June 30, 1872, at 7 a. m. It was in the midst of a heavy rain. In
making inquiries, we were told that we could have the court house in
which to hold service. However, on examination, we found it to have a
roof composed of native soil, in which there were some places where the
water came through in great quantities. We were then told that a room
had been prepared in which Father Van Gorp was to hold service that
morning. In asking him for the use of the same room in the evening,
he replied most courteously that he would use it in the morning, then
we were welcome to use it as often as we might desire, so our first
service in Montana was held that evening.
“There was a large congregation, composed of the business
men, freighters and river men. There was only one lady in the
congregation--Mrs. George Baker--now of St. Louis.
“Here I first met, and they were my first acquaintances in Montana, W.
G. Conrad and C. E. Conrad, young men then full of business and energy.
They, with others, gave us a most hearty welcome. The greater part of
the freight for Montana then came by the Missouri river, and freighting
was a great business from Fort Benton to other points in the territory.
[Illustration: REV. W. W. VAN OLSDEL.]
“Leaving Fort Benton, after a journey of fifty-two miles over bleak
prairie without habitation, except one lonely stage station, I came to
Sun river valley. The first settler I met there was Mr. Robert Vaughn,
a much respected and honored citizen. He was one of the earliest
settlers of this great valley, which, at that time, was a part of
Choteau county. I was indeed a stranger in a strange land, but I can
never forget the hearty welcome accorded me by him. Though a bachelor,
he knew how to give a welcome and make home pleasant to the young
itinerant who had but very little money and whose best mode of travel
was to go afoot.
“No person but he who has experienced it can appreciate what it is
to come from a long journey after being exposed to the elements and
hostile Indians, and then to receive such kind treatment. Among others
who welcomed me at that time to Sun River, were the Largents, Strongs,
Fords, Burchers and Browns--in fact all who resided in the little
settlement treated me with kindness.
“At that time there roamed over those prairies great herds of
buffaloes, antelopes and deer. The Indians were hostile, and great
risks had to be taken to protect life and property. It is said that
more of the early settlers were killed in what was then Choteau county,
than in any other part of the state.
“The first religious service held at Sun River was conducted in the
house of Mr. Charles Bull, who kindly threw open his door and invited
the neighbors in. As we sang the old hymns and preached the gospel,
there were many eyes dimmed with tears as recollections of the old home
and the old home church came to memory. Without any solicitation on the
part of the preacher, the people took up a very liberal offering and
presented the same to him.
“It was at this time a visit was made to the Blackfeet and Piegan
agency on the Teton river, and near where is now located the town of
Choteau. Major Jesse Armitage was agent, and Mr. B. W. Sanders teacher.
A hearty welcome was given and a very interesting service was held at
that time with the employes and Indians.
“I made my first visit to Butte in May, 1874. All but ten of the
population of Butte attended the service; the congregation numbered
about forty. Rev. Hugh Duncan (now of sainted memory), one of the
first pioneer preachers, who came to Alder gulch in 1863, was then
pastor of that large circuit, and met me there. Mr. and Mrs. Reese
Wampler entertained the preachers. A striking contrast between past and
present--then about fifty, now about that many thousand.
“In 1876 the population of the territory was very much decreased, the
Black Hills and Leadville excitements, then at their height, drew away
many of the miners; others went East to see friends and attend the
Centennial, which was held that year. In June of the same year the
Custer massacre took place on the Little Big Horn.
“Those who remember attending Fourth of July celebrations that year can
well call to mind the sorrow that overshadowed the homes of the Montana
frontiersmen, for the war cloud commenced to gather over all the small
and isolated settlements in this then new territory.
“Early in the summer of 1877, after some hard fought battles in Idaho,
Chief Joseph and Looking Glass, with their band of Nez Perces Indians
came over the mountains on the Lo Lo trail passing up the Bitter Root
valley, and were encamped for a few days on the Big Hole river, when
General Gibbon, with his soldiers from Fort Shaw and some citizen
volunteers from the Bitter Root, met them in battle on the Big Hole,
August 9th.
“On the next Sabbath we were at Bannock, where we held service that
evening. Some of the men and nearly all of the women from the
surrounding country were there for safety and others came in that
night. One young man was wounded in the arm; others had escaped almost
miraculously. That night fifteen of us volunteered to go out to Horse
Prairie. Melvin Trask was selected as captain, and before sunrise we
were on the move. We had information that some men were killed and
others severely wounded at the ranches over in that beautiful valley,
especially at the ranches of Montague, Winters and Mr. Hamilton’s. Mrs.
