USA > Montana > Then and now; or, Thirty-six years in the Rockies. Personal reminiscences of some of the first pioneers of the state of Montana. Indians and Indian wars. The past and present of the Rocky mountain country. 1864-1900 > Part 6
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Little Frenchie was killed by Assinnaboines on Milk river in 1869.
A man who was taking care of some cattle for Carroll and Steell was killed by Indians on Milk river in 1869, and Sam Rex was killed by Bloods the same year on Eagle creek.
Fifteen men and one woman and two children were killed by Sioux in 1863. They were returning from the mines, and on their way by the Missouri river route in a Mackinaw boat, which they had built at Fort Benton. Their names I cannot give, except one whose name was Thomas Mitchell, and who joined the party at one of the trading posts further down the river.
It was plain to be seen that the Indians did not kill them for their gold, for it was spilled on the shore where the mutilat- ed bodies of the men lay. The woman was hanging to a limb of a tree, the limb being driven through her chin; the two chil- dren, one on each side of the mother, were hanging in the same manner, and the bodies were full of arrows.
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Jim Matkins was wounded by Piegans, near Benton, in 1868. Mr. Matkins was one of my best friends. At the time he was shot by the Indians he was an employe of the "Diamond R. Company," a firm that had several ox teams engaged in hauling freight from Fort Benton to various towns and points in the territory. He related to me the following particulars of the chase he had with the Indians at the time he was shot. He said : "One day at Fort Benton I loaded sixteen of the company's wagons with freight for Helena. Tom Clary and J. C. Adams had charge of the outfit. They pulled out that day and camped the following night at Eight Mile spring. I was clerking for the company at the time. I could not get the bills of lading ready at the time they left; so, late in the evening, after dark, I got on my saddle horse and started for their camp. After I had gone about three miles I heard the clatter of horses' hoofs, and, looking back, I saw eight Indians coming as fast as their horses could carry them, and bullets began whizzing by me; but what frightened me the worst was their fearful "Indian yell." I put the spurs to my horse and rode for dear life towards Clary and Adams' camp, which was five miles further. I had a Win- chester rifle that had sixteen loaded cartridges; I fired sev- eral shots at the Indians. In this way I kept them at bay for a while. But there was one who had a very fast horse and he was the only Indian that could keep pace with me, for mine was a good runner; but this redskin could run up to my side whenever he wanted to. After running in this way for about three miles, and in a shower of bullets, I discovered that I was shot in the hip. I could see but one Indian and he had slacked up his pace to load his gun. I dismounted and took as good aim as I could in the dark and fired four shots. I believe that I wounded him or his horse, for he came no further. I could feel that my boot was filling up with blood and I was getting very weak; it was as much as I could do to mount my horse.
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When I arrived at the camp I told all that had occurred. I was put in a wagon drawn by two yoke of oxen, and Clary and Adams, with two other men took me back to Benton that night, and my wound was dressed. The bullet is still in my hip."
Mr. Matkins afterwards died from the effects of this injury. He is buried in the Highland cemetery at Great Falls.
This recalls one Decoration day when the Grand Army vet- erans were on their way to the cemetery with beautiful flowers to cover the graves of their comrades. I spoke to one of them : "Say, comrade, I am a veteran pioneer. An old comrade of mine is buried in that cemetery. He was shot by the Indians and died from the effects. I have a few wild flowers with me and I am going to decorate his grave. Won't you 'take me in' and let me march with you ?" I did not march, but the wild flowers were placed on poor Jim Matkin's grave.
Old man Long, Foster and Jordan were killed by Sioux near the mouth of Pouchette creek.
Henry Simpson was killed near my ranch on Sun river in 1870. He was shot twice.
A shepherd by the name of Hunt was killed near Grassy Lake, eight miles north of my home, in 1883. He was found with several bullet holes through the body.
George Horn was killed by Assinnaboines on Cow creek in 1874.
Bill Morrison and John Hughes were killed by River Crows on Arrow creek in 1877.
Antelope Charley and Cook were killed by Piegans at the mouth of Eagle creek in 1873.
Little Rock was killed by Sioux on Judith mountain in 1874.
Buckshot and Poulett were killed by Assinnaboines at Rocky spring in 1871.
