Fights and skirmishes frequently occurred. Two companies--A and L--were sent to Fort Halleck under Colonel Plumb; but on arriving at Fort Laramie they joined in an expedition under Colonel Moonlight in pursuit of a large band of hostiles committing depredations east of there. After a three days' march they came upon the enemy, who surprised them, and they lost five or six men; 200 horses were stampeded and most of the command left afoot, among the number Colonel Moonlight. The troops marched back to Fort Laramie without rations, a distance of about eighty miles. Plumb's expedition to the Northwest was to protect the overland mail and Pacific telegraph. He spent several weeks reconnoitering on the Sweetwater. The regiment was relieved in August by other troops and returned to Fort Kearney, where the various companies were dismounted, after which they were obliged to march over 250 miles along the old military highway to the Missouri river, finally bringing up at Fort Leavenworth, where they were mustered out on September 26, 1865, having been in service three years and fifteen days, the last six months being spent on the plains, in the Indian country. Court-house Rock and Chimney Rock. There was one point, and only one, on the stage road along the South Platte between Alkali Lake and old Julesburg where, when the atmosphere was perfectly clear, we had a view of the somewhat noted Court-house Rock, perhaps fifty to seventy-five miles distant to the northwest. The "rock"--marked on some of the early atlases as "ancient ruins"--was on the level plain, not far from the north fork of the Platte. To freighters and emigrants, on their way across the plains up this stream, it was long a landmark of historic interest. John H. Clark (p. 198), who went overland to California with a company from Cincinnati, in 1852, thus wrote in his journal of the wonderful rock as he then saw and carefully examined it: "Now look upon the outstretched plain; is there anything more grand, more imposing or more interesting than that which you now behold? A solitary monument upon the level plain! Look at it and tell me if you are not enchanted with its beauty and its majesty. Scrutinize its huge and fair proportions, and tell me if you have fault to find. That monument, as you see by its near resemblence to an artificial structure, has been aptly called 'Court-house Rock.' From its foundation of stone to its dome-like roof, is it not a masterpiece of nature's architecture? Cannot we fancy it some |
grand temple, within whose walls have worshiped, for thousands of years, the children of the great West? You have now pictured to yourself the river, the green islands, and the temple on the plains. Look again towards the setting sun and view that tapering spire, as it rises in a perpendicular shaft 300 feet above the green carpet of the level plains. That is called, 'Chimney Rock.' The scene is now before you; take a good, long look. You will, perhaps, never again witness such a picture as the beautiful river, the green islands, such a broad, level plain, with its monuments of ages resting so quietly in the glories of the setting sun, whose more than artistic paint covers all with a golden hue. . . . Never have I seen such magnificence; Court-house Rock--a temple on the broad plain--massive, bold, and upright, an inspiration of grandeur." The Transfer of Mails at Latham. I resigned my position as messenger on the overland stage-coach in October, 1863. During the latter part of that year, all of 1864, and until April, 1865, 1 was in the employ of Government, having been placed at Latham station, Colorado, nearly 600 miles west from Atchison, on the upper south fork of the Platte. Latham was near the mouth of Cache la Poudre river, about thirty-five miles from the eastern base of the Rockies, on the old Cherokee trail, which entered the mountains at Laporte. The station was sixty miles a little east of north from Denver. To Latham I was sent by the post-office department early in December, 1863, and, for nearly a year thereafter, was looking after the great overland California mail at that important junction. Latham was a prominent stage station. Associated with the overland mail, it was one of the most important on the road. The station was the only house, the nearest one to it being about three-quarters of a mile away. In a radius of ten miles from Latham there were not to exceed ten houses, and those were occupied by ranchmen. Being the point of separation of the Colorado mail from that portion destined for Salt Lake, Nevada, Montana, California, and Oregon, naturally it was a prominent point. Neither Idaho nor Wyoming Territories had been carved out in 1864. At Latham there arrived daily from Atchison a sack or two of mail for Denver, one sack for Fort Bridger, one (sometimes two) for Salt Lake, one each for Virginia City and Carson City, Nev., one for Placerville, one (sometimes two) for Sacramento, and nearly every day, for six days in the week, two for San Francisco. In addition there was a way mail for the principal offices along |
