In doing this, after several efforts, the end was landed
on the opposite shore, but in drawing it up out of the water the
strong current parted it. This was repaired after much exertion, but,
in crossing, the first wagon of the Bullard train, which was among
the number in waiting, the trail rope again parted, and it was with
difficulty that the boat and contents was landed. J. J. Healey, the
ferryman of the boat crew had already departed for Benton to secure
a new cable, and there followed several days of waiting before his
return. During the days of waiting a number of trains arrived. Finally
the ferryman came with a new cable and then followed the task of
placing it in position, a job more difficult than the first, owing to
the continued rise of the river. Effort after effort was made, each
proving a failure. The end of the cable was brought across the river,
but it was not possible to draw it out of the water, and when, with
a long team of oxen, it had been drawn across from the east shore J.
J. Healey and many freighters had almost despaired of placing it in
position. Ben Anderson and his three associates volunteered to perform
the task. These Indiana boys had for years followed the business of
rafting saw-logs down the Wabash river and proved to be the right men
in the right place on this occasion. They made several rafts out of
dry cottonwood logs, and, locating them at intervals up the bank of the
stream, the cable was stretched on them in such a manner that it was
held above the water, then starting with the upper end the rafts were
swung around, the further one reaching the opposite shore, when it was
easily raised to the proper height without touching the rapid current.
It did me good to see the hats go up and hear the round of applause
that echoed out upon the beautiful Sun river valley as the cable was
anchored--“hurrah, hurrah, hurrah for the boys, the Indiana boys.” This
feat gave our little train the first right of way over the ferry, and
we crossed in time to drive as far as the “Leavings,” a nine-mile pull
down the river bank.
I almost forgot to state that Mr. Healey, besides bringing the big rope
from Benton, brought the report that a large body of Blackfeet Indians
were camped on the Teton river not many miles away to the north, and
that their mission was to steal horses, pillage and murder. This was
not pleasant news to the passengers who, though well armed, felt that
they “might be taken in.” It was sundown when camp was made at the
“Leavings,” and I cannot forget the anxiety manifest as I went around
to the several campfires. Up to that date we had no night watchman,
but it was easy to see the necessity of a night sentinel, therefore I
volunteered to perform that duty. It was not a new duty by any means,
for I had seen weeks of it in crossing the plains to Denver in 1863 and
coming to Montana in 1864. To make the night easy my friend, Joe Lacky,
volunteered to take the first half of the night and went on his beat at
nine, all rolling into bed about the same time.
It was 12:30 when I was awakened by a whisper, to which was added:
“The camp is all right.” With my revolver in my belt and Ballard rifle
in hand I was soon on duty. The oxen were lying down, broken clouds
hung over head, and all was quiet except the hooting of owls in the
hills across the river and who seemed to be keeping company with
their neighbors located some distance away. So far away were these
that they were but faintly heard. At first I paid little attention
to the hooting, but as the hours began to grow longer and the clouds
thickened, the hooting became more interesting. These hootings came at
intervals, while between them the stillness seemed almost unbearable.
There is much that I might write of that night of picket duty at the
“Leavings,” but least I may tire the reader the same is passed. Writing
at this time, thirty-three and a half years later, my thoughts go
back to more recent scenes of the place, and I cannot pass on without
recalling just one or two visits there quite as distinct as the first.
The Sun river tour of 1879, when introducing the “Rocky Mountain
Husbandman,” comes fresh. It was then I rested a day with my friend,
Robert Vaughn, who had cultivated on that lonely spot a fine farm,
built a good home, and owned herds of horses and cattle. We talked of
the early days gone by, of Indians and Indian hunting, and wound up
the day of pleasure in a hunt among the feathered tribes--geese, ducks
and swan. Mr. V. showed not alone his markmanship, but his skill in
selecting young birds of which it was less than an hour’s sport on the
river to capture a dozen. But this is digressing from my subject.
