that half the Republicans in St. Paul might be lying in wait to capture
him, so he did not enter the town directly, but went to Fort Snelling,
and left the returns with an officer of the army, and then proceeded to
St. Paul. When we explained to him that no one but Rice, Kittson,
Sweetzer and myself knew anything about the matter, he was relieved, but
still cautious. He waited for a few days, and then proposed to a lady to
take a ride with him to Fort Snelling. When they started home, he gave
her a bundle and asked her to care for it while he drove, which she
unsuspectingly did, and that is the way the Pembina returns of
Minnesota's first state election reached the capital. It is needless to
say how many votes they represented, but only to announce that the
election went Democratic.
Whether Tyson had any idea of doing what we suspected him of, I never
discovered, but if that was his purpose, he had a long ride for nothing,
and as our scheme terminated so successfully, I am willing to acquit him
of the charge.
A FRONTIER STORY WHICH CONTAINS A ROBBERY, TWO DESERTIONS,
A CAPTURE AND A SUICIDE.
In 1856 I was United States Indian agent for the Sioux. My agencies were
at Redwood, about thirteen miles above Fort Ridgely, and at Yellow
Medicine, on a river of that name, emptying into the Minnesota about
fifty miles above the fort. Under the treaties with these Indians the
government paid them large sums of money and great quantities of goods,
semi-annually, at the agencies. Up to a short time before the event
which I am about to relate these payments were made by the agent, but,
for some reason best known to the government, the making of the payment
was turned over to the superintendent of Indian affairs having charge of
the tribes. The manner of making these payments before the change was
this: I would receive from the superintendent, at St. Paul, the money,
in silver and gold (this being long before the days of greenbacks),
amounting to a full wagon load, and take it up to the agencies, while
the goods would be delivered by the contractors in steamboats, a census
of the Indians would be taken, and the money and goods equally divided
among them.
After this duty was withdrawn from the agents and imposed upon the
superintendents, of course all responsibility for the money and goods
was shifted from the former and laid upon the latter, which was to me a
great relief, as I had transported many wagon loads of specie from St.
Paul to the agencies without guard, and at great personal and financial
risk. A payment was due early in July, 1857, and the superintendent had
brought the money as far as Fort Ridgely. Arriving at that point, news
came of much excitement among the Indians at the agencies, which was not
at all unusual, as thousands of savage fellows used to come in from the
Missouri river country, and make trouble for our tribes about payment
time, and the superintendent decided it was prudent to leave the money
at Fort Ridgely until matters quieted down. There was no vault or other
safe place in which to deposit the money at the fort, so it was placed
in a room occupied by the quartermaster's clerk, a Frenchman, an
enlisted man, and he, with another soldier, a German, who was the post
baker, were put in charge of it. This Frenchman had been selected from
the ranks of Captain Sully's company and made quartermaster's clerk on
account of his superior education, his excellent penmanship and his good
character. I always have thought he was some unfortunate young
gentleman, serving under an assumed name. The money was all in stout
wooden mint boxes, holding each $1,000 in silver, and in gold about
$25,000 or more, there being usually one or two boxes of gold. The boxes
were spread on the floor of the room, and the men slept on them.
