 RESULT OF A CONFLICT WITH THE INDIANS AT AMERICAN RANCH. Page 379. |
bacon and hardtack, but it was a palatable diet. We were now without a regular cook, and, not being averse to good food myself cooked into "square meals," I tendered my services for a few days before reaching our destination. I had had some experience in younger days flipping slapjacks, baking corn dodgers, and frying bacon and potatoes, and was unanimously detailed as a sort of "French cook," acting in that capacity for over 100 miles. With such solid substantials as hardtack and bacon to draw from, it is hardly necessary to say that a meal considerably different from the one like "your mother used to cook," twice and sometimes three times a day, was the result of my management of the culinary department; and it was my last trip by stage into the Colorado capital. There was great rejoicing in Denver on my arrival there with the several weeks of mail that had been accumulating since the embargo put upon the overland line by Mr. Lo. Nearly all business in Denver for the time being, however, had ceased. The banks could do nothing with the Eastern cities, and every business man was cut off from points on the Missouri river where most of their purchases were made. But there had been no partiality shown. No one in Denver had been getting letters. There was unusual activity among the stage company's officials in Denver who were making the necessary preparations to reopen the overland route to Atchison. Stages were coming every day from California and Salt Lake. A heavy mail for the East from Utah and Colorado had been accumulating for several weeks at the Denver post-office, and the first stage-coach, with a load of passengers, was started out for Atchison on March 1. At ten o'clock on the morning of the 2d the second coach departed. This was a big Concord, loaded with mail, and, in addition, there were seven passengers, besides the driver and myself. It was the largest mail I ever accompanied between the Rockies and the Missouri river. The journey for the first nine miles out was necessarily slow and tedious, on account of the road in many places being drifted full of snow. Like Jordan, it was a "hard road to travel," with no sign of a track in sight. We got along as well as could be expected under the circumstances, and ate supper that night at Living Springs, thirty-five miles down the toll-road, and then continued eastward. The wind was blowing quite hard, the night |
was dark, and the atmosphere cool and disagreeable. The snow was over a foot deep on the level, and still no sign of a broken track, owing to the suspension of all travel for some time previous, because of the Indian depredations. We had not gone over ten miles from Living Springs before we realized we were lost. We were on the sandy, treeless plains, and no landmarks were in sight. The team had wandered away from the telegraph line. There was not a fence for hundreds of miles along the stage road. It was so dark we could n't see the mountains west of us, usually visible four or five times the distance. To add to our discomfort, the team had wandered from the road, and, as we ascertained later, were making a circle. The driver, realizing that something was wrong, stopped, and a consultation was held. One of the coach lamps was lighted, and three persons, including myself, volunteered to hunt the road. It was like hunting for a "needle in a haymow"; it was found, however, but not until after an hour's search, nearly a mile away. With a pocket compass I always carried, the discovery was also made that the team, when stopped, was headed towards Denver. After turning around, and in due time getting into the road, once more we moved off in the direction of the Missouri river, but were obliged to travel slowly all night--not going out of a walk on account of the deep snow. It was daylight on the morning of the 3d when we reached Bijou ranch. All of us being thoroughly chilled, we went into the house, stood before the fire-place, and tried to thaw out. I had had a fearful, outdoor, all-night ride, with a cold northwest wind. It was impossible to get warm with the accommodations in sight. This ranch, located on the cut-off toll-road, was noted for being one of the coldest on the overland route; but there was a good fire in the grate, and, while almost roasted on one side, the wind whistling through the cracks in the building nearly froze us on the other side. We tarried here an hour, while the team was feeding; thence proceeded on the journey, reaching Junction ranch at eleven o'clock the next morning. Here we prepared our own breakfast, and there was a grand rally around the substantial spread, which consisted of hardtack, bacon, slapjacks, and coffee. Nearly eighteen hours had passed since we had eaten, and seldom was anything on the plains relished more. At noon we proceeded, with a fresh team, and soon caught up |
