<p.163>
A TRIP ACROSS THE PLAINS IN 1857
by William Clark
[This account of a trip to Salt Lake City and California was
written by William Clark, originally in the form of notes made during the
journey. Years later these notes were rewritten and the original scraps of paper
were destroyed. The footnotes have been
added by the editor, and occasional alterations have been made in
capitalization and in the spelling of words and place names. The manuscript was
secured and presented to the Society by Mrs. Louis Bernard Schmidt of Ames,
Iowa. Mr. Clark died in February, 1920,
in Ames, Iowa. He had been twice Mayor of that city.--THE EDITOR, Iowa Journal of History and Politics]
I started from
Freeport, Ill., about the middle of June for St. Louis, Mo., not knowing where
I would finally make a stop for any length of time, as I was undecided what I
would do. The first night in St. Louis,
by chance, I fell in company with three young men: one from Peoria, Ill., by
the name of Edwin Leach, a bright young man of about twenty-one years of age,
and George Tuttle and Martin Sherwood from Oshkosh, Wis. These two were chums
and had come down the Mississippi from the pinery on a raft and were very
agreeable young men. We started
together to "take in" the city. In the morning we strolled along the
levee and went aboard several boats--one soon to start up river to Leavenworth
City.
It was suggested
by some one that we all go up to Leavenworth on this boat, which was agreed to
at once, and we gathered up our baggage, got aboard of her, and paid our fare
to Leavenworth.
On this boat were
bills posted stating that Majors, Russel & Waddel*1* wanted several hundred young
men to drive ox <p.164> teams across the plains to Utah, and would pay
$30 per month for the round trip or $40 and take our discharge at Salt Lake
City.
We all concluded
we would hire out to them and make the trip.
After landing in
Leavenworth, we disposed of our luggage and started out to get what information
we could in regard to the trip we were about to undertake.
We learned that
the government was going to establish three military posts in Utah Territory
and that Majors, Russel & Waddel*2* had a large contract to deliver their beef
cattle and soldiers' supplies to these posts. That Col. Vanvliet*3* had
gone on ahead with an escort of twenty men to hunt out and locate them and be
ready to receive the soldiers and supplies when they arrived; and that Majors,
Russel & Waddel's*4* contract would require twenty-six trains of
twenty-six wagons each and require six yoke of cattle to each wagon. The cattle
were nearly all wild steers, four and five years old and each team would be
allowed only two yoke of gentle cattle. The men would have to load their own
trains, would have to stand guard half of every other night, and do their own
cooking; and it was rumored that we would be made to drive Sundays.<p.165>
We concluded to go to one of the contractors, William Russel,*5* to
make our bargain, and not trust to an agent. We made our bargain with him and
enrolled ourselves for the trip, with the express understanding that we should
not be asked to drive Sundays, unless for the want of grass or water. We
pledged ourselves together to stand by our bargain, and not to be run over by
our train boss, as we had learned that they would undertake to force us when
out on the plains, so as to make extra time and give them notoriety for making
a quick trip.
We learned that
most of the men, or teamsters, and all of the train bosses were southern men
and most of them were hired in the south to come to Kansas to drive the free
state people from the polls and carry the election in the interest of slavery.
Most of the teamsters in our train had their expenses paid and were armed, and
some paid as high as one hundred and sixty dollars in cash for this purpose.
This was shortly after the Jim Lane*6* trouble in Kansas, so there was not the best
of feeling between themselves and the "Yanks" as they called us.
It was, I think,
about the 24th of June [1857] that we commenced our work of loading our wagons
for the trip. Our loading was done at the Fort, a short distance out. We
carried one hundred pound sacks of bacon, sugar, and rice and loaded up the
wagons. When night came, we were a dirty greasy looking set of "tender
feet" as we had handled one hundred pound sacks all day on the run for we
worked as though every thing had to be done in one dap. In the morning we got up sore and lame from
our work <p.166>
the day before, as we had not been used to work for some time. But they sent us
to the corral to help brand a lot of cattle. After the buccaro had roped the cattle we would have to help hold them to be
branded with a hot iron used for that purpose. It was no easy job, as we were
jerked about unmercifully which did not help to rest us much.
We ate our meals
at the outfit house--bacon, saleratus bread, and stewed apples, all cooked by a
man who, I do not think, ever cooked many meals before and did not care whether
he ever cooked many more.
The next day was
Sunday, and we were to start on our trip Monday.
We were a sick
and sore set of fellows, but determined not to give up the trip before us, as
we had an eye on California.
We passed the
day as best we could, getting things ready to take with us. As we were not
allowed to take our trunks, we concluded to take what clothing we needed in a
grain sack. I sent my trunk with my best clothes to an uncle at Lawrence, Kan.,
to care for till I called for them, which I did ten years later.
We went to bed
at the outfit house and Monday morning at three o'clock, they called two of us
to get up and go to the Company's store to get our guns and blankets that the
Company furnished and charged to us, as every man had to be armed with a rifle
at least.
We all four got
up but the boss said they needed only two of us. We told him we all went in
that train or none of us went, as that was our bargain with Russel.*7* So when they found we were
determined, they gave in.
Then we were
taken in a wagon four miles out to Salt Creek, from which place we were to
start. We got there at day break. <p.167>
Our cattle were
soon driven into corral for us to yoke. Our train crew of a wagon boss, by the
name of Chatham Rennick--a big, six foot two inch man, an assistant wagon boss,
twenty-six teamsters, and two extra hands, making thirty men in all. But we had
ten extra men to help us get the train started.
We went into the
corral with three lasso ropes to catch our cattle and fasten them to a wagon
wheel to put their yokes on, as they were so wild it was the only way we could get
them yoked. We would then chain this one to a wheel till we got another and so
on till each team was yoked. Then to get them hitched to a wagon tongue was
another big job, but at two o'clock in the afternoon we succeeded in getting
them all hitched on and started to break corral, and a lively time we had. Now
the fun began, not for the teamsters, but for the lookers on. It was life work
for us to keep our wagons right side up. Twenty-six teams of nearly all wild
cattle going in every direction--three hundred and twelve head oŁ crazy steers
pitching and bellowing and trying to get loose or get away from the wagon, and
teamsters working for dear life to herd them and keep from upsetting or
breaking their wagons; and every now and then a wagon upsetting, tongues
breaking, and teams getting loose on the prairie.
It kept every
extra man on the jump to keep the cattle moving in the right direction.
Fourteen men on
horseback and twenty-six teamsters had a lively experience that afternoon and
evening, and finally, at nine o'clock that night had succeeded in getting nine
wagons two miles from starting point and getting the cattle loose from the
wagons in a demoralized condition. Some of the teams had one or two steers
loose from the yoke, and the others were dragging the yokes. Everything was in
confusion. <p.168>
The rest of the train was strung over the prairie--some wagons
tipped over, some with broken wheels, and some with the tongues broken; and, in
fact, were in rather bad condition for a journey of twelve hundred miles in a
wilderness.
The men had had nothing to eat since four o'clock in the
morning, and were all nearly. played out; but we went to work to get some
"grub", as we called it, to stay our stomachs. I could hardly wait
for it to be cooked. I found a settler that lived close to where we were and
asked him to bring me some milk and bread for which I gladly paid him, and we
four chums made our supper of bread and milk.
We were ordered on guard the first part of the night. Chat Rennick, our wagon boss, stationed each
man on guard. It fell my lot to go down the valley and keep the cattle from a
piece of timber. Tuttle was stationed on the west to keep them from going over
the hill, and was furnished a mule to ride, as his beat was considered to be
the hardest. Ed Leach on the east near the wagon and Mart Sherwood on the north
had little to do, as the cattle were determined to go to the timber or over the
hill.
It kept me on the run as hard as I could to keep them from the
timber, and Tuttle was worked equally hard to keep them in from the west.
About midnight Tuttle came over on the run as fast as his mule
could go, met me, and turned back on the jump up the hill, and his saddle girth
broke and let him off, saddle and all. His mule got away and ran off and he had
to take it on foot. We both worked as hard as we could to keep the cattle until
our relief came, which did not come till two o'clock in the morning. As the men
did not go to bed till about eleven o'clock that night, the boss concluded he
would divide the time with us. <p.169>
When Rennick came with the men to relieve us, I had just reached
the spot where Tuttle's saddle lay, and I was so exhausted and completely tired
out, that I fell to the ground, and dropped to sleep in a moment. It was with
difficulty that Rennick and Tuttle could awaken me and get me to the wagon to
bed, as I would drop as soon as they let go of me. I would beg of them to let
me sleep where I was, but they got me to camp, and I knew "no more till seven
or eight in the morning.
This was a fine morning, and Rennick had sent back to
Leavenworth for more wagons, wheels, tongues, etc. to repair what was broken
the day before, and also a lot of teamsters as over half of his men had skipped
out, and left only eight or ten out of twenty-six teamsters.
Those of us who were on guard the night before were allowed to
take it easy that day and rest up.
Rennick succeeded in getting more men and extra help, and
gathered up the balance of the train and got it up to camp that night and ready
for another start.
The next morning we commenced another day's work and succeeded
in getting four miles that day and getting all the wagons into camp; although
several wagons had been upset and some breakages. But we were prepared with
several extra wagon tongues and some other repairs and a kit of tools to mend
any ordinary breakage.
We pulled out the next morning and worked hard all day with the
usual mishaps, and made five or six miles, and, in six days we reached
Grasshopper,*8* forty miles from
Leavenworth. There was not a day without some mishaps or breakages.
The next day was Sunday, and, I think, the Fourth of July.
After breakfast, we changed our clothes, cleaned up, and <p.170> washed our clothes, and were lying around to rest ourselves
as best we could, after our hard weeks work, as we were nearly worn out, when
the boss concluded it was "time to hitch up" and snake a short drive.
We four Yanks told him the rest could drive if they wished but that we would
not. We had done enough for one week.
The rest seemed willing to go, but, as we would not, he did not
urge very hard.
That day I ate my first frogs' legs. "Old man" Clark
from Cape Jerdo,*9* was in our mess.
He was fond of fried frogs' legs and he caught. and cooked some, and gave me
some, but I can not say that I liked them very much; although they are
considered a very choice dish by some people. But I had not much of an appetite
then for any thing that was in reach, for the overwork and poor
"grub" began to tell on me, as I was not used to the kind of food we
had--bacon, saleratus bread, boiled rice, and dried apples. As none of us were cooks, we would take
turns in cooking. Our bread would be
black and solid, not fit to eat. I began to get so I could not eat half a meal.
We rested all. that day and in the morning made another start
and drove all day with but one or two upsets and a broken tongue or two.
We went on with the usual mishaps all of that week and camped
Saturday night on the Big Blue, near where Crete, Neb., now stands.
We had fine weather all the week and we traveled over a
beautiful country, mostly prairie with an occasional belt of timber along the
streams, and now and then a claim shanty which was a welcome sight along these
prairies.
