Recollections of a Pioneer

by J. W. Gibson

The boat that was being rigged out was a curious affair. It had no steam, no sails and no oars—just a flat bottomed scow with a rudder—designed to float with the current. The only equipment for navigation besides the rudder was a number of long poles to be used in aiding the boat off of sand bars. About two-thirds of the floor space of the boat was housed in by stretching dry raw hides two deep over a heavy frame work, leaving port holes at convenient places through which our guns could be directed at the Indians in case of attack. The boat was built by Sloan and Parcell, two men from Iowa, and they were very proud of their craft.

When everything was ready, fifty passengers got aboard, including two families, and the cable was cut. The current was swift and we went down at a gait so rapid that it was almost alarming, but we soon grew accustomed to it. While in the mountains we frequently came to shoals and riffles over which the boat dashed at a speed that turned us dizzy, but we had to stay with it and trust to the man at the rudder to keep her straight ahead.

At the mouth of the Yellowstone, we passed a tribe of Indians in camp. The boat drifted around a little curve and up within forty yards of the bank on which the camp was situated before we noticed them. They were more surprised, I think, than we, for they stood looking until we passed entirely out of sight. It snowed all that day, and next morning we were drifting through mushy ice which sometimes threatened to squeeze our boat. We were in constant fear of a gorge and tried several times to reach the shore and land, but could not get through the ice. Had our boat encountered a gorge it is probable that the whole crew would have been drowned. Late in the afternoon a south wind began to blow and in a few hours the river was nearly clear. This was a great relief.

We had calculated on reaching St. Joseph in a month and had laid in provisions accordingly. When we struck the Bad Lands the current of the river became so sluggish that we could scarcely perceive that we were traveling. We had plenty of flour, but no meat, so every now and then, slow as we were going, we had to tie up and get out and kill a deer or an antelope. Sometimes this required a good deal of time, as our luck in hunting was bad. The current got so slow and the prospects of getting into swifter water looked so bad, that we rigged up a set of oars out of long cottonwood poles cut on the banks and flattened. With these we set the men at work by turns, two to each oar, night and day and made much better progress. I think if we had waited for the current we should not have reached home before June of the next year. When we reached Yankton we got additional supplies and finally reached Sioux City, where we found an opportunity to take the stage to Omaha, and did so. At Omaha we got a steamboat to St. Joseph, and reached home late in October, two months and a half out of Fort Benton.

I found conditions in Missouri much better than when I left. The war was really over. The militia had all been discharged and there was now no longer any excuse for killing and robbing men. After such a long period of lawlessness it required some time, of course, to reduce everything to order and to secure a rigid enforcement of the law, but I was surprised and gratified at the progress that had been made. I passed a very pleasant winter with relatives and friends, and it began to look like I would be able to settle down and live in peace. There were those in the community who were disappointed with the results of the war to themselves because they had expected to get possession of the land belonging to Confederate soldiers. In fact, our negroes told me during the war that certain men had said the Gibson boys could never come back to this country, and they intended to get their land. Of course, my presence at home with every prospect of remaining naturally displeased those who had designs upon my land and that which belonged to my brothers, and I could hardly hope to remain unmolested—especially as all the public officials were ready to give willing ear to every report against me.

