 Pushing stage up an icy hill. Page 318. and presenting a charming panorama north and south of
Long's Peak which could be seen for more than 100 miles. |
While spending a part of four seasons at Latham, a number of times during the dry weather in midsummer I was delighted while watching, some thirty-five or forty miles away, in the foothills to the west, a terrific rain-storm accompanied with flashes of forked lightning, soon followed by rumbling echoes of peals of distant thunder. Beyond, but a considerable distance above the rain-storm--way up among the scattered towering peaks and along the summit of the "Great Divide"--the scene as viewed from Latham was grand and beautiful. It was a rich treat to gaze upon, at the same time a fearful snow-storm in progress along the backbone of the continent. In reality, the storm was a miniature blizzard, raging in all its fury, and extending more than 14,000 feet above sea-level, far above the terrific thunderstorm. Thus, while at Latham the weather would be delightful and balmy, as lovely as could be wished for--the atmosphere as clear as any Italian sky--it seemed remarkably singular that, in that limited space, not exceeding forty mites distant, the eye could take in, all at one and the same time, such a variety of weather. It was hard for me to realize, while in the valley, basking in the sunshine and the most lovely weather imaginable, that in midsummer, a mile and a half or two miles above us, on Long's Peak and the Snowy Range, could be plainly seen a blizzard lasting several hours, and after the storm would subside and the clouds break away the appearance of the "Great Divide" would be changed, and covered with a beautiful white mantle. All together it was a scene new to me, and it appeared that no other region in the world except Colorado could furnish its equal. One day during the summer of 1864 the stage had arrived at Latham from California a little before noon, having a load of through passengers who ordered dinner. The substantial meal prepared having been partaken of with a relish, all but one promptly paid their bills. This one fellow, who was adorned with long hair and flowing beard, jumped into the Concord as it was ready to roll out for Atchison, whereupon McIlvain, the good-natured station keeper, advanced to the vehicle and, gently reminded the passenger that he had evidently forgotten to liquidate. "What!" said the astonished, long-haired passenger; "you do n't intend to charge Jesus Christ anything, do you?" At this remark Mac was almost paralyzed. He stood for a few seconds as motionless as a statue and fastened his keen, piercing |
eyes upon the noted individual. Being a strong infidel, Mac was not acquainted with any one bearing that name. In a moment he inquired: "Are you that important personage?" and receiving an answer in the affirmative, without even a smile he said: "Well, sir, if you are Jesus Christ, you can have your dinner free," and looking at the waybill he saw there was no mistake--the person's name was so entered at Placerville as one of the through passengers for Atchison. The important name he had chosen did not pass him over the stage line, for he had paid full fare. The fellow was rather a seedy-looking individual, and the opinion I formed of him at the time has never been changed; it was that he was a first-class fraud, and had taken the name of the Savior in order to dead-beat his meals across the country on the overland stage line, at the expense of the station keepers. The summer of 1864 will long remain fresh in the minds of everyone then living along the Little Blue and Platte rivers. During that memorable season the Indians began their depredations on the overland line in the Blue valley below Fort Kearney, and word reached us at Latham, via Denver, on the 10th of August, that stages were no longer running out of Atchison, and probably would not be for some weeks to come. Between Denver and Latham and Latham and Placerville, however, there was no trouble, and the coaches continued to arrive and depart between those stations daily. The Rocky Mountain News--quite a metropolitan journal--the only daily paper then published in Denver (Byers & Dailey, proprietors), gave us the telegraphic news quite regularly, and kept us posted for a time, as best it could, concerning the depredations almost daily being committed by the Indians along the line down the Platte. The last stage to bring us a mail from the East arrived at three o'clock on the morning of the 15th of August, having already been due five days. The arrival daily of east-bound passengers from the Pacific slope and coast continued, until between fifty and seventy-five were at the station-house. It was a difficult matter at first to find sleeping places for such a crowd. The station was not prepared to furnish anything but meals. Nearly all the passengers, however, had blankets--no passenger overland by stage thought of traveling without blankets--and it was nothing unusual to see |