Winters was in town. She said she was going with us; we said no, and
persuaded her to remain, but when we were about twelve miles out she
overtook us. She was a woman of fine form, her long, black hair hanging
down her back, mounted on a very fine horse, and a revolver buckled on,
and she knew how and was not afraid to use it.
“When we arrived at the ranch, about sixteen miles from Bannock, it
was plain to be seen that there had been trouble there. One of their
fine cows was shot in front of the house, feather and straw ticks cut
open and their contents emptied in the front yard. I was selected to
go with Mrs. Winters into the house. Just as we went into the kitchen
there lay a man who had been shot four times. On first sight he had
the appearance of her husband. Some thought at this juncture she would
faint, but she said she could stand it as well as any of us; that she
loved her husband and her home, and the sooner she knew the facts
in the case the more reconciled she would be. From there we passed
into another room where we found the dead form of Mr. Montague, the
partner of Mr. Winters. Everything in the house was upset and broken.
The question then came as to where her husband was, and that was the
particular object of the search just then. A short distance from the
house we found the body of Mr. Smith, pierced with five bullets. He
left a widow and eight children. In another direction from the house
was the body of Mr. Farnsworth, who was killed just before our arrival.
We patched up the harness with some leather and ropes and hitched to a
light wagon that had been left near the ranch, and started to Bannock
with the four bodies, where they were all buried the next day, two of
them by the Masonic order, of which they were worthy members.
“During the time that we were at the ranch, just across the creek
(which was heavily skirted with willows and brush), there was a war
party of Indians, from thirty to forty in number, yet they hesitated
to cross and meet us, for our party had now increased to eighteen men,
well armed. Mr. Winters had a very narrow escape from the Indians,
having reached Bannock just before our party came in, much to the
relief of Mrs. Winters. At the next ranch--Mr. Hamilton’s--he, with
some others, also made narrow escapes. Mr. Cooper was killed close to
his house. The next day General O. O. Howard and his command came into
the prairie and camped at Mr. Martin Barrett’s ranch. W. A. Clark was
captain of the Butte company of volunteers. He, with his company did
good service for Montana at this perilous time.
“I first met the Rev. T. C. Ilif and the Rev. Mr. Riggin at Sheridan
in August, 1873, at the funeral services of Charles Bateman, the only
son of R. C. Bateman, who, at that time, lived at Sheridan. They, in
company with Revs. J. A. Van Anda and Hugh Duncan, had just come by
private conveyance from conference, which was held at Salt Lake City.
The appointments that year were: J. A. Van Anda, presiding elder; W. C.
Shippin, Helena; T. C. Ilif, Bozeman; Hugh Duncan, Missoula and Deer
Lodge; Virginia City and Bannock, F. A. Riggin and the writer.
“At that first meeting we had a typical old-fashioned quarterly
conference. The first conference of the Methodist church held in
Montana was a district conference held in Helena in February, 1874. Two
of the preachers attending this meeting came 150 miles on horseback.
“Some of the popular airs that were used at that time were: ‘Oh, the
Prospect; It Is so Inviting;’ another: ‘The Gospel Train Is Coming, I
Hear It Just At Hand.’
“There were no railroads in Montana at that time. The nearest was at
Ogden, Utah. Many of the people were anxious to see a railroad, and
that made this hymn particularly popular.”
At that time “Brother Van” was Rev. W. W. Van Orsdel of Pennsylvania,
a young man full of faith and heroism. As soon as he landed in the
‘then’ ‘Wild and Woolly West,’ without hesitation he began his faithful
mission by preaching his first sermon at Fort Benton, and this was
the first protestant sermon in that town. He was now a stranger in a
strange country, but he felt, ‘truly the Lord is in this.’ And, as he
journeyed southward to the older settlements, through rude mining camps
and among rough frontiersmen, the people everywhere gave him a cordial
welcome, and every place he went, he was prompt in attending to his
“Master’s business.”
In 1890 he was appointed presiding elder of the new Great Falls
district; in 1892 superintendent of the North Montana Mission; and
“now” (1898) he is presiding elder of the Western district, Montana
conference, with headquarters at Helena.