The shanties were particularly welcome to me for I was starving
with a train loaded with provisions, such as they were; but I had got so that
the sight of this kind of food <p.171> was sickening
to me. It was with the greatest difficulty that I could swallow any thing
except a little coffee, and my chums would go a mile to get me a little milk,
sweet or sour, as that was all we could find that I could relish. Any. thing we
did not have I craved, but what we had to eat my stomach revolted at sight of,
and I had become very weak, so much so that my chums would yoke my oxen and
hitch them on for me, and each would favor me all he could by letting me ride
and they keeping my cattle in the road. As Tuttle was ahead of me and Sherwood
and Leach behind, on fair roads they could herd my cattle along, but it was so
hard for them to run back and forth to look after my team that I would sit on
the tongue and do all I could to keep them up. All this time I went on guard every
other night for half of the night, as the boss was rather cranky; but my chums
would not allow me to do any herding--only sit on my beat, and they would do
the running for me.
There were two claim shanties near so that I got my supper of
milk and also my breakfast Sunday morning, which strengthened me and gave me
new life, and I felt quite well, only very weak.
My chums did the usual Sunday chores and we four went up the
creek a short distance to see if we could not get a fish or two for me.
After a short time Rennick sent a man to call us to go and drive
up the cattle and hitch up as he was going to make a drive the rest of the day.
But we told him that they could drive as far as they liked, but we did not
drive on a single rod, and that, if we thought he was going to ask us to drive
every Sunday, we would unload our traps and stop right here, as this country
suited us very well, and we didn't hire to drive Sundays nor be dogged about by
any body. We were willing to do our duty but drive Sunday we would not and that
we might as well settle that <p.172> question today
for the rest of the trip, as we rather liked the looks of this place to stop.
He gave us to understand that he would not ask us to drive on Sundays any more,
unless actually compelled to for the want of grass or water, and this settled
the question for the time.
But we heard occasional remarks from some of the men, stating
what they would do with the "Yanks" when out on the plains but paid
no attention to them, concluding to do our duty as men, and trust to luck, as
trouble would come fast enough without borrowing any. We thought Chat Rennick
had sense enough to know who of his men did their work the best; for nearly all
of his Missourians were a low, shiftless, and quarrelsome set, always in a
jangle among themselves, and kept him scolding them half of the time. We
concluded the remarks of such men would have no weight with him. The assistant
boss was little better than the rest.
The next day we drove all day without anything of interest
happening, as by this time our cattle were fairly well broke in.
I missed the claim shanties, the last one being at Big Blue.
I had eaten nothing since morning, but I tried hard to eat down a
little supper, but could force down very little. Nothing exciting occurred for several days.
I could not gain my appetite and consequently grew weaker all
the time. My chums had the most of my work to do. Although very hard for them,
they did it cheerfully. There were two
extra hands for the purpose of driving when needed, but their time was
occupied, either in favoring some of their kind or feigning sickness.
I had told Rennick that I was not able to drive and he could not
have helped knowing it, for I had fallen away thirty or forty pounds, and was a
mere skeleton, just able <p.173>to crawl.
Finally, Bill Eads, one of the extras came and drove my team part of the time
for two or three days, and my chums would do the rest. They were willing to do
all they could and the others were willing they should.
The day we reached Rock Creek, I was scarcely able to walk and
had ridden all day.
That night the boys fixed me a bed on the ground near the camp
fire. Then they got supper and begged me to eat a little, but the very sight of
it made me sick and it seemed to me I would break in two in the middle.
Here Mr. Rennick began to show a little sympathy for me. He said
I must eat something. I told him I couldn't. He said I would not live till morning
if I did not eat something.
They handed me some bread and coffee. I took a swallow of coffee
and a bite of bread, chewed it and tried to swallow it, but could not do it any
more than I could swallow an ox team.
I craved cold water. We had bad water all the way. They commenced to hunt through the train for
something I could eat, and finally found some corn meal which a fellow by the
name of Albert Frank had. He brought it to me and asked me if I could not eat a
little gruel. They made some and I drank it. It tasted good to me. In ten
minutes' l felt better. It stopped the
pain in the small of my back. They gave
me a little several times during the night. In the morning I felt quite smart,
only very weak. The boys made more gruel to take along in the wagon and I took
a little quite often during the day.
That night we camped close to a spring of good cold water. I
slid out of the wagon, cup in hand, and managed to get to the spring before
Rennick saw me. He came running up, telling me to stop drinking or I would kill
myself, but before he got to me I had swallowed two or three <p.174> cups of water. I never had water taste so good before, and
I told him I would like to die feeling as good as that water made me feel.
Rennick led me back to the wagon and they let me have a little water often,
which, with my gruel, made me feel quite cheerful.
In the morning I was considerable better, and Rennick let me
have his individual two-gallon keg which the boys filled with this cold spring
water. Then they wet a blanket, wrapped the keg in it and put it in the wagon
for me. It kept cool all day. I drank my porridge often and by night I had a
little appetite for bread and coffee.
The nest morning I felt better. My appetite began to come to me,
and I could eat a fair allowance of bread and bacon.
The boys had improved in bread making and made quite good bread
by this time.
In a day or two I got so I could drive my team and eat a square
meal of such food as we had. In fact, I thought it good enough for anyone, as,
by this time I had a wolfish appetite and could eat six times a day and relish
my food.
Everything went nicely till we reached the sand hills, eight or
nine miles from Fort Kearny. Here were about three thousand Sioux Indians,
camped a short distance from the road.
The Sioux and Cheyennes were not on very good terms. The Sioux had gathered near the Fort and
would send their warriors out from here to plunder and steal from the Cheyennes.
They were friendly to the whites while near the Fort, but forty
or fifty of them came and met us and begged tobacco and anything they could
get, bothering us considerably. They would try to get into our wagons--would
climb in behind to steal what they could. We had to watch them, and pulled them
out of the wagons often. They <p.175> followed us till near the Fort, where we
camped for the night, then we made them leave.
Here I
succeeded in buying some bottled pickles and a few beans of the soldiers. After
getting them I went straight to camp and put on a kettle of beans to stew, and
had a fine supper that night. I got enough for two or three messes, so I had a
little change from bacon and bread, but anything tasted good now.
In the morning
we started on and, after going five or six miles, we came across a few
scattering buffalo.
Mr. Rennick and
the mounted men--four in all--started after them, running them a while, but did
not get any. At noon we camped near a
large herd. As soon as we had unyoked our cattle, Ed Leach. took his gun and
started out after one. He succeeded in getting near enough to one to get a
shot. The buffalo was pawing and
throwing the dirt in a buffalo wallow when he shot him. He fell but got up
again. Leach loaded again and gave him another shot and run for camp very much
excited and told what he had done. Three or four of our mess went back and
found the buffalo badly wounded. They shot him two or three times before he
fell. He was a large old bull and some distance in advance of the herd.
Several of the
men now started out for more, but did not succeed in killing any.
We dressed this
fellow and divided it up with the train crew. We had a fine feast of buffalo
meat the first taste of fresh meat we had had since we left Leavenworth. We all
decided it was the best and sweetest meat we had ever eaten.
We had just got
into the buffalo range. The grass was nearly knee high before we struck this
range, but here it was quite well fed down. <p.176>
That afternoon we
saw several large herds some distance off along the sand hills.
The next morning
was fine, and we were in sight of thousands of buffalo.
There was one
large herd after another all along the sand hills as far as the eye could
reach.
This range of
sand hills extends along the south side of the Platte River, from one to four
miles from the river. Every now and then a big herd of buffalo, moving north,
crossed the river, and we could see large herds across the river.
As the
atmosphere is clear and dry here, we could see many miles. It was a beautiful
sight. I had never dreamed there were as many buffalo in America as we saw that
day. We were not out of sight of
thousands of them half an hour at a time all day long. We killed several and
were loaded down with buffalo meat, and we had some salted down for future use.
The next day was
the same--drove after drove all day long. We thought best not to kill any more
as we could not use them.
Every little while
a big herd would start down toward the river to drink, two or three miles ahead
or behind our train. They went on the run and would make the earth tremble
several miles away.
That night we
camped near the Platte River. The men on guard were cautioned to keep a good
lookout and not let our cattle get near the buffalo, there being several large
herds in sight but none nearer than half a mile. Rennick had planned our camp so as not to be too near for fear of
losing some of our cattle among the buffalo. An extra guard was placed to herd
the cattle.
About midnight
the whole crew was aroused. There was a big herd of buffalo moving towards our
cattle, going to <p.177> the river. We all got around our cattle and,
while some drove the cattle out of the way, others went to turn the course of
the buffalo and by shooting into the herd, we finally succeeded in changing
their course and driving them around our cattle.
There bad been
several instances where parties, crossing the plains in the season of the great
buffalo move, lost their cattle by the buffaloes' getting in contact with the
cattle and stampeding them.
It seems that we
were in the great move north, as trains a week ahead of us or two weeks behind
us, saw very few buffalo.
The next morning
we started on our journey and drove to Plum Creek and camped. We were still in
the same buffalo range. We had a fine camp ground.
Nothing unusual
occurred that night. The next day was
Sunday. We got our breakfast and did our washing. Then we ran some bullets,
cleaned our guns, and put them in good condition for use.
Frank McCarthy,
the assistant wagon boss, came riding up on his mule and ordered us to put up
our traps and go and help drive the cattle up, and yoke up, for they were going
to make a drive. We told him we would not. He then said, "You can consider
yourselves discharged".
We told him he
had better send some one around that had authority to discharge us. Then he
rode off after the cattle.
Albert Frank now
came over to where we were with his gun and clothes and said that if we were
discharged, he would go with us.
It was evident
that they intended to show us right here what they would do with the
"Yanks when out on the plains" as we were seventy miles from the
nearest settlement which was Fort Kearny. <p.178>
An agent of the
Company's, Mr. McCann, had come up and camped with us the night before.
Soon the cattle
were driven into the corral. Mr. McCann was at the entrance of the corral
guarding that gap while the men were yoking the cattle.
They all grabbed
their yokes to yoke their cattle except us five.
As we were in
the front mess of one wing of the corral, it brought us close to where McCann
stood.
Chat Rennick came
and ordered us to go and yoke our cattle.
We told him we
would not yoke an ox that day.
He said we could
consider ourselves discharged from the train.
We told him all
right, that we would as soon have our pay and go back from here as to go the
whole trip. He said that we could never get back, that the Indians would kill
us.
We told him we
would take our chances on that. Then he said he would not let us take our guns
along. We plainly told him that we had them and before they got them from us,
they would be liable to get the charge that was in them, and that they were
loaded for buffalo too.
Mr. McCann spoke
up and said that there were men enough to make us drive.
At this George
Tuttle told him to repeat those words again and there would be one less
Missourian, and drew his rifle. We all had our guns in our hands.
Rennick now
spoke up and said "Hold on there, I don't want any of that kind of
work".
Then we told him
what brags had been made by his men; that now was a good time to settle it, as
they had us out on the plains. There were men enough to massacre us but not
enough in that train to make us drive a single rod, and <p.179> we meant just
what we said. Then we told them that they might as well begin quickly and get
the job off their hands as soon as possible, as they might have another that
would need their immediate attention.
Rennick said he
did not want any trouble with us, but wished we would drive, as the other men
found no fault about driving Sundays.
