Lucien Maxwell and Kit Carson Take Sheep to California. A Synopsis of
the Life of Mr. Maxwell, a Rich Ranchman.
Lucien B. Maxwell was a thoroughbred Northerner, having first opened his
eyes in Illinois. He came to New Mexico just prior to the acquisition of
the territory by the United States prior to the granting of the ranch
then known as the Beaubien Grant. He was in the employ as hunter and
trapper for the American Fur Company.
The ranch, known as the Beaubien Grant, was one of the most interesting
and picturesque ranches in all New Mexico and contained nearly two
million acres of ground, traversed by the Old Trail.
Lucien Maxwell married a daughter of Carlos Beaubien. Interested in this
large ranch with him was a Mr. Miranda. After the death of his
father-in-law Mr. Maxwell bought all the interest of Miranda and became
the largest land owner in the United States.
The arable acres of this large estate in the broad and fertile valleys
were farmed by native Mexicans. The system existing in the territory at
that time was the system of peonage. Lucien Maxwell was a good master,
however, and employed about five or six hundred men.
Maxwell's house was a veritable palace compared with the usual style and
architecture of that time and country. It was built on the old Southern
style, large and roomy. It was the hospitable mansion of the traveling
public, and I have never known or heard of Mr. Maxwell ever charging a
cent for a meal's victuals or a night's lodging under his roof. The
grant ran from the line of Colorado on the Raton mountains sixty miles
south and took in the little town of Maxwell on the Cimarron river. The
place is now known as Springer, New Mexico.
In the yard at the Maxwell Palace, as we will call his house, was an old
brass cannon, about which we may speak later on. He had a grist mill, a
sutler's store, wagon repair shop and a trading post for the Indians.
Besides his wife, a Mexican woman, Mr. Maxwell had a nice little girl
eight years old, whom he sent to St. Louis with some friends to go to
school and to learn how to become a "high-bred" lady. In the fall of
1864 on one of my trips to Santa Fe I met Miss Maxwell, then a young
lady about sixteen years old, and took her to her father's house in New
Mexico. As we were crossing the Long Route I asked her if she spoke the
Mexican language. She told me that she had forgotten every word of it.
Everything at the Maxwell ranch had on its holiday finery in
anticipation of the arrival of this young lady and Mrs. Maxwell came to
meet the coach that bore her beloved child. It was one of the most
touching incidents that ever came up in my life, before or since. The
mother reached the coach first and had the girl in her arms, crying and
laughing over her, talking the Mexican language to her, but the girl
never understood one word her mother was saying and the mother was at an
equal loss to know what the daughter spoke to her. At last Mr. Maxwell
greeted his daughter who had grown so much that he could hardly realize
that she was his little girl he had sent to the states to receive the
benefits of education and became at once interpreter between mother
and daughter.
One year later at Fort Union I met Miss Maxwell and talked with her. She
told me she had mastered the Mexican language and was a fine horsewoman.
In the year of 1853 Mr. Maxwell and Kit Carson, who was a favorite
friend of Mr. Maxwell and not an unfrequent visitor at his place, went
to California with a drove of sheep. They took the old Oregon trail by
way of Salt Lake, Utah, and arrived in California some four months
later, where they sold their sheep to the miners at a very large price.
As I remember the sum, I think it was in the neighborhood of $100,000.
They met ill luck on their return. They thought they could return
together without being approached by robbers. However, they had been
closely watched and their intentions were pretty well known to a bold
band of robbers then plying between the mines of California and New
Mexico. After they had reached the Old Oregon Trail they were held up
and robbed of all they carried. However, the robbers accommodated them
by giving back their horses, saddles and bridles and enough money for
them to make their return home.
During my travels across the plains I do not believe that for a distance
of forty-five miles I was ever out of sight of the herds--cattle,
horses, goats, sheep, etc.--belonging to Mr. Maxwell.
A few weeks after Maxwell and Kit Carson were robbed on the Old Oregon
Trail they got together two other herds of sheep and went again to
California, taking every precaution against the attack of robbers. This
time Kit Carson went the northern route and Lucien Maxwell took the
southern route, arriving in California about seven days apart. They
decided to be strangers during their sojourn in the California town.
Putting up at different camps they disposed of their sheep and made an
appointment to come together again something like a hundred miles
distant, going west toward the Pacific ocean. By these means they hoped
to elude the vigilant eye of robbers and did get home without trouble.
