THE DARK SIDE OF THE LIFE OF THE PIONEER.
In another letter giving an account of Indian depredations, [I stated]: “I will not attempt to follow their war path, for it is too long,” but allow me at this time to vary a little from that assertion. My object in doing so is to add to the already written history of this portion of the Northwest, where I have lived from my early manhood, and this portion of the country which was then in its infancy as far as civilization and settlement were concerned, therefore, to use a common expression, “we growed up together.”
Though a frontier life is free and fascinating, still, like everything else, there is a dark side to it, and this letter is principally intended to show the “dark side” of the life of the pioneer.
As a frontiersman, I, myself, may not care to again experience what I have passed through, yet, with all its perils and dangers I would not give my pioneer days in the West for all the balance of my life.
The following events occurred in Northern Montana. All are facts, and some of them I know of my own personal knowledge. Some of those whose names appear hereafter were killed by Indians, others died from exposure. I have often thought of the many victims that have fallen in the West; even their death never has been known nor heard of by anyone. Many remains of white men have been found without a trace of anything to lead to their identification.
Once there were three of us in the mountains prospecting. In a sheltered place under a projecting cliff there lay the skeleton of a man. It appeared that he had laid down to rest or to sleep. Nothing could be found to indicate whose remains it was. The clothing was weatherbeaten and torn, and an old silver watch and a gun laid on the ground with the scattering bones. The hair was light in color. It was one of those instances of “somebody’s boy” dying without even a stranger to record his last words.
By examining the following list the reader will find that the identification or names of twenty per cent of the unfortunate victims herein mentioned were not known, and that all included in the list, except six or seven, were killed in what was then Choteau county. They are but few in comparison to all that were killed in what is now the state of Montana.
First on the list is Little Tex, who was killed in 1866 by Blood Indians at the agency on what was then known as the government farm, on Sun river; then Indians set fire to the buildings. There is no certainty as to the number that perished.
Early in the spring of 1866 three men were murdered by Blackfeet not far from old St. Peter’s mission, which was then located on the Missouri river near Ulm on the Montana Central railroad. April 6th of the same year John Fitzgerald, an employe of the mission, was killed almost in sight of the buildings by Bloods. His grave and that of a man by the name of Johnson, a blacksmith, who was formerly at Fort Benton, and about fifteen other graves, mostly of Indians, are at the foot of the hill and near the Montana Central track, about half a mile from Ulm. The next day after the killing of Fitzgerald, Father Giorda, and all the inmates of the mission left for Helena, fearing that more trouble might come.
Lagree and Hunicke were murdered by Blackfeet and Bloods at Three Tree Coulee, Jan. 9, 1866. James Chembers was killed by Blackfeet at Dearborn in 1866, and old man Thebeaw killed at Dearborn the same year.
The murder of the builders of the town of Ophir occurred in May, 1865. Ophir was a new place located at the mouth of the Marias river, twelve miles below Fort Benton. At this period there had been only one or two houses built. The men, eleven in number, were about one mile above the location cutting logs and some of them were chopping wood for the steamers that were coming up the Missouri to Fort Benton. They were at work when the Indians killed them; not one escaped. When the news reached Fort Benton a party went and buried the unfortunate victims on the bank of the Missouri river near where they were killed. Thirty-four years have passed since then and the gradual cutting of the bank by the swift current has washed away that little graveyard, and now the resting place of these founders of states and builders of cities has been swept from the face of the earth and its occupants swallowed up by that mighty stream.
Six men were killed by Bloods on Old Man’s river early in 1865. The victims came from Fort Garry (now Winnipeg), and were reported to possess a large amount of money. Their leader was an old white-haired man.
William Berry was killed by Bloods on Elbow river, and Joe Monroe was killed by Bloods on Old Man’s river in 1874.
Miller was killed by Bloods on Old Man’s river in 1872.
McMillan was wounded by Assinnaboines, near Bow river, in 1874.
Two unknown men were killed by Assinnaboines, near Milk river, in 1874. The bodies were found tied to trees and riddled with bullets. Cottle and another man were killed in their house on Flat creek in 1877. The Nez Perces were supposed to be the murderers, as a few stragglers of that tribe were seen in the vicinity about the time the deed was done.
A party of men, women and children were killed by Bloods near Porcupine mountain in 1865. Their identification could not be obtained.
A soldier was killed by Piegan Indians on Marias hill, not far from Fort Benton, in 1873.
Wey and Mitchell were killed by Piegans on Badger creek in 1875. Five days before they were killed, both stayed over night at my ranch and bought some oats to feed their horses while on this unfortunate prospecting trip.
Joe Day and Howard were killed by Piegans, near the Marias river, in 1875.
John Rock was killed by Blackfeet, at the mouth of Sun river, in 1875. An account of him I have given in [my letter] “From the Mines to the Farm.”
Jack Gorman and Frank Keisser were killed by Assinnaboines, on the Milk river, the same year.
Frank Robinson was killed by Gros Ventres Indians, near Cow creek, in 1877.
Joseph Spearson was killed by Bloods, on Belly river, in 1870.
Nelse Kyse, George Huber and one man, name unknown, were killed by Sioux Indians, on Squaw creek, near the mouth of Musselshell river.