fifteen or twenty men, representing the banker, merchant, lawyer, preacher, doctor, professor, mechanic, and miner, snoozing on the floor in a single room. In some cases they were packed almost as close as sardines, and when the order was given to "turn over" it was necessary for all to move in concert. At least twenty-five of the passengers who were used to "roughing it" chose to sleep at the barn, in the hay-loft, in preference to even a luxurious feather bed or spring mattress, had there been any such modern comforts at the station-house. They got along very well under the circumstances, and all having seen life in the West, there were comparatively few complaints. Nearly all the delayed passengers at the station were a jolly, good-natured lot of fellows. The most of them were more or less used to the plains and life on the frontier, and without the least grumbling could put up with inconveniences. They were obliged to put up with them. The long days and weeks of anxious suspense during that memorable season passed away with comparatively little complaint on the part of any who were so unfortunate as to be caught there during the embargo caused by the Indian outbreak. Every one about the premises believed that at Latham station they were comparatively safe and each tried to be as cheerful as possible under the circumstances. There was little hope just then of the passengers being able to get away or to resume their journey eastward by stage. Excitement was apparent, for no one knew but that inside of twenty-four hours it might be a "battle for life" with every one at the station. When the embargo would be lifted no one could conjecture. Every one appeared thankful, however, that he had a shelter and was where the necessaries of life could be obtained. Wild rumors of Indian depredations continued to reach us almost daily--sometimes the reports were so thick that they came every few hours--recounting the brutalities being committed by the hostiles down the Platte east of Latham. Some of the stories told almost made the blood run cold. From the best information to be gathered, there were hostiles north, south and east of us, but the route between Latham and Denver was open, and the Overland stages between these two points, and also the line to Salt Lake and beyond, ran daily without interruption. I never before experienced such feelings, and trust I never shall again. One of the rumors--by the way, one of the most exciting ones |
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AN EXPERIENCE AT LATHAM IN 1864. Page 325. |
--reached us on the 20th of August, two weeks after the outbreak, that a force of 900 Indians were on the road, coming up the South Platte cleaning out everything along the route, and that a portion of them were marching on Latham. No one could tell whence the rumor came; still, under, the excitement, there was no one who dared to doubt it. When this report reached Latham I was spending a day or two at Laporte, fishing in the Cache la Poudre and visiting friends. When the report reached me, if it be a fact, I reasoned to myself, powder and lead will be in demand. It was Sunday morning, August 21. I at once repaired to the only store in the place and bought a keg of powder and all the shot and lead I could find, together with a couple of shotguns, and took the first east-bound stage to Latham, the driver making an extra-fast run, and arrived at noon. I resembled a "walking arsenal" as I got down from the box with revolver, rifle, shot-guns, powder, shot, and lead. I found the whole country for a radius of ten or fifteen miles, notwithstanding it was sparsely settled, had been thoroughly aroused by the ugly rumor, and nearly all the ranchmen, with their families, had gathered at the station for protection against the prowling, bloodthirsty savages. The ladies had made a flag and it floated over the station. All together, there were fully 150 persons collected, including the stage passengers who were waiting there, unable to go on their journey east. With such rumors in circulation, it is no wonder that the excitement at Latham was at fever heat. In order to be prepared for any emergency, the ranchmen and stage passengers, to protect themselves and the station, organized at once into a sort of military company. Capt. Joseph LaBarge, an old Missouri river steamboat man, of St. Louis, who was returning from the Montana gold-mines by stage, was unanimously chosen to take command of the forces. All the ranchmen had brought with them their arms; some had rifles, some shot-guns, while nearly every one had a revolver or pistol of some kind. My office was with the station keeper and agent, in a small room in the southeast corner of the building, and the guns all stored there gave the room the appearance of an arsenal. The mails from California and the West daily accumulated, until there were 109 sacks--weighing two or three tons--and these were piled up to the ceiling around the room for breastworks. I knew that no rifle ball could go through the log build- |
ing and felt perfectly satisfied that, should one happen to go through the chinking, it would be impossible to penetrate the many mail-sacks filled with letters. The room had an east and a south window, giving an unobstructed view for several miles. I felt little, uneasiness in regard to the safety of the mail and was satisfied that, if an attack was made on the premises, I could, with my fortifications, two shot-guns, an improved breech-loading rifle, a brace of navy revolvers, and a keg of powder, "hold the fort." Around the station matters soon began to assume a sort of warlike appearance. The men were daily drilling, at intervals, preparing to make, if need be, a formidable resistance. Some half a dozen were detailed each night for guard duty at different points outside, to watch for the approach of the savages. This business was kept up for several nights in succession, a new guard being selected for service each night. While the occupation of standing guard continued, it was my lot to be detailed, with about a half-dozen others, one night. I chose my own spot, something like 150 yards outside, directly south and in front of my office. It was a cool, frosty night, and, after pacing back and forth a couple of hours, I concluded that a little sleep would be more conducive to good health and comfort than the exercise; so I slipped around to the barn, got a big armful of hay, and carried it to the spot which I had selected for standing guard. I wanted