While the little community at Bannack were snugly housed for the winter, anxiously awaiting the return of warm weather to favor a resumption of labor in the gulch, numerous companies were in progress of organization in the States, intending to avail themselves of the same seasonable change to start upon the long and adventurous journey to Salmon River. The fame of Bannack and Deer Lodge had not yet reached them. In the Summer of 1862 an expedition under the direction of the Government was planned in Minnesota for the ostensible purpose of opening a wagon road between St. Paul and Fort Benton, to connect at the latter point with the military road opened a few years before by Captain John Mullen from Fort Benton to Walla Walla. This route of nearly two thousand miles lay for most of the distance through a partially explored region, filled with numerous bands of the hostile Sioux and Blackfeet. The Government had grudgingly appropriated the meagre sum of five thousand dollars in aid of the enterprise, which was not sufficient to pay a competent guard for the protection of the company. The quasi-governmental character of the expedition, however, with the inducement superadded that it would visit the Salmon River mines, soon caused a large number of emigrants to join it.
The Northern Overland Expedition, as it was called, left St. Paul on the sixteenth of June, 1862. It was confided to the leadership of Captain James L. Fisk, whose previous frontier experience and unquestioned personal courage admirably fitted him for the command of an expedition which owed so much of its final success, as well as its safety during a hazardous journey through a region occupied by hostile Indians, to the vigilance and discipline of its commanding officer. His first assistant was E. H. Burritt, and second assistant, N. P. Langford (the writer); Samuel R. Bond, secretary, David Charlton, engineer, Dr. W. D. Dibb, surgeon, and Robert C. Knox, wagon master. About forty men were selected from the company, who agreed, for their subsistence, to serve as guards during the journey. One hundred and twenty-five emigrants accompanied the expedition to Prickly Pear Valley. This company was thoroughly organized, and ready at all times for instant service while passing through Indian country. Fort Abercrombie, Devil’s Lake, Fort Union, Fort Benton,[[2]] and Milk River were designated points of the route, and it was generally understood that the company should pursue as nearly as possible the trail of the exploring expedition under command of Governor Isaac I. Stevens in 1853.
[2]. Fort Union and Fort Benton were not United States military forts, but were the old trading posts of the American Fur Company.
All the streams not fordable on the entire route were bridged by the company and many formidable obstacles removed. The company arrived without accident, after a tedious but not uninteresting trip, in Prickly Pear Valley on the twenty-first day of September. It was the largest single party that went to the northern mines in 1862. About one-half of the number remained in the Prickly Pear Valley, locating upon the creek where Montana City now stands. The remainder accompanied Captain Fisk to Walla Walla. All who were officially connected with the expedition, except Mr. Knox and the writer, returned by way of the Pacific Ocean and the Isthmus to Washington.
Gold had been found on Prickly Pear Creek a short time before the arrival of our company. “Tom Gold Digger,” or “Gold Tom,” had pitched his lodge at the mouth of the cañon above our location and was “panning out” small quantities of gold. The placer was very difficult of development and the yield small. Winter was near at hand. Many of the party who had left home for Salmon River, where they had been assured profitable employment could be readily obtained, now found themselves five hundred miles from their destination with cattle too much exhausted to attempt the journey, in the midst of a wilderness, nearly destitute of provisions, and with no chance of obtaining any nearer than Salt Lake City, four hundred miles away, from which they were separated by a region of mountainous country, rendered impassable by deep snows and beset for the entire distance by hostile Indians. Starvation seemingly stared them in the face. Disheartening as the prospect was, all felt that it would not do to give way to discouragement. A few traders had followed the tide of emigration from Colorado with a limited supply of the bare necessaries of life, risking the dangers of Indian attack by the way, to obtain large profits and prompt pay as a rightful reward for their temerity. Regarding their little stock as their only resource, the company set to work at once, each man for himself, to obtain means to buy with. Prices were enormous. The placer was still unpromising. Frost and snow had actually come. With a small pack supplied from the remains of their almost exhausted larders, the men started out, some on foot, and some bestride their worn-out animals, into the bleak mountain wilderness in pursuit of gold. With the certainty of death in its most horrid form if they fell into the clutches of a band of prowling Blackfeet, and the thought uppermost in their minds that they could scarcely escape freezing, surely the hope which sustained this little band of wanderers lacked none of those grand elements which sustained the early settlers of our country in their days of disaster and suffering. Men who cavil with Providence, and attribute the escape of a company of half-starved, destitute men from massacre, starvation, and freezing, under circumstances like these, to luck or chance or accident, are either destitute of gratitude or have never been overtaken by calamity. Yet these men all survived to tell the tale of their bitter experience.