We told him that
he could go on as fast as he wished, as these Yanks wouldn't bother him. We
would go our way and they could go theirs. That we were discharged and did not
belong to his train any longer. Then we proceeded to pack up our things and put
them in shape for our homeward trip.
Rennick now
began to urge us to put our things back into the wagon and go along and they
would make but a short drive.
We told him he
had discharged us without a cause, and asked him if he had any men in his train
that did their work any better than we had.
He said,
"No not as well, only you will not drive Sundays ".
We said we were
glad to hear that, and that there was a law in regard to a train boss discharging
a man over twenty-five miles from a settlement, and that the Company was
responsible for the acts of a train boss. We had a more paying job than to
drive a team for him any longer. As he
had acknowledged that we had done our duty better than any other men he had,
for we had hired to William Russel*10* with the understanding that we were not to
drive Sundays.
Then he began to
get real good natured, and, I think, a little uneasy; for, if five men left,
there was no show to get anyone to drive our teams through. McCann was going on
<p.180>
the neat day to catch up with the train ahead. Even if the two bosses and the two extra men drove, it would
leave one team without a driver and no one to look up camping grounds.
Rennick now
began to argue the case with us for a compromise of this difficulty. We spent
an hour or two before a settlement was reached. He made several propositions to
us before we accepted. Finally he asked us if we would put our things back into
the wagon and get in and ride to camp and McCann, himself, and the extra men
would tie their mules behind the wagons and drive our teams that afternoon, and
we should not be asked to drive again on Sunday unless actually necessary for
want of grass or water.
We accepted this
proposition.
As we had lost a
couple of hours since the cattle were yoked, we could not get far.
We all got into
our wagons and rode to camp, except Tuttle.
Soon after
starting, I was taken quite sick with a violent chill. Tuttle went to Mr. Rennick
to get some medicine for me, as the company had sent a chest of such medicines
as thought necessary on such a trip, in care of the train boss. Tuttle took
Rennick's whip, and he came to my wagon, found the condition I was in, and went
and got me some quinine and such other medicine as he thought I needed.
Tuttle then told
Rennick to get on his mule, and he would drive the rest of the day. Mr. Rennick
did so and went ahead to hunt a camping place, and in a short time we camped.
Mr. Rennick showed
considerable sympathy for me, coming often to my wagon to see how I was getting
along, and began to take quite an interest in us. In fact, he was <p.181> naturally
a good man, although he had listened a little too much to some of his worthless
men. I think he began to see his mistake, and, from this time on, I would not
wish a better boss. He worked hard for the interest of his Company and began to
appreciate his best men.
In a short time
he came into our mess and stayed with us all the way through.
Monday I was not
able to drive and he furnished a man to drive for me.
We travelled all
day in sight of large herds of buffalo.
In the afternoon we saw a very large herd, reaching more than a mile,
coming directly towards us, and as we could not drive past before they came
upon us, we doubled up our train in as small space as we could and as quickly
as possible. We were none too soon for by the time the men got their guns out
the leaders were within ten rods of our wagons and still coming. The men fired
at them, killing nine in their tracks and wounding many more. Some of them
still acted as though they would not be driven off, and Martin Sherwood ran to
my wagon, put a cap on my gun, and, pointing to a big buffalo which stood
defiantly not more than ten rods from my wagon, said, "Clark, shoot that
big fellow."
As I had not
shot a buffalo yet, I turned over, put my gun out of the wagon and fired. I did
not even hit him. I was so sick I did not see my gun barrel--only the buffalo.
Albert Frank had
his gun reloaded by this time and shot him just back of the fore leg. He
bellowed, then turned and ran back into the herd. By this time the other men
had reloaded and fired into them again. The wounded turned and ran back into
the herd, parting them, and they charged by before and behind us.
We were here
some time before they all passed. There
were thousands in this herd.<p.182>
After they had
passed the men took their knives, and, cutting a strip along the back bone, cut
out the tender loin of a few of those lying nearest us and left the rest, as we
had more buffalo meat than we could use.
Nothing
particular occurred during the rest of the day. I began to get better and the next day drove part of the time.
We were still in
the buffalo range, but they were not as plenty as before.
We camped that
night about six miles from the crossing of the Platte, and drove in the next
morning, camped, got an early dinner, and prepared for crossing.
We hitched on to
about one-third of our wagons with fifteen yoke of cattle to each wagon, but
started into the river with only three wagons.
Mr. Rennick had
ridden across the river to see how the ford was, and found the river was full
of holes, some a foot deep and others seven or eight feet deep. Unless we
zigzagged from one sand drift to another, it would be impossible to cross, as
the whole bed of the river was a shifting bed of sand.
We had driven
but a few rods before we stalled, with our wagons in four or five feet of
water. We swung our cattle up and down several times and tried to make a start,
but it was of no use, as the sand began to settle around our wagon wheels. So
we sent out and got six yoke of cattle more for each wagon. By the time we got
them hitched on for another pull, the sand had drifted around our wagons till
they were hub deep in the sand, and the cattle were knee deep. The men would
have been in the same fix had they not kept stepping around.
We swung our
cattle and made a pull but we were fast and could not move. We had to get our
shovels and shovel around the wheels and oxen. Then we took another pull <p.183> and
this time got the wagons on the move, but only for a short distance, when we
stalled again. It was such hard pulling, the cattle could go but a little way
at a time. Every stop the sand would gather as before, and it was almost
impossible to get another start. Occasionally a chain would break and we would
have to get another or repair it with a link made on purpose. It was impossible
to get more than eight or ten rods in an hour. Some of our cattle began to get
discouraged which made it still worse. The river is about eighty rods wide at
this point.
We finally
succeeded in getting three wagons across and our cattle back to the balance of
the train by nine o'clock that night. You can guess we were a tired and wet lot
of teamsters, after being in the water ten hours, part of the time waist deep.
After changing
our clothes and having our supper we were glad to go to bed, except those who
had to stand guard.
We left three
men on the other side of the river and Rennick sent three more over on mules to
stay with them. In the morning we drove
all our cattle into the corral and yoked three teams of eighteen yoke each, of
the oldest and best cattle and started across.
As we had
zigzagged across the river for several rods up and down in crossing the day
before, we had learned the best route.
We got across
with these wagons without much difficulty.
In the course of the day we got the balance of the train across and made
a short drive and camped.
We had not been
molested by Indians so far. We had met parties of twenty or thirty at different
times, but had been cautious. When they came riding near us, we would double up
our train and prepare for them, and they would soon ride away apparently
friendly. <p.184>
This day, after
crossing the Platte, we met an Indian trader with quite a train, loaded with
buffalo hides that he had bought of the Indians and was taking to Leavenworth
to sell.
He told us that
the Indians had attacked the train which was two days ahead of us at Ash
Hollow, our next camping place.
Having had no
trouble with the Indians, the boss had become careless and had allowed his
train to string along, the wagons being some distance apart.
At Ash Hollow
there is a steep hill, and, as the head teams were going down this hill, the
Indians ran in and cut off the three hind wagons from the rest of the train and
stampeded the cattle, upsetting two of the wagons. They killed the two
teamsters and plundered the wagons. The
third teamster got his gun and jumped behind his wagon, and succeeded in
keeping the Indians off till the front teamsters came up and drove them away,
wounding several.
This made us a
little nervous and still more careful.
In the morning
we drove to the top of the hill and closed our train up as close together as we
could, and while going down the hill at Ash Hollow, kept a good guard out, for
we could take only two or three wagons down at a time. It was a very bad hill to get down with such
heavy wagons, and took us some time to get our train down, but we finally got
down all right, and camped near the North Platte.
Here William
McCarthy, a brother of Frank McCarthy, our assistant boss, met us.
He had been sent
out by Majors, Russel & Waddell*11* in charge of a herd of eight hundred beef
cattle to drive them to Salt Lake. He had eight men, and a team and wagon to
haul their supplies. <p.185>
At Plum Creek,
where we had our mutiny a week before, while they were getting their dinner a
party of Indians, apparently friendly, came into camp, stayed a short time, and
went away. Soon after they left, McCarthy, fearing some mischief, got on his
mule and started to go out around his cattle. Another party of Indians came
charging towards his cattle. McCarthy put spurs to his mule but they got
between him and the cattle and stampeded them.
As soon as
McCarthy had got a little way off the other Indians fired into camp, wounding
two of the men. They returned the fire, wounding several Indians, then ran
towards the herd to meet McCarthy who, by this time, was making toward camp as
fast as his mule could run, with several Indians in hot pursuit, one quite close.
As he came to a little slough, his mule stopped. The Indian fired and shot his
collar off on one side. He then wheeled in his saddle and shot the Indian, and
got his mule started again.
As the other men
were coming to his rescue, the other Indians turned and started toward the
cattle, and the men went back to the wagon.
The two men at
camp were only slightly wounded, one through the leg and the other in the side.
They dressed the
wounds and concluded to stay here over night, as their cattle were gone. About
sundown they were made glad by the arrival of one of the Company's trains.
Majors and
Russel*12* by
this time had their twenty-six trains on the road only a day or two apart.
In the morning
McCarthy put his outfit in charge of this train, then got on his mule and
started on ahead, going from one train to another till he reached ours where
his brother was, and stayed with us till we reached Fort Laramie. <p.186>
These two Indian
scares made us more cautious. We kept good guard around our wagons at night. We
were now in the worst Indian country on the route, and we kept close together.
The next day was
Sunday and we did our usual chores, but were not asked to drive.
Monday morning
we moved on. In the afternoon we saw quite a large party of Indians riding
toward us. The boss stopped the head team and commenced to corral. The extra
men came charging back, ordering us to corral as quickly as possible, for the Indians
were coming upon us.
Every man
hurried his team up, and we got them corralled with the cattle inside. Then
every man got his gun, and got inside the corral, ready for them, except
Rennick and the mounted men.
But before the
Indians got to us they began to slow up.
They came up and appeared friendly. Whether it was because we were so
well prepared for them or not, we never knew. They chatted awhile with the boss
and rode off.
We strung out
our teams and moved on for the rest of the day without further trouble.
About noon the
next day we came in sight of Chimney Rock. It looked but a short distance from
the road, but we traveled the rest of that day and till noon the next, and
camped right opposite of it.
As soon as we
had our dinner, three or four of the boys took their guns and started out,
saying they were going to climb Chimney Rock, as we were going to rest here an
hour or two.
They started out
and traveled till the middle of the afternoon before reaching the rock. It
being so late, they did not climb the rock but made tracks for camp, fearing
the boss would be after them. It was just dark when they reached camp, so we
had to stay here till morning. <p.187>
We heard
afterward that it was seven miles out to Chimney Rock from where we camped, but
it did not look to be over a mile. The atmosphere here being so dry and clear
that it made objects in the distance look very much nearer than they were, and
travelers were often badly deceived.
This country was
quite different from that we had passed over. From Leavenworth across to where
we struck the Platte River near Fort Kearny, it was a fine, beautiful country
mostly prairie, with an occasional belt of timber along the streams. But up the
South Platte it was comparatively a level, grassy plain from the river back to
the sand hills, with no timber, and here we had to substitute buffalo chips for
fuel. After reaching Ash Hollow we began to get some scrubby wood.
