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THE SECOND WILLIAM PENN
A true account of incidents that happened along the old Santa Fe Trail
in the Sixties.
BY W.H. RYUS
1913
PREFACE
By Col. Milton Moore
[Illustration: COL. MILTON MOORE.]
You who take the trouble to read these reminiscences of the Santa Fe
Trail may be curious to know how much of them are literally true.
The writer of this preface was intimately acquainted with the author of
this book, and knows that he has not yielded to temptation to draw upon
his imagination for the incidents related herein, but has adhered
strictly to the truth. Truth is, sometimes, "stranger than fiction," and
is an indispensable requisite to accurate history, yet it may sometime
destroy the charm of fiction.
The author of this book had a real and exceptional knowledge of Indian
character and Indian traits, and his genuine tact in trading and
treating with them, and the success which he had in sustaining friendly
relations with them was one of the wonders of the West, and was a
circumstance of much comment by those who had occasion to use the
Santa Fe Trail.
It is small wonder, then, that "Little Billy of the Stage Coach" won for
himself the title of the "Second William Penn."
In the early Sixties, the region through which the Old Trail passed was
an unexplored territory where constant struggles for supremacy between
the Wild Red Man and the hardy White man were carried on.
Many and tragical were the hardships endured by those who attempted to
open up this famous highway and establish a line of communication
between the East and the West. The only method of travel was by odd
freight caravans drawn by oxen or the old-fashioned, lumbering
uncomfortable Concord Stage Coaches drawn by five mules.
The stage coach carried besides its passengers the United States mail
and express.
An escort of United States militia often accompanied the stage coach in
order to protect it against attacks of the Indians at that time when the
plains were invested with the Arapahoes, Comanches, Cheyennes, Kiowas
and other tribes, some of whom were on the warpath, bedecked in war
paint and feathers.
The Indians were often in search of something to satisfy their hunger,
rather than the scalps of the white men. The author of this book won
their confidence and friendship by dividing with them his rations, and
showing them that he was willing to compensate them for the privilege of
traveling through their country. He had so many friendly conferences and
made so many treaties with them while on his trips across the plains
that he came to be called the "Second William Penn."
He came into personal contact with the famous chiefs of the Indian
tribes, and won their good will to such an extent that their behavior
toward him and his passengers was always most excellent.
The author has, in these pages, told of many encounters between the
whites and the Indians that were narrated to him by the Indians. He
holds the Indians blameless for many of the attacks attributed to them,
and calls attention to the Chivington Massacre and the Massacre of the
Nine Mile Ridge, related in the following pages.
He begs the readers not to censure too severely the Indian who simply
pleaded for food with which to satisfy his hunger, and sought to protect
his wigwam from the murderous attacks of unscrupulous white men.
I gladly recommend this tale as sound reading to all who desire to know
the truth concerning the incidents which actually occurred along the Old
Trail, and the real friendly relations which existed between the Indians
and the white men, such as our Author and Kit Carson, who were well
acquainted with their motives and characteristics.
Respectfully submitted,
MILTON MOORE.
"Bathe now in the stream before you, Wash the war-paint from your faces,
Wash the blood-stain from your fingers, Bury your war-clubs and your
weapons, Break the red stone from this quarry, Mould and make it into
Peace Pipes, Take the reeds that grow beside you, Deck them with your
brightest feathers, Smoke the calumet together, And as brothers live
henceforward."
(Hiawatha.)
REMINISCENCE OF THE OLD SANTA FE TRAIL.
BY W. H. RYUS, MAIL AND EXPRESS MESSENGER AND CONDUCTOR.
Introductory
W. H. Ryus, better known as "the Second William Penn" by passengers and
old settlers along the line of the Old Santa Fe Trail because of his
rare and exceptional knowledge of Indian traits and characteristics and
his ability to trade and treat with them so tactfully, was one of the
boy drivers of the stage coach that crossed the plains while the West
was still looked upon as "wild and wooly," and in reality was fraught
with numerous, and oftentimes, murderous dangers.
At the time this story is being recalled, our author is in his
seventy-fourth year, but with a mind as translucent as a sea of glass,
he recalls vividly many incidents growing out of his travels over the
Santa Fe Trail.