Mr. Maxwell was one of the most generous men I ever knew. His table was
daily set for at least thirty guests. Sometimes his guests were invited,
but usually they were those whose presence was forced upon him by reason
of his palatial residence, rightfully called the "Manor House," which
stood upon the plateau at the foot of the Rocky mountains. Our stage
coaches were frequently water bound at Maxwell's, and our passengers
were treated like old and valued friends of the host, who, by the way,
was fond of cards. Poker and seven-up were his favorite. However, he
seldom ever played cards with other than personal friends. He often
loaned money to his friends to "stake" with $500 or $1000 if needed.
Some of the rooms in Maxwell's house were furnished as lavishly as were
the homes of English noblemen, while other rooms were devoid of
everything except a table for card playing, chairs and pipe racks.
There was one room in Maxwell's house which might be called his "den,"
however not very applicable. This room had two fireplaces built
diagonally across opposite corners and contained a couple of tables,
chairs and an old bureau where Maxwell kept several thousand dollars in
an unlocked drawer. The doors of this room were never locked and most
every one who came to this house knew that Maxwell kept large sums of
money in the "bureau drawer," but no one ever thought of molesting it,
or if they did, never did it. A man once asked Mr. Maxwell if he
considered his unique depository very secure. His answer was, "God help
the man who attempted to rob me and I knew him!" In this room Maxwell
received his friends, transacted business, allowed the Indian chiefs to
sit by the fire or to sleep wrapped in blankets on the hard wood floor
or to interchange ideas in their sign language with his visitors who
would sit up all night through, fascinated by the Indian guests. If Kit
Carson happened to be at the Maxwell ranch his bed was always on the
floor of this very room and invariably had several Indian chiefs in the
room with him. The Indians loved Kit Carson and liked to see him victor
over the games at the card table.
Although Lucien Maxwell was a northerner, Mrs. Maxwell was a Mexican and
with all the Mexican etiquette presided over her house. The dining rooms
and kitchen were detached from the main house. One of the latter for the
male portion of their retinue and guests of that sex and another for the
women members. It was a rare thing to see a woman about the Maxwell
premises, though there were many. Occasionally one would hear the quick
rustle or get a hurried view of a petticoat (rebosa) as its wearer
appeared for an instant before an open door. The kitchen was presided
over by dark-faced maidens bossed by experienced old cronies. Women were
not allowed in the dining rooms during meal hours.
The dining tables were profuse with solid silver table-service. The
table cloths were of the finest woven flosses. At one time when I was
there Maxwell took me to the "loom shed" where he had two Indian women
at work on a blanket. The floss and silk the women had woven into the
blanket cost him $100 and the women had worked on it one year. It was
strictly waterproof. Water could not penetrate it in any way, shape,
form or fashion.
Maxwell was a great lover of horse-racing and liked to travel over the
country, his equipages comprising anything from a two-wheeled buck-board
to a fine coach and even down to our rambling Concord stages. He was a
reckless horseman and driver.
After the close of the war an English syndicate claiming to own a large
tract of land in southeastern New Mexico called the Rebosca redunda. He
came to see Mr. Maxwell and instituted a trade with him. Trading him the
"Rebosca Redunda" for his "Beaubien Grant," thereby swindling Mr.
Maxwell out of his fortune. After Mr. Maxwell moved to this place he
found he had bought a bad title and instituted a lawsuit in ejectment,
but was unsuccessful and died a poor man.
Once during the month of October in the year of 1864, while en route to
Kansas City from the old Mexican capitol, I stopped at Maxwell's ranch
for lunch.
Mr. Maxwell came out to where I was busy with the coach and told me he
wanted me to carry a little package of money to Kansas City for him and
deliver it to the Wells-Fargo Express Company to express to St. Louis.
I told him I would take it, but I said, "How much do you want me to
take?" He told me he wanted me to take $52,000. I told him the company
would not like for me to put it in the safe unless it was expressed, but
he said he didn't want to express it. "All right," I said, "unless we
are held up and robbed I will deliver the money to Wells-Fargo Express
Company." "Now," I said, "in what shape is the money?" He pointed to an
old black satchel sitting on a chair and said, "There is the wallet." I
told him to wait until I went into dinner with the passengers, then for
him to go out there and take the satchel and put it in the front boot,
then pull a mail sack or two up over it and on top of that throw my
blankets and buffalo robes which lay on the seat on top of the mail
sacks, then go away and let it alone. Do not let any one see you
do this.