The whole appearance
of the country had changed. It began to be more wavy and rocky, and
occasionally there were some scrub cedars, scattered among the rocky
hills. The tops of the waves were
covered with rock in all the shapes the imagination of man can picture.
After leaving
our camp near Chimney Rock, we traveled in the midst of this grand and
beautiful scenery a few days, undisturbed by Indians, much to our relief. We
now came to Fort Laramie.
The country
along the North Platte was nearly the same all the way, although it changed a
little as we neared the Laramie range of mountains. There were more of the
scrub cedars on the rocky bluffs.
The Laramie
Mountains were quite bald, there being little timber except in the canyons.
From Laramie we
moved on up the river without any excitement, and, arriving at Horse Shoe
Creek, camped close to the Laramie Mountains at Horse Shoe Bend. Here the creek
runs in the shape of a horse shoe, and we camped at the mouth of the bend,
turning our cattle down in the <p.188> bend--a nice place to herd. At the lower
end of the bend was some timber.
George
Washington, Tuttle, Sherwood, and myself were on guard the first part of the
night.
After Rennick
had come out, as was his custom, to see if every man was on duty before he went
to bed, and had gone back, we told Tuttle and Sherwood to go to camp and to
bed, as they were not feeling well. As we had so far had no use for our guns
while on guard, we sent them to camp by the boys. We were not allowed to fire a
gun at night unless at Indians.
After the boys
had been gone a short time, George Washington fell asleep. He was on the side
next the timber. The cattle started
into the timber and I ran around to head them off and wake him up. We drove
back what we could find, and as we were standing by George's camp fire, we
heard more tramping around in the timber. I went into the timber for them while
George watched those we had. It was very dark in there. Just as I reached the
cattle a pack of wolves set up an unearthly yell close behind me. The cattle
jumped and ran as fast as they could, and I was as close behind them as I could
keep. The wolves ran after us, yelping at every jump. The cattle ran into the
bed of the creek, it being dry, and up toward our camp, leaving the creek
opposite my camp fire and running into the herd. I stopped at my fire badly
scared. The wolves stopped within a rod
or two of the fire, keeping up their howling.
I stuck close to
my fire, occasionally throwing a fire brand at them, as they came near, when
they would run off a few rods only to return again. I kept them off in this way
till our relief came. They were the big gray timber wolves, and there were ten
or fifteen in this pack. While standing by my fire, I wished I had my gun. I
should have <p.189>
fired it, even though I disobeyed orders in doing so. After this I kept
my gun when on guard.
We had not got
out of sight of camp in the morning before ten or fifteen of these ravenous
beasts came into our camp ground to pick up our crumbs.
We moved on for
several days around the Laramie Mountains to where Fort Fetterman*13* now stands, with but little change in the scenery.
Occasionally w e met an Indian trader with his train of furs and buffalo hides
going toward the States.
Our course took
us through near where Fort Casper*14* now is. Here
the country is different. Occasionally a strip of sand, then some sage brush
and alkali spots.
We left the
river here for Pacific Springs.*15* The boss told
every mess to fill their water kegs before leaving the river, as we would have
a dry camp before reaching the Springs. Our mess and some of the others obeyed,
but there were two messes who were always short. Each man was afraid he would
do more than the others. They did not get any water. We told them that we
wouldn't go dry to furnish them water and that they had better fill their kegs,
but they did not.
Before we had
gone far they were begging water. We gave them water to drink all day, but when
night came and supper to get, the whole train was short of water, and only
those who had filled their kegs had any for cooking. When these poor fellows
came for water to cook with, they were <p.190> refused. But they would not take
"no" for an answer, and came in a body and were going to get it by
force, when the muzzles of several rifles were leveled at them. They went away,
after receiving some good advice from Rennick.
They went back
to their messes, and to bed hungry, but wiser men. They were very thirsty before
reaching Pacific Springs*16* the next day.
Here we had the
worst thunderstorm I ever saw. The wind
blew a perfect gale and the rain came down in sheets. The first storm we had had on our trip. In the morning we had
quite a job to find our cattle, as they had stampeded in the storm. This was in
a sage brush country.
We traveled for
some days through a rough hilly country to the Sweetwater River. Here we drove
down a long hill into the bed of the river and traveled some distance down the
river close to Independence Rock.
This rock was
covered as high as men could climb with names of men who had crossed before
us--some as early as 1848.
It was rough
rocky traveling in the bed of the river and we were glad to strike a dry road
again.
Not far from here we came to Soda Lake. This
"lake" was a bed of soda or alkali, white as snow, four or five
inches deep. We tested the quality of this soda in bread making and it took the
place of saleratus very nicely.
Here was the
largest sage brush that I ever saw--five or six feet tall. We saw our first elk
here and tried to shoot him but failed. We had seen very little game except
buffalo and a few antelope which were very shy.
We traveled up
the Sweetwater some distance, and camped by the river one day, and, finding
plenty of fish, we improvised a seine by taking a wagon cover and attaching an
ox chain to it for a sinker. We seined
the river <p.191>
awhile, catching nearly a bushel of fish--mountain shiners--and had a
grand feast. We passed the Rattlesnake
Hills and Sweetwater Mountains and crossed the Rockies at South Pass.
We drove on the
west slope of the mountains till we reached Dry Sandy Creek. Here we had poor
water and heavy, sandy roads, and our cattle were getting weak from the long
journey. It was slow traveling down this stream, and we would have to double
our teams to get through the sandy streaks.
We went from
here on down Big Sandy Creek, and across to Green River near where Granger now
is.
We had quite a
hard time in crossing this stream.
Here we found a
sort of trading post, and they had farmed a little. Rennick found some potatoes
here and bought some. They were the first vegetables we had had since leaving
Leavenworth, and it was a treat to us all.
Here we laid
over, as we were in no hurry now. Colonel Vanvliet*17* had gone into Salt Lake City,
and Brigham Young refused to allow the soldiers and their supply trains to
enter the city. The Mormons had an armed force stationed along the road out,
nearly to old Fort Bridger, one hundred miles from Salt Lake City, and they
were building fortifications to keep the government trains out. There were twenty-five hundred armed Mormons
stationed along this road.
Colonel Vanvliet*18* came
back, and when he met the first train, ordered them to turn back to Ham's Fork
and stop till further orders. He left part of his escort with them, exchanged
part of his mules, and rode back to Fort Laramie as fast as he could, changing
mules at each train and ordering each train to stop at Ham's Fork. <p.192>
We were
twenty-six miles from the Fork when he met us.
We rested here a
while, then drove in and camped near the other trains. There were four trains ahead of us. This was about the last of September.
There was a fine
camping place with plenty of good water and fine grass for our cattle.
Other trains
kept coming in every day or two.
After we had
been here about a week, Oct. 4, I think it was, Lot Smith, a Mormon captain
with two hundred mounted men came riding into camp, stopped awhile, then rode
off toward Green River. About seven miles out, he met one of the Company's
trains. He stopped them and ordered them to go back. The boss, seeing that they
had the advantage of him, said that his cattle were nearly worn out, and that
he would have to rest them before he could go far. Smith allowed them to camp
and rest up, and then he and his men rode on. When he was out of sight they
yoked up and came on to Ham's Fork.
Smith reached
Green River just as another train had unyoked, and drew their guns and demanded
their arms. The boss, seeing they had
no show, surrendered. Smith's men set fire to their train.*19* The boss plead for their private property--clothing, bedding,
guns--and the mess wagon with their provisions which they finally allowed them,
but burned the twenty-five wagons of government goods before their eyes. Smith
then ordered the men to take good care of the cattle till he came back after
them.
He and his men
went from here to the Sandy and came <p.193> upon two trains close together, camped
for dinner, the next day, and burned the wagons, allowing the men their private
property and mess wagons and cattle to haul them back to the States. They drove
the rest of the cattle back to Green River, where the others were, and left
them there.
The boss of the
Green River train, with his assistant, came to Ham's Fork the next day.
In a couple of
days Rennick and four or five men from each train, with ten soldiers that
Vanvliet*20* left,
went to Green River, got these cattle, and drove them to Ham's Fork. Then we
moved up the Fork two or three miles to shift camp as our herd was now so large
and trains were still coming in. We stayed here a few days and moved again.
Rip Van Winkle,
boss of one of the trains that was burned, was in charge of the cattle while
moving this time. As they were driving
the herd along about a half mile behind the wagons, Lot Smith came charging up,
took all the men prisoners, and drove off the whole herd of thirteen hundred
cattle. He turned the prisoners all loose that day except Rip Van Winkle. They
kept him two days before turning him loose.
We now moved
camp every day or two on account of grass.
In about two
weeks Colonel Alexander*21* came up with one thousand soldiers, but with
no. orders.
The Mormons
burned the grass ahead of us for several miles.
After the teams
had all arrived, Colonel Alexander concluded, as the Mormons had Echo Canyon
route so well fortified, he would have to take the Soda Springs route, <p.194> down
Bear River and in by the northern settlements.
So he ordered us to move up to Soda Springs, eighty miles north.
The Mormons had,
before this, captured four teamsters and escorted them into Salt Lake City.
While preparing
to move, and after tying up my bed which had been under some willows, I stepped
back for my gun which had been under the bed. I took hold of the muzzle, and,
as I raised it, the hammer caught on a twig and I got the charge all in my hand
which made an ugly wound, disabling me for driving.
We moved on, and
in a few days reached Soda Springs. It
was now quite cold, and we had some snow before reaching the Springs. In a day
or two after eight or ten inches of snow fell and it was very cold weather.
After we had
been there about a week an express messenger from Colonel Albert Sydney
Johnston came riding into camp with orders for us to move back to the crossing
on Ham's Fork, and stay there till he arrived.
We started back.
It was very cold and our cattle were weak. We could make but eight or ten miles
a day. We left some of our poorest cattle at each camp, they not being able to
travel. We arrived at the crossing in eight days. Two days afterwards Colonel Johnston came in with his men.
Some of them
rode out to old Fort Bridger, and, after looking it over, came back and ordered
us to move on to Bridger, and they would go into winter quarters there.
By this time
several mountaineers had fallen in with us and traveled in our company for
protection, as the Mormons had killed one or two already.
These
mountaineers all had squaws for wives, some of them quite nice looking. The men
had some of the finest buckskin suits I ever saw, made by their squaws. The <p.195> seams
were welted and fringed and the coats were trimmed with otter fur around the
collars and cuffs, down the front, and around the bottom. Across the shoulders
and on the sleeves were patterns wrought in beads of various colors. The pants and vests were also trimmed with
beads in fine taste.
A company of
Dragoons came up to camp before we started. This made about two thousand five
hundred men--soldiers and teamsters.
It was a bitter
cold day that we started. The train was
six miles long. The last of the train did not leave camp till noon, and it was
dark when they got into camp that night.
It was a very
cold night and the herders could not stay with the cattle. In the morning we
found we had lost one hundred and sixty head which had strayed off in the
storm, and sixty head of government mules had died in camp. This weakened our teams so that we could
move only a part of our train at a time, many of the cattle left being too weak
to work. We were six days getting this train twenty-six miles to Ford Bridger.