The morning of that lonely night in 1866 dawned, the oxen arose to feed
and the expected attack by Indians did not materialize. We were on the
road early, for the drive to the lakes was a longer one than we had
usually made. Without especial incident the day passed and we reached
the head of the lakes about sundown. The wagons were corralled--drawn
up in a close half circle, cattle turned out to graze, supper cooked,
etc. No Indians or signs of Indians had been seen and our passengers
were buoyant with hopes, for it seemed that the head of navigation
would be reached in safety, there being but two more days’ travel
before us. Having the lead from the ferry we were a day’s travel ahead
of the other trains, and realizing this added somewhat to the anxiety
and I might say fear. The night passed quietly, particularly the latter
part. We were too far away from the cliffs to hear the hooting of the
owls, and the only charm I can remember was when a breeze came up from
the southeast which brought with it the roar of the great Missouri
river falls, some twenty or more miles away.
The following day’s travel was also long on account of the scarcity
of water. Getting an early start the journey was made, arriving at
Twenty-eight-Mile Springs about sunset. Just before turning the summit
of the ridge west of this well known place we were overtaken by a
large mule train, probably forty wagons, four to six animals to each
wagon, and they were well loaded with passengers--probably about one
hundred and forty persons. This train pulled by, and, passing the
springs, turned south and went into camp on the summit of the elevated
lands six or seven hundred yards away, while our little train halted
for the night close to the springs. Soon after turning out our teams
several visitors came from the big train. Nearly all were from Virginia
City, and among them there were few ladies. Several of the passengers
carried large amounts of gold dust, the estimated amount in the train
being over $400,000. This train had been making fast time, having that
day come from the “Leavings,” a distance of twenty-five miles. Fresh
stories were told us of the large Indian camp and the probable raid,
for at this time we were near to their camp. We were solicited to join
the big party, but our teams were turned out and we had to decline.
This request came several times, and lastly in the shape of a message
from his excellency, Acting Gov. Thomas Francis Meagher, who was among
the passengers. This brought our firm and friends together for council,
at which it was decided to remain where we were. If an attack was made
by the Indians the object would be to secure the mules and horses, as
they could not expect to drive our cattle away, and if siege was made
we would be better off in reach of water than on the hill. Further
summing it up, we considered our people better off camped as we were,
and as the mule outfit was placing a strong guard for the night we
could all turn into our beds and sleep. Soon after dark the lights were
put out and quiet reigned. The night was cloudy, and in getting into my
bed under a wagon it was surmised that I might be driven out by rain
before morning. We had but one horse and he was tied with a long lariat
to a wheel of the wagon under which I slept. That horse was my body
guard. I knew that if Indians appeared he would snort and try to pull
away, which would awaken me.
It was perhaps 3 o’clock in the morning when a single report of a
gun rent the air south of the mule camp, and following close on this
I heard in the distance the sound of many hoofs. Then a general
commotion ensued at the mule camp. General Meagher was among the
first to rise and his strong voice could be heard giving orders. He
was the self-constituted commander on this occasion, and I could hear
him knocking on the sides of the wagon and commanding every one to
get out and prepare for an attack. A messenger came down to inform us
that Indians had attempted to stampede the mules, but the guards had
succeeded in rescuing them and driving them into the corral, and an
attack was expected. General Meagher sent us word to leave our wagons
and join the mule camp, and for a few moments it seemed that some of
our passengers were willing to do this, but better judgment prevailed,
and all decided to remain with their wagons and protect, if possible,
their own valuables, which could not well be removed at that hour. Our
men were all up and in readiness, but the night was too dark for one to
shoot with any degree of accuracy, and it seemed hardly reasonable that
the “Redskins” would make an attack until the beginning of daylight.
There was, however, no let up to the racket in the mule camp. General
Meagher got his fellow passengers out in line and marched them in
regular soldier form around and round the big corral in which the mules
were secured. This corral was composed of wagons drawn up in a circle
and ropes so tied between that the mules once inside could not get out.