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Joseph Gipperich was killed by Bloods on Saint Mary's river in 1872.
E. B. Richardson and Charles Steel, James Downey, Charles Buck, J. J. Barker and an African were killed by the Nez Perces in October, 1877, near Cow creek, during the tour of Chief Joseph through the country.
One man, name unknown, was found dead near the Marias in 1875. He was killed by some of the Northern Indians.
One man, name unknown, was killed by Piegans on Sun river in 1868. No clue to the murderers could be had.
Seven unknown travelers were killed by Sioux on the Mis- souri river, above Fort Peck, in 1868. It was supposed that they were on their way from the East to the gold mines, for they were well equipped for a long journey.
Two men, names unknown, were killed by Sioux at the mnouth of the Musselshell in 1868.
Four men, names unknown, were killed by Sioux at the mouth of the Musselshell in 1873.
One man, name unknown, was killed by Piegans on Warm Spring creek, near the Judith river, in 1874.
The remains of a man were found a few miles up the Mis- souri river, from the mouth of Sun river, in 1887. His iden- tification could not be had. The opinion was that death had come from exposure.
The above are a few of the shadows that darkened the life of the pioneer.
It is human nature that every person is pleased to hear others saying something good about him. Joaquin Miller said of the pioneers of Montana that some fell from overtoil, others in battle with savages; some died even as they sat for the first time by the new-laid hearthstone waiting for wife and babes to arrive with the first flowers of spring; and that the world does not, perhaps, understand what it cost to come here in the early days.
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And, as Mr. Miller says, the Pilgrim fathers set forth in the ship and landed on Plymouth Rock; the Cavaliers of Vir- ginia sailed pleasantly up the James river and scarcely knew what a camp in the wilderness was until they sat down in their future home ; the Argonauts of California, many of them, merely sailed from port to port; but Montana was a thousand miles from any ocean, a wilderness in the center of an untrodden country with savages in her every pass and valley, and so, necessarily, every man that came here among the first was in some way a soldier, yes, a veteran soldier, who had mustered, camped, marched and battled, endured hunger and exposure to all kinds of weather-all that the bravest soldier endures- before he ever 'came within sight of the Mecca that he was toiling to reach. He truly says that there was a great difference between the Montana veteran and the bravest of the brave in any war that has ever been; that the soldiers Caesar, Napoleon and Grant had their governments to clothe, feed, pay and pension them, but the hero of Montana stood alone.
I have just given the names of seventy-six of those heroes who fell victims to the wrath of the redskins, and of several that were wounded and died afterwards. The names of the fourteen men, the woman and the two children, I have not, but their relatives were informed of their sad death. Of the other party of men, women and children no further account of them but the finding of their bodies could be obtained. And, in ad- dition to all, we have twenty-two unknown who were killed; not a trace of their identification could be found-no one knew either their names or where their homes were-therefore, an account of their death could not be given to friends or rela- tives, who may never know what has become of their dear ones who went West years before.
Think of the affectionate sister who had ceased receiving letters from her brother who had gone to the unsettled West
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to try and better his condition in life. She said: "My brother John used to write to me often, but now, for a long time he has not written. It may be that he is in the mountains pros- pecting, and that he has no way to send a letter to me. I expect the next letter, when it comes, will be full of good news." Month after month has passed and she is patiently waiting for that newsy letter to arrive. Poor girl! She does not know the fate that has befallen her brother. And thus of a loving wife, with a babe on her arm, and with her other arm embracing her kind and loving husband when he left home to go to the gold fields of the "Rockies" to hunt enough of the yellow metal to pay off the mortgage that was on their little home. She said that her husband had been gone nearly four years; that during the first three years he wrote every month, and, in every letter there was some money for her, and that in the last letter he stated that he had good prospects and hopes of "striking it" before she would get another, and would be home with enough money to pay off everything. And she, too, is. waiting, waiting. It has not entered her mind that her beloved husband has been
Again a fond and loving mother, bent with age, and who parted with her only son several years before. For a long time after he left for the gold regions, she said: "He used to write to me very often and always send me some money, and one time he sent me a nice specimen from the mines, but now I have not heard from him for a long time and I am afraid something has happened to him. I am getting so I can't sleep at night thinking of my darling boy." He was advertised in the newspaper nearest where his last address was, and the ed- itor of the paper, for the sake of a broken-hearted mother, left the advertisement in double the time the contract called for, besides inserting, "other papers please copy." But no one re- sponded. All this time an unheard voice was saying: "He
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is one of the unknown that were killed by the Indians in an isolated place in the Rocky mountains a long time ago." It may be that some of the relatives of those unfortunates are still hoping that the lost son, brother, husband, or father is yet alive; but the fact is, their remains are resting in an un- marked grave on the plains, or, may be, far in some lonely gulch in the mountains, and the once little mound is now leveled by the elements and the secret spot robed with herbs and wild grasses, so that even his fellow pioneer who buried him cannot designate the place where the remains sleep and rest forever.