Here Charley
Morehead, Major & Russel's*22* pay master, came in to pay off the teamsters
that wanted to stop here. Many of them
tool: their pay and volunteered to go into the army. Others went back to the States, being fitted out with teams by
the Company.
It was two weeks
before our loads had been turned over to the government officers.
Then my comrades
and myself took our pay.
Sherwood, Leach,
and myself had decided to try to go through Salt Lake City and on to
California.
George Tuttle
had found a brother here among the Dragoons that had run away from home and
enlisted. He was <p.196> under age, and George said he would stop here
and try to get him out.
A PRISONER BY THE MORMONS
Utah was under
martial law. The troops had captured four Mormon prisoners, among them
"Doc" Hickman, a brother of "Bill" Hickman's.*23*
The Mormons had
plotted to kill Hurt,*24* an Indian agent that was stationed near
Spanish Fork, south of Salt Lake. He
had taken to the mountains and came to the soldiers' camp for protection. He
brought the news of the Mountain Meadows Massacre*25* and the Parish*26* murder,
also that the Mormons had the Aikin*27* brothers and comrades in prison.
Chat Rennick had
long before this got to be a warm friend of ours. He tried to persuade me to go
back to Leavenworth with him and said he would guarantee me a train in the
spring at one hundred dollars a month if I would go. But I was determined to
try to get to California.
Colonel Johnston
had forbidden any one going into Salt Lake City, and had his pickets out five
miles. <p.197>
The Mormons had
twenty-five hundred soldiers stationed between here and the City. There was no
other way of going except through the Mormon camps.
We each bought
an Indian pony. Leach and Sherwood got saddles also, but I could not get one,
so I had to use my blankets for a saddle and had rope stirrups.
We went to
Colonel Johnston for a pass to go through their lines, but he refused us, and
also forbid our going. We asked him what we should do. He told us we could
either volunteer or go back to the States. He would give us fifteen days'
rations to take us to Laramie where we could get another supply.
This was about
the middle of November and very cold weather.
We were not the
kind of boys that turned back. We did not care to be soldiers and winter here
on quarter rations as it was evident they would have to do. Seventy-five wagon
loads of provisions had been burned, we had lost twenty-five hundred head of
cattle by the Indians and Mormons and those that strayed off. Colonel Johnston
had sent Colonel Marcy across the country to Mexico with pack mules for
supplies.
We concluded to
take the fifteen days' rations and make sure of that, and then try for
California. As Rennick had crossed to California the year before, we concluded
to make a confidant of him, tell him our plans, and ask his advice. He tried to discourage us, saying the
Mormons would never let us go through. If they did not kill us themselves they
would put the Indians on us.
But as he could
not discourage us, he gave us what information he could as to how we could get
around the pickets, and helped us to some provisions on the sly. Then we
started, as was supposed, for the States.
We went fifteen
miles toward the States, then struck <p.198> across the bench to a stream called the
Muddy,*28* and
got down the bluff just at night. It was a very cold night, but we found wood
and very good brass on the hill sides, and hobbled our horses for the night.
Then we made
some coffee and thawed out our frozen bread and ate supper.
The neat day we
traveled down the stream, keeping close under the bluff, till night, and camped
close to thirty head of our cattle that had run off the night we left Ham's
Fork. Here we felt easy.
We built a good
fire, mixed some bread in the top of the sack, and baked it in the ashes, as
our cooking utensils consisted only of a coffee pot and three tin cups.
After supper we
concluded we could make a little stake by driving these cattle back to the
soldiers' camp. The soldiers were so short of food that we thought we would be
well paid for them. So the next morning we mounted our ponies and drove the
cattle to camp and turned them over to Rennick. He said that we should get good
pay for that work. Rennick delivered the cattle to the quartermaster who said
he would settle with us the next day.
He came with
several wagon bosses the next day to decide on a fair price to pay us. Most of
the men thought that two dollars a day would be enough, but Rennick told them
that we ought to have big pay, no wages about it; that we had taken big
chances, lost three days in the dead of winter and our provisions; and these
cattle were fifteen hundred dollars clear to the government, and the soldiers
needed them badly, but the cheap men prevailed. They concluded to pay us
fifteen dollars apiece. Mr. Rennick was so provoked at this that he gave us
more provisions and got a pass for us to go and hunt more cattle. He went <p.199> with
us out past the pickets and got us into our camp that night, then went back to
the fort.
We traveled all
next day and reached the crossing of the Bridger road, thirteen miles from
Bridger, just at dark. Here we camped.
Soon it began to
snow. We stuck up some sticks and stretched a wagon cover which we had brought
with us, to shield us from the storm.
After supper
Captain Maxwell, a Mormon officer, with twenty-eight men came riding up, and
ordered us to saddle up and go with them, and be quick about it too. We had
footed it all day through a foot of snow to save our ponies, and were very
tired. We asked permission to stay where we were till morning. He said he
didn't want any back talk. So we packed our ponies, mounted, and rode six miles
as fast as our ponies could go, with about half of the men in front and the
others behind us, to the Mormon camp where there were two or three hundred more
men.
They took our
ponies for the night and in the morning sent us with an escort of five men to
Bear River. Here Leach and Sherwood traded horses with the Mormons and gave
their guns to boot, as guns were of no use to us now. They got good strong ponies.
Here they amused
us for some time by asking questions.
We answered them as we thought best. Finally, when bed time came, they
sang some of their Mormon songs and had prayer. But such a prayer I never heard
before. They prayed for the destruction of Johnston's army and for the torture
of all Gentiles--not excepting present company even. Although hard to listen to
we stood it like majors, as we knew there was no other way, and kept as
cheerful as we could. We joked with them and made ourselves quite at home,
although, I confess, we were very badly scared. Below is a sample of their songs--one verse only: <p.200>
Squaw
killer Harney's on the way,
Duda
duda day,
The
Mormon boys for to slay.
Duda
duda day.
Come
let us be on hand,
By
Brigham Young to stand,
And
if our enemies do appear,
We'll
sweep them from the land.
Next morning
they sent five men with us to their big camp at the entrance of Echo Canyon.
There were nine hundred soldiers here. This is a very deep canon. The road ran
close to the rocks and wound along the stream. The Mormons had stone
fortifications all along on top of the mountains. They could get behind these
and shoot the soldiers as they passed through. It was a very strong position.
The Mormons were
armed with every conceivable kind of guns from a toy pistol up.
They had prayer
here also before retiring.
These were the
poorest specimens of humanity that I had ever seen together, nearly all
English, Danes, and Welsh. And such clothing!
It was impossible to tell what the original goods were.
Remnants of old
bed quilts and blankets served, as overcoats. They were a set of
bigots--claimed that they could whip the whole world, and that Johnston's army
would not be a breakfast spell for them, as they had the Lord on their side to
help fight their battles.
We agreed with
them in everything and were very anxious to find what settlement would be the
best place for us to stop at and make our home.
Next morning they
brought up our ponies and we prepared to start with an escort of seven men,
Bill Hickman,*29*
their "destroying angel", in charge. <p.201>
As we started he
asked each of us our names. Sherwood and Leach gave their names first. He
turned to me.
I said,
"They call me Bill Clark."
"Well, I
can recollect that, for my name is Bill Hickman", said he. "I suppose
you have heard. of me. You heard Doc Hurt*30* speak of me, didn't you?"
I said that I
believed I had.
"I reckon
he gives me a hard name."
"I didn't
hear him say much of anything. Hurt stayed at the soldiers camp and I was with
the freighters", said I.
"I'd like
to get in reach of him with my old rifle, he wouldn't tell any more tales, and
I'll get him yet", said Hickman.
Then he said to
me, "Ain't you afraid of me?"
"No",
said I, "why should I be afraid of you any more than anybody else."
"Haven't
you heard I was a mighty bad man?"
I told him that
I had heard lots of things I didn't believe.
"Why are
you not afraid to go with me?"
"Because", said I, "I never was anywhere yet, but that if
I behaved myself I was treated like a gentleman, and for that reason expect to
be with you, and among the Mormons. If
we were very much afraid, we wouldn't have traveled three days to get around
the pickets to get in here." I
lied a little.
Hickman laughed
and said, "Well I guess you will be."
Then I said,
"Mr. Hickman, how will you trade horses?"
"I can't
spare this one," said he, "I have rode him from Bridger to the City,
one hundred and sixteen miles, in fourteen hours ".
"He would
just suit me, and you would look pretty well on my pony, and I would look lots
better on yours." <p.202>
He laughed and
said, "You'd look better on that 'ere little pack mule ahead".
I told him I
thought he'd feel bad to have such a good looking prisoner on top of that
little mule, and top of that load too. Then I never did like a pack saddle to
ride on. He said that he would take me
into the City on it.
I said that it
would look lots better if lie would put me on that big mule he had loose.
"At the next
stop you may get on him and ride to Weber Canyon. I'm going to leave him there."
In a few miles
we came to a camp and I put my things on him and rode ten miles to Weber
Canyon.
We had kept up a
lively conversation and Hickman got quite jolly.
It was just noon
when we got there, and he asked us into the cook-house to get dinner with hint,
saying we need not go hungry while with him, and told us to leave our
provisions here, as we did not need any while we were with him.
After dinner I got
on my pony, and Hickman said I could ride him a few miles, or till he gave out,
then he would pack me on the little pack mule.
I said,
"Not much. You don't know the kind of stuff that pony is made of. He's not one that will get his master on a
pack saddle." We rode on to Little's camp. This was on top of the
mountain, and their last camp before reaching the City. We got here just before
dark. There were two of Brigham's sons here, Joseph and Brigham, Jr. These Mormons were a more surly and sarcastic
set, full of stinging remarks to us. We kept as cheerful as we could and did
not pretend to take their slurs, although hard to bear.
Here they sang
several of their Mormon songs. They had board seats to seat the whole
camp. They invited (?) <p.203> us
to take seats near the middle with Mormons surrounding us. Then a tall, slim,
hatchet faced man by the name of Little knelt in front of us and commenced to
pray.
He prayed for a
full hour, and asked the Lord to bring death and destruction to the United
States officials, to Johnston's whole army and every sympathizer, and every
Gentile living. He prayed that they should all be tortured in the most horrible
manner.
I think it must
have taken the whole combined talent of the heads of the Mormon Church to
invent this prayer. It was a hard thing to listen to and keep our nerves quiet
and hands off. But to look crooked would
have been death to us, so we bore it with all the grace we could command. This
was a long night to us, after this prayer.
There were about
two hundred Mormons in this camp. After
breakfast in the morning we gave our wagon cover to the Mormons, as we had no
more use for it, and started out. Hickman said I might ride my pony a ways, then
he would put me on the pack mule. I told him my pony was all right.
We had a good
deal of rough road, and going over the mountain, I would jump off and walk, and
rest my pony, every chance I got.
Every little
while Hickman would ask if my pony was give out.
I would tell him
"No, nor he wasn't going to either".
Then he would start off on the jump for a while.