Let me say that Maxwell's ranch was headquarters of the Ute agency which
was established a long time prior to my traveling through there. A
company of cavalry was detailed by the Government to camp there to
impress the plains tribes who roamed the Santa Fe Trail east of the
Raton range. The Ute tribe was very fond of Maxwell and looked up to him
as children look up to their father.
One old Indian watched Maxwell put the money in the boot of the stage,
and after he had left to obey my instructions this old Indian who would
have gone through the "firy furnace" for Lucien Maxwell, stood guard
over the stage. I did not know it at that time, but the Indian
afterwards asked me how I made it in? When I came back to the coach I
laid the buffalo robes to one side, then I laid the mail bags to one
side and put the "wallet" as Mr. Maxwell called the old black satchel,
right in the bottom of the boot and laid one mail bag by the side and
laid an old blanket over both these, then piled on the balance of the
mail bags and lastly my buffalo robes. I usually slept during the day
after I took this money. My driver did not even know I had it. At night
I slept right there under the driver's seat in the boot of the coach. At
night I rode, before we quit driving for our rest, on the seat of the
boot with my brace of pistols between me and the driver.
Within about three miles of Willow Springs, Kansas, a stage station,
twenty-five miles west of Council Grove, I discovered twenty-five horses
hitched to the rack. There was no retreat, so I had to drive right on
in. Just as we drove up twenty-five men came out of the settlers' store
and saloon and mounted.
One passenger on my coach was acquainted with every man of them. They
were, however, true to my suspicions, a band of the notorious Quantrell
gang, the very ones who had made the raid on Lawrence and killed so many
people after robbing them. My passenger walked up to the gang and said,
"Come on, boys, let's all have a drink before you go." They all returned
with my passenger and drank, but I told the driver I did not want to
leave the coach and for him to grease it and I would fool around about
that so as to dispel suspicion that I was guarding my coach. Before we
were through with the coach the men came back and in my presence asked
the passenger if he believed the coach was worth robbing. "No," he said,
"I have not seen a sign of money." I told the boys that it wasn't worth
robbing, that there was not more than $10 in the safe and that it was
mine. I told him I didn't have much of a haul in the safe, but I said,
"Here's the key, you can go through it if you want to and satisfy
yourself." I laughed and talked with the balance of the boys as if
nothing unusual was taking place. One of the gang took the little old
iron safe, which was about eighteen inches square and weighing about 150
to 200 pounds, and put it on the seat of the coach and unlocked it. I
had it literally stuffed full of way bills, letters and such other
plunder, together with a little wallet of mine containing $10. The
robber took out the ten dollars and held it up, saying, "Is this what
you referred to, conductor?" I told him that it was. "Well," says he, "I
will not take that, it is not tempting enough." I thanked the
accommodating robber in my nicest way for having left me money to buy a
few dinners with after I got to Kansas City, and they left us. I was
fairly bursting with satisfaction. No one on the stage knew that I had
saved the $52,000 of Lucien Maxwell's. However, boy like, just before we
rolled into Kansas City I told the passengers about the money.
When we at last had gained Kansas City one of the passengers told Mr.
Barnum about the escapade with the robbers and my success in maintaining
a "bold front" and the "gold dust." Mr. Barnum grunted and said, "Oh,
well, Billy is one of our conductors that is so stubborn that he has to
have everything his own way." Then, he added, "Did you say he gave his
safe keys to the robbers?" "Yes," the passenger said, "he did." Barnum
replied, "I'll be dogged." Then he told the passengers about my having
deposited the mail in the river to make a bridge so I could cross my
coach and eventually to "reach the other side."
When I returned from the express office where I had been to take the
money, in fulfilment of my promise to Mr. Maxwell, old Tom Barnum and my
passengers were still talking. Barnum approached me, saying, "Been up to
some more of your tricks, have you, Billy?" I told him I had been taking
"poker chips" to the express office, if that was what he meant. They all
had a good laugh; then Barnum requested me to show him the receipt I
gave Maxwell for the money. "Now, Billy," said Barnum, "you're a pretty
bird, you know we would not charge Maxwell a cent for express, for we
never paid him a cent for board or for feeding our mules--but never
mind,"--then he laughed, "oh, that receipt!"