Andy Harris was killed by Assinnaboines on Milk river in the winter of 1867, and a soldier was killed by Piegans at Camp Cook in the spring of that year.
Bozell A. Bair was wounded by Piegans on Eagle creek in 1867.
Paul Vermette was killed on the Teton river in 1866.
Champion was killed by Arrapahoe Indians at Fort Hawley in 1867.
Malcolm Clark was killed by Piegans in 1869. Clark had been a classmate of General Sherman’s at West Point. The former, after finishing his term, instead of entering the army, came west as an employe of one of the fur companies which operated in the upper Missouri river country. After following the Indian trading business for many years he located in the Prickly Pear canyon, about twenty miles north of Helena, and kept a stage station. The place is now known as “The Mitchell Ranch.” Once a party of Piegan warriors came to the premises. One of the Indians, who was well acquainted with Clark, approached the door and asked for the latter; just as Clark stepped into the door he was shot and killed by this Indian. Several shots were fired into the house. A bullet struck Clark’s wife, and one of his sons was shot in the nose; in course of time both recovered from their wounds, but the tragedy caused the mother to go insane and she died a few years ago still in that condition. Clark is buried near the house, and now his resting place is marked by a railing crowning the grave. A few months later the “Col. Baker Indian Massacre on the Marias river” occurred. And when the firing commenced on the Piegan camp the murderer of Clark was there sick in bed; when he was told that the soldiers had come there to kill him, he took a long knife and plunged it into his heart.
When General Sherman passed through this section in 1875 on his tour of inspection of the government posts at Fort Shaw and Benton, he stopped for dinner at Clark’s old ranch. The general inquired for Malcolm Clark. He said that Clark had been a schoolmate of his at West Point, but had gone west to trade with the Blackfeet Indians while he was yet but a young man. When the story of Clark’s career and of his death had been told, and the grave of his early associate shown him, he had been but a few moments on the spot when he showed signs of grief and requested to be left alone for a while. He stayed for some time and when he came away traces of tears could be seen on the cheeks of the brave old warrior.
Charles Carson was killed by Piegans, near Dearborn river, in 1866. He was a nephew of Kit Carson, of frontier fame. He was killed and buried near the ford on the Dearborn.
Mrs. Jennie Smith, who at one time lived in Helena, was scalped alive by Sioux Indians at the mouth of Musselshell river in 1869. The unfortunate woman recovered and was still living in 1879.
Jack Leader was killed by Sioux at the mouth of the Musselshell river in 1869.
A man named Lowe was killed by Blackfeet. His remains are buried on the old Helena and Benton road at the crossing of what is now known as “Deadman Coulee.” The place received its name because it is the place of the death and burial of Mr. Lowe.
Macgregor and Tabor were killed by Sioux, and another man wounded, near Fort Peck in 1868. Also two unknown men were killed by Sioux near the same place and in the same year.
Ross and McKnight were killed in 1868, by Sioux, at the mouth of Musselshell river. McKnight was a brother to the Hon. J. H. McKnight of this city. At the time the tongue of their wagon had broken, and, while they were cutting a tree to make a new one, they were killed.
Nat Crabtree was killed by Piegans, near Camp Cook, in 1868.
Old man Lee was killed, and Charley Williams and Drew Denton wounded by Sioux, near Carroll, 1870. Denton’s life was saved by the bullet striking his pocket in which he had a plug of tobacco and some letters.
A Frenchman was killed by Piegans in the summer of 1868 on Sun river, south of where now stands Pressle Rowls house.
McArdle and a comrade were killed by Crow Indians near Benton in 1869.
Tom Ross was killed by Sioux near Fort Peck in 1873.
Michael Thebault was killed by Piegans on the Teton in 1868.
James Quail was killed by Piegans, near Silver creek, in 1869. He was killed only half a mile from where I was mining at the time, and about nine miles from Helena. He was getting his horse, which was grazing on the slope of a hill near his cabin, when he was shot and killed by an Indian who robbed him of his horse and of a gold watch on which his name was engraved. The watch was seen afterwards in the possession of an Indian in a Piegan camp on the Marias river.
Clark was killed by Piegans on Sun river in 1868, of whom I have given an account in [my letter], “Indian wars and tragedies on Sun river.”
Dauphant was killed by Sioux near the mouth of Milk river in 1865.
Charley Desronin was killed by Indians near the Bear Paw mountains in 1870.
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 mutilated bodies of the men lay. The woman was hanging to a limb of a tree, the limb being driven through her chin; the two children, one on each side of the mother, were hanging in the same manner, and the bodies were full of arrows.
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 Winchester rifle that had sixteen loaded cartridges; I fired several 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. 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 veterans 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.
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 Missouri 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 mouth 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 Missouri river, from the mouth of Sun river, in 1887. His identification 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.
And, as Mr. Miller says, the Pilgrim fathers set forth in the ship and landed on Plymouth Rock; the Cavaliers of Virginia 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 addition 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 relatives, 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 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 prospecting, 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 editor 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 responded. All this time an unheard voice was saying: “He 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 unmarked 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 nay blankets under the spreading 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.
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, enjoying excellent health, but I may be robbed of this greatest gift to man, and I may, like “Job,” be reduced to poverty, 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.
Robert Vaughn.
March 4, 1898.