The constitutional convention to frame the organic law for the proposed
State of Minnesota had been called to convene in St. Paul, on the
thirteenth day of July, 1857, and the people of the Minnesota valley had
done me the honor to elect me a member of it. I had delayed starting for
St. Paul until a day or two before the meeting of the convention, and
having heard rumors that there would be trouble in organizing it, I felt
very anxious to be there on the opening day. The only mode of
transportation, except the river, in those days, was the little
canvas-covered stages of Messrs. M. O. Walker & Co., which would hold
four inside comfortably, and six on a pinch. When the down stage reached
Traverse des Sioux, on the morning of the 11th of July, it was full;
that is, there were five inside, three on the back seat, and two on the
front, and one man on the seat with the driver. I insisted strenuously
on going, and said I would ride in the boot rather than not go at all,
my insistence, of course, having reference to my desire to be at the
opening of the convention. I was admitted, and took my place on the
front seat, with my back to the driver, and my knees interlocked with
those of the passenger on the back seat who faced me. At this time I had
heard nothing of what had happened at the fort. The fact was that the
two men who had been placed in charge of the money had opened one of the
boxes of gold, taken out a bag containing $5,000 in quarter eagles, and
sealed it up again. When the superintendent sent down for his money, and
it was loaded into the wagon, the two soldiers immediately deserted,
which, of course, excited the suspicions of the officers. A courier was
at once dispatched to the agency to see if the money was all right, and
the theft was soon discovered. The superintendent, who was then Major
Cullen, had handbills struck off, giving the description of the
deserters, and offering $600 for their capture and the return of the
money. Couriers were dispatched in all directions to effect their
arrest, and one of the handbills reached Henderson, which was the county
seat of Sibley county, some twenty miles down the river from the point
at which I took the stage. A deputy sheriff of that county had started
out to hunt the thieves and secure the reward, carrying one of the
handbills with him, and had proceeded up the river as far as Le Sueur,
about half way between Traverse des Sioux and Henderson.
It is well to state here that the stages carried the mails, and always
stopped at the post towns long enough to deliver the incoming and
receive the outgoing mails, which afforded time for a bit of gossip, a
drink, and a stretch of the legs. There were two postoffices in Le
Sueur, in upper town and lower town, about a mile and a half apart. As
soon as the stage stopped at upper town, the deputy sheriff handed me
the handbill through the window, announcing the theft and describing the
thieves. I read it right in the face of my vis-a-vis, and after
congratulating myself that I had no responsibility for the lost money, I
remarked to the sheriff: "Of course, you don't expect to find these
fellows on the main thoroughfare. They are probably now going down the
Missouri in a canoe." Nothing more occurred until we arrived at the
lower town postoffice, where we again stopped to change the mails.
Let me here state that the man in front of me was the Frenchman, and the
man on the front seat with the driver was the German, the deserting
thieves. The Frenchman was slight of build, but the German was a
powerful fellow, and had in his hand a double-barrelled shotgun. I, of
course, had no idea of their identity at this time; but they, and
especially the Frenchman, knew me perfectly well, having frequently seen
me about the garrison. They had construed my anxiety to go on the stage
into the belief that I knew them, and was after them, and had made my
remark to the sheriff as a mere blind connected with some other scheme
for their capture. It must have been a trying ordeal for the man in
front of me, who was evidently watching my every move, and feeling the
weight of his guilt, supposed I knew all about it.
While we were waiting the change of mail at Lower Le Sueur, the deputy
sheriff asked me to get out of the stage, and said to me: "Major [I was
called major in those days], had we not better take another look at
those fellows in the stage? They are going out of the country when
everybody is coming in. It looks to me suspicious." I agreed with him,
and took another look. I at once discovered that they were both dressed
from head to foot in new slop-shop clothes, indicating the necessity for
an entire change of costume, and I concluded from this clue there were
sufficient grounds to suspect them. So the deputy sheriff said: "You
hold the stage ten or fifteen minutes, and I'll go to Henderson, and
take out a warrant, and arrest them on the arrival of the stage; so
that, if we are mistaken, no particular harm will be done." He started
on. I got my hand-bag out of the boot, and buckled on my six-shooter,
all of which was seen by the thieves, who must have fully understood the
program; at least, such must have been the case with the Frenchman, as
subsequent events led me to doubt whether the German was a participant
in the theft, or more than a mere deserter. I had a sense of uneasiness
about the double-barrelled shotgun carried by the German, but I thought
I could handle the other man. We started, and, much to my relief, when
we reached the ferry over the river, the German fired one barrel of his
gun at a pigeon, and snapped several caps on the other, which refused to
go off. As we approached Henderson, quite a crowd had gathered at the
hotel to see the arrest, and just as the stage swung up to the sidewalk,
the Frenchman took out of his pocket a small penknife, the largest blade
of which could not have been over four inches long. He opened it so
quietly that it did not excite my apprehensions in the least, although I
had my right hand on my six-shooter, intending to draw and cover him the
moment the stage stopped. He made a desperate lunge at his breast with
the knife, and handing me a carpetbag which lay on his lap, he said,
"The money is all in this bag, sir," just as if we had been talking the
whole matter over. I, fearing that he might strike at me with the knife,
drew my revolver and struck him sharply over the knuckles, making the
knife fly out of the window, and seizing him by the throat with my left
hand, I covered him with my pistol. The stage stopped. Retaining my hold
on him, and still covering him with my pistol, we got out of the stage,
on the sidewalk. He wavered for a second, and fell dead. He had put the
knife an inch into his heart. I found in a belt on his body, and in the
bag $5,320 in gold, which I deposited in the United States land office,
at Henderson, subject to the order of Major Cullen, who got it all in
good time. The Frenchman had in his pocket some letters from a lady in
Strasburg, written in French, conveying some very tender sentiments. I
never thought he was a bad man, but had yielded, as many do, to a strong
temptation, and had decided to die rather than be captured. It was not
more than twenty minutes before we were on our way to St. Paul. As no
evidence connected the German with the theft, he was sent back simply as
a deserter.
