Fort Benton, one of the early posts built by the American and Northwestern Fur Companies, is at the virtual head of steamboat navigation on the Missouri, in the midst of a country formerly occupied by the Blackfeet Indians,—the most implacable of all the mountain tribes in their hatred of the whites. From the time of the arrival of the first settlers of Montana in 1862, until the completion of railroads into the Territory, Fort Benton was the commercial depot of the Territory. During the period of high water every spring it is visited by steamboats freighted at St. Louis with merchandise for the great number of traders in the interior towns. A considerable town has sprung up within the shadows of the old post.
A trip from Fort Benton to the States in a Mackinaw, though full of danger, was always inviting, while the same trip by the overland stage, though comparatively safe, was ever repulsive. In the latter part of August, 1866, Andrew J. Simmons, a citizen of Helena, and ten companions, after a wagon journey of one hundred and forty miles, alighted on the levée at Fort Benton, en route to the States. In a letter to me descriptive of this journey, Mr. Simmons writes:
“The varied fortunes and migrating tendencies of the gold miner, in following the great periodical excitements, had cast our lots together through rough and pleasant places, through adversity and prosperity in many of the mining camps of the Pacific slope; and now, having accomplished a successful mining season in the Rocky Mountains, a visit to home and friends was determined upon by descending the Missouri River in a Mackinaw. In three days our craft was completed. She was as stanch as pine lumber and nails could make her. She was thirty-three feet in length, seven and a half feet beam, and ten inches rake. Sharp at both ends, and ample for our accommodation, she was a trim built, rakish-looking craft, which rode the current majestically, and challenged the admiration of all observers.
“Delighted with the success of our experiment in boat-building, and animated with hope of a safe and speedy passage through the two thousand miles of hostile Indian country, we quickly deposited our personal effects and various creature comforts in the little vessel, which we called the Self Riser, and got everything in readiness for embarkation. We felt, indeed, that the bright visions of home, which had cheered us through many years of wandering, were soon to be realized. We had just taken a parting glass with the friends assembled on the levée to witness our departure, and the farewell hand-shaking and good wishes were in progress, when a young man, seemingly not more than twenty, approached me, and in an imploring voice and manner asked a passage with us down the river. There was something so touching in the low, sad tones of his voice, and his subdued manner, that I involuntarily, and on the instant, found myself deeply interested in him. He was a stranger to us all, but his pleasant, honest face, lit up by a pair of expressive eyes, disarmed all suspicions unfavorable to his character; and it was with real regret that I told him, with a view of breaking my refusal as lightly as possible, that our party was made up of old comrades, who had seen much service together, and had jointly outfitted for the trip with the understanding that the company should not be increased.
“I was about to turn away and join my comrades, who had already got into the boat, when he persisted,
“‘For the love of God, sir, do not refuse me! I am here alone among strangers, and have met with many misfortunes in this country. If you do not take me, I shall lose my last chance of returning to my friends and relatives.’
“I could not resist the power of this appeal. After a few words of hasty consultation with my companions, it was agreed that the young man should accompany us. Never shall I forget his look of mingled joy and gratitude when I told him to come on board. Our moorings were then cut loose, and with many a shout and cheer we bore down upon the rapid current. When night approached we did not, as was usual with voyagers, make land and remain until morning, but sailed on, bringing to for the first time early in the afternoon of the next day at the mouth of Judith River. There we made camp under the branching cottonwoods, one hundred and forty miles from our place of embarkation. Our larder had been replenished on the trip with three fat antelopes and a buffalo cow, shot from the boat as we floated along. We had also contrived to form the acquaintance of our new passenger, but without learning much of his history. There was something about him when questioned as to his life in the mountains which impressed us with the idea that he was guarding a secret it would cost him great pain to reveal. Respect for his sensibility soon overcame all curiosity on the subject, and so the poor boy was only known to us by the unromantic name of ‘Johnny.’ His skill with the pistol, exhibited on several occasions on our first day out, won him the favor of every man in the party. We all felt that in his way ‘Johnny’ was one of us, but his way was not like ours. We soon discovered that the rough life to which we had been accustomed had no charms for him. He neither indulged in coarse jokes himself nor enjoyed them in others, no profane expressions escaped his lips, and we were kept constantly upon our guard by some indescribable delicacy of demeanor on his part, which commanded our respect. Neither could we impose on him any of the severe toil of the voyage, but in all the lighter duties no man was more faithful than he, nor more grateful for relief from any labor that overtasked his strength.
“We had feasted to repletion on antelope and buffalo at our first camping place, and when the hour for resting came, the question arose what should be done with Johnny. He had no blankets, and there was no alternative but that Humphrey and I should give him a place with us. So he became our joint bedfellow for the trip.
“We left at dawn, and before mid-day entered upon that marvellous tract of country which as yet has received no more appropriate name than the ‘Bad Lands.’ This significant title, translated from the original French, Mauvaises Terres, has been given to an immense tract of barren country stretching for more than a thousand miles along the Missouri and Yellowstone; but the portion to which I here allude is but a single and remarkable feature of this vast earthen desert, and should receive a more distinctive appellation. The Missouri at this point, for a distance of thirty miles or more, passes through a ledge of talcose rock. Its color is a dusky white. Twelve miles of this distance the entire face of the rock upon either bank of the river has been eroded by the elements into countless forms, which suggest a thousand resemblances to artificial and natural objects, in some instances so exact as almost to deceive a casual observer. No other spot in the world has yet been discovered which can boast of such an extensive display of eroded rock. The river is confined between precipitous banks a hundred or more feet in height, and all along the jagged and broken surface, extending from the edge of these vertical walls beyond the range of vision, these objects are distributed. It seems as if all the pantheons and art galleries of the world had been emptied of their contents here. In one place is an immense round table with a large company gathered around, realizing at a single glance the legendary stories of Arthur and his knights. Through a little nook may be seen a number of forms that will remind one of the Saviour and his disciples. Then again suddenly springs into view a large gathering of people, as if assembled upon some public occasion. Men in every position, women, angels, animals, mausoleums, may be seen, and in their immediate vicinity are larger forms suggestive of dwellings, churches, and cottages. On the extreme point of one of the bends in the river stands the most exquisitely fretted castle of imperial dimensions; spires, minarets, towers, and domes scattered over it in great profusion. This single object is larger than the Capitol at Washington. One nearly as large, and presenting points of great interest, stands diagonally from it, on the opposite side of the river. Buildings with long lines of colonnades, citadels with embrasured parapets and bastions at their several angles, may be seen on every hand. The exhibition is very beautiful, and so unlike any other exhibition of natural art, as to excite the wonder not less than the admiration of all beholders. The difference between these and the eroded rocks of the Yellowstone is in color and size. The Missouri erosions are much more delicate, and not confined to architectural forms alone, but they embrace statuary, furniture, vessels, chariots, and almost every object in the natural world. They are, moreover, nearly white, and their surfaces gleam in the sunlight with all the beauty of polished marble. Awestruck at the multiplicity and grandeur of the various objects which met our gaze, we floated through this region of wonders as silently as if it had been a city of the dead. It did not seem possible as we sailed under the shadow of these immense citadels, that they were the mere creation of the elements, and had never been the abodes of men.
“The navigation of a Mackinaw boat over this portion of the river was intensely interesting. Our light craft, impelled by sails and a rapid current, easily at the command of the helmsman, would sheer around the huge rocks and dash through the foaming rapids, sweeping bends, crooked channels, and innumerable islands and sand-bars. The scene was constantly changing, and new objects of interest presenting themselves.