Having the same powers of appreciation we all possess, for confidences
reposed in him, he lovingly recalls how his passengers would press him
to know whether he would be the driver or conductor to drive the coach
on their return. Some of these passengers declare that it was really
beautiful to see the adoration many Indians heaped upon the driver,
"Little Billy of the Stage Coach," and they understood from the
overtures of the Indians toward "Billy" that they were safe in his
coach, as long as they remained passive to his instructions, which were
that they allow him to deal with whatever red men they chanced to meet.
Sometimes a band of Indians would follow his coach for miles, protecting
their favorite, as it were, from dangers that might assail him. They
were always peaceable and friendly toward Billy in exchange for his
hospitality and kindness. It was a by-word from Kansas City to Santa Fe
that "Billy" was one boy driver and conductor who gave the Indians
something more than abuse to relate to their squaws around their wigwam
campfires.
The dangerous route was the Long Route, from Fort Larned, Kansas, to
Fort Lyon, Colorado, the distance was two hundred and forty miles with
no stations between. On this route we used two sets of drivers. This
gave one driver a chance to rest a week to recuperate from his long trip
across the "Long Route." A great many of the drivers had nothing but
abuse for the Indians because they were afraid of them. This made the
Indians feel, when they met, that the driver considered him a mortal
foe. However, our author says that had the drivers taken time and
trouble to have made a study of the habits of the Indians, as he had
done, that they could have just as easily aroused their confidence and
secured this Indian protection which he enjoyed.
It was a hard matter to keep these long route drivers because of the
unfriendliness that existed between them and the Indians, yet the Old
Stage Company realized a secureness in Billy Ryus, and knew he would
linger on in their employ, bravely facing the dangers feared by the
other drivers and conductors until such a time as they could employ
other men to take his place.
Within the pages of this book W. Ryus Stanton relates many amusing and
interesting anecdotes which occurred on his stage among his passengers.
From passengers who always wanted to return on his coach he always
parted with a lingering hope that he would be the driver (or conductor,
as the case might be) who would return them safely to their destination.
Passengers were many times "tender-footed," as the Texas Rangers call
the Easterners. Billy soothingly replied to all questions of fear,
soothingly, with ingenuity and policy.
Within Billy's coach there was carried, what seemed to most passengers,
a superfluity of provision. It was his fixed theory that to feed an
Indian was better than to fight one. He showed his passengers the need
of surplus foods, if he had an idea he would be visited by his Red
Friends, who may have been his foes, but for his cunning in devising
entertainment and hospitality for them. The menus of these luncheons
consisted chiefly of buffalo sausage, bacon, venison, coffee and canned
fruits. He carried the sausage in huge ten-gallon camp kettles.
The palace coaches that cross the old trail today pulled by the
smoke-choked engines of the A.T. & Santa Fe R.R. carry no provision for
yelling Comanches, Cheyennes, Arapahoes, etc. They lose no time treating
and trading with the Indians, and are never out of sight of the
miraculous changes exhibited by the advanced hand of civilization.
CHAPTER I.
In 1861 He Starts as Mail Driver.
In the spring of 1861 I went home to Burlingame, Kansas, and went to
work on the farm of O.J. Niles. I had just turned the corner of
twenty-one summers, and I felt that life should have a "turning point"
somewhere, so I took down with the ague. This very ague chanced to be
the "turning point" I was looking for and is herewith related.
Mr. Veil of the firm of Barnum, Veil & Vickeroy, who had the mail
contract from Kansas City, Missouri, to Santa Fe, New Mexico, stopped
over at Burlingame, Kansas, and there met Mr. Niles, the man for whom I
was working. Mr. Veil told Mr. Niles that he wanted a farmer boy to
drive on the Long Route because the stage drivers he had were cowards
and not satisfactory. Niles told him that he had a farm hand, but, he
added, "he won't go, because he has the ague." "Oh, well," Mr. Veil
replied, "that's no matter, I know how to cure him; I'll tell him how to
cure himself." So they sent for me, and Veil told me how to get rid of
the ague. He said, "you dig a ditch in the ground a foot deep, and strip
off your clothing and bury yourself, leaving only your head uncovered,
and sleep all night in the Mother Earth." I did it. I found the earth
perfectly dry and warm. I had not much more than engulfed myself when
the influences of the dry soil began to draw all the poison out of my
body, and I had, as I most firmly believe, the most peaceful and
delightful slumber I had ever experienced since infancy. From that day
until the present time I have never had another chill. I gained 40
pounds of flesh in the next three months. I have known consumption to be
cured with the same "ague cure" on the plains.