ROBERT VAUGHN.
Jan. 4, 1898.
AN OLD LETTER.
Those who settled in a new country, and located in a new settlement,
will agree with me, as a rule, that every one was ready to assist
another when in his power to do so; no class nor any of the faction
element existed; all were happy and attended to their own affairs.
Whenever a dance or a church social was given, all were invited to
attend, and, invariably, their presence was a proof of their acceptance.
The early settlements in Montana were of this character, and the small
settlement in the valley of the Sun river was no exception. I remember
when the Benton Record and the River Press, both published at Fort
Benton, made their first appearance. Every family and bachelor in the
settlement subscribed for those papers. Your humble servant, who then
lived in the extreme outskirts of the settlement, was a correspondent
for those journals.
When writing about matters of interest I was always careful to get the
facts and sign my name to the article written.
But for the amusement of myself and the people of the little settlement
(who were one and all my friends), sometimes a story of the following
nature would appear in one or the other of those papers, with a
fictitious name attached to it. At the request of an old settler, who
has one of those stories referred to in his scrap-book, I here give a
copy of the same. It was written in the cold winter of 1880, when the
snow was very deep and many cattle starving:
A STRANGER IN THE LAND.
Being a stranger in the valley and anxious to become acquainted with
the people, I saddled my horse to go to the crossing. It was one day
last month, and, not being accustomed to Montana winters, I soon
discovered that I was not wrapped sufficiently to stand such polar
storms. Coming to a house where lived a German family, I asked if I
could borrow a scarf or something to cover my ears; with the heart of a
liberal soul the German told me to come in, and handed me a shawl.
“Rather cold day,” said I.
“Fery cold; it is durty-dree pelow zero, and I have no beer to give a
stranger; des am awful country,” said he.
I made a new start, feeling very comfortable, and determined to speak
to every one I met, and I did not expect to meet many but strangers,
for Mr. H. and family were the only ones I knew in the neighborhood. As
I was passing the next house, near the road there was a man repairing a
gate, with a fur cap pulled over his ears.
“Good morning,” said I, and he nodded. Stopping my horse, I asked:
“Do you think that it is going to storm?”
“Hey,” said the man at the gate.
“Do you think this cold weather is going to last much longer?”
“What you say?” asked he.
I was getting discouraged, but as a last resort I asked in a loud tone:
“Do you think I had better go?”
“I go tomorrow,” he answered.
Giving my horse the spur, I caught up with an old freighter; he said
that he was making regular trips between Sun River and Fort Benton. I
remarked that it was rather cold weather for freighting.
“Oh, this is nothing,” he exclaimed; “in ’63 I wintered on Snake river,
and when I unyoked the cattle I had to drive a wedge between the two
oxen to get them apart, and at the camp fire I had a long stick holding
my coffeepot in the flames to boil, and it turned cold so sudden that
I had to let go of the stick and rub my nose, being afraid I was going
to freeze it. I ran in the wagon and went to bed without any supper,
and when I got up the next morning the smoke stood like the trunk of an
old dead tree, and the coffeepot was still in the flames, frozen stiff
to the ground; breathing the cold blast that very night it froze all
my teeth, and as I was getting up that morning they dropped out of my
mouth like corn from a patent corn sheller.”
When he told of freezing his teeth I believed him, for he had not a
tooth in his head. I thought I would not say a word to anyone about
cold weather again, and I gave my horse the rein.
Arriving near a large white house to the left of the road, I noticed
smoke coming from the chimney, as if there was a good fire. Tying my
horse to the fence, I went to the door and knocked; a man opened it,
and asked me to come in and get warm. He went out to split some wood,
and, while rubbing my hands before the red hot stove, I noticed milk
pans, churn, etc., and this convinced me that it was a milk ranch. Soon
he came in with some dry wood, and his wife came in from the pantry.
“Can I get a glass of milk to drink,” I asked him.
“I don’t know, ask the old woman,” said he.
“Yes,” said she, “of course you can.”
While drinking it, I asked him again:
“Do you think we are going to have another snow storm?”
“Well, I really don’t know. Ask the old woman, she can tell.”
“I think we are going to get one right away,” said she.
“Are you going to the debate tonight?”
