Part 1
# Then and Now; or, Thirty-Six Years in the Rockies: Personal Reminiscences of Some of the First Pioneers of the State of Montana ### By Vaughn, Robert
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[Illustration: Very truly yours
Robt Vaughn (handwritten dedication and signature) ]
THEN AND NOW;
OR,
Thirty-Six Years in the Rockies.
Personal Reminiscences of Some of the First Pioneers of the State of Montana.
INDIANS AND INDIAN WARS.
The Past and Present of the Rocky Mountain Country. 1864-1900.
BY ROBERT VAUGHN.
MINNEAPOLIS: TRIBUNE PRINTING COMPANY. 1900.
COPYRIGHTED, 1900.
BY ARVONIA ELIZABETH VAUGHN.
DEDICATION.
ARVONIA ELIZABETH VAUGHN, Great Falls, Montana.
MY DEAR LITTLE DAUGHTER:
The following series of letters, which include a short history of Montana’s early days, together with a brief sketch of your father’s life and a copy of my letter to you, giving an obituary of your dear mother, I dedicate to you, knowing that they will be appreciated, and hoping that you will have the pleasure of reading them after I am gone.
Your affectionate father, ROBERT VAUGHN.
Great Falls, Montana, May 15th, 1900.
PREFACE.
It may not be out of place to explain how this book came to find its way into print. It was written for my little daughter, in the form of letters at various times, and not intended for publication, but many friends after reading them insisted that they should be published. One said: “You must not wait until you are dead before these letters are given to the world.”
As my desire is, by the grace of God, to live many years yet, I now present these letters to the reader, supplemented by others from old time friends who braved the perils and dangers of pioneer life; and as they are intended to be a part of the history of this great state, care has been taken to keep strictly to the truth.
It is hoped that a line here and there will be appreciated by those who ride in palace cars as well as the old pioneers who came west in prairie schooners.
ROBERT VAUGHN.
CONTENTS.
Page
From Home to the State of Illinois, 17
Crossing the Plains, 22
On a Stampede to the Yellowstone, 35
The Discovery of Alder Creek, the Richest Gold Gulch on the Globe, 39
The James Stuart Prospecting Party, 46
From Alder Gulch to Last Chance, 57
From the Mines to the Farm, 64
A Letter to My Little Babe, 72
From the Farm to the City of Great Falls, 77
Montana Pioneers, 84
The Dark Side of the Life of the Pioneer, 89
The Indian Praying, 103
Indians Stealing my Horses, 106
The Great Sun River Stampede, 109
A Trip from Virginia City to the Head of Navigation on the Missouri River in 1866, 113
My First Buffalo Hunt, 124
Tom Campbell Running the Gauntlet, 127
Edward A. Lewis’ Early Days in Montana, 130
A Brave Piegan War Chief, 141
Bloody Battles and Tragedies in the Sun River Valley, 147
Charles Choquette Coming to Montana in 1843, 163
A Trip to the Twenty-eight Mile Spring Station, 171
John Largent’s Early Days in Montana, 176
A Visit to Fort Benton, 188
John D. Brown, a Narrative of his Early Experiences in the West, 201
A Pioneer Minister, 216
An old Letter, 223
Warren C. Gillette’s Early Experiences in Montana, 229
A Meal in an Indian Camp, 245
The First Settlement of What is now Montana, 247
Montana Then and Now, 266
A Sample of the Pioneers of Montana, 275
The Indian, 288
The Sioux War, 297
General Sherman’s Letters, 329
The Nez Perces War, 345
An English Tribute to the American Scout, 367
Returning of Sitting Bull from Canada, 370
The Indian Messiah and the Ghost Dance, 377
An Indian Legend, 395
The Roundup, 403
Traveling “Then” and Traveling “Now,” 410
Yellowstone National Park, 422
From the Prospector’s Hole to the Greatest Mining Camp on Earth, 447
ILLUSTRATIONS.
