An illustrated history of Klickitat, Yakima and Kittitas counties; with an outline of the early history of the state of Washington, Part 85

Author: Interstate publishing co., Chicago, pub
Publication date: 1904
Publisher: [Chicago] Interstate publishing company
Number of Pages: 1146

USA > Washington > Kittitas County > An illustrated history of Klickitat, Yakima and Kittitas counties; with an outline of the early history of the state of Washington > Part 85
USA > Washington > Yakima County > An illustrated history of Klickitat, Yakima and Kittitas counties; with an outline of the early history of the state of Washington > Part 85
USA > Washington > Klickitat County > An illustrated history of Klickitat, Yakima and Kittitas counties; with an outline of the early history of the state of Washington > Part 85

Note: The text from this book was generated using artificial intelligence so there may be some errors. The full pages can be found on Archive.org (link on the Part 1 page).

" 'What is it?' I asked.

"The negro inquired if I had seen a cattleman named Thorp in town, and if so, where he was, explaining that he and his companions were friends of the stockman and were anxious as to his safety. I replied that I had seen such a man, that he had sold his cattle and was probably on his way out. They then wished to know if I knew him and where I had last seen him. From the very first I had been suspicious of the ugly looking gang before me (the negro was accompanied by three whites, all mounted), so I told the spokesman that their friend was probably some distance in my wake. I repre- sented myself as a disheartened and financially em- barrassed prospector, disgusted with the country. Washington kept out of sight. The men finally invited me to camp with them, but I chose rather to travel as long as possible, then camped off trail

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without fire. Next day at noon I met a German . who inquired if I had passed a small party of men with a big black horse. I referred him to the negro's party, with whom I had seen such an animal. Later I met another man, who said they had stolen a horse from him, and subsequently we learned that the gang of outlaws, for such in truth they were, had come into conflict with the Canadian officers who attempted to capture them. In the fight, the sheriff was killed, also one of the men I had met. The four desperadoes fortified themselves in a cabin and prepared to fight to the death. They were attacked in their stronghold by enraged miners who shot their cabin to pieces. Of course all were riddled with bullets, one, it is said, being hit not fewer than thirteen times.

"Upon my return from a hurried trip home to pay a balance due on the cattle, Jack and I decided to take the remainder of the stock to Blackfoot; Montana, twenty-five miles from the present city of Helena. We went up the Spokane river to the bridge kept by F. D. Schnebly, who later became a pioneer of Kittitas county, crossed there, and pro- ceeded to the Cœur d'Alene mission. There we had the misfortune to lose two of our horses, which fell into the hands of Indian thieves. From the mission we crossed the Bitter Roots by the Mullan military road and late in July we reached Blackfoot. The town was a typical western mining camp, busy, flourishing, wide open, full of gold diggers and gamblers and desperate characters. By selling our cattle in small bands, we obtained a fair price for them.

"But our troubles were not over. Just as we were about ready to set out on our homeward jour- ney, an event occurred which greatly disturbed and annoyed us. For safe keeping we had buried a package containing $1,750, in a dense fir thicket below camp, taking pains that no one should dis- cover its hiding place. Our secret, however, was not secure. In some way a man known as 'Dirty Tom' obtained knowledge of the whereabouts of our treasure. This fellow had recently come to camp with a party of Oregonians, with whom also came my grandfather, and was lying around our camp at this time. Tom and the money were missed about the same time, late one October afternoon, and surmising that the two were associated, we started on the trail of the man. About dark we came to a fork in the road. Jack took one of the branches and I the other, the understanding being that we would push on to Quinn's station, forty miles and farther from our camp. I traveled until I could no longer see my way, then tied my horse, crawled into a haystack and waited for dawn. When I reached Quinn's next day, Jack was al- ready there. So was our man. Of course he denied having anything to do with the theft and tried to enlist the sympathies of Quinn in his behalf. In this attempt he failed utterly. We took him back to camp with us, and insisted that he show

us where the money was hidden, for we had already satisfied ourselves by search that it was not upon his person. At last after much persuasion he took a pick and shovel, went down to the thicket and began digging near the spot where we had buried the money. Gradually he worked up the hillside for a distance of about sixty yards, where he un- covered the stolen property. We let him go free and the next day, he repaid our clemency by swear- ing out warrants for our arrest, claiming that the money had not been stolen, but that we had for- gotten its hiding place. Fortunately, among our friends in town was a blacksmith, who was also chairman of a vigilance committee. He came out alone to see us and satisfy himself as to the truth of the matter, and we soon convinced him that we were in the right. Soon after, notices appeared in Blackfoot, requesting one Dirty Tom to leave the country at once or meet the vigilance committee. Tom left.