One night, when lying in my blankets under the spread- ing bows of a pine tree, thinking of those lonely graves that are scattered here and there through the west, in which lay the "unknown," the following lines occurred to me:
Slain by Indians a pioneer was found, His home or his kindred nobody knew; Over his cold form. bendeth The grasses in tears of dew.
A fellow pioneer, as best he could, Laid the body in a newly made grave; And after the task was done, he said : Here's where lies one that was brave.
Many memorial days have passed ; But no mother, no sister has ever come, To lay beautiful flowers On the grave of the unknown one.
There is a broken heart somewhere, Bleeding from a terrible wound ; A hope that has nearly perished, For the dear one that cannot be found.
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There is a grave-in those grasses, A pioneer's grave -and lo ! Him whom those green sods cover ; His name no one knows.
But the name of the unknown In the Great Book is recorded, As well as those of the world's rulers, Kings, princes and potentates.
And, when comes the last day, They, too, will be gathered The same as those rulers- Not one neglected.
Some people, after reading this letter, may say that it was wrong for those daring men and brave women to go into such a country, occupied only by savages. Well, that may be so, but the unexplored West never would be developed were it not for the immigrants, miners and prospectors who had the ambition, courage and pluck to commence to conquer. They are the "John the Baptists" of civilization, and the founders of states that are represented by stars in our banner and of those yet to come.
I came to Montana when a young man, now I am old, en- joying excellent health, but I may be robbed of this great- est gift to man, and I may, like "Job," be reduced to pov- erty, but there is nothing that can rob me of the pride and glory of being a "hero of Montana," one of those who stood by its cradle.
March 4, 1898.
ROBERT VAUGHIN.
THE INDIAN PRAYING.
The winter of 1869 and 1870 was my first winter in Sun River valley. For a while I boarded with Mr. and Mrs. Armstrong, who kept the Leaving Station adjoining my ranch. This place was so named because it was at this point the road leaves (Leaving) the Sun River valley to Fort Benton. (This was the winter that Col. Baker made a raid on the Indian village on the Marias river.) Also this same winter and spring the smallpox caused many deaths among the Indians. Several whites died also from the same disease. Two stage drivers who drove from Benton to the Leaving died; and as they stopped at the station where I boarded, I took the smallpox in a mild form and was very sick for two weeks, but it left no marks. About this time I concluded to fence the farm. Early in the spring I went to a bend in the Missouri river about ten miles south to cut posts and poles for this purpose. Here there were several log buildings that had been erected sometime in the early sixties by some of the Catholic missionaries and used as an Indian Mission (old St. Peter's Mission). In 1868 it was abandoned for mission- ary purposes. After that it was occupied in winter by In- dians. In the same bend is now what is known as "The . Churchill Ranch." During the time I was chopping I lived in an old empty cabin that had been built by some trappers; it was in the edge of the woods about a quarter of a mile from the old Mission buildings. There was neither a door nor a window, but it had a good fireplace; I hung a blanket for a door, and cut lots of wild rye-grass for my bed. Al- though alone, I was very comfortable and slept well at night,
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for I worked hard all day. There were in all about thirty Indians in the old buildings, many of whom were sick with the smallpox; and a great many had died of the same disease. Their mode of bur ying the dead was to wrap the corpse in a buffalo robe and lay it under a tree in some secret place in the woods and cover it with leaves and branches off the trees; others were placed on a scaffold in trees, as heretofore de- seribed. There were a great many buried in this way in the woods where I was working. One Indian buried his wife and two children two days before I came. The female relations showed great grief by hacking their legs from the ankle to the calf into many small cuts barely through the skin; and they would sit alone with a robe over their heads and mourn and sigh. Once in the dead of the night, when I was asleep, some un- earthly noise awoke me. It was at my cabin door. I raised on my elbow in my bed which was on the ground. As usual, when danger came, I grabbed my old gun which was un- der my head and pointed it at the door where the blanket hung. I listened, and finally decided that it was a human voice. It was a kind of chanting talking and in the most mournful tone, witli now and then a deep, pitiful sigh as though it came from the bottom of the heart. It was the most 1 mournful and pitiful utterance ever made by a human voice. It was kept up for at least twenty minutes. There was liv, ing with the Indians a half-breed who could speak English. His name was Simpson. (Afterwards he was killed by the Indians on the hill across Sun river from my ranch.) Next morning I told the half-breed of what took place at my cabin the previous night and he interpreted to me that it was an Indian, "the husband and father of the woman and two children that died the other day," and that he was praying, and asking me to ask the Great Spirit to stop the smallpox. A few minutes later the Indian and the half-breed came