A curious question arose as to the reward. Major Cullen insisted on
giving it to me. I knew very well that, had it not been for the superior
detective sagacity of the deputy, the thieves would never have been
caught, so I refused it, as I would have done under any circumstances.
Then the sheriff claimed it, and finally the major left its disposition
to me, and I divided it between the sheriff and the deputy, partly
because I thought it just, and partly to keep the peace in the sheriff's
official family. Where the extra $320 came from, or where it went, I
never knew nor cared.
[Illustration]
THE PONY EXPRESS.
As western settlement progressed after the purchase of the Louisiana
territory from France in 1803, it gradually extended up the west side of
the Mississippi, until the State of Missouri was admitted into the
Union, in 1820, which was followed by the States of Iowa and Minnesota,
along the line of the Mississippi, and Kansas and Nebraska, on the
Missouri. The Mexican War occurred in 1846, and as one of its fruits
California was ceded to the United States, and was admitted to the Union
in 1850. The territory which now composes the States of Washington,
Oregon and Idaho was finally determined to belong to our country by the
treaty with Great Britain, which was signed July 17, 1846, fixing the
boundary line between us and the British possessions at the forty-ninth
parallel of north latitude. These extreme western acquisitions gave us
an immense coast line on the Pacific Ocean, leaving a stretch of country
between our Pacific and central possessions, on the Missouri, of
considerably over two thousand miles in extent, which was uninhabited by
whites, and composed the hunting grounds of many savage tribes of
Indians and the pasture ranges of countless herds of buffalo. This vast
area of country was practically unknown and unexplored, although it had
been crossed by the expeditions of Lewis and Clark, in 1805-1806, John
Jacob Astor in 1811, Captain Bonneville in 1832, Marcus Whitman in 1836,
and John C. Fremont in 1843, to which sources of information may be
added the prejudiced reports of the Hudson Bay Company.
When California was ceded to us by Mexico, very little was thought of it
as an acquisition to our possessions. It was looked upon as a country
out of which a small trade in hides and tallow might grow, but nothing
more. I have heard it denounced on the floor of the house of
representatives, in Washington, by some of the wisest statesmen of the
day, as a bear garden, unfit for the use of civilized man; but prophets
usually make bad work of matters about which they know absolutely
nothing, which was the case with California in 1848. However,
adventurous spirits soon found their way there, as they have always done
in Western America, and in 1848 or 1849 gold was found accidentally by
Captain Sutter, in digging a mill-race on his ranch, which discovery at
once settled the status and fortunes of California. The news soon
reached the States, and spread like a prairie fire on a windy day. All
the subsequent gold excitements of Frazier river, down to and including
the Klondike, have been insignificant in comparison. I was in New York
at the time, and used to sit on the East river wharves, and see the
ships sailing away for distant California with an insatiable boyish
longing to join in the procession.