with, and joined, a coach full of passengers that left Denver twenty-four hours ahead of us. Junction was ninety miles from Denver, at the east end of the cut-off toll-road, and here we were furnished with a mounted escort of four boys belonging to the Colorado militia. One of the drivers jokingly suggested that an extra escort ought to be sent along to protect the mounted boys, none of whom were out of their 'teens. All went well as we journeyed down the South Platte; but it was a glorious sight during the day to meet, about midway between Junction and Godfrey's ranch--since supplies were getting short in Denver--a train of 165 wagons loaded with groceries, provisions, etc., bound for the coming city near the eastern base of the Rockies. We reached Godfrey's at five o'clock on the second day after leaving Denver, and here stopped a little over sixteen hours. On leaving this ranch, at nine o'clock on the morning of the 4th, we had an escort of ten mounted soldiers. All the regular stage stations and a great many buildings belonging to the ranchmen in the valley had been destroyed by the Indians, and the overland route presented a sad and gloomy appearance. We stopped that evening for supper and stayed all night at Washington ranch, where a meal was prepared in good style. There was no unnecessary or special ceremony indulged in at this place, but when "grub" was ready an invitation was given to "pitch in," and all did so like a pack of hungry wolves, helping ourselves to the ample supply of substantials nicely prepared and spread before us. The result of the immense traffic to Denver and other Western frontier points in 1863 and 1864, was the opening up, by wide-awake fellows, of a large number of new ranches and trading posts along the Platte between Fort Kearney and the mountains. One of the largest and most conspicuous of the buildings erected was Washington ranch, kept by the widely known and popular Moore brothers. The place operated by the Moores was on the south side of the road some forty-odd miles west of old Julesburg, a few miles east of American ranch. The Washington soon became well and favorably known. It was a comparatively new building, commodious, and well constructed of sod. The walls were massive, and inside the building was filled with an immense stock of goods, of the kinds usually kept on sale at different trading places |
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NEW STYLE HOWITZER, USED AT WASHINGTON RANCH. Page 386. |
along the overland route. It was a very popular stopping-place for pilgrims and freighters, the boys being extensive stock-raisers and one of them (James A. Moore) having been a daring rider on the famous pony express. During the troubles along the Platte in 1864 and 1865, the proprietors and employees of the Washington were besieged, and held out for four days against a superior number of the redskins, A happy thought in the way of a joke suddenly came to them. They took an earthenware churn, mounted it on wheels near their premises, and watched the result. The ingenious contrivance had the appearance of being a genuine howitzer, mounted in such a way as to shell the skulking red devils for a long distance in every direction. It is hardly necessary to say that for some time the "howitzer" had the effect of being a sort of peacemaker in that vicinity. Of course it was out of the question to fire a single shot from the ugly-looking "gun"; nevertheless it looked like a regular "dog of war," and answered all the purposes which its clever originators had intended. It frightened the prowling savages, and for some time thereafter, though frequently seen a long way off, they were careful to keep a safe distance from the premises-out of range of the "howitzer." While staying there on my last trip across the plains by the overland stage, I slept all night on my buffalo robe, covered with my blankets, on the ground floor. It was a short time after the Indian depredations in that vicinity. During the evening I was not a little interested in listening to the Moores while they narrated to the stage boys and passengers some of the daring adventures that had recently taken place near by, and in which engagement they had been prominent participants. In this fierce encounter the Moores and their party were besieged and fought a large band of savages for four days. They lost several hundred head of cattle and one of the men received a bullet in the back of his neck--from the wound of which he was suffering--still he was the same genial, good natured fellow he had always been, and jokingly remarked that he was ready for another brush with the murderous scalp-lifters. It was Sunday, March 5, when we arose early at the Washington, after sleeping on the ground floor all night, and sat down to a good breakfast at daylight. At six o'clock the two coaches, filled with passengers, were on their way down the Platte. We |
camped at noon near Harlow's ranch, at a delightful spot on the bank of the river, fed the stock, and, sitting on the ground, partook of a cold lunch, consisting of boiled beef, sardines, cheese, bread, crackers, etc. At one o'clock we were again on the move. The day was lovely, the sun shining brightly, and a gentle south breeze made everything pleasant. After a twelve hours' journey we reached old Julesburg at six P. M., the stages having made fifty miles during the day. The team hauling the mail coach on which I was riding had been driven all the way from the Junction, 100 miles. The Indians had not left a house standing between Moore's and Julesburg, and desolation was visible on all sides. There were a number of places along the road with ledges of rock where skulking Indians could hide, and it was necessary to "keep our eyes peeled." It was one of the most dismal portions of the overland road, since all the buildings had been burnt, and a guard of ten mounted cavalrymen, having been detailed, accompanied mail and passengers during the entire fifty miles. We sat down to a good supper at old Julesburg about dark; thence proceeded east with the mail, accompanied by an escort of five soldiers from Fort Sedgwick. The other coach with its passengers remained at Julesburg over night. We kept a close watch the entire night for Indians but saw none. The line had been restocked from Julesburg east since my trip west, and the drivers changed horses at every station during the night's run. The resumption of traffic on the plains was noticed during the night's drive, for a train of 180 wagons loaded with all kinds of supplies was met, camped at Beauvais ranch. At daylight on the morning of the 6th we reached Alkali station and breakfasted, getting away at half-past six, but took no escort. We naturally felt a little shaky while going over O'FalIon's Bluffs, but saw nothing to frighten us. At noon we partook of a "cold snack" at Fremont Springs, and reached Cottonwood Springs at five P. M. for an early supper. The weather all day had been delightful, but there was a sudden change about dark, the wind whipping squarely around into the north and blowing a cold blast, making it extremely disagreeable for traveling on the outside of the stage-coach. Except for the wind it was a beautiful night, for the moon was shining brightly, enabling us to see for a considerable distance in |