"Late in October, we got started for home. At Missoula City I received a message stating that grandfather was very ill at Blackfoot and request- ing that I return forthwith. I did so. For six weeks I remained by his bedside, nursing him back to health. On the 4th of December, I set out with him on our long westward journey, traveling with a new spring wagon and a good team. The Mullan road was closed by winter's snows, compelling us to make a long detour south and to cross the Rocky mountains opposite the headwaters of Snake river. At Fort Hall we sold our rig and boarded the stage to the Bear river country, where we should strike the main stage line between Salt Lake and Boise, at that time owned by Ben Holliday. There were four of us in the stage, an Englishman named Cooper, grandfather, the driver and myself. The Indians were plundering and marauding in that region during the years 1866 and 1867, so that travel was exceedingly dangerous. The second day out we found the buildings burned and saw signs of the pillaging redskins on every hand. The driver called a consultation among the passengers for the purpose of deciding what course we should pursue. By a unanimous vote we decided to push ahead and fight if necessary. I thereupon left my seat inside the coach and took a seat in the boot with the driver, where I remained day and night during the four hundred-mile trip. All this time we were untiring in our vigilance. We traveled as rapidly as possible, spending little time at the stations or places where the stations had lately been, for in- deed some of them were completely wiped out by the predatory savages. As it happened, however, we fell in with no hostiles and early in January we rode into Umatilla unharmed.

"There I left grandfather, who was quite ex- hausted from the effects of the long, tedious day- and-night ride, and started alone toward home. It was very foolish in me to do so for I too was thor- oughly exhausted and in a poor condition to endure

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the fatigues of the remaining journey. I followed the Columbia until I found a couple of Indians who had a canoe. The river was very high at that time and full of floating ice and slush. I told the Indians that I wanted to be ferried across. They shook their heads negatively, pointing to the wild stream, and advising me to go back to Umatilla and stay a while longer. But I persisted. I offered them all the money I had, two dollars, to put me across and at length, after considerable argument, pre- vailed upon them to try. 'If you want mimaluse,' said they finally, 'all right.' Soon we had launched the frail canoe, and were struggling with long poles to clear away the slush ice and force a passage. For hours we worked, our clothes thoroughly drenched with cold water. The first hundred yards of our passage were made on top of the ice, but it was no child's play to cross the open channel, as all who have tried it at that season of the year well know. About one o'clock we succeeded in gaining the Yakima side, and I started immediately on my long walk, knowing that forty miles intervened between me and the first human habitation, Colonel Henry Cock's ferry on the Yakima, where Prosser stands. There were ten inches of snow on the ground and the temperature must have been about twenty degrees below zero.

"Right across the hills I went, over what is now known as the Horse Heaven country. I walked all night in the snow, which became deeper as I advanced. During all this time I had had nothing to eat and nature was asserting her claims in a most emphatic manner. Sleepy and tired and famished, I lay down in the snow from time to time, protecting myself as best I could from the piercing cold with my one light blanket. It was impossible to build a fire. I knew that my only hope lay in keeping in motion as much as possible, so all the next day and all the succeeding night I staggered along. My feet, ears, nose and hands became frozen and it was only force of habit that kept me moving.

"Late in the afternoon of the third day out from Umatilla, I lay down in the trail, completely ex- hausted and ready to abandon hope. Presently I saw an object coming toward me from the north, but I was so thoroughly exhausted that I made no effort to investigate it. I simply lay in my snowy bed and contented myself with hoping that the object might prove to be a man and that he would find and rescue me.

"When the object came up I was pleased to see that it was Charlie Splawn on his way to Uma- tilla to secure the settlers' mail. For him to place me on his horse was the work of but a moment and mounting in front of me, he set out post haste for Butts's house on the Columbia river. This we reached about eleven o'clock that night, for indeed I had come only about twenty-two miles in the three days and nights. A warm fire and kind hearts soon

made me fairly comfortable, although my frost bites gave me great pain.