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together to see me; the Indian said to me that his wife and two of his children were already dead and that more of his relations were sick. He firmly believed that I could do a great deal towards preventing the disease.
I told him that the Great Spirit was listening to his pray- ing last night and heard every word, and as soon as the "warm winds" came the smallpox would be no more. This appeared to be of great consolation to him. It was plain to be seen that the poor fellow loved his family. He was the Indian that saved Mr. and Mrs. Kennedy's lives only few months before at the Kennedy ranch near the mouth of the Prickly Pear canyon when the Indians took them out of their home and were going to kill them, but this Indian came forward and stood between Mr. and Mrs. Kennedy and the other In- dians that would be murderers. He raised his gun and spoke in a firm voice: "If you kill this man and woman you must kill me first." He stood them off and saved the lives of two good citizens. He was well known by the whites and was always friendly and honorable. He went by the name of "Cut Lip Jack." This kind and brave Indian is dead, but Mr. and Mrs. Kennedy are alive and live in Missoula county, Montana. Will Kennedy of this city is their nephew.
Jan. 14, 1898.
ROBERT VAUGHIN.
INDIANS STEALING MY HORSES.
In the month of August, 1871, I went near the mouth of Sun river to make hay. Jolin Traxler, the man I had hired, was with me. I had a very fine span of gray mares which were brought to Montana from the State of Missouri, and they had cost me three hundred dollars. We pitched our tent on the open prairie and away from the brush, for it was a safer place in an Indian country, beside the mosquitoes were very bad. Each of us had an old army needle gun with several rounds of ammunition. When night came we pick- eted the horses about five hundred yards off where there was good grass; the picket pins were iron and the ropes were new, so we had the horses well secured. We went to bed and covered our heads to keep the mosquitoes from biting us. When morning came I went to change the pickets for the horses so that they could get fresh grass, and John went to prepare breakfast. But to my surprise the horses were gone, and on investigation I found that the ropes had been cut near the picket pins, I decided at once that they had been stolen and so reported to John. He could see that I was feeling very badly over losing my fine team. "Well," he said, "I will let you have all the money I've got to get an- other team." After breakfast and discussing what was best to do, we went to see in what direction the horses had been taken. We found moccasin tracks near where the horses had been picketed, and we tracked them going north. It was plain to be seen that Indians were the thieves. John went up the valley and I took the direction the horses had gone, each of us taking his gun and ammunition; we soon lost
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sight of each other. After I had gone about four miles, and on the flat north of Alkali Springs, I found the tracks of the horses and they were very plain, for the gray mares were shod. Going a little further I discovered where they had been changing saddles, for there were pieces of buffalo robes and old Indian blankets that were full of horse hair and wet with sweat from horses; no doubt there the change had been made from the Indian ponies to the gray mare. I followed the tracks crossing the Benton road and in the direction of the Teton river. After traveling in a northerly direction for fifteen miles I changed my course and headed for the ranch. I was eight miles from home. I got home in the afternoon and found John there. Early next morning I went to Fort Shaw and told my story to the commanding officer, who was General Gibbon. He at once called for Bostwick, the inter- preter, and asked him what Indians were camping up the valley. Bostwick replied that they were Gray Eagle's party. "Go and bring Gray Eagle here to me," the general said. Bostwick, with six mounted men, went after the old chief, and in about three hours they had him and two of his staff in the general's headquarters. The general told Gray Eagle (through Bostwick, the interpreter), that some of his men had stolen my horses and if they were not returned im- mediately that he and his people would be severely punished, and he further said that he was in this country with his soldiers to look after such thieves as they. The old Indian listened eagerly, and said, that he was very sorry that my horses had been stolen; but he assured us that there were none of his men out that night, and said in the most em- phatic manner that none of his men stole the horses; but that he would do all in his power to find them and bring them back to me. After considerable discussion about the matter, the general told the chief that if he would get those
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horses and bring them to the fort that he would give him a sack of sugar, and I said that I would give a sack of flour. Again the general said: "If you let me know who stole Mr. Vaughn's horses, I will give you a sack of coffee and a sack of bacon."