I could hear the commands given and I listened with interest to the
exchange of words with some of the men who attempted to evade the duty.
“I have but a small pistol and can do no good if I come out there,”
said one of the men. “Yes, you can do good,” said Meagher, “these
helpless women and children must be protected and I beseech you to come
like a man to their rescue.” “Fall in line, shoulder arms, forward,
march!” “Why, sir, do you dare disobey orders?” “Oh, why, I was just
looking into the wagon to see if things were all right.”
The truth of the matter was that those fellows who protested had
little pets in their wagons in the shape of sacks of gold dust which
were unhandy to carry and they were afraid of losing the treasure. But
the energetic general appeared to take more interest in the safety
of those women and children than of those gold sacks, and his strong
voice echoed for nearly three long hours, as he gave commands to keep
in line ready for action and protect the camp. Quite an episode when,
after marching for more than an hour, the general chanced to find a
little Jew covered in his blankets and crouched down in one end of a
wagon. Loud calling did not seem to disturb him--all this time he was
playing that he could not hear--but by prodding he was aroused, and the
general, thinking him deaf, shouted very loudly trying to arouse him to
action in resisting the enemy. It was said that the fellow could hear
as well as anybody, but took that plan of evading the general’s orders,
preferring to keep closer watch of his treasures which, it appears,
were too heavy to be handily carried, but the general kept on urging
until he got the Jew into line. Perhaps the most laughable incident
that occurred during the scare was when the general’s messenger
returned from a visit to our camp and reported that “them folks with
the ox train are Missourians and won’t get up.” It was a mistake,
however, as our party did get out and were ready for the fray, and
afterwards one of them remarked that it was really too bad that the
“Redskins did not give us a fight, that we were entitled to have some
fun after so much preparation.”
Early next morning our train was on the road, and the mule train, at
the general’s suggestion, fell in and kept company. Plenty of evidences
were seen to establish the fact of the near approach of the Indians
that night, and I attributed their failure to attack to the action of
General Meagher and men in the mule camp. Forty wagons and teams added
to our little train, with from eighty to a hundred armed men marching
by their sides and about thirty mounted on horseback scouting in
advance on either side, made up a pretty formidable procession. I had
the honor of accompanying General Meagher on horseback as an advance
picket during most of the day, and it was rare enjoyment listening
to sketches of his early life adventures, his leave taking of the
old country, and incidents of his connection with the war of the
rebellion.
The general was en route to meet his wife who came up on the
“Josephine.” Our trip of the day was without material interest, and
it was cheering to my soul to see the glad faces of our passengers as
our caravan hove in sight of the quaint little fort and city, nestled
beneath the rounded hills, and three Missouri river steamers, the “St.
John,” the “Waverly” and another moored at the wharf discharging their
cargoes.
WILL H. SUTHERLIN.
White Sulphur Springs, Mont., Nov. 12, 1899.
* * * * *
By request the above letter was written for publication in this book.
Mr. Sutherlin has been a resident of Meagher county ever since June,
1865, and has contributed much to the upbuilding of the county and the
state. He was elected and served two terms as sheriff, also filled
the office of county clerk and recorder one term, and was ex-officio
probate judge during the same time.
He was elected in 1886 to the office of territorial councilman, and
served two sessions. A number of the laws remaining on the statute
books of Montana were originated and passed through his efforts. He
was chairman of the committee on agriculture of the State World’s Fair
Board and erected and had charge of Montana’s agricultural exhibit
at the World’s Fair at Chicago in 1893. He was the commissioner
for this state and had full charge of the state’s exhibit at the
Trans-Mississippi Exposition at Omaha in 1898. He was one of the
founders of the Rocky Mountain Husbandman, November, 1875. His
brother, R. N. Sutherlin, was and still is associated with him in
its publication. Mr. Sutherlin is one of the best authorities on
agriculture in the Northwest.
ROBERT VAUGHN.
Great Falls, Mont., Jan. 7, 1900.
MY FIRST BUFFALO HUNT.