"Charlie went to Umatilla as soon as practicable and there had a sled made, with which to transport me home, for my toes had been frozen beyond saving and my condition was otherwise serious. Grandfather made the trip with me also. We crossed the Yakima at Cock's ferry, which was a rough flatboat with a rope cable, placed in service some time in 1866, and came up the eastern side of the river. Father summoned Dr. Nelson, the physician and surgeon at the Yakima Indian agency at Fort Simcoe, who amputated the toes on both feet. The operation was performed without anæs- thetics. For over a year I was unable to do much except eat, drink and sleep and a much longer time had elapsed before I could resume the usual activ- ities of life."

A FATAL SHEEP STAMPEDE.

George W. McCredy, one of central Wash- ington's well-known pioneer stockmen, is author- ity for the following story of a remarkable acci- dent whereby a faithful sheep herder met his death in the foothills of Kittitas county :

In the summer of 1889 Cameron Brothers lost 1,200 head of sheep in Kittitas county by what is known among sheepmen as "piling up and smothering to death." One of the features of the accident, which made it the more distressing and served to bring out the heroism of one man, is the fact that the herder, familiarly known as "Hindoo John," with his dogs, was caught under the sheep and also smothered.

At the time it was thought that the herder had deserted his place and left the country. The falsity of this story was proven the following spring, when his body, with those of his dogs, was brought to light by some one examining the great pile of sheep bones on the steep hillside. Then he was exonerated from the charge of unfaithful- ness. From all the circumstances and surround- ing conditions the accident was accounted for in this way: The sheep had become frightened while grazing upon the steep mountain side and had run for safety toward a clump of bushes and small trees. Reaching there, the leaders could get no farther and were eventually crushed down by the mad rush from their rear. The frightened sheep continued to clamber on top of one another and to be trodden down until they could climb no higher, but were turned aside.

The shepherd, it is thought, was trying, with the assistance of his faithful dogs, to loosen the blockade from the lower side and thus save the lives of his charges, when herder and dogs were caught under the moving, writhing mass and . crushed to death. The weather was very warm and soon decomposition had set in. Within a comparatively few hours from the time of the

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accident the stench arising therefrom was so great that no one could approach within several hundred feet. Nor could examination be made for several months afterward. It is said that the grease from this pile of bodies ran in a stream for a distance of half a mile into the valley.

ANISICHE BILL'S ARTIFICIAL NOSE.

"Did you ever hear the story of Wild Bill and his famous nose?" said Dr. Middleton V. Amen, of Ellensburg, to the writer last winter.

"No."

"Well, it is an interesting little tale because of its uniqueness."

"When I came to the valley in 1878," contin- ued the doctor, "and began the practice of my profession, the Indian population outnumbered the whites. This valley was a great illahe then -a monster camping ground to which Indians from all over eastern Washington came each summer. Here they fished, hunted, raced, gam- bled, dug kous and otherwise occupied them- selves for a long period each year. Those tribes immediately surrounding us did nearly all their trading at Ellensburg.

"Wild, or Anisiche, Bill was a member of the Okanogan tribe. He was one of the bravest and most influential among the red men until the in- cident occurred which I am relating. One day, in the fall of 1880, as nearly as I can recollect, Bill and several other reds, who had indulged too freely in drinking bad whisky, became involved in a quarrel on Main street, then a sage brush thoroughfare on which stood half a dozen widely separated business houses. I was standing in front of Shoudy's store.

"Suddenly I heard a terrific yell and looked up the street just in time to see a drunken red- skin strike at Bill with a monster knife. An in- stant later the greater part of Bill's nose dropped into the dust. Still the fight went on for several minutes before Bill was overcome by the shock and forced to seek support. The Indians at once gathered around their wounded comrade and at- tempted to assist him. At Bill's request one In- dian picked up the nose out of the dust and took it down to the creek near the store to wash it.

"Upon his return, I was called to the scene and asked to 'make um good nose again.' Though I realized the hopelessness of the case, Bill per- sisted so earnestly that at last I stuck the nose on with adhesive plaster, fixing it up as best I could. This simple surgery satisfied the Indians and Bill, who was feeling badly cut up over his humiliation, for you must understand that among the Indians the loss of the nose is considered the height of disgrace. Death itself was preferable in the eyes of a redskin to a noseless existence.