to make it warm for myself, if not for the Indians; so I took out my buffalo robe for a covering. There was part of a large, forked cottonwood tree, between two and three feet in diameter, lying on the ground, into the forks of which I put the hay and lay down for a snooze. I had my rifle by my side and a navy revolver in my belt. All the time I had somehow felt a sort of instinct that some of the boys--to use a vulgar expression--intended to "play roots on me"; so I lay there for a while with one eye open. I was more certain that a trick was to be played on me than I was that we should be molested by Indians; hence felt quite safe so far as getting a call from the latter was concerned. I had a glorious sleep during the night, and when I awoke, after the sun was up, sure enough I then made the discovery that my rifle was gone. I went to the station for breakfast, but said nothing concerning my loss. While eating, the boys wanted to know of each other how they had spent the night while on guard. One after the |
other told his experience during the long hours of night. In due time I was called upon to give my experience and related to the faithful guards my hairbreadth escape(?). With a "smile that was childlike and bland," but with considerable solemnity, I assured the crowd I had actually met the enemy and had had a terrible battle with the savages; that while, in the fierce but bloodless engagement that had ensued, the redskins, in overpowering numbers, succeeded in capturing my rifle, I was very thankful that they had left my scalp. All seated at the table joined in a hearty laugh. Supposing I had been sleeping with one eye open, and knew all the facts connected with the trick they thought so shrewdly played on me during the night, it is hardly necessary to say my rifle was soon forthcoming. Time passed on. Down the Platte in the vicinity of Plum Creek and Fort Kearney the excitement was intense and kept increasing. There was no telling what a day might bring forth. The difficulty in obtaining reliable news of the situation where most of the depredations had been committed was very great. Often we would bear a score or more of rumors in a day regarding matters hundreds of miles east down the Platte valley. Keeping a standing guard was continued several nights in succession, but still no signs of the enemy. After the excitement, which at intervals had for days and weeks been at fever heat, and while regular guard duty was still being kept up at night, every one about the house was suddenly aroused between eleven and twelve o'clock at night by one of the guards, Mr. B. F. Houx, a freighter who had been stopping there some time (and whose wife was visiting Mrs. McIlvain, they having long been acquaintances and friends in northern Missouri). Mr. Houx was terribly frightened, and as he communicated the information to me in my bunk he was trembling like a leaf and appeared very much excited. He assured every one about the premises that the Indians were coming, and could then be distinctly heard fording the South Platte, only a few hundred yards north of the station. The night was clear but quite dark, and the splashing of water in the river could be distinctly heard, as he had reported. Every person in the house was soon up and dressed. Extra skirmishers were promptly deployed. The "enemy" was soon discovered, and proved to be nothing else than a drove of cattle |
crossing the river. In the meantime every one who had a gun or revolver had grasped it, or had it so he could put his hand on it at a moment's warning. However, nearly all appeared a little disgusted to think they had been so completely sold; still many of them were greatly pleased that they were thus disappointed it, what had been promising a lively skirmish or battle with the Indians. One man declared that he had rather fight cattle than savages. There was at once a general throwing down of arms. The monotony and excitement of the past few weeks was suddenly broken, and each succeeding day began to strengthen the belief of all who were waiting at the station that the route between Latham and Atchison would soon be opened by the military, and stage travel and ox and mule traffic be resumed. On Sunday, the 28th of August, I climbed on the box of the stage-coach with the driver at Latham and went to Denver. My object was to confer with the postmaster and stage authorities there, and to learn all I could of the Indian situation, and of the probabilities of reopening the great stage line from Latham to the Missouri river. I observed that nearly every ranch along the road had been deserted, and the appearance was gloomy enough. The stage stations between Latham and Denver--Big Bend, Fort. Lupton, and Pierson's--however, were not vacated. The keepers still stuck to their posts. But no one could tell when the line east would likely be opened. For hundreds of miles down the Platte east of Latham the Indians were bold and defiant, and apparently ran matters to suit themselves. They had in many instances run off the stage stock, burned the company's buildings, destroyed hay and supplies, and a number of emigrants had been horribly murdered, scalped, and left by the wayside. The freighters, however, were seldom disturbed. They had learned to concentrate and moved across the plains in large bodies. Usually they were armed with such effective weapons that they could offer, if need be, a vigorous defense, But all freighting in the meantime had ceased and traffic over the plains had been abandoned. It was only at intervals that a stranger on the road would be seen. To be sure, there were hundreds of teams on the overland route loaded for Denver and other Colorado points, but they had corraled in large bodies down the Platte, deeming it imprudent to try to make the trip so long as the stages carrying the great overland mail had ceased to run. |