Page
Robert Vaughn, 6
Leaving Home, 19
My First View of the Rockies, 28
An Indian Grave, 31
In the Rockies, 32
Nature’s Grand Masonry Work, 33
Indian War Dance, 42
A Prairie Schooner Crossing the Plains, 59
A Scene in the City of Helena, 61
Great Falls, Montana, 78
Copper Smelter at Great Falls, 80
Lewis and Clark Meeting the Mandan Indians, 81
A Group of Pioneers, in front of Old Court House, Helena, 85
Mrs. James Blood (a Piegan woman), 111
Freighting in the Early Days, 115
Indians Hunting Buffalo, 126
Wolf Voice (Gros Ventres), 139
The Piegans Laying their Plans to Steal Horses from the Crows, 143
Going Home with the Stolen Horses, 145
Father De Smet, 149
Little Plume, (Piegan Chief), 153
Alone in the Rockies, 166
The Mule and Mountain Howitzer, 195
Indians with Travois, 197
“Then,” Buffaloes; “Now,” Cattle, 199
“Then,” Deer; “Now,” Sheep, 200
Rev. W. W. Van Orsdel, 217
A Mountaineer in his Buckskin Sunday Suit, 226
Indian Camp, 246
General George Crook, 299
General George A. Custer, 305
Colonel William F. Cody (Buffalo Bill), 309
Rain-in-the-face (Sioux War Chief), 323
A Crow Scout (winter costume), 325
General Sherman, 331
General Miles, 362
Chief Joseph (Nez Perces), 363
Robert S. S. Baden-Powell, 368
Sitting Bull (Sioux Chief), 373
Agency Indians having their pictures taken, 387
Cree Manuscript, 390
Mo-See-Ma-Ma-Mos (Young Boy), a Cree Indian, 391
Cree Alphabet, 392
Little Bear (Cree Chief), 393
Roping a Steer to Examine the Brand, 403
St. Ignatius Mission Stock Brand, 404
Pioneer Cattle Company’s Brand, 404
The Roundup--Turning Out in the Morning, 406
First Attempt at Roping, 408
Lake McDonald, 412
In the Rockies on the Great Northern Railway, 414
Gate of the Mountains, Montana Central Ry., 420
Old Faithful Geyser, Yellowstone Park, 428
Mammoth Hot Springs, Yellowstone Park, 432
Castle Geyser, Cone and Diana’s Pool, Yellowstone Park, 433
Norris Geyser Basin, Yellowstone Park, 435
Grand Canyon of the Yellowstone, 438
Quartz Mining at Niehart, Montana, 456
THEN AND NOW;
OR,
THIRTY-SIX YEARS IN THE ROCKIES.
FROM HOME TO THE STATE OF ILLINOIS.
I was born in Wales June 5, 1836, and was reared on a farm until I was nineteen years old. My parents’ names were Edward and Elizabeth Vaughan. There were six children--Jane, Hugh, Robert, Edward, John and Mary. Edward lives in the old home at the present time. His address is: “Dugoed Bach, Dinas Mowddwy, Mereoneth Sheir, G. B.”
My parents were of good family; by that I mean they and their ancestors were good Christian people, father and mother were members of the Episcopal Church. Father was a warden as long as I can remember. Mother was my only teacher. She taught me to obey, to tell the truth, to be kind, to respect others, and above all to fear God.
I left home when I was between nineteen and twenty. At this time I could speak but the Welsh language. I had a great desire to learn to acquire English; therefore I went to Liverpool, where sister Jane lived. I secured employment from the Hon. Benjamin Haywood Jones to work in a flower garden at his beautiful home on the West Derby Road. He was a rich banker in the city. I remained there over a year. Brother Hugh had gone to America a year before I left home, locating near Rome, N. Y. In the fall of 1858, instead of going home as I intended, I concluded that it would be a good idea for me to go to America and see my brother; then return in four or five months. So, without the knowledge of my parents, I took passage on board a steamship named the “Vigo” bound for New York. I was on the ocean twelve days and a half. As soon as I landed I wrote home and stated what I had done, and that I would be back home in four or five months, and at that time it was my honest intention to do so. From New York City I went to my brother’s, and stayed with him about three months; then I went to Palmyra, Ohio, to see Aunt Ann, my father’s sister. I was right at home now, and my father was satisfied since I was in the care of his sister. I was there over a year, going thence to Youngstown, Ohio, where I worked for Joshua Davies on a farm, and in the coal mines. From here I proceeded to McLean county, Illinois, where my brother had been for two years. I farmed with him one summer, then I went to Fairbury, Livingston county, and mined coal until 1864. During all this time I wrote home regularly and received letters in return. Instead of going home I was continually getting further from it. Somehow I could not resist the desire of venturing into the unsettled regions of the West. I kept drifting further and further until I found myself in the heart of the Rocky mountains, six thousand miles from home.
[Illustration: LEAVING HOME.]
In this way forty-one years elapsed since I left my childhood home, but the picture remains in my memory as though it were but yesterday; everything appears to me as it was the last time I saw it. The house still seems the same; the ivy creeping up its walls; the sycamore, alder, birch and spruce trees stand there like sentries guarding it. The rose bushes and the evergreens in front, the hollies where the sparrows huddled together at night, the orchard and the old stone barn; and I imagine that--
“I see the quiet fields around, I stroll about as one who dreams; ’Til each familiar place is found, How strangely sweet to me it seems.
“The old and well known paths are there, My youthful feet so often pressed; Gone is the weight of manhood’s care, And in its place a sense of rest.