We traveled on
till noon, when we came to a station and got dinner and fed our horses well. It
being very cold, we rested a good hour, then started on. It began to get warmer,
and in a few miles it was muddy. Every little hill that we went over, I would
walk and rest my pony. As we turned out of Emigration Canyon there was quite a
hill, and I was leading my pony. <p.204>
Hickman called,
"Is the pony give out?"
"No", said I.
We were now nine
miles from the City.
"Well, come
on then", said he, and we went on the jump as fast as my pony could run,
clear to the City, without ever letting up for a moment.
I was eight or
ten rods behind, doing my best to keep up, when we went down the bench into the
suburbs of the City, and every Mormon woman and child was out to see Hickman
and his prisoners.
They could tell
a Gentile as far as they could see him by their hair and dress. The Mormons all
had long hair. Every house we passed, they would rush out to see us. I didn't
blame them much for looking at me. I think I would have made a good picture for
a comic almanac. I was six feet and an inch and slim. My pony weighed about
seven hundred pounds. With my blankets roped around him and rope stirrups, gun
slung across my back, my sack of clothing in front of me, and a Scotch cap with
a shiny visor on my head, I didn't wonder that they stared at me. But we kept on the jump and when the others
reached Main Street they halted till I came up, then we rode down Main Street.
I rode up beside
Hickman and said, "You look dry. Can't we get something to warm us
up?" I had sized him up.
"No",
said he, "they are not allowed to sell a drop in the Territory, but you
might inquire at Kimbal's there".
"Hold on, I'll see". I got off and went in and said,
"Give me a little good stuff--Valley tan if you have it ." They said, "We are not allowed to sell
a drop in the Territory."
I laid a five
dollar gold piece on the counter and told him to give me a quart in an old tin.
He took the gold
piece, put it in the drawer, handed me <p.205> three dollars,
took a two-quart pail, went into the back room, then came back and gave it to
me. I took it out and told Hickman, as we were namesakes, we would test it
first, and, if it did not kill us, we would give the others some.
I drunk and passed it to him. We concluded that it would not
kill us and passed it around. There was a little left, so Hickman and I
finished it. Then we went to Townsend's Hotel.
Hickman introduced us to the landlord as "three Gentile
prisoners he had captured in the mountains", adding, "They are pretty
good boys. Take good care of them, and I will be in in the morning."
I persuaded Hickman to stop and take supper with us. He consented, and the rest of the escort
went their way. He got to be very
sociable and said he had a "fool Gentile brother" and he would bring
him in and introduce him to us, and that he would come tomorrow and take us up
to Brigham's and get us a pass to travel where we wished in the Territory, as
after a while we would join the Church.
We told him we liked it here very much and would try to enjoy ourselves
the best we could.
He had begun, by this time, to think we were just about green
enough for good Mormon converts, and we were willing that he should.
A great many came in to see the prisoners, among them Hyrum
Smith, Kimball,*31* and others at the head
of the Church. They asked us all sorts of questions regarding Johnston's army.
We were very ignorant, knew but little about it. We were ox, teamsters; all we
knew about them was that their supplies were short, and they would be on short
rations. This pleased the Mormons, and
they would say, "The Lord will take care of us and fight our
battles", <p.206>and that Colonel
Johnston's army could never come into Salt Lake City.
We agreed with them in every thing that seemed to please them.
Griff Williams, the mail carrier from San Bernadino, was also
there that night.
In the evening before going to bed, the office being clear
except Williams and us boys, Williams moved over to where we were sitting and
said in a whisper, "Be very careful what you say in this house. These walls have ears. I know what I am talking about. The man who
keeps this house is a villain, an one wrong statement from one of you might put
you all out of the way."
He said that he had just come in from San Bernardino with the
mail. He had hard work to get through, both from Indians and Mormons. A cousin
of his, living at Redfield, had hard work to save his life while in her own
house. Finally on account of his having the U. S. mail they concluded to let
him pass and told his cousin that they would "fix" him on his return.
But he had had another man to take the mail back and he was waiting here for
Amasy Lyman,*32* one of the twelve
apostles, from California, that he was acquainted with, and expected him here
in a day or two, and he would go south with him for protection. He said Lyman
did not approve of the Mountain Meadows Massacre or any of the murders that had
been committed in Utah. He had charge of the San Bernardino Mormons, and, after
the Mountain Meadows Massacre, Brigham had ordered him and his flock home to
Utah. He had just come into the southern settlements with one train and part of
his wives, and was going to send a train from Johnson's Fork back to California
for the rest of his family, and help others to come that were not able. <p.207> Williams
was going to California with this train. A Mr. Savage was to take charge of the
train. He was a good man, and Williams thought that, if we could reach his
place, we might get him to intercede for us. Although, if the Mormons let us
pass, the Indians would hardly let us, for the Mormons had them completely
under their control, and a wink from a Mormon would settle us. The Mormons had
missionaries among them to keep them stirred up all the time. These
missionaries claimed that they had to promise the Indians more scalps when
Williams came back in order to let him pass.
Williams also
said that the Mormons had had the Aikins*33* brothers and comrades--six in all--in prison
for two months on one charge or another, and had just sent them out the south
route with an escort with Porter Rockwell in charge, and, if we ever heard of
them again, we would probably hear that the Indians had killed them.
Porter Rockwell
and Bill Hickman were the leading Danites, or "Destroying Angels",
and with Porter Rockwell in charge was proof that they would never reach
California.
I will state here
the condition of the Mormon Church at that time.
Brigham Young and
his officials had a death grasp on every man in the Church--or out of it in Utah.
He made every Mormon consecrate all of his property to the Church, which was
really a deed subject to the dictation of the church. They could not take any
property out of the Territory, except with Brigham's Permission.
Brigham also had
a revelation that every Mormon must confess all of his sins and crimes to the
bishops and high priest of their settlement, and they did so.
He had a set of
officers called Danites scattered through <p.208> the Territory, for
the purpose of putting any of their brethren out of the way when they became
dissatisfied with the Church, also to take care of any Gentiles they could
find. Hence the Mountain Meadows Massacre, the Aikins' murder, the Parish*34*
murder, the Potter murder, and a hundred others.
There were many
Mormons who did not sanction these butcheries, but dare not say a word against
it for fear that their turn would come next, but they dare not disobey an order
said to come from Brigham.
Brigham Young would
preach inflammatory sermons, and almost order a murder by saying, "You
must make a settlement" with such and such people "or I will turn the
Indians loose upon them". The bishops and apostles would do the same. It
was difficult for a man not in full sympathy with all of their doings to escape
their vengeance. To disobey an order from Brigham was almost certain death,
and, in the outer settlements, to disobey an order from a bishop was the same.
But to return to
the Townsend Hotel.
About ten o'clock
in the morning Bill Hickman came in with his "fool Gentile brother",
introduced him to us and was quite jolly. As I found that "medicine"
which we had the night before at Kimbal's did Hickman so much good, I asked him
if we hadn't better go and get another dose.
He thought we had. So we went to Kimbal's store and said we would like
to go into his back room. He opened the door, handed me a cup, and pointed to a
barrel. We went in, drew some, and all drank a little. I paid the bill, and
then we went for a walk.
After awhile we
went to Kimbal's again. Then Hickman said that he would take us up to
Brigham's, introduce us to him, and see what he could do for us there. <p.209> We
went to Brigham's office, and Hickman introduced us as "three Gentile prisoners,"
and said, "They are pretty good boys too, and are going to stay with us.
They want a pass to travel around to find a good place to stop this
winter".
Brigham gave us
a pass and we chatted awhile, then went back to Kimbal's, as we had learned how
to treat Hickman's case. Hickman then invited us to come out to his place and
stay over night. He told us that, if we couldn't get anything to do to make a
living for the winter, he would donate us a fat ox and twenty bushels of wheat
and we could get through on that. Then he shook hands, bade us goodbye and rode
away.
FROM SALT LAKE TO CALIFORNIA
The next day a man by
the name of Brown came in from the soldiers' camp with a fine horse.
I tried to trade
a gold watch that I had for his horse, but, as he lived at Fillmore, one
hundred and fifty miles south, he said that he couldn't trade, as he would have
no way of getting home. I told him that we intended to go down that way in
about a week, and, if I wanted the horse, I would call and see him. He said
that I could have him then if I wanted him.
One day we got
on our ponies and went out to Hickman's place, eight miles from the City, as we
had agreed. He was not at home, but we stayed all night. We came back to the
City the next morning.
We started south
the next day, saying that we were going to Cottonwood, but we went on south. In
the afternoon we fell in company with a young man by the name of Gid Finley
from Salt Creek, one hundred and ten miles south of Salt Lake. <p.210>
He had been out
to the Mormon camp with some supplies for the soldiers.
We rode along in
company with him for some time, and, as our luggage was burdensome, he said
that we might put it in his wagon, which we did. I put my gun in also.
He was quite a
nice young man. He wanted my rifle. I told him that I would like to trade my
pony and rifle for a larger horse. He said that he had a good horse at home
that would suit me.
That night we
stayed at American Fork with the bishop.
In the morning we started on, intending to go home with Gid Finley and
make a trade. We began to place a little confidence in him. When we got to
Springville, he told us to stop at Bishop Redfield's for dinner, and he would
go to an acquaintance's of his, and if he started before we did, we would find
him at Payson at the bishop's that night.
We stopped at Bishop Redfield's, and they were very nice people. They got us a fine dinner, and we stayed two
hours. We told them that we were going to Johnson's Fort to try to go through
to California with Savage's train. The
bishop said, "You better not try it. The
Indians are very bad."
We said that we
would be careful in going from one settlement to another, and that we were in
company with Mr. Finley.
He said, `You can
trust him. He is a good young man. But
he can't keep you from the Indians. They are very bad. I know what I am talking
about."
His wife tried
to persuade us to stop with them for a while, for it would be impossible for us
to get through. But, as our baggage was
with Finley, we thought that we would take our chances, and catch up with him.
The bishop said,
"From the bottom of my heart I wish you no harm". Then, throwing his
head back, "The In-<p.211>dians are mighty bad, and not altogether the Indians". As he said this, the tears rolled
down his cheeks.
But we saddled
up, and he and his wife came out, and, with tears rolling down their cheeks,
gave each of us a hearty shake of the hand, saying, "May the Lord bless
you' .
We started, badly
scared inside if we did not show it outside, and rode on to overtake Finley.
As we had lost
two hours, we rode to Spanish Fork without coming up with him. Here we inquired
about him and learned that he was half an hour ahead. We pushed on out of town
and across the creek, then about a mile to the top of a hill which sloped down
to the bottom which we had to cross to go to Payson.
At the top of
the hill we met a man coming with his horse on the lope. As he came up to us,
he halted and said he had been watching for us all the afternoon, as Jack Brown
had told him to be sure to tell us to go through from Spanish Fork in the
night, or the Indians would kill us. I asked him who Brown was.
"Why, he is
the man that was talking about trading his horse to you for a gold watch".
I said that I
remembered him.
"He said
that he rode through from Salt Lake to Fillmore in three days, and the Indians
had heard that you were coming before he got home, and were on the lookout for
you.