“Well, I really don’t know. Ask the old woman, she can tell you.”
“I don’t think we shall,” said she.
Again I asked: “How many of your cattle have died this winter?”
“Well, I really don’t know. Ask the old woman, she knows.”
“About half of what we had,” she replied.
Just then a troop of boys came running into the room. “Are these your
boys?” said I.
“Don’t know. Ask the old woman, she knows.”
I did not wait to hear her reply. I said I wanted to be at the crossing
before the Benton coach arrived and I put on my hat and walked out.
Half a mile further I met two school girls, a big and a bigger one, and
they looked as if they were very cold. I said very politely: “Young
ladies, I will lend you this shawl; and you can return it to Mr.
Steell’s store whenever convenient.”
“Humph!” replied the biggest girl, “I wouldn’t be found dead in the
woods with that shawl on.”
“I wouldn’t either,” said I, and I went on. Soon I was at Mr. H.’s
house, which is near the road, and as I had an invitation from the
hotelkeeper to attend a ball on the 22d, I thought I would call and ask
Miss Annie to go to the ball with me. I met the old gentleman at the
corner of the house.
“Good evening, Mr. H.,” said I.
“Good evening, Mr. S.,” said he.
“Is Miss Annie at home?”
“Yes, I believe she is, sir.”
“Is she engaged?”
“Is it engaged, ye say, sir? Faith, an’ I can’t tell ye, sir, but she
kissed Mr. Maguire last evening as if she had not seen the loikes ov
him, an’ it’s engaged I believed they are, sir.”
Just then there was a man going by on the road, and I said that I
wanted to speak to him, and I ran through the gate, but I did not want
to speak to anyone at that moment.
I came on, and at the bridge I noticed a sign, “Whoop Up.” I could
not imagine what it meant. Thinking it was a menagerie, I entered. A
man with a bloody nose met me at the door, and another stood in the
opposite corner with a black eye, and both were panting as if exhausted.
“Who owns this place,” I asked the man with the bloody nose.
“A man in Fort Benton owns it, but if you want to know who runs it,
just wait a few minutes until we have one more round to decide the
question.”
But I left in about as much of a hurry as ever. I crossed the bridge,
tied my horse to the hitching post back of the store, and went up the
street. It was growing dark and I was getting discouraged. Passing
a saloon, I heard some loud voices. One man was saying that modern
spiritualism was a humbug, while another argued that it was the
greatest wonder of the age. At one end of the counter there was cheese,
crackers, herring, etc. Seeing all the fellows helping themselves, I
came to the conclusion that it was a free lunch. I commenced eating,
and kept on until I almost made out my supper, when the barkeeper
walked up to me, saying:
“See here, stranger; those eating here are expected to take a drink.”
“I eat for my health; I always take a drink after I eat,” I said.
A while afterwards, as the barkeeper leaned on the counter, I said:
“Now I will take a drink.”
“What will you have, sir,” said he.
“Water,” said I.
I saw him reach for something, and as I passed through the door--bang
came a chair at my heels. I ran for my horse (a beautiful chestnut,
with long mane and tail), but alas! he was not to be found. Where I
had hitched mine there was a bob-tailed horse, surrounded by a band of
starving cattle. I hurried to the other side of the store, looking for
my nag, expecting every minute to see the barkeeper after me with a
shotgun. I jumped over two or three poor cows. The second time I came
in front of the bob-tailed horse, and, to my surprise, discovered that
it was mine. The starving cattle had eaten his tail, and as I came upon
my venerable steed they were chewing the saddle, of which nothing was
left but the tree and a few buckles. I mounted the remains and left the
town.
STRANGER.
Sun River, Mont., Feb. 18, 1880.
* * * * *
The River Press has been published ever since, and is one of the
brightest newspapers in the state; its subscription list is now a
thousand fold larger than it was then. Great changes have taken place
in the Sun river valley since “Stranger” made that trip. A few have
left for other parts; many are still on the old camping ground that was
then almost a barren desert, but now highly cultivated and decorated
with trees and shrubs as beautiful as many of the eastern homes. The
old freighter, the man at the gate, the good mother at the milk ranch
and one of the school girls, and my old friend, Mr. H., have left
what was then a new settlement, and have crossed the great divide and
settled in the “New Jerusalem,” where all good people go and live
forever.
ROBERT VAUGHN.