As might be expected, since traffic had stopped, it was not long until nearly all kinds of provisions began to get scarce throughout Colorado. Flour jumped from nine dollars to sixteen and subsequently bounded to twenty-four dollars per hundred pounds. Where a hundred teams a day had been passing Latham station for weeks, during the trouble and excitement, hardly a team was now to be seen. In some respects it was the most lonely and trying month I ever experienced. Precaution was taken by Mr. McIlvain, the station keeper, to lay in an ample supply of flour, ham, bacon, potatoes, dried fruit, sugar, coffee and other eatables at the beginning of the troubles, and, by his foresight, he saved for himself several hundred dollars, and his guests were well cared for. Latham was the best eating-house between Fort Kearney and Salt Lake City. Before the Indian troubles that summer, passengers who came from the west by stage informed us that the grasshoppers were coming--making their way eastward--and that very likely we would in a few days be visited by them. Sure enough, in a day or two the advance-guard reached us; they were the genuine red-legged locusts. A day later, like an avalanche, they came down, myriads of them, and devoured nearly every blade of grass, shrub, and weed. They ate every leaf from the few cottonwood trees, leaving them as denuded as in midwinter. Every green bush was stripped of its foliage. The ranchmen in the valley lost nearly all they had in the shape of grain and garden vegetables. It was a terrible scourge, and reminded one of the plagues sent by the Almighty upon the Egyptians in the time of Moses. The 'hoppers came in such countless millions that at times the sun was darkened as they flew past. The air at times seemed full of them, and could be likened only to a snow-storm, with the largest flakes sifting down as they passed over us for several days. The ground, where vast numbers had alighted and were mowing down the grass and weeds, was perfectly brown with them. As one walked along the ravenous insects hopped right and left to keep from being stepped upon. I never before saw such a sight, but have twice since witnessed scenes closely resembling it in Kansas; the first one in 1867, the second in the '70's. While the exciting campaign along the Platte continued, there was a rumor that suggested to every one about the station who had arms to get them in readiness, prepared, if necessary, for imme- -22 |
diate action. In my office, under the table, I had stored for any emergency a keg of powder. Loading my six-shooter, I capped it being careful to try every chamber, to see if they were in proper condition for service. While cocking the gun to see that the trigger and hammer both worked satisfactorily, by some means I never was able to explain, the gun was accidentally discharged. The ball entered the table directly in front of which I was standing. Making a search, I discovered that it had gone down through the table and into the drawer, among some private papers. I pulled out the drawer, and discovered that the bullet had gone through it, papers and all. I continued the search, when, behold! I found that it had gone down into the keg of powder that stood under the table! The hair on my head seemed to stand out like bristles, and great drops of cold sweat poured off my brow. Never before had such feelings come over me, and I trust they may never come again. It was some seconds before I could speak, and those in the room said I was as white as a sheet. After that exciting experience, I was extremely cautious that a similar event should not occur. It is a notorious fact that many of the overland stage drivers and stock tenders, between three and four decades ago, were inhabited by a species of vermin known as the pediculus vestimenti, but on the plains more vulgarly called "graybacks." Some of the boys at times were fairly alive with them. It is not at all surprising, however, for they slept from year to year on ticks filled with hay--they called it "prairie feathers"--and their blankets were seldom washed from one year's end to another. Some of the stage company's employees did n't indulge in a bath for several months at a time, especially during the winter season, when the weather was way down below the freezing-point and even the most plain and simple conveniences for a bath were greatly lacking. While living at Latham that summer during the civil war, an excellent opportunity was from time to time afforded me to become familiar with a few things I had never before dreamed of. The boys employed on the stage line, I soon learned, had a way of disposing of the graybacks when they became so numerous that it was a serious question as to who should remain master of the situation. Not more than 300 yards to the south of the station were quite a number of uncommonly large ant-hills or mounds, |
Preliminaries to wash-day. Page 340. of circular form. They were at least six inches high, and
some of them were fully six or eight feet across. The mounds
appeared in shape very much like a pressed-tin milk-pan,
bottom side up. The soil was mostly coarse sand and gravel,
which the ants had thrown up into their nicely built mounds.
The surrounding vegetation consisted of a luxuriant growth
of cacti and scanty tufts of bunch- or buffalo-grass. The
ants themselves, in size, were from one-fourth to
three-fourths of an inch in length. Some of them could
nearly always be seen reconnoitering outside the
hills--probably deployed as skirmishers--but they lived
inside. In color they were a dark brown. |
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