"The next day I went up to Bill's camp, about two miles above Canaday's mill, and dressed the

unfortunate nose. The following day I found matters in bad condition. The nose was begin- ning to decay, throwing off a sickening stench, much to Bill's misery and to the disgust of his fellows. Still Bill hated to give up the nose and consequent loss of honorable standing in his tribe, so bore his trials with stoical patience. For two or three days longer he wore it, hoping for a turn in his fortunes.

"But the nose went from bad to worse. Finally his brother red men waited upon him with a de- mand that he either leave camp or take better care of his offensive wound. As Bill himself was beginning by that time to have his doubts about the efficacy of the sticking plaster method, he decided to throw away the old nose and seek a new one from me. This he did and begged me to do something for him.

"There was only one thing for me to do. I manufactured an artificial nose, preparing it so that it might be taken off or stuck on at will. You never saw a happier man than Bill when that nose was finished and put in place. As a matter of fact, while the red men did not entirely like the 'big medicine' of the white doctor, they regarded Bill with awe and a sort of jealous curiosity. However, he never regained the posi- tion of esteem in which they once held him. He gave me a pony for my services. Bill subse- quently settled into peaceful pursuits in Okano- gan county and the last I knew of him was re- garded as a good citizen by residents of the Wenatche valley, where he lived. The artificial nose I made served him many years to my per- sonal knowledge, and may yet be serving him, for Bill was as faithful to it as a one-legged vet- eran is to his cork limb."

A STORY OF THE INDIAN SCARE.

There are few pioneers of the Yakima country more widely known than Jock Morgan, at pres- ent living near Sunnyside. Nearly all who came to Yakima in an early day and most of the people now residing in the lower valley are acquainted with genial Jock. His real name is Jonathan W. Morgan, but since he crossed the Plains with his parents in 1850 he has been universally known as Jock. In 1870, when he was twenty-six years old, he was presented by Superintendent H. M. Thatcher with a unique gold and silver medal, in recognition of his being regarded as the cham- pion stage driver between Portland and Oakland, California. 'This is an honor of rare value,-a prize won only by sheer merit.

However, Mr. Morgan having attained the highest honors in staging, decided to abandon that business, so June II, 1871, he came with his family to the Yakima valley, located upon the reservation, two miles south of Toppenish, and engaged in the stock industry. The privilege of

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residing upon the reservation was one granted him through the friendship of Father Wilbur, the agent, because of his friendly relations with the Indians themselves. His influence among them was as good as it was powerful.

Few there were among the residents of Yak- ima who kept better informed regarding the move- ments of the Indians in 1878, when the gen- eral supposition prevailed that an uprising of the Yakimas, Klickitats and Columbia Rivers was imminent. At his vantage point in the Indian territory, Mr. Morgan heard the rumors of war fresh from the redskins, and at night watched the signal lights on the surrounding hill tops.

Tow-hout, among the oldest red men of the Toppenish, held a position in 1878 which might be described accurately as that of signalman of his tribe. He was thoroughly versed in the mar- velous sign language of his race and translated with ease and rapidity the flashes of light, the puffs of smoke, the maneuvers of the lone horse- man and the gestures and motions that might come from any point.

For days and even weeks in the spring of that eventful year, says Mr. Morgan, Tow-hout daily and nightly read the wireless messages that came from Idaho and Oregon. Rattlesnake peak, on the high divide north of the Sunnyside valley, and Tumwater hill, south of Prosser, were the stations of the red signal corps. Far across the Columbia, from some point in the Blue moun- tains, the messages flashed over river and valley and hill to Tumwater's watchman, who caught them and sent them by way of Rattlesnake peak into the northern hills of the wild Okanogan. Often would Tow-hout tell his white tillicum of battles that had been fought between the Ban- nocks and the soldiers, two hundred miles to the south, or of other important military movements, and in every case the Weekly Oregonian con- firmed the news days afterward. Thus did the Morgans rest secure while others fretted, for the former were constantly in touch with the situa- tion.

All through May and June the signal man of the Toppenish read the messages passing over his head ; meanwhile the Morgans continued their peaceful occupations. Slowly the warriors crept toward the Columbia and gradually the excite- ment on the reservation increased. The horse figures on the signal hills, indicating victory, came oftener toward the last of June. Still there did not appear to be menacing danger on the Yakima.

But one noon, while the family were eating dinner, old Tow-hout suddenly glided into the room and without excitement silently beckoned his white friend to the door. Mr. Morgan arose from the table to learn that a great battle was raging on the Columbia and that the Indians were again claiming victory. The messages said that large

numbers of hostiles were crossing into Washing- ton. Tow-hout said fly for life.