The distance from Kansas City to Fort Larned, Kansas, is three hundred
miles. The distance from Fort Larned to Fort Lyon, New Mexico, is two
hundred and forty miles, and from Fort Lyon to Fort Union it is one
hundred and eighty miles, from Fort Union to Santa Fe it is one hundred
and eighty miles, making nine hundred miles for the entire trip.
The drive from Fort Larned, Kansas, to Fort Lyon, Colorado, was known as
the Long Route, being 240 miles, with no stations between; but across
that treacherous plain of the Santa Fe Trail I made the trip sixty-five
times in four years, driving one set of mules the entire distance,
camping out and sleeping on the ground.
The trips were made with five mules to each coach, and we took two mules
with us to supply the place of any mule that happened to get sick.
Sometimes, strange to note, going on the down grade from Fort Lyon to
Fort Larned we would have a sick mule, but this never occurred on the
up-grade to Fort Lyon. When a mule was sick we left it at Little Coon or
Big Coon Creek. Little Coon Creek is forty miles from Fort Larned. When
Fort Larned was my headquarters I always went after my sick mules, if I
had any, the next day and brought them in. Fort Larned was the regular
built fort with a thousand soldiers, a settlers' store, and the Stage
Company's station with its large corral of mules and horses; it was the
headquarters of the Long Route to furnish the whole route to Santa Fe.
If the sick mules happened to be at Little Coon Creek, the round trip
would be eighty miles, and it would sometimes take me and my little race
pony several days to make the trip, owing of course to the condition of
the sick mule and its ability to travel. Camping out on these trips, I
used my saddle for a pillow while my spread upon the ground served as my
bed. I would tie the lariat to the saddle so the pony would graze and
not get too far away from our "stomping ground." If the wolves came
around, which they often did, the pony would come whinnying to me, stamp
on the ground and wake me up. I usually scared them away by shooting
over their heads.
When we had several passengers, and wished to make time, we took two
coaches with two drivers and one conductor who had charge over the two
coaches. There was the baggage of several passengers to carry, bedding
for ourselves, provision for the whole crew and feed for the mules. We
usually made from fifty to sixty miles a day, owing to the condition of
the road and weather.
Sometimes coyotes and mountain wolves would molest us. The mountain wolf
is about as large as a young calf, and at times they are very dangerous
and blood-thirsty. At one time when my brother, C.W. Ryus, was with me
and we were going into Fort Larned with a sick mule, five of those large
and vicious mountain wolves suddenly appeared as we were driving along
the road. They stood until we got within a hundred feet of them. I
cracked my whip and we shot over their heads. They parted, three going
on one side of the road and two on the other. They went a short distance
and turned around and faced us. We thought we were in for a battle, and
again we fired over their heads, and, greatly to our satisfaction and
peace of mind, they fled. We were glad to be left alone and were willing
to leave them unharmed. Had we used our guns to draw blood it is
possible that they would have given chase and devoured us. We would not
have been in the least alarmed had we advanced upon five Indians, for we
would have invited them to join us and go to the station with us and get
something to eat. Not so with the wolves, they might have exacted our
bodies before they were satisfied with the repast.
I was never afraid of Indians, so hardly ever took an escort. My
greatest fear was that some white man would get frightened at the sight
of the reds and kill one of their band, and I knew if that should happen
we were in grave danger. I always tried to impress my passengers that to
protect ourselves we must guard against the desire to shoot an Indian.
Not knowing how to handle an Indian would work chaos among us. The
Indians did not like the idea of the white race being afraid of
them--the trains amassing themselves together seemed to mean to the
Indian that they were preparing for battle against them, and that made
them feel like "preparing for war in time of peace."
At one time on my route I remember as we were passing Fort Dodge,
Kansas, a fort on the Arkansas River, there was a caravan of wagons
having trouble with the Indians. I had an escort of some ten or fifteen
soldiers, but we passed through the fray with no trouble or
hair-splitting excitement.