a cloud of sand-flies, or some kind of winged insect which perhaps might more properly be called flying ants. I noticed what appeared like a cloud ahead of us a few rods. On our approach towards it, as we were slowly moving through quite a stretch of sand, suddenly we found ourselves in the midst of the pests, before we could realize our situation. Luckily for me I had a veil in my pocket, that I carried to keep the dust out of my eyes and nose when the wind blew it so thick at times it was with difficulty we could see across the road. As soon as I could, I pulled the veil over my head and face, but the driver was not so fortunate. He was so annoyed by the pests he could not see, and I took the reins from his hands and did the driving until we were out of the reach of the insects. Of course, it was only a few rods through the swarm of tiny tormentors, but it was with feelings of decided satisfaction that we soon got out of the reach of them. I quickly thought of the old threadbare expression, "It's enough to make a preacher swear." But I did n't do any swearing; the driver, however, swore a streak of oaths apparently the length of the overland route. Such a volley of "broadsiders" I never before heard in such a short space of time. Suddenly he ceased, I suppose from having exhausted his vocabulary. I inquired of him why he had stopped, but all he said was that he "couldn't do justice to the occasion." This was the first and only time I ever met any such enemy, but I have heard that clouds of such insects were often observed by overland freighters in the '60's. There was another pest on the plains that we all frequently encountered during the hot weather. It was what drivers and freighters called "buffalo-gnats." These insects were so small it was difficult, a few feet away, to see them with the naked eye. They were small, but they could almost torment the life out of a human being. It was not uncommon to go through regular swarms of them on the plains. While they could not be easily seen, a person would not be long in discovering their presence. Their favorite place to tackle a man was behind the ears. Several times have I had my ears so they were raw, having been bitten by the bloodthirsty insects that with difficulty could be seen except by the aid of a microscope. Small as they were, they worried the stage stock at times, and also greatly annoyed the cattle belonging to the freighters, as well as the stock in charge of pilgrims on their way to the mountains. -37 |
A First-class Liar and Imposter. It is somewhat singular the large number of men--and comparatively young men, too--who can now be found who are palming themselves off and boasting of having once been drivers on the old "Overland." Within the past few years it has been my pleasure to meet and converse with quite a number of the boys employed from time to time on the old stage line. One man whom I met had told several of his acquaintances that he was a former overland stage-driver on Ben. Holladay's line. Some of the acquaintances he had formed thought he was telling some tall yarns, for he would frequently get mixed and contradict himself. I was urged by an old friend to go and meet him. I did so, hoping that I might possibly obtain some valuable pointers by talking over old times on the plains in the early '60's. I chanced to meet the fellow, but I had not conversed with him a minute before I discovered that he was an imposter; a first-class fraud and consummate liar. He knew the "Overland" boys, he said, from one end of the line to the other; he had an extensive acquaintance; but I soon learned that there was only one driver on the entire line whose name he could recall; he had "forgotten" the names of the boys, he said. What was still more strange, he had even "forgotten" what part of the line he had driven on, and was also unable to recall a single date concerning the time he was employed. He had even "forgotten" what years he was "employed" on the line, and between what stations he had driven. I inquired of him about a certain driver whom I knew--a short, thick-set fellow who could "tip the beam" at 200. He was "well acquainted with him" and described him as "a tall, lean fellow, weighing perhaps 125." Then one after another, I named a half-dozen or more of my early schoolmates who had never been west of New York and Pennsylvania, neither had they ever ridden on or seen a Concord stage-coach. I was greatly surprised to learn that he knew every one of them and had "driven a long time on the 'Overland' with them." I then called off the jaw-breaking imaginary names of several fellows, and found that he knew them also and had "driven with them often." There is not an "Overland" stage-driver employed by Ben. Holladay on his line in the '60's, and now living, who is less than fifty or sixty years of age. While this fellow's age was undoubt- |