The old Indian promised faithfully that he would do all in his power to find the horses. However, after eleven days from the time the horses were stolen, the morning of the twelfth, the first thing after opening my cabin door was to see the two gray mares feeding on the grass only a few yards from my door. And I was a happy man. No one asked for the reward. That was the only time the Indians ever stole anything from me.
ROBERT VAUGHN. Jan. 25, 1898.
THE GREAT SUN RIVER STAMPEDE.
In the years 1865-66 there were from fifteen to twenty thousand people in the various mining camps of Montana, and its mountains were swarmed with daring prospectors. In those times nearly every day had its new discovery, and the slightest whisper of a new "find" would create a stampede, in which instances the most extraordinary endurance and cour- age were displayed. There is no animal on earth that will stampede quicker, keep on going with the same stubbornness and determination, as a fortune lninter; they are worse than Texas cattle. For one instance, I will relate the following: McClellan, an old mountaineer and prospector, and who was the discoverer of the "Mcclellan Gulch," but sold his claim in that renowned mine for a song, and, after having two or three weeks' good time in town, he began laying his plans for another prospecting tour.
In the following fall (1865) he decided to go to the Sun river country, that was about one hundred miles north of Helena, and hunt for more mines. He was considered a lucky prospector in finding gold, and when a report came from him it could be relied upon.
After having prospected for two or three months the cold weather began to set in, and, as he had already found some gold, he decided to build a cabin and keep on prospecting till spring. In a week or so he had his house up and everything in apple-pie order, except one thing, and that was, to have some one to have his meals ready after returning from the hills where he had been working hard all day. As there was a Piegan camp not far off he went there one day and engaged
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a squaw to come and cook for him. As the new employe had many relations, who became her frequent visitors, it was not long before the proprietor discovered that a few extras in the line of groceries had to be gotten, an extra sack of flour, a few pounds of soap, and so forth ; besides some calico, beads, brass ear rings and bracelets for the new housekeeper, who was trying her hand for the first time in her life at house-keeping.
One day Me mounted his pony, and, with another pack horse, struck for Helena to get the goods. On his arrival he met many of his old friends, and of course they were anxious to learn what success he had prospecting. He said that so far he had not discovered anything that would pay, although he had found what he called good indications. For all that a close watch was kept on the old prospector dur- ing the few days he was in town, and a suspicion was aroused among many that on account of the fact that he was buving considerable goods he must know of something greater than he wanted to tell. To one of his confidential friends he told of the pleasant home he had in the Sun river country, and, in a whisper, his last sentence was: "I have got as good a thing as I want," meaning his new housekeeper and the house- hold outfit that he had just purchased. Two of the anxious ones stood near and overheard him saying, "I have got as good a thing as I want." They decided at once that a new find was meant. The news spread like wild fire to every camp in the vicinity, and, like the story of the "three black crows," something was added to the first report as it went from camp to camp. A tremendous stampede followed, and, although it was in the month of January and the thermometer stood thirty-five degrees below zero, and there was over a foot of snow on the level, this did not check the rush. From twelve to fifteen hundred rugged miners participated in this stam-
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