The time to flee had at last arrived. Within less than an hour the Morgans and a Miss Spur- geon, who was staying with them, were, with the most valuable things they possessed, in a wagon and on their way to The Dalles. Once again Jock Morgan, the fearless stage driver, was experiencing the exhilaration of danger as he held the ribbons of a powerful four-horse team. He drove hard up the new canyon road, recently fin- ished by Yakima and Klickitat counties, follow- ing the north prong of the Satus. The ranch was left in charge of the men.

When within a mile and a half of the summit, the Morgans turned out from the road to seek camp for the night in a sequestered spot. They intended to be on the road again by daylight and hoped to reach The Dalles by nightfall.

Soon Miss Spurgeon announced that she heard talking, then Mrs. Morgan made the same claim. The noise, whatever it was, resembled the sound made by trees when stirred by the wind, and as quite a strong breeze was blowing off the mountain, Mr. Morgan was for a long time loth to believe that anything animate was near. How- ever, to satisfy the women, he bade them be quiet, and started up the hillside. By making a short cut he soon reached the crest of a hill forming a portion of a basin near the summit.

Cautiously making his way to a vantage point on the hill crest, he peered through the trees and down into an Indian camp. Yes, there it was right beside him; furthermore, it was undoubt- edly a hostile camp. Several Indians were hold- ing a pow-wow, over which they were getting excited and talking loudly. Mr. Morgan was able to understand fragments of their conversa- tion-enough to send him swiftly to his family.

Hurriedly the horses were again attached to the wagon and as quietly as possible the party made its way to the road. Then, with the shades of night fast falling, and with the deeper shadow of a possible Indian massacre casting its cold gloom over them, the little company of whites raced back over the road toward home. All night the wagon slipped and rolled and jumped down the grade. To any but experienced frontier peo- ple the strain would have been unbearable, for there was danger in front and danger behind, but the man and the women were all in the habit of making the best of things.

When daylight at last came, the Morgan party had reached the ranch. Breakfast was at once eaten and again a start was made. This time Mr. Morgan decided to try to reach Fort Simcoe by going up the north side of Toppenish creek and over the old Indian trail. The trip was without exciting incident and at last the shelter of the agency buildings and the protec- tion of the government were reached by the ex-

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hausted party. Father Wilbur was informed of the situation and steps were at once taken to meet any emergency that might arise.

In the meantime Henry Craft had left the Morgan ranch with the news conveyed by Tow- hout and had carried it to the whites at Yakima City and on the Ahtanum. It is believed that the alarm given by Craft was the first definite infor- mation regarding the approach of the hostiles brought to the settlers and that it was the direct occasion of the feverish excitement that prevailed in the valley about the Fourth of July. There is little doubt in Mr. Morgan's mind that the In- dian band he so nearly came into contact with on Simcoe mountain was the one that murdered Lorenzo Perkins and his wife a few days later.

A ROMANCE OF PIONEER KLICKITAT.

"Having been requested to relate an adven- ture with the Indians in Klickitat's pioneer days, for the benefit of the readers of this history I shall tell them about a most exciting incident which occurred at Bickleton in the spring of 1880.

"The town at that time consisted of one large building used as a store and dwelling, owned and occupied by Charles N. Bickle and his assistant, Lee Weaver. They as well as myself were ten- derfeet. Our knowledge of the red man had been acquired for the most part by reading blood and thunder stories of life on the frontier. We were not cowards, but at the same time considered discretion the better part of valor in dealing with the dusky savage.

"In those days, as now, it was against the law to supply an Indian with liquor, but as the law was seldom enforced against those guilty of its transgression and the profits were large, the In- dians managed at times to get large quantities of intoxicants. Occasionally a score or more of them would hang around Bickleton a day or two, or as long as the whisky supply lasted, making night and day hideous with their orgies. The Perkins murder was still fresh in our minds, ag- gravating our discomfort.

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An illustrated history of Klickitat, Yakima and Kittitas counties; with an outline of the early history of the state of Washington, Part 85

Author: Interstate publishing co., Chicago, pub Publication date: 1904 Publisher: [Chicago] Interstate publishing company Number of Pages: 1146

Author: Interstate publishing co., Chicago, pub
Publication date: 1904
Publisher: [Chicago] Interstate publishing company
Number of Pages: 1146