edly under thirty, he assured me that he was thirty-five; hence I inferred, and so told him, that he must have begun "driving on the Overland" when he was less than three years old. This was something unexpected to him. His face suddenly changed to a red-beet color. He could say nothing, and I really felt sorry for him. Taking my leave, I told him that he knew more about the "old overland-stage boys" than I did, and left him to tell his "exploits" as a driver to others. Never out of Rattlesnake Oil. Being the starting-point west for the overland California stage-coaches in the '60's, Atchison naturally furnished many interesting incidents. During the period of four-horse Concord stages there, one of the "Overland" boys visited a prominent drug-store on Commercial street to have a few drugs, medicines, etc., put up. The customer had a memorandum from which he called, one by one, the articles as wanted, and, to each one inquired for, the druggist, whom we will call Jim Gould for short, nodded in the affirmative and promptly put it up for the customer. "Now," said the anxious 'Overlander,' as he had reached the bottom of his list, "I want something that I do n't think can be found in Atchison." "What is it?" inquired Jim, the druggist, anxiously. "I want a half-pint of rattlesnake oil." "I've got it," quickly answerd (sic) Jim. "I always keep it; never allow myself to be out." "Glad to hear it; but I thought I would have to send to St. Louis or Chicago for it," said the customer, greatly pleased to know he could get such an important article so near home. Jim took a half-pint bottle, went into the back room, and, in a few minutes, returned with the "rattlesnake" (?) oil. Jim filled the customer's order and wrapped up everything neatly in a secure package, and the "Overland" customer paid the bill and departed. He had not been gone fifteen seconds before Jim turned around and with a "smile that was childlike and bland," said to me (the only person in the room beside himself): "I never allow myself to be out of anything when running a drug-store. I have everything that is wanted. I draw 'lard oil,' 'bear's oil,' and 'rattlesnake oil' out of one and the same barrel." Poor Jim! for a number of years, three decades or more ago, |
he ran the finest drug-store in Atchison, but subsequently became addicted to drinking, and his love for the vile stuff finally got the better of him, and lie died from its effects during the '70's. Opening a Branch Line. Early in May, 1864, Ben. Holladay was awarded the contract for carrying the mail from Salt Lake to Virginia City, Mont., on a route about 450 miles long. He decided to stock the line at once, for every day he failed on the work, beginning on July 1, he must forfeit or pay a fine of $500. He notified Superintendent Spotswood immediately that the stock, coaches, wagons, etc., must be in Salt Lake by July 1. He must get them. It looked to Spotswood like a hopeless task, but the wide-awake, pushing superintendent took the first stage to the Missouri river, gathered his supplies and, in a very short time, had his train of 290 mules, thirty stage-coaches and ten lumber wagons together and started on the return trip. He went by the old California route, via Forts Kearney and Laramie. He crossed the South Platte at old Julesburg on June 2. Knowing that every day's delay after July 1 meant a big fine to his employer, who was impatient and intensely anxious, he started out on the trail, encountering delays and numerous obstacles, reaching Salt Lake City on June 29. The following day he had the coaches running on their initial trip toward Virginia City. It was a miracle that the outfit was not delayed over the limit by a big freshet in the Sweetwater, which the trail crossed three times. He decided not to wait until the high water went down, but took desperate chances, which necessitated swimming the stock and floating the wagons and coaches across the swollen river as best they could. Two days were lost in this apparently foolhardy act, but, under the circumstances, Spotswood thought it had to be done; there was no alternative. My Lucky Escape from a "Hold-up." In the summer of 1863, the agent at Denver held the messenger coach on one of my trips a day longer than the accustomed time. Instead of leaving on that trip Tuesday morning, I was ordered to tarry another day. I could n't imagine at the time what was the reason, but I learned the morning that I started. There were nine wealthy Californians as passengers east, and they had with them a very large amount of money and other valuables. The Tuesday's coach that I did |
 The hold-up on the Kickapoo reserve. not go east on was held up by masked men about midnight
on the fifth day out from Denver. The hold-up took place on
the Kickapoo Indian reserve, some thirty or thirty-five
miles west of Atchison. None of us learned of it until we
had reached a station on the Little Blue river about 100
miles west of the spot where the "hold-ups" appeared. The
passengers on the stage with me were splendidly armed; they
not only had each a brace of revolvers, but, among the other
arms in their possession, were several short,
double-barreled shot-guns. They were prepared for an
emergency. All night long they held their shooting-irons in
their hands. and had there been anything that looked like an
attack on the messenger stage there would doubtless have
been some slaughtering done. This was the nearest I ever
came to being held up by highwaymen. Had I not been detained
on this trip a day longer than the accustomed time at
Denver, I would have been the victim on this occasion.