the route, to be opened at each post-office west of Marysville, on the Big Blue river, in Kansas. No paper mail from the east went overland to Placerville, Sacramento or San Francisco except that paid for at full letter rates--ten cents for each half ounce--it being all carried by ocean steamer and across the Isthmus. The paper mail for Denver and Salt Lake and for points in Montana and what is now Idaho was carried by the stage. That for Nevada, California, Oregon and Washington went from New York by the Isthmus route. My duties as local mail agent at Latham were to take off every sack of mail from the west- and east-bound stages, note the condition of each sack, compare the tags, check off the way-mail bills, being careful to note the errors, if any, and, after signing the bill, to send it in an official envelope to the department, at Washington; also to make out a new way-mail bill, and then reload the sacks for their destination--the Pacific or Atlantic. Almost invariably there was three or four times more mail going west than there was east-bound. Usually the mail-bags for the Pacific slope filled both the front and rear boots of the stage-coach. The Colorado mails, after reaching Latham from the east, were loaded onto the Denver stage, while those for the west went across the South Platte, the river being forded at Latham, except when the high water made that an impossibility. Coming from the west, the sacks of mail from Denver were, for the time being, deposited in my office at the station and taken to the Missouri river on the first regular daily east-bound coach from California, one of which usually left Latham immediately after supper every evening, according to schedule. When it happened that three stages were standing in front of the office at Latham at one time--the passengers waiting for a "square meal"-- it was by all odds the busiest station on the road between Atchison and the Rockies. Calfiornia (sic) Bill of Fare in 1850. Placerville (in the early days known as "Hangtown"), located at the foot of the west slope of the Sierra Nevadas, was for several years, until the summer of 1864, the terminus of the great stage line. It was also an important pony express station. Near this place gold was first discovered, in the later '40's, and for a long time it was a prosperous mining camp. In January, 1850, "The El Dorado" was one of the prominent eating resorts in the mining city. A |
bill of fare used in those early days has been resurrected, which shows what was then served guests for dinner at a popular eating-house in the California gold diggings. This is the way it read --
A Good Shot. During a portion of
1864 it was lonesome enough at Latham station, and, for a
time, matters were terribly monotonous. A score or more of
those stopping there in the early part of September--when
stage traffic from the Missouri river to Denver had
ceased--wanted something for amusement, and they used to
practice shooting their revolvers at a mark nailed on a
cottonwood log a few rods south of the station. During the
season thousands of shots were fired and thousands of rounds
of ammunition were used up. But it is safe to say that nine
out of every ten of the shots were aimed either too high or
too low. It |
was genuine sport, however, for the most of those engaged in it. Gen. Bela M. Hughes, for a long time general counsel for the overland stage line, spent some hours at the station one day that season, and, while so many were shooting at the target, he asked for my revolver, and, shooting six times in rapid succession, offhand, hit the mark every time, and thus gained from all at the station the reputation of being one of the best shots they ever knew. Whether this success with a weapon with which he was not familiar was accidental or not, it was attributed to his skill. Sydenham's Buffalo Hunt. Mr. Moses H. Sydenham, editor of The Central Star of Empire, Kearney, Neb., has an article in The Printers' Auxiliary, published by the Western Newspaper Union, at Omaha, (October, 1901,) in which he describes a buffalo hunt he had in the Platte valley in the early '60's. The article is very interesting and the most of it is reproduced here, as follows: "It was, I think, in the summer of 1862. While postmaster at Fort Kearney I had used my earnings to bring out from London, England, to Nebraska, my mother and brothers and sisters, the care of my widowed mother and younger brothers and sisters being continually on my heart and mind. So I had a home built for them at the seventeenth mile point from Fort Kearney, on the banks of the great Platte river, on the direct line also of the overland stage route, and which was known as 'Sydenham's ranch.' I had secured a post-office for the young settlement, which I named Hopeville. After the family were all well settled, I used to go up from the fort occasionally to make them a visit and see if they were in need of supplies. On one of my