There was no way of reaching the promised land except by a voyage around
Cape Horn or an overland trip from western Missouri across the great
American desert, the Rocky and Sierra Nevada ranges of mountains, either
of which routes necessitated a weary and dangerous trip of nine months'
duration. The usual plan adopted in the East was to form a company of
about one hundred or more men, calculate the probable expense to each,
and divide it, purchase an old whaling ship, fit her up with bunks and
cooking appliances, and get an outfit and sail. Of course, there was
nothing involved in the enterprise but the departure, the voyage and the
arrival at San Francisco. No steamer had ever crossed the ocean at this
time, and all navigation was done in sailing ships. So great was the
rush that a scarcity of ships was soon felt. I remember distinctly on
one occasion, when an old played-out vessel, purchased by a party which
proposed to take out a printing press and start the first newspaper, was
seized by the maritime authorities and condemned as unseaworthy just as
she was leaving port. The next morning she was gone, and made one of the
quickest and most successful voyages of the emigration. It is a curious
fact that, out of all the ships that enlisted in this hazardous
enterprise, not one was lost or seriously damaged.
The overland route involved more dangers and hardships than the one by
sea. Many people died on the way from exhaustion and disease, and many
were killed by the Indians, but the emigration never ceased, or even
lessened, from these reasons. I have followed the trails made by these
emigrants in the Sierra Nevadas, and it seemed almost impossible that
animals could have climbed the precipitous mountain slopes they
encountered. These hardships, however, did not go unrewarded, because to
enjoy the distinction of being a "Forty-niner" was ever afterwards a
badge of nobility on the Pacific Coast.
It was not long, under this vast influx of immigration, before
California became a well settled state, and its business relations with
the rest of the country, or as it was then called, "The States," became
very extensive and important, and the difficulty of intercommunication
was seriously felt. There were no telegraphs and no railroads, and no
way for business men to correspond with each other except across a
continent on wheels or around a continent by sea. What was to be done?
It did not take the genius of American enterprise long to solve the
problem. The overland immigration and its incidents had developed a
class of men skilled in horsemanship, Indian fighting, and all the
accomplishments that attend the latter, such as courage, wary
intelligence, and a peculiar sagacity in trailing and scouting, only
learned by intercourse with wild animals and wild men. Such men, for
instance, as Col. Wm. Cody, now celebrated as "Buffalo Bill," and Robert
Haslam, distinguished as "Pony Bob," are its best representatives. This
class of men much resembled the rough riders of to-day, and could be
relied upon for any enterprise that involved adventure, courage and
endurance. At the same time, the country was not lacking in a higher
degree of intellect which could conceive a project that would call into
play the utmost ability of this class of men.
California had been, and I think was, in 1860, represented in the senate
of the United States by Senator Guin, who was associated with Alexander
Majors and Daniel E. Phelps in transportation matters. They conceived
the project of reducing the time between the Pacific Coast and the
States by the establishment of an express, from St. Joseph, on the
Missouri river, to Sacramento in California, a distance of about two
thousand miles, which was to carry special business mails, together with
light and valuable express matter, by means of ponies, ridden by young
men rapidly for short distances, between the two points. Of course, this
scheme involved an immense expenditure for stations all along the route,
horses and men to ride them, and all other elements that would
necessarily enter into the scheme. The matter was discussed fully at
both ends of the route, and found many advocates and much opposition.
The most experienced plainsmen and mountaineers pronounced it
impracticable, on account of the dangers to be met with, and the
opinion was expressed that no package risked on this line would ever
reach its destination, and that all the riders would be murdered before
a test could be made. Sense and experience seemed to uphold these views.
It must be remembered that the whole distance was a wilderness of desert
and mountain ranges, little known, and infested with the most savage
Indian tribes on the continent, the relations of which with the whites
were either unsettled or hostile. But, nothing daunted, the projectors
decided to carry out their design, win or lose. They purchased six
hundred Texas bronchos, built all the necessary stations, employed all
the men required to operate and defend them, and secured seventy-five
riders from the adventurous men found on the borders. The wages paid the
riders were from $125 to $150 a month, with rations, and singular as it
may seem to people of to-day, these positions were much sought for.