Luckily, the coach that was stopped had only three
passengers for Atchison, the others having gone east from
Fort Kearney to Omaha and Nebraska City by the Western Stage
Company's coach., |
"My Money, or Blood." Tom Oakley, in the early '60's, came into Atchison from off the stage line. He had driven a long time and a considerable sum of money was due him. He had his time-check, properly indorsed, and supposed to be as good as greenbacks, but had hitherto been unable to get any satisfaction from the company which was owing him. This was before the line had passed into the hands of Holladay. Oakley went direct to the stage office and called on the Atchison agent, presenting his check for the money. The agent carelessly put him off, telling him to call again; giving as an excuse that he was too busy just then to fix up matters with him. This way of doing business appeared to satisfy the agent, but it was not satisfactory to Oakley. He had been trying for some time to get his money, but was convinced that he could obtain no early satisfaction; so he prepared accordingly. He had a drink or two inside of him and was not in the best of humor at the time, especially as he could see that there was no immediate prospect of getting his pay. He pulled his six-shooter, and, standing in front of the agent, said he was there for business. He proposed to have his money right then, or have blood. The agent began to realize that the fellow was determined and meant what he said; so he did not argue with him. In less than three minutes the safe was opened and the amount due him handed over. Introducing a New Style on the South Platte. Away up on the South Platte near old Julesburg, in the summer of 1863, I discovered, one morning, while west-bound, that a joke had evidently been prepared expressly at my expense. While I had been sleeping down in the front boot of the stage a few hours the night previous, in some manner that I never was able to account for, my hat was gone, when I woke up. As good luck would have it, I had purchased a "shaker" during my last trip to Atchison for the "better half" of one of the station keepers over 500 miles out in the Platte valley. Situated as I was, having no hat, and being unable to procure one along that part of the route, I was obliged to don the "shaker," which, by the way, was one of the latest style, and in that head-gear I rode more than fifty miles. To say that I was the "observed of all observers" but mildly expresses it. Every one that we met and passed, with a broad grin looked at me in amazement. One of the drivers jokingly asked his fellow |
driver the "name of that old granny" he had with him up there on the box. The driver was somewhat slow in giving an answer, and, to gratify the curiosity of the anxious inquirer, I confidentially informed him that I was simply the advance-guard of the "Shakers." On delivering the article to the lady for whom it was purchased, she was politely informed that she would not be the first to come out with the new style on the South Platte, as it had already been introduced. Buffalo Bill and his Wild West Show. It is a great treat for Buffalo Bill to visit Kansas, in which state he spent so many years of his boyhood days. One of his favorite places is Topeka, the state capital, which for some time he has been visiting with his "Wild West" every two years. His last visit was on a lovely day during the closing year of the nineteenth century--October 1, 1900--on which occasion his mammoth tent was packed by thousands of his Kansas friends and admirers. Concerning his great show and the grand entree through the principal streets in the city, the Topeka State Journal at the time spoke as follows: "In the parade that passed through the main thoroughfares between ten and eleven o'clock, the world's representative soldiery and wild riders were given splendid display. From the United States Army drum corps, that led the line, to the battery of artillery that brought up the rear, the cavalcade was watched on Kansas avenue by an average show-day crowd. Sharing his seat in his spider phaeton with Colonel Cody himself, 'Buffalo' Jones was a conspicuous figure as a guest of honor, completing a brace of pioneers that is not often shown hereabout of late years. Frank A. Root, who was once an overland express messenger, rode on the old Deadwood coach with the driver. The cowboy band, mounted on white horses, was another picturesque feature. English, German, French and United States cavalry, Cubans, Cossacks, Arabs, cowboys, Mexicans, and Indians, in ornate uniforms and variegated costumes, gave much life and color to the pageant." Some Overland Souvenirs. While I parted with my old Colt's navy revolver--traded several times for a similar gun during staging days--I still have the same little breech-loading rifle that I carried with me on the plains during all my trips, beginning in January, 1863. As a souvenir of the days of the overland mail and express line, when the Indians, for hundreds of miles and for a long time, held undisputed possession of the route, I prize the little gun very highly. I was a number of |