About the first of March, after I had lived publicly and peaceably in my home community and in St. Joseph all winter, a man named Joe Lemons, who was the tool of other men whom I knew, swore out a warrant charging me with stealing his horse during the war. As soon as I heard the warrant was out my blood went up to the old war heat, but I said nothing. I made no attempt to escape or to conceal myself, but went about my business. A few days later I had business in St. Joseph and went up as usual, determined to have no trouble if I could avoid it. I was standing in front of Nave and McCord's wholesale grocery house, talking to my brother Isaac, when Phelps, a deputy sheriff, came up and asked me if my name was Jim Gibson. I told him my name was John Gibson. He then said, "I guess I have got a writ for you." I said, "Have you? Let's hear it." He had a heavy shawl or blanket around his shoulders, such as men wore in those days. His hands were both concealed beneath the shawl, and when I asked to hear the writ he drew his left hand with the writ in it from under his shawl and in so doing moved the shawl from over his right hand and I saw that he held a six-shooter with that hand. I did not move or make any attempt to resist him, but stood until he, trembling like a leaf, had read the writ. When he had finished, I waited for him to say what should be done next, but he stood some moments greatly embarrassed, and said nothing. Finally I said, "Well, what about it?" His courage then came to him sufficiently for him to say: "You will have to go to the court house with me." I said, "all right," and turned and asked brother Isaac to go along with me. We started to the court house and just then old Fish, the sheriff, came galloping up with his big spurs on his heels and jumped off his horse. He blustered up and slapped me on the shoulder and said, "you d——d horse thief——give up your arms." I put my hand on his breast and shoved him off the sidewalk, and in stepping off the curbstone he fell. He got up and he and Phelps stood looking at me. I did not say "what about it" any more, but started on toward the court house. When I had got about ten steps away Fish said to Phelps, "Why don't you shoot him?" Phelps said he did not want to kill anybody and Fish then said, "Give me the gun, I will shoot him." With that he snatched the gun from Phelps and pointed it at me. I jerked my gun from my side and leveled it at him. He lowered his gun instantly and I turned and walked on. Fish then began to yell, "Catch him! Catch him!" keeping all the time a good, safe distance behind. He followed me to Edmond Street, all the time keeping up his yell and by that time he had raised half the town, it seemed to me. Everybody, policemen and all, ran out to see what was the trouble with old Fish. I passed on up Edmond Street and came to a man with a stick of wood in his hand. He raised it and told me to stop. I told him to drop his stick and not to bother me. He obeyed and I walked on. I turned on Fourth Street and went into a feed stable, and through it to an alley, and then around to the south side of the stable. No one was near me and I stopped. I had stood but an instant when a brother of Phelps, the deputy sheriff, came running toward me. I drew my gun and asked him what he wanted. He turned and ran. There was a board fence about five feet high in front of him. He sprang up on it on his breast and turned a somersault over it into the alley and struck the ground flat on his back. I had to laugh at the frightened fool and that put me in a better humor. I went to Fourth Street and went into the back door of a barber shop. The front door was closed, but there was a great throng standing outside and Fish was still yelling. The crowd was quiet and orderly. I had been in the shop a few minutes when I heard some one say, "Don't go in there, that man will shoot you!" Another man said, "If you will go in I will go with you?" At that time I did not intend to hurt anyone and if Fish had let me alone I would have been at the court house, for I knew there was no case against me. But just as the conversation I have related took place Fish and his man jumped in at the back door, Fish with his navy cocked and pointed at my breast. He called out in a loud voice, "Now, you d——d horse thief——give up your arms!" That was too much for me to take a second time. The last word was not out of his mouth until the muzzle of my six-shooter was against his neck and hell was blazing inside of me. I pulled the trigger, the cap burst with loud noise but the gun, for the first time in my experience with it, failed to go. Fish thought he was shot and fell backward out at the door. Three policemen entering by the front door came up behind and grabbed me and took my guns away from me. By this time Fish had come to himself and jumped back in the back door and shot at me. I knocked the muzzle of the gun up and the ball went into the ceiling. My little finger hit the end of the gun just as it was discharged and the ball grazed the flesh off down to the bone. A policeman caught Fish and pushed him back and said, "Nobody but a d——d coward would shoot a prisoner."

Fish and his brave deputies then formed a procession and started me off to the court house. Phelps, to whom I had really surrendered on the reading of the writ, and who I think understood all along that there would have been no trouble but for Fish's insulting bluster, led me by the arm. Fish walked behind with my two navies—one in each hand, and one other deputy loaded down with guns rode Fish's horse by my side. Another deputy, whose name I will not mention, an old school mate of mine, remained far behind, thinking, I suppose, that I had not seen him. I had met him on Felix Street a half hour before Phelps presented the writ to me and as soon as Phelps came up I knew where he had received information that I was in town. This deputy knew that I would not resist arrest if treated with anything like decency, and might have had me go with him to the court house upon his request even without a writ, but this method did not suit the bragging, make-believe methods of the men who were vainly trying to convince the community of their bravery.

As the procession moved with the desperate man up Fifth Street, attracting the attention of everybody, greatly to the satisfaction of the brave fellows who had made the capture, I said to Phelps, that he need not hold my arm as I would not attempt to run. Fish, who heard the remark, said to Phelps, "Turn him loose and let him run." I halted and turned to Fish and said, "If you will give me one of my navies I will run!" I would have done exactly what I said, and Fish knew it, I think, for he would not give me the gun. I had no idea he would accept my challenge, but I stopped his pretense at bravery and showed him to be exactly the coward that he was.

When we reached the office, Fish, who was an old-timer at the business, went through my pockets. He knew just where to lay his hand to get my money and took from my inside vest pocket eighty dollars in greenbacks, but before he did this he made my brother leave the office so he could not see how much money he took from me. After getting my money he turned me into the jail and locked me in a cold cell without fire or blankets. I lay on the cold rocks and shivered all night with my finger bleeding on me.

Next day was a busy one for Fish. My friends came in by the dozen to see me and Fish would not let them talk to me through the hole in the wall out of his presence, so they kept him standing by most of the day to hear what was said. My old friend Curl came in. He asked me if I wanted to get out. I told him I thought I would get out in a short time. Curl said, "If you want out today I will go and get enough men to take you out." Fish did not open his mouth, but I told Curl I thought I had better wait and give bond. Shortly after that Judge Parker, who stood in with Fish, fixed my bond at twenty thousand dollars, thinking, I suppose, that I could not give it and that I would have to lie in jail until my trial came off. They were mistaken in this. I gave the twenty thousand bond—and could have given a hundred thousand as well—and was released. I walked down town and presently met Fish. He ran up and shook hands with me as though he was greatly pleased to see me, and said, "I thought you had gone." I said, "No, this is my home and I intend to remain here." I never saw Fish after that that he did not go out of his way to speak to me and shake hands with me. I knew his object was to make fair weather with me, but he had nothing to fear. I was over my anger and would not have harmed a hair of his head so long as he did not provoke me as he had done on the day of my arrest.