visits home, when I had to stay over night, about daybreak the house dog began to bark furiously in front of the house. From this I knew there was either a polecat, a wolf or something else close by. I called to my brother Richard to get up and see what the dog was barking at. He went out, and there in front of the garden gate was a large buffalo. I suggested that he get the gun and go for it. He secured the rifle and went out, but the buffalo had got badly scared by the dog and had galloped off quite a distance from the ranch. He did not, however, wish to follow him, and went and laid down again. I know that the family was about out of provisions at the ranch and it would be some time before I would have more goods on hand from Omaha, from which point I purchased my goods; so I concluded to take advantage of that opportunity to lay in a supply of buffalo meat. I got up and dressed as quickly as possible, seized the gun and started, but was informed by my brother, as I hastened off, that there was only one shot in the chamber of the gun, it being a Sharp's rifle with a magazine chamber to hold a number of balls. There being no more balls or cartridges then obtainable, I had to go with but one shot in the rifle, quite uncertain, too, as to what I might need before I got through. I did |
not expect to have to go more than a mile from the ranch when I started out, supposing I would have my shot at the buffalo before he got away. I had not gone far, however, before I observed a camp of travelers about a mile west of my ranch, and they had seen the buffalo and two men had gone after it. "This phase of things suited me exactly, especially if they would only kill the buffalo, because then, after their sport and taking what little buffalo meat they wanted, the most of the animal would be mine, to get home to the ranch after they had gone from camp on their journey. As for me, I had no fondness for any sport of that kind and never ate any kind of meat, but, as a matter of necessity, I was after it for the family at home, who did eat meat. "The campers followed the buffalo into the sand-hills and wounded him in one of his legs, causing him to go limping along, but keeping up a good pace to get away. The men had not time to follow, so gave up the chase and returned to camp, leaving the buffalo for me to take charge of. I had not followed him far before, in another direction I saw another buffalo, and watched him until he went over the brow of a high hill. I then gave up following the wounded buffalo and made for the top of the hill where the newly discovered one had passed. There before me in a valley, not far off, the buffalo had laid down to frisk on the grass. I then noted that the direction of the wind and the position of the buffalo were both favorable, and lost no time in coming to a conclusion as to plan of action. With only one shot in my rifle, and without previous experience as a hunter of game, I had to make up in tact, boldness and courage what I lacked otherwise. The printer after a buffalo might be a case of the buffalo getting a printer. "I went along quietly to within about a dozen paces of the buffalo, knelt down on one knee to make my aim steady and sure at a vital point, then 'Let 'er go, Gallagher.' He seemed to jump up in the air several feet, looked around to see where the trouble came from and the noise of the report of the gun, shook his great shaggy head at me, then turned and ran as fast as he could. I could see by blood drops in his tracks that he was hit. I followed him and tried to head him off toward the Platte river and the ranch, for I was several miles out in the sand-hills. I closed in on him a little too much, however, for after awhile he suddenly turned and came at me on a full run, as he now seemed to realize that I was the cause of his trouble and it was me he wanted. There was nothing to run to for cover, and it did look as though he would soon be onto me. I pulled off my cavalry overcoat to lighten my progress as I continued to run from him. To have hit him with the butt of my gun at close quarters would have been as nothing on his fur-covered thick skull; so I looked for help in another direction, and, with a prayer from my heart and from my lips for heavenly aid, that had been effective on other occasions when in trouble, I looked around to see how near he was and consider the next best move, when he suddenly stopped still, but a few rods distant from me, laid down, and soon died. "I noted the spot as nearly as possible where he had fallen, and then started through the sand-hills back toward the Platte river and the ranch to got my brother and the wagon to haul the meat home. Before night the |
whole of the buffalo was there, and for a long time, on the general bill of fare at Sydenham's ranch, was buffalo rump, buffalo tongue, buffalo ribs, buffalo steak, boiled buffalo, jerked buffalo, and dried buffalo, besides the hide and the head of the buffalo as a trophy. So my first, last and only buffalo hunt