“The broad expanse before me lies, Checked here and there with squares of green; Where, freshly growing crops arise, And browner places intervene.”
I see the dancing rill flowing by the garden gate, and the great arch of white thorn overspanning the passage way that led to the main road. There my mother embraced and kissed me and bade me good-bye for the last time. Here my “only teacher” gave me her last instruction, it was this: “My dear son, be careful in selecting your companions to go out with in the evenings. God be with you, good-bye.”
Oh, how sweetly her voice fell on my listening ear, And now, I imagine those soft words I hear; If I ever view her silent grave, My tears will flow like tidal wave.
There she stood staring at her wandering boy leaving home. We watched one another until a curve in the road took me out of sight; that was the last time I saw my mother. Father came with me about a quarter of a mile. We spoke but very little; we were both very sad. Suddenly father turned to me and took me by the hand and said: “Well, my son, fare thee well, be a good boy.” I was weeping bitterly and after I had gone a little way I looked back and saw father leaning against a gate which led to the meadow, with both hands on his face; this caused my tears to flow faster than ever. I shall always believe that father was praying for me then. And that was the last time I saw him. Father and mother are now sleeping in the silent tomb. But in my memory they appear like statues as I saw them last, and that was forty-one years ago. Mother standing at the gate with tears in her eyes waving the kind and tender hand that soothed and fondled me when I was a babe, and father leaning on that rude gate with his face buried in his hands offering a prayer in my behalf. Nothing can efface that vision from my memory. Mother more than once said in her letters to me that she always remembered me in her prayers. I often think that I might not have fared so well and perhaps be a worse man than I am, were it not for the prayers of my father and mother.
ROBERT VAUGHN.
Great Falls, Mont., March 20, 1898.
CROSSING THE PLAINS.
I left Fairbury, Livingston county, Illinois, March 4, 1864, in company with James Gibb, John Jackson, James Martin, and Sam Dempster and wife, destined for the new gold fields in Idaho, for the Territory of Montana had not then been created.
Our mode of traveling was with a four-horse team and a farm wagon. A great portion of Illinois and Iowa was then but sparsely settled; we would travel for hours without seeing any signs of habitation. The roads were very bad through those states; and it took us twenty-five days to come to Council Bluffs, which was then but a small frontier settlement. An old man, one of the inhabitants of the place, called my attention to two small hills on the bluff above the village and said: “It was there General Fremont, with his men, held a council before crossing the river to traverse the plains to California, and from this incident the town derives its name.” We crossed the Missouri on a ferry boat. Omaha had scarcely twelve hundred people. Here we made up a train of sixty-five wagons, some drawn by oxen. It was a mixed train as far as the destination was concerned. Some were going to California, Oregon, Washington, and Salt Lake, but mostly to the new gold diggings in Idaho. We were to travel together as far as Utah.
Our trail was on the north side of the North Platte river as far as Fort Laramie, following most of the way the surveying stakes on the line of the Union Pacific Railway. For several hundred miles, while we traveled in the Platte river valley, we passed over fine land for agriculture. Here we met a great many Indians of the Pawnee tribe, but all appeared to be friendly. I was approached by one of them, who came and asked me to give him some coffee; he was over six feet tall, and had a very large bow and arrows. I made a mark on a big cottonwood tree and stepped off fifty paces and told him if he put an arrow in that mark I would give him some coffee. At once he began sending his arrows, every one piercing the tree about two inches in depth, and the fourth one into the center of the mark. I gave him his coffee. On another occasion I put my hat on a bunch of sage brush for two Indian boys to shoot at for a piece of bread; the next thing I knew there was an arrow through my hat. Several days, when traveling in this valley, not a stick of timber of any kind could be had; the only fuel we could obtain was buffalo chips which were abundant.
The mail carrier told us that after passing a place called “Pawnee Swamp,” which was about fifty miles west of Fort Kearney, we would be in the Cheyenne and Sioux country, and that those Indians were very hostile to the whites. It was two days after we crossed this line before we saw an Indian. The third morning at day break, when I was on guard, I discovered one from a distance who was coming towards our camp. I kept watching him; finally he came to me and spoke, at the same time making signs; of course I did not understand either. While going on with his gibberish and making those motions with his hands he stepped up and patted me on the breast and on my vest pocket. I told him in plain English that he was getting a little too familiar for a stranger, and to keep away from me. Then he picked up a stem of some dried weed about the size of a match and scratched it on a stone as a person would when lighting a match. This convinced me that he wanted some matches. I gave him half a dozen and he thanked me, or at least I thought he did, for he gave a kind of grunt with a faint smile and went back in the direction he came from.