"You see
that smoke there on the flat near Doc Hurt's*35* old place?"
"Yes
".
"Well,
fifteen or twenty Indians have just camped there. They described you three and inquired of me if I had seen <p.212> you.
I told them that I had not. They are on the look out for you".
We asked if he
had met Finley.
He said that we
could just see him. "He can travel anywhere. The Indians never trouble us
Mormons. We all can talk their language and go where we please".
I said that
Finley had our clothes and my gun.
"Let him go
with them", said he, and you go back to Spanish Fork and stay a day or
two, for it is impossible for you to pass that Indian camp".
I asked him if
he would go back and get our things.
He said that he
would for five dollars. I told him that I would give it.
He said that he
would be back to the bishop's by eight o'clock that night, and for us to go
there to stay.
We went back and
stayed with the bishop that night, but our clothes and gun did not come.
When bed time came
they had prayer, and all knelt down but me. When they arose, the bishop took me
to task for it, but I told him that I had too much respect for their religion
to make a mock of it; that I did not belong to any church, and did not wish to
insult them on religious matters. He accepted my apology, but it left Sherwood
and Leach in a fix, and he turned to them for an explanation of their actions.
But Sherwood was
equal to the occasion, although a little embarrassed. He spoke right up and
said that he and Leach were different from Clark as they were both brought up
under religious influences and were used to kneeling with church people, and
since they came to Utah the Mormons seemed near to them, and they deemed it a
privilege to kneel with them in worship.
This explanation
satisfied him.
The next day
about ten o'clock the man came in with our <p.213> clothing but no gun.
He said that his horse got scared and he dropped the gun and could not find it,
and as he had lost the gun, he would not charge us anything for bringing the
rest and seemed sorry that the gun was lost.
That day a
Mormon claimed Mart Sherwood's horse that he had got in trade from a Mormon
soldier, proved that it was his, and took it away.
Now that his
horse was gone, Sherwood concluded that he would stay here and join the Church.
He had that day
found a Mormon that came from near where he did in Wisconsin. Sherwood joined
the Church, and, in the spring got out.
I bought his saddle,
and in a couple of days, as the Indians had moved their camp about half a mile
from the road, Leach and myself determined to go through if possible.
So we started
just at dark and rode to Payson, twelve miles and put up with the bishop.
The next day we
reached Salt Creek and stopped with the Finleys. The young man was sorry that I
had lost my rifle.
They were clever
people and seemed very much alarmed for our safety. That night the sister of
the young man's, an old maid, made one of the most pathetic prayers that I ever
listened to. She prayed especially for our safety on the trip, asking the Lord
to protect us from the Indians or any harm that might come to us, and that we
might reach our destination in safety.
Six days before
this the Aikins brothers and comrades, who left Salt Lake City the day we
arrived under an escort with Porter Rockwell in charge, had, four of them, been
killed on the Sevier River, sixteen miles from here, and the other two were
wounded and ran back here and went to the bishop's for protection. He kept them four days, then <p.214> there
was an official meeting called, and orders given for them to be taken out to
Willow Creek and killed. This creek we crossed four miles from here.
It was at this
time reported to us as having been done by the Indians.
In the morning
we rode out into the foot hills with Finley to find his pony. We drove him up
and I traded with him, giving him twenty dollars to boot.
We got our
dinner and it was two o'clock before we started. We learned that Amasa Lyman
and Griff Williams, the mail carrier, had passed. We mounted our ponies and
started to overtake them.
There was no
settlement for thirty miles, and we rode hard, determined to overtake them
before camping, which we did about dark on the Sevier River and camped close to
where the Aikins boys were killed a week before.
The snow was a
foot deep and it was a very cold night.
We had no shelter but plenty of wood.
We moved our
fire and when the ground got cool enough, we spread our blankets down on the
warm place and went to bed and to sleep, but about midnight woke up nearly
frozen. We got up shivering and moved our fire again, and soon had another warm
bed. But before daylight we froze out again. After this we made our bed on the
snow and slept more comfortable.
The nest day we
arrived at Johnson's Fort where Savage was getting ready to start for
California.
Here we stopped,
and Griff Williams went on with Lyman to Cedar City. Before going they spoke a
good word to Savage for us.
There were two
buildings here, and they were forted in with a high adobe wall for protection
against Indians. This was five miles
south of Fillmore and fourteen south <p.215> of Corn Creek Reservation where there
was quite a tribe of Indians.
Savage went to
Fillmore to complete getting ready to start, and Leach and myself went with
him. Here I met Jack Brown, the man who sent word for us to come through in the
night. He told us that we would have to be very careful, as the Indians were
very anxious about us. He said he would do all that he could for us, and
thought Savage could keep them off.
When we got back
to the Fort that night, there were a dozen or more Indians there. Mrs. Johnson
told us they were planning to steal our horses and saddles. She had overheard
their plans. They had picked out our horses and saddles and looked them over,
and, unless we guarded them closely, they would have them.
She told Savage
about it, and he called the Indians and told them that he had bought our horses
and saddles. He gave them a big talk in their own language and they went off.
In the morning
we made a bargain with Mr. Savage to take us through. We gave him our horses
and saddles and twenty dollars apiece, besides driving and taking care of a
four mule team, and he was to do the best that lie could to get us through to
San Bernardino--a good one hundred and twenty-five dollars apiece besides our
work, for our grub and his influence.
We now started
for California. There was another Gentile by the name of Dickey that had come
in from California with Amasa Lyman with goods to sell in the Territory. He went with us.
Lyman had gone
ahead to Santa Clara, the southern settlement, and made arrangements as he went
along to have all the Indians on the route from Johnson's Fort to Santa Clara
pacified to let us pass, and sent word for all <p.216> of the Indians to
come into Santa Clara the day that we were there. He also sent for Ira Hatch,
their best Indian interpreter.
We got to
Fillmore the first day. Here a train joined us. Our train was made up of teams
from each settlement along the road to Cedar City. When we arrived at Cedar
City we were joined by Lyman and Griff Williams.
We took the
Mountain Meadows route and camped by a spring, four miles from the Meadows.
Next day we went over the ground of the Mountain Meadows Massacre, *36* the
most brutal and barbarous massacre ever committed on the American continent--and
this plotted and planned by Mormon officials. Bishop Higbee and President
Haight of Cedar City, and John D. Lee *37* of Harmony were leaders of this massacre.
There were one hundred and thirty-two emigrants killed, and they saved
seventeen children. This was said to be the richest train that had ever crossed
the plains.
The Mormons and
Indians got $80,000, over three hundred head of stock, and the outfits from
this massacre, the Indians getting but a small share. Joel White, one of the
Mountain Meadows police, was with our train. We were the first train that ever
passed over this ground after that wholesale murder, and we Gentiles were
ordered to stay close to our wagons and not be looking around, as it would not
be safe for us if we did. But I counted
eighteen skeletons close to the road, mostly of women and children with the
hair still on their skulls. It was enough to make a man's blood run cold, and
to know that some of the perpetrators of that deed were in our train! <p.217> It will be remembered by the readers
of the trial of John D. Lee, a few years later, that Joel White, though not
actively engaged in the killing of any, was on police duty, and reported the
progress of the massacre to the settlements, it being nearly a week after they
were attacked before they surrendered and the massacre took place.
That night we
camped near Hamlin's ranch, just over the divide. It was quite cold here.
The next day w e
rolled down to the Santa Clara.*38* Here
it was warm summer weather. We had come from cold winter, in one day, into a
fine warm climate. We stayed here the next day, and the Indians came in from
some distance around to meet the great apostle, Amasa Lyman and receive
instructions from him.
He preached to
them for some time and Ira Hatch, the interpreter, repeated his sermon to them.
Lyman instructed them to let this train and us four Gentiles pass through their
country unharmed, and requested the chief of this tribe to send a messenger
from one tribe to another for our protection.
This chief sent
an under chief to the next tribe on the Rio Virgin, and from there the chief
sent a messenger to the Muddy *39* where the big camp of the [Paiutes]*40* was. Here the Mormons had two missionaries, *41* McConnel
and Liston. This was the place where they had the Indians worked up to kill
Griff Williams on his way down. But <p.218> after Dickey had gone through with
Lyman's train, they thought best to let Williams pass and they would be sure of
them both when they came back.
So they had hard
work to get him through this time. The under chief got in here half a day in
advance of us and had the Indians quieted down before we arrived. They seemed
quite friendly, although some of them acted rather surly.
After dinner, as I was seated on my wagon
seat mending some clothing and Williams sitting beside me, McConnell, one of
the missionaries, came up to the forward wheel of the wagon and began to tell
Williams what hard work he had to keep the Indians from killing him when he
went through before. After he had explained how hard he had worked to save his
life, a big young buck stepped up to the wagon, climbed up, put his arm around
Williams' neck, and said, "Poshupe, McConnel lies. McConnel say Poshupe Americuts, cots wino (bad) and to kill Poshupe".
As he said this he stuck his finger into McConnel's face.
"Poshupe
always give Piute tobac (tobacco) and
shotcup (food). Piute like Poshupe but McConnel say Poshupe was
Americuts, c-o-ts w in o Americuts,
and to kill Poshupe".
McConnel did not
know what to say, and did not say a word, but went away.
Poshupe was the
name that the Indians gave Williams on account of his long heavy eyebrows.
Here we left the
Muddy and went up a long ravine nine miles, out on the descent to the Vegas
Springs about sixty miles.
About two weeks
before, a large train from the States had passed through Utah, the first train
after the Mountain Meadows Massacre. This was Crooks, Cooper, and Collins's
train. They had been very careful not to arouse the Mormons, and had hired Ira
Hatch and another interpreter, <p.219> the two best in Utah, to guide them
through and pacify the Indians. They piloted thus train through by way of Old
Harmony, instead of over the massacre ground.
While that train was moving up this ravine
the Indians charged down on them and drove off all of their loose stock, about
one hundred head. The men were going to protect themselves, and their property,
and there were enough to have done so, there being sixty in the train, but the
interpreters ordered them not to or they would all be killed; but let the
Indians have their stock and not get into a fight with them, and they would go
and get the stock back. They took their advice and Hatch and the other man went
off after the cattle, but never returned. The Company paid the interpreters one
hundred dollars apiece in advance, and now they had lost their stock in the
bargain.
We went on to
the Vegas Springs *42* without any
trouble. This desert is covered in many
places with desert brush, and along the road was a great variety of cactus.
The bayonet
cactus grows out of the ground like a mass of bayonets to the height of four
feet. The cactus tree, which was plentiful, grows to be twenty feet high, and
the trunks of some were a foot through. The top branches were covered with
bayonet like leaves. The body was a mass of wiry fibers woven through and
through, filled in with a light punky substance. When dead, a man could carry
quite a large tree. These dead trees made a beautiful fire, and in the night,
when crossing this desert, we would set fire to them as we went along, just to
see them burn.
We were nearly
two days and one night in crossing this desert to the Vegas. Here was a nice
camping place.
We arrived at
the Vegas Springs on January first, 1858.