times offered fifty dollars in greenbacks for it in 1864-'65, during the period of the Indian troubles, and would not at the time have disposed of it for $600 or even $5000, but it is extremely. doubtful if the gun to-day would fetch five dollars at public sale. I have quite a number of other overland staging curios; among them a buffalo robe, Indian bow and arrows, a buckskin for which I paid eight dollars, a dagger, a section rubber drinking cup, and a few other articles. While my old robe is somewhat demoralized from its long use in all kinds of weather on the plains, it is still good for service, and, if carefully used, will last for a long time to come; perhaps till there are no more buffalo living. The "C. 0. C. & P. P. Ex. Co." Quite frequently the stage boys working for the Jones & Russell company had hard work, when that corporation was being pressed, to get their money, and many of them often became discouraged. This stage company was afterwards known as the "Central Overland California and Pike's Peak Express," but, having such a long name, it became necessary to abbreviate it to "C. 0. C. & P. P." Bill Trotter, a wag of a driver, after waiting patiently for his money, interpreted the initials as meaning "Clean Out of Cash and Poor Pay." After waiting a long time, and having some fears about getting their money, one of the boys evolved the following lines, and, as fast as the stage traveled, they went east and west to every employee on the line between the Missouri and the Pacific: The boys would like to have their pay; If not paid by that day, The stock along the road may stray." There is not much poetry in the stanza,
but it is hardly necessary to add that it had the desired
effect, for, in a short time thereafter, the long-desired
checks were forthcoming. |
east of the Missouri river, in consequence of which the products of the ranchmen were in demand, and prices for all kinds of feed rose to high figures. Those who then were fortunate enough to have something to sell realized large returns. The stage company, in December, 1864, paid one dollar per bushel for corn at Big Sandy, 140 miles west of Atchison, in lots of 1000 bushels. Stopping a Run of "Slapjacks." While I was at Latham, in 1864, for some months Teddy Nichols and Bill Trotter were driving thirty-five miles from there west to Laporte, on the Salt Lake road. Two other drivers took the teams from Laporte to the next "home" station west. The boys had for some time been complaining that the regular diet at Laporte was "slapjacks," which was becoming monotonous. In short, they had all got tired of that kind of "fodder." One of the drivers remarked that it was "slapjacks from Genesis to Revelations." Finally two of the boys filled up and went on a sort of jamboree. Pulling their six-shooters, they shot several holes through the bottom of the slapjack bucket, and that, for a period of two or three weeks, as one of the drivers told it, put a stop to slapjack diet, as it was necessary to send the bucket sixty-five miles to Denver, the nearest tin-shop, for repairs. The Eleventh Kansas Cavalry -Lieut. Col. Preston B. Plumb. Returning from Denver on my last trip across the plains by the overland stage, Fort Kearney was reached in the forenoon of the 7th of March, 1865. There I learned that nine companies of the Eleventh Kansas Cavalry, commanded by the gallant Lieutenant Colonel (afterwards United States senator) Preston B. Plumb, of Kansas, had just arrived at the fort, and were stopping a short time, waiting orders for beginning a campaign against the bloodthirsty savages in the Northwest. The expedition under Lieutenant Colonel Plumb left Fort Riley, Kan., February 10, 1865, and, marching up the Republican river through a terrible storm, over to the Little Blue, and on northwest across the country, reached Fort Kearney a short time before the overland stage from California arrived there. His stop at this military post was brief. The soldiers under his command camped that night near the post, on an island in the Platte, the mercury the next morning indicating ten or twelve degrees below |
zero. Remaining here one day, Colonel Plumb started out the next morning up the south side of the Platte river until the site of old Julesburg was reached. The weather was so cold that Majors N. A. Adams and Martin Anderson and a number of others in the regiment had their ears and noses frosted. The regiment was obliged to camp a few days at Julesburg on account of a severe storm and high water. In crossing the south fork, it was a difficult task owing to the quicksand. In getting the artillery across the river three horses were drowned and several cavalrymen received a ducking. For the wood used here by his command Colonel Plumb was obliged to pay seventy-five dollars per cord, in logs, and which had been hauled a distance of over a hundred miles. Leaving camp opposite old Julesburg, Colonel Plumb went up Lodge Pole creek for some distance, and across the country to the north fork of the Platte, following the stream up to Fort Laramie, reaching that post on or about April 7. Here they stopped a few days, and a part of the command went to Deer Creek and remained in camp, and the balance of the regiment moved to Platte Bridge, about 130 miles. There was considerable fighting in the vicinity of Platte Bridge, and Maj. Martin Anderson, with a force of 250 men, engaged 1500 Sioux and Blackfeet. The fighting lasted for two days, and Major Anderson lost forty men of the Eleventh Kansas and Eleventh Ohio, but the hostiles were compelled to retreat, carrying off their dead and wounded. This campaign was a severe and trying one. It consisted of hard marches, and often those engaged suffered intensely. The regiment at one time was on a march for twenty-four hours without a drop of water. The boys were scattered over a large territory, being detailed in squads to guard stage and telegraph lines. LT. COL. P. B. PLUMB. Photo in 1865. |
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