Danger among this class of men has an irresistible fascination, and
writing about it recalls an incident which verifies the assertion fully.
When I lived in Carson City, Nev., the office of sheriff of Ormsby
county, in which Carson was situated, was the most coveted position in
the gift of the people, and it was well known that there never was an
incumbent of it who had not died in his boots.
The whole arrangement was perfected with western rapidity, and the first
pony started from St. Joseph in Missouri on the third day of April,
1860. On the same day and hour the western pony started from Sacramento
in California. The distance between the stations was about forty miles,
and was ridden in the shortest time possible. Two minutes were allowed
for refreshments and change of horses. Each rider carried about ten
pounds, and the freight charged for the full distance was five dollars
an ounce. The line was maintained successfully for about two years,
without any interruption more serious than the occasional killing of a
rider by the Indians, when, in June, 1862, the first transcontinental
telegraph went into operation, and the pony express, being no longer
profitable, yielded, as many other things have since, to the
all-conquering invader, electricity.
The first pony carried from the president of the United States a
congratulatory message to the governor of California. The best time ever
made between the two extreme points was when the last message of
President Buchanan reached Sacramento in eight and one-half days from
Washington. It seems almost incredible that such time could have been
made with animals, when we reflect that the first expedition sent out by
Mr. Astor, was eleven months in crossing the continent.
The pony express was a success financially to its projectors, and
satisfied the hungering of the people for news from points so distant
from each other, and immensely facilitated the transaction of business;
but, in my opinion, it was most important in demonstrating that the
western American never shrinks from encountering and overcoming
obstacles that to most people would seem insurmountable.
KISSING DAY.
The Sioux Indian is an exceptionally fine specimen of physical manhood.
His whole method of life tends to this result. He lives in the open air.
He may be said to be born with arms in his hands. From the moment he is
old enough to draw a bowstring, he commences warfare on birds and small
animals. As he advances to manhood, he becomes familiar with the use of
firearms, and extends his warfare to the buffalo and the larger animals.
He rides on horseback from infancy, and excels as a daring horseman. He
goes on the warpath when half-grown, and learns strategy from the wolf
and the panther. He is a meat eater, which diet conduces to the growth
of a lean, muscular, athletic frame, and a bold and highly spirited
temperament. He is taught to spurn labor of any kind as unmanly, and
only fit for women. His life occupation is, in the language of the old
school histories and geographies, "hunting, fishing and war," in each
and all of which accomplishments he becomes surpassingly expert.
I attribute the superiority of the Sioux over many other tribes to their
meat diet and their method of transportation--the horse. This
peculiarity has been noticed by travellers and historians for many
years. There is an old and true adage which says, "We are what we eat."
Washington Irving, in his story of "Astoria," says in regard to this
subject:
"The effect of different modes of life upon the human frame and
human character is strikingly instanced in the contrast between
the hunting Indians of the prairies and the piscatory Indians of
the sea coast. The former, continually on horseback, scouring
the plains, gaining their food by hardy exercise, and subsisting
chiefly on flesh, are generally sinewy, tall, meagre, but well
formed and of bold and fierce deportment. The latter, lounging
about the river banks, or squatting or curved up in their
canoes, are generally low in stature, ill-shaped, with crooked
legs, thick ankles, and broad flat feet. They are inferior also
in muscular power and activity, and in game qualities and
appearance, to their hard-riding brethren of the prairies."
The general habits of the Sioux warrior tend to make him lordly, proud,
and somewhat taciturn and morose, although he is not without a strong
sense of humor. He is a good husband and indulgent father, but not at
all demonstrative in his affections. Very little billing and cooing is
noticeable among the nearest relations, and none between lovers. A kiss
is regarded more as a ceremony than an endearment.
In the natural and savage state of these people, they counted time by
moons and seasons, having no division of years, and, of course, knew
nothing of our red letter days of Christmas or New Year's,--but after
the advent of the Christian missionaries among them, they were taught to
understand the meaning of New Year's day, and to recognize its arrival,
and to distinguish it they called it "Kissing Day," everybody being
expected to bestow a kiss upon his or her friends in honor of the day.