Three or four of
us took a bath in this spring on New Year's Day. Although out of the bathing
season, we enjoyed it very much.
There was quite
a party of Indians here, but they appeared friendly.
Our next camping
place was at Cottonwood Springs, a nice place to camp. There was some
cottonwood timber here.
There is a
little history connected with this camp.
Early in the fifties a man by the name of Pomroy crossed the plains to Utah
with a train of merchandise, eight or ten loads. He went to Salt Lake City, sold his goods, and started across to
California.
After he had got
out on the desert, he found that his
men were planning to steal his money, and he feared they would kill him
to get it. So, when within a day's travel of Cottonwood Springs, Pomroy took a
mule and some provisions, and started for San Bernardino, leaving his train and
money in charge of his wagon boss. The night that he reached San Bernardino he
dreamed that he saw his saddle bags, containing his money, move from his wagon
into a bank about twenty rods from camp.
He got up wild
with excitement over his dream, as he had over $10,000. He hunted up a man by
the name of C. L. Kingston who had carried the mail across to Utah, told him of
his trouble, and hired him to go back with him to hunt his money. They each
packed a pack mule and started. It was two hundred and fifty miles to
Cottonwood, where he dreamed that his money was.
They went out to
the Mojave and met the train. His wagon boss told him that the money was stolen
the night they camped at Cottonwood. Pomroy and Kingston pushed on. When they
got to Mountain Spring, *43* twenty-five miles <p.221> from
Cottonwood, they camped for the night. In the morning Pomroy said that he had
had another dream. He saw his money move out of the bank where it was hid and
out of sight. He was discouraged now and wanted to turn back, but Kingston
would not now, and said they would go on to the place.
He had hard work
to get Pomroy to go. Pomroy said it was useless, as the money was gone. But, as
Kingston insisted, they rode on to the place, and Pomroy pointing to a bank,
said, "It was right over there in the side of that bank, but it is not
there now."
Kingston got off
of his horse, went to the place, and found fresh dirt. He looked around and
found a string. Then he called Pomroy,
who said that it was the string which fastened his saddle bags. It was greasy,
having been covered up with bacon in the mess wagon.
They went down
the "wash", as they could see that the gravel had been disturbed.
They followed the wash about twenty rods and came upon his money, all spilled
out on the gravel, and picked up every dollar, $10,300.
The wolves had
smelled the greasy saddle bag, dug it out, dragged it along by one corner, and
spilled the money out in a pile.
I knew this man
Kingston from '58 to '64, and have heard him tell this story several times, and
believe it to be true.
Our neat camp
was at Mountain Spring. There were some Indians here, but we had no trouble
with them. All of the Indians, after leaving the Mormon settlements, are
Piutes. They are not very strong. Scarcely any of these little tribes could
muster over fifty warriors. They never had any horses. If they get one, they kill it for food. They are a sort of Digger Indian, living
mostly on roots and lizards, and in the season when there is no travel they <p.222> get
very poor. In the winter, when there is considerable travel, they fat up like
pigs. Everyone that crosses expects to feed them and they seldom attack a
train, but often pick off a man if they can catch him away from camp. They will
hide in the brush and shoot down a horse or mule in a team, then they get it
for food. They never have been known to attack much of a train, unless helped
by the Mormons.
From here we
went to Kingston Spring, forty-five miles.
This spring was discovered by C. L. Kingston and Pomroy on their return,
after finding Pomroy's money, who gave it this name.
Before that the
route had been by the Resting Springs.
We left the Kingston Spring and crossed the next desert of forty-five
miles to Bitter Springs. At these two desert springs the water is very poor,
having a bitter taste, but travelers have to put up with it. We seldom saw
Indians here.
Our next drive
brought us to the foot of the Mojave.
Here we found better water and very good grass.
This stream
sinks out of sight and there is no water along it, except in holes, for thirty
miles.
At the end of
the next day's drive we camped at the head of this stream.
From here we
drove into San Bernardino, arriving there on the thirteenth day of January,
1858. It was warm and delightful weather and the grass was green.
Here we found
Crooks, Cooper, and Collins. When they found out what Mr. Savage charged us to
let us work our passage through, they were determined that he should give us
back our horses and saddles. But we told them that the ship that landed us
safely out of Utah, no matter what
the cost, was welcome to all it got, for now we could breathe easy. <p.223>
I will go back
to my friends--Tuttle, whom I left at Bridger to get his brother out of the
army, and Sherwood at Spanish Fork among the Mormons.
Sherwood, I
afterward learned, joined the Church, and worked around and got enough money to
make a payment on a house and lot. He
gained the good graces of a prominent Mormon's daughter, and got Brigham's
consent to marry her. Then he got an
outfit to go back to the States after a threshing machine, and, when spring
opened so that he could cross the mountains, Brigham gave him a pass to go
after his machine, and he started.
When two days
out, he met a man with a few wagons loaded with merchandise. This man had come
out and wintered at Bridger, and was going into the city to sell his goods.
Tuttle, having succeeded in getting his brother out of the army, was with him.
This man feared
that Brigham would not allow him to sell them in the Territory and offered
Sherwood and Tuttle a good commission if Sherwood would get a permit from
Brigham and help sell them.
Sherwood went
back to Salt Lake City and told Brigham that this man was owing him, and his
only show to get his pay was out of these goods.
Brigham gave him
a permit and he went back, and they bought the goods, and sold them at a big
commission, making quite a little stake out of it.
Then Sherwood
with Tuttle and his brother went back to Wisconsin.
In 1863 I was in
Spanish Fork, but Sherwood had not got back with his threshing machine, nor to
claim his Mormon girl.
--Iowa Journal of History and Politics, v. 20, April, 1922, p. 163-223.
To learn more about the Hickman
brothers, click here: William A., George W. , Thomas J.
To learn more about Hickman
activities in the Utah War, click here.
For access to the Utah History
Encyclopedia, click here.
To return to the Hickman Family
index page, click here.
-----o-----
Footnotes:
1 The name of this firm is usually written Russell, Majors, and
Waddell. Alexander Majors began freighting across the plains in 1818. It is said
that he never drank nor swore and that he made his employees sign a contract
not to drink, gamble, or swear. In 1855
he combined with another freighting firm under the name Majors and Russell, but
in 1858 the firm name became Russell, Majors, and Waddell. This was the largest of the freighting
companies, using in the year 1858 some 3500 wagons, 40,000 oxen, and 1000
mules. Over 4000 men were employed. The business was extended to include
passenger and express service and in 1860 at the suggestion of William H.
Russell, one of the partners, the Pony Express was established.--Hartman's The California and Oregon Trail, a
thesis in the possession of the library of the State University of Iowa;
Visscher's The Pony Express, pp. 18,
20, 22; Coman's Economic Beginnings of
the Far West, Vol. II, p. 355; Rhodes's History
of the United States, 1850-1877, Vol. III, p. 237.
2 See above, note 1.
3 This was Captain Stewart Van Vliet.--House Executive Documents, 35th Congress, 1st Session, Vol. X, Doc.
No. 71, p. 26.
4 See above, note 1.
5 William H. Russell.--Visscher's The Pony Express, p. 29.
6 James Henry Lane was president of the Topeka constitutional
convention in 1855, was second in command of the free state forces in the
so-called Wakarusa War, and was chosen United States Senator from Kansas in
1856 under the Topeka constitution, but his election was not recognized by
the Senate.--Spring's Kansas, pp. 70, 92, 272.
7 See above, note 5.
8 The Grasshopper River flows into the Kansas River from the north.
9 Possibly this is Cape Girardeau, Missouri.
10 See above, note 5.
11 See above, note 1.
12 See above, note 1.
13 Fort Fetterman was established in 1867 at the point where La
Prele Creek empties into the North Platte.
14 This fort was located near the site of the present town of
Casper, Wyoming. C. G. Coutant says the spelling should be Caspar and that it
was named is honor of Lieutenant Caspar Collins who was killed by the Indians
in 1865.--Coutant's The History of Wyoming,
pp. 477, 473.
15 This is apparently an error.
Pacific Springs was on the other side of South Pass beyond the
Sweetwater River. The writer may mean Willow Springs.
16 See above, note 15.
17 See above, note 3.
18 See above, note 3.
19 Various authorities differ as to the burning of these wagon
trains. H. H. Bancroft gives three on
Green River; Colonel E. B. Alexander, commander of the advance guard, and
William A. Linn both give the number as one on the Big Sandy and two on Green
River.--Linn's The Story of the Mormons,
pp. 489, 490; Bancroft's History of Utah,
pp. 515, 518; House Executive Documents,
35th Congress, 1st Session, Vol. X, Doc. No. 71, pp. 31, 63.
20 See above, note 3.
21 Colonel E. B. Alexander was in command of the advance guard of
United States soldiers.
22 See above, note 1.
23 Bill Hickman, one of the leaders of the radical group of Mormons,
had been implicated in the murder of the Aikin party of six men in the spring
of 1857.--Linn's The Story of the Mormons,
p. 450.
24 Garland Hurt. For his
reports on the troubles with the Indians and Mormons see House Executive Documents, 35th Congress, 1st Session, Vol. X, Doc.
No. 71.
25 The Mountain Meadows Massacre occurred in September, 1857, in the
southwestern part of Utah. Over one hundred and twenty emigrants, who had been
persuaded by the Mormons to leave their camp where they were defending
themselves with difficulty from the Indians, were killed by the Mormons who had
promised to save them from their Indian enemies. Seventeen small children were
kept until their release was demanded by the government.--Linn's The Story of the Mormons, pp. 517-534.
26 This was probably William R. Parrish, a Mormon who, it was believed,
had become dissatisfied with the administration of Brigham Young. He and one of
his sons were assassinated by the Mormons.--Linn's The Story of the Mormons, pp. 448-450.
27 This was the incident referred to above in note 23.--Linn's The Story of the Mormons, p. 450.
28 Probably Muddy Creek, a stream a short distance north of the camp
at Fort Bridger.
29 See above, note 23.
30 See above, note 24.
31 Probably Heber C. Kimball, a prominent Mormon leader.
32 Amasa W. Lyman.
33 See above, note 23.
34 See above, note 26.
35 See above, note 24.
36 See above, note 25.
37 John D. Lee was the man who persuaded the emigrants at Mountain
Meadows to leave their camp. He was later tried on the charge of murder and
executed by shooting on the scene of the massacre in March, 1875.
38 The Santa Clara River is in the southwestern corner of Utah and
flows into the Virgin River.
39 This is probably a small stream flowing into the Virgin River,
west of the larger stream.
40 This name has been supplied.
There was a reservation of these Indians at this place.--Hodge's Handbook of American Indians, Vol. II,
p. 187.
41 For an account of the difficulties of the Indian agents with the
Mormon missionaries, see Report of the Commissioner of Indian Affairs, 1857,
pp. 305-308. Brigham Young, at this time was Superintendent of Indian Affairs
in Utah Territory by virtue of his position as Governor of the Territory.
42 The springs mentioned here and on the following pages are
difficult to locate. Vegas Springs was
evidently in southern Nevada.
43 Mountain Spring is in southern Nevada southwest of Las Vegas.