In the afternoon of the same day we crossed a small creek; on its bank there was a newly made grave in which a young woman twenty-two years of age had been laid to rest. At the head of the grave, for a head-board, a round stick, which had been used at one time for a picket pin, was placed, and on this some unskilled hand had written with a pencil “In memory of ----,” the name I could not decipher, but the words “dear daughter” were plainly written, which indicated that there was a parent present to kiss her marble brow before it was lowered into the silent tomb. This instance made a deep impression on me then when viewing that lonely grave in the heart of the wilderness and thinking of its occupant, who possibly was once the center star in some lovable family, but was left there alone in her earthen couch to sleep and rest forever; and when, on the coming of spring, no one would be there to even pluck wild flowers and lay them on the grave of the unfortunate young traveler. What more sorrowful sight could there be than witnessing those parents leaving that sacred spot before continuing their westward journey, and, when on that ridge, taking the last look at the little mound by the winding brook in the valley below? Here the curtain drops on this pitiful scene; the emigrant train is out of sight and all is over.
At Fort Laramie we met the noted frontiersman, John Bozeman, after whom the city of Bozeman, Montana, was named. He sought to organize a train to take a cut-off route east of the Big Horn mountains. There was also a man by the name of McKnight, who was a trader at this place. He had two wagons loaded with goods for Alder Gulch, each wagon being drawn by four fine mules, and he was getting up a train to go west of the Big Horn mountains and through the Wind River country. McKnight said to me that he wanted about one hundred wagons and about five hundred good, resolute, determined men and they would get through all right. I told him that there were five of us, and that we would accompany him. There were scores of wagons passing Laramie every day and most of them were bound for the new gold diggings.
The first day we got twenty wagons to join the McKnight train, and we pulled out about a quarter of a mile in the direction we were to travel. This new camp was a kind of “refinery;” here one and all might consider the perils, dangers and privations likely to be encountered. The faint-hearted ones took the safer route by way of the South Pass. However, in a few days we had four hundred and fifty men and over one hundred wagons. We were aware that we were going to travel through several hundred miles of an untrodden wilderness, where Red Cloud and Sitting Bull reigned over twenty or twenty-five thousand savages, so it was very necessary for us to be well armed and organized. Before starting we took a vote and selected a captain and two lieutenants, and a committee of three to examine every one and see if he was prepared with guns, sufficient ammunition, and if his outfit was substantial enough to make the trip. A paper was drawn in which was inserted a provision that we were to stand by and defend each other at all hazards; to this we all signed our names. We realized that it was a perilous undertaking, but we pressed onward. We depended a great deal on our guide. He was a tall, well-built, straight, dark-complexioned, resolute and intelligent man; he was reared in Canada and had been in the employ of the Hudson’s Bay Company. He was a famous scout and versed in the language of every Indian tribe from the Platte to the Saskatchewan, and was both feared and respected by all. He was a brave and true man, whose tact and courage, on more than one occasion, resulted in avoiding trouble with hostile redskins.
Roll was called every evening. Each man had to be on guard in his turn for four consecutive hours during the night. To form the camp the first wagon had to make a circle until it faced the hindmost one, and each one followed forming thus a stockade, the horses being driven past the inside hind wheel of the wagon in front; after unhitching the tongue was thrown over the wheel and rested on the axle. At night all the horses and the tents were on the inside and those standing guard being on the outside. We invariably formed our camp in this way, and were always on our guard, for no man can tell when danger may be near in an Indian country. When there is not an Indian to be seen it is the time they are the most likely to make an attack. An incident I well remember. The writer and Gibb were ahead of the train and about half a mile on one side from the direction we were traveling. Crossing a small ravine we saw two Indians hiding under some willows. They pretended not to see us. It is probable that there were many more in that vicinity, although there was no indication of the kind.
One day we came through a Sioux village of eighty-five tepees; there were from two to three hundred Indians, chiefly women and children. On a slope of a hill near by were over eight hundred horses in charge of six Indians. Though we camped at noon but a short distance from them, only two approached us, and their actions were different from those of the other Indians whom we met. When the Sioux came to our camp they would go from one tent or wagon to another in a sullen manner with a contemptible look as if they were going to massacre every one of us, and likely the reason they did not was that we had taken them unawares and before they had time to prepare, besides we were as good as an equal number of soldiers if it had come to fighting. But by the year following they were better prepared, for they had obtained guns and ammunition from the traders. They killed many immigrants. And the year succeeding traveling through that part of the Sioux country was entirely discontinued, and Fort Phil Kearney was established. A few months later all the soldiers, eighty-one in number, were killed by the Indians--not one was left to tell the story. And, these savages kept up their murderous deeds until the Sioux war of 1876.
Many times I thought of the perils and dangers that we escaped on that eventful journey, of which I now give an account.