every direction. It was just the right kind of a night for skulking bands of Indians, and naturally there was not a little anxiety. The road in the Platte valley was never in better condition. Only a short time before there had been a raid by Indians in the vicinity. Before leaving Cottonwood Springs, we had talked over the troubles with the military authorities at Fort McPherson, and, learning what we could, decided to go ahead without asking for a guard. Every man on the stage, however, except the driver, held his gun in his hand all night, believing that if the Indians thought they could take the party unawares they might sneak around, attack the coach at some of their strongholds, and perhaps make it decidedly warm for us. It was near the hour of midnight, and we were going east at a pretty fair gait, when suddenly we were startled by parties in a wagon calling on us to stop. We did so, and learned from them that at the place where they were camped a party of Indians had passed a short time before, having a human scalp dangling from the point of a spear and yelling at the top of their voices. In the wagon was a small family, and all appeared to be greatly frightened. They had heard and recognized the rumbling of the approaching stage-coach for some distance, as its ponderous wheels rolled along the hard road that cool, stilly night. No sound of a vehicle ever seemed so pleasant to them. They lost. no time hitching up, and then traveled in the rear of our loaded Concord to Plum Creek, one of the prominent stations, where they felt they would be assured of military protection. It was four o'clock in the morning when they arrived there, the team being almost used up in the efforts of the frightened party to keep up with the stage, which was making too fast time for them. Reaching Fort Kearney at half-past nine o'clock, after an all night's ride of 100 miles, we ate breakfast. It was thirty-five miles from Fort Kearney to Pawnee Ranch--a new station near the Little Blue river--where we had supper. Little of special interest occurred during the balance of the run to Atchison, where we arrived at eight o'clock on the morning of the 10th. Going over a portion of the route both ways the journey was as slow and tedious as it was exciting and dangerous particularly along the Platte valley west from Cottonwood Springs. The trail was in an Indian country, and we were obliged to pass through the very heart of the most hostile section of it. For months a con- |
siderable portion of the region adjacent had been fairly alive with skulking savages. On portions of the road had been enacted some of the worst atrocities known in Indian warfare. The five stages composing the train escorted from Alkali station west by a cavalcade were the first coaches that had gone over that section for several weeks. We all were aware that bands of Indians were hiding in the cañons and along the bluffs south of the road watching us, and it was necessary to keep constantly on the lookout, each person carrying a breech-loading rifle in his arms, fearing we might at any moment be suddenly confronted--possibly surrounded--by overwhelming numbers of the savages. We found nearly all the stations for over 300 miles were wiped out. Many of the cabins and trading posts of the ranchmen had been pillaged. Desolation stared as we moved along up the Platte. Knowing what had already occurred, we knew there was nothing in the annals of Indian butcheries too horrible for the infuriated demons to commit. In the vicinity of old Julesburg, particularly, destruction more plainly marked the bloody trail of the savages. It was only the month before that the inhabitants near the old town had fortunately been rescued from a horrible death by Captain North, who, pursuing a band of twenty-eight of the red devils, finally engaged them. A desperate battle took place, and at the close of the fight not a single "hair-lifter" was left to tell the tale. This band, it was learned, was only a small part of the force under Red Cloud, who only a few days before had met and attacked Lieutenant Collins, with fourteen men, massacring the entire party. I shall never forget that last overland stage ride. Nearly five weeks elapsed from the time I left Atchison, on the 7th of February, to the 10th of March, while making the round trip. The anxiety was very great. Many hardships were encountered; still there were a number of pleasant recollections both going and returning. However, I never want to make another such trip. Most of the delays were in going out; for, on account of the Indian depredations, the stages were held six days at Cottonwood Springs. The time consumed on the return trip was seven days and twenty-two hours; still, taking into consideration all the disadvantages and vexatious delays connected with the journey, it was one of the quickest ever made between the mountains and the "Big Muddy." |
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