May 20, 1899.
WARREN C. GILLETTE’S EARLY EXPERIENCES IN MONTANA.
“Graig, Montana, April 16, 1900.
“Robert Vaughn, Esq., Great Falls, Montana.
“Dear Sir: Your kind letter asking me to give you some account of what
I saw and did in the early days of Montana is at hand. I accede to
your request with no little diffidence, but trust it will answer your
purpose.
“I was living in New York City in the spring of 1862, when I received
a letter from James King of Galena, Illinois, stating that a number
of our friends had gone to Salmon river mines, Washington territory,
by steamboat from St. Louis to Fort Benton, and thence overland to
the diggings. He asked me if I would be willing to join him and go by
the next boat, which would leave about the 1st of July. I immediately
replied that I would be glad to go, and would meet him in St. Louis in
time to make arrangements for the trip.
On my arrival in St. Louis, we proceeded to buy a span of mules, wagon
and provisions enough to last us a year. We did not get away until
about the 12th of July. Joseph La Barge was the captain until we
arrived at St. Joseph, where we met the boat Emile, returning from Fort
Benton, where his brother, John La Barge, took his place. We learned
from the passengers who came from up the river that mines had been
discovered near Cottonwood, which is now called Deer Lodge, in this
state, and on account of this news we added to our stock more miners’
supplies. At Sioux City La Barge, Harkness & Co., who owned our boat,
the ‘Shreveport’ (and the Emile), had purchased horses to be taken on
the boat, to be used in freighting goods to their destination, should
they be unable to reach that point by water. These horses were to be
loaded at Yankton, that was several miles up the river. Captain La
Barge kindly gave me permission to put my mules with them and to help
drive the animals from Sioux City to that place.
In making this trip we crossed the Vermillion river, and I was then
deeply impressed with its beauty and the great fertility of its valley.
At Yankton we put the stock on board the steamer. The man who helped
me to drive the horses was a French half-breed by the name of Juneau,
a thorough frontiersman. At Fort Pierre we tied up for several hours.
Major Vaughn was one of the passengers. He was formerly an Indian agent
under President Buchanan, and had with him his Indian wife and child.
Her relatives lived in the vicinity of Fort Pierre. It appears that
the major had purchased at St. Joseph for his wife an elegant silk
gown, brocaded with satin figures. She went on shore for a visit with
her relatives, and with them went on a berrying expedition attired in
this gown. When she returned this garment was a sight to behold, and
the major, using language more forcible than polite, declared that
hereafter she should be clad only in the regulation Indian blanket.
“It being rather late in the season of navigation, we made slow
progress, with frequent delays on sand bars and frequent stops for
wood, at which times passengers readily assisted the roustabouts in
gathering and loading; nevertheless, I remember that we enjoyed the
trip. A day or two before we reached the mouth of the Yellowstone, we
came upon an immense herd of buffalo. They approached the river from
our right in one vast army, reaching as far as we could see, and going
out on the other side after swimming across. Our boat pressed through
this living mass, which quickly closed behind us. The passengers shot
down into this huddling herd until the river was red with blood. Three
were secured and landed on board by the crew. We had some Indians on
board, who, when the buffaloes were being dressed for the boat’s use,
procuring the offal, emptied the grass from the first stomach and ate
the warm, raw tripe with evident relish.
“Nothing of more than ordinary interest occurred until after we passed
Fort Union, near the mouth of the Yellowstone river, for up to this
time we had seen only friendly Indians, but now the captain said we
were in the Sioux country, and a stricter watch was kept when we
tied to the bank at night. One morning, before we had left the bank,
we were aroused by the cry of Indians. They were seen in a bend in
the river a couple of miles below. The captain had a barricade of
boxes made upon the shore and sent a runner up the river to a camp of
friendly Indians for assistance. The Sioux made signals by flashing
the sunlight from their little mirrors from the opposite cliffs. When
the friendly Indians came, they were mounted on slick ponies; the men
had on their war paint and war bonnets, and after a harangue from the
chiefs dashed off to where the hostile Indians had been seen. It was a
fine sight, and looked much like war, but in two or three hours they
returned without any scalps, after driving the Sioux into the hills.
In recognition of their valor, the captain gave them a great feast,
consisting of hard bread, coffee and sugar, with buffalo meat ad
libitum.