CAPTAIN JAMES L. FISK
Commander of Northern Overland Expedition
My recollection of those gloomy days, all the more vivid, perhaps, because I was among the indigent ones, was emphasized by a little incident I can never recall without a devout feeling of thankfulness. Intelligence was brought us that a company of miners was working the bottom of a creek in Pike’s Peak Gulch, a distance of sixty miles from the Prickly Pear camp over the Rocky Mountain range. Cornelius Bray, Patrick Dougherty, and I started immediately on a horseback trip to the new camp in search of employment for the winter. One pack-horse served to transport our blankets and provisions. Our intention was to cross the main range on the first day and camp at the head of Summit Creek, where there was good grass and water. In following the Mullen road through the cañon, when about two miles from the ridge, Bray’s horse gave out and resisted all our efforts to urge him farther. There was no alternative but to camp. The spot was unpromising enough. There was no feed for our horses, and our camp by the roadside could not escape the notice of any band of Indians that might chance to be crossing the range. It was the custom in this Indian country for packers and others to seek some secluded spot half a mile or more from the trail for camping purposes; but here we were cooped up in a cañon not ten rods wide, and the only practicable pass over the range running directly through it. Of course we all mentally hoped that no Indians would appear.
I had, while at Fort Benton, held frequent conversations with Mr. Dawson, the factor at that post, who had spent many years in the country, and was perfectly familiar with the manners and tactics of the Indians. He had warned me against just such an exposure as that to which we were now liable, and when night came, knowing that the country was full of roving bands of Bloods and Piegans, I felt no little solicitude for a happy issue out of danger. Evening was just setting in, when snow began to fall in damp, heavy flakes, giving promise of a most uncomfortable night. Our only shelter was a clump of bushes on the summit of a knoll, where we spread our blankets, first carefully picketing the four horses with long lariats to a single pin, so that in case of difficulty they could all be controlled by one person. Dougherty proposed to stand guard until midnight, when I was to relieve him and remain until we resumed our trip at early dawn. Bray and I crept into our blankets, they and the bushes being our only protection against a very heavy mountain snowstorm. Strange as it may seem to those unfamiliar with border life, we soon fell asleep and slept soundly until I was aroused by Dougherty to take my turn at the watch. I crawled from under the blankets, which were covered to the depth of five inches with “the beautiful snow,” and Dougherty fairly burrowed into the warm place I had left.
About three o’clock in the morning the horses became uneasy for want of food. Preparatory to an early departure I gathered in a large heap a number of small, fallen pines and soon had an immense fire. It lighted up the cañon with a lurid gloom and mantled the snow-covered trees with a ghastly radiance. The black smoke of the burning pitch rolled in clouds through the atmosphere, which seemed to be choked with the myriad snowflakes. So dense was the storm I could scarcely discern the horses, which stood but a few rods distant. Wading through the snow to the spot where my companions slept, I roused them from their slumbers. I could liken them to nothing but spectres as they burst through their snowy covering and stood half-revealed in the bushes by the light of the blazing pines. It was a scene for an artist. Despite the gloomy forebodings which had filled my mind, at this scene I burst into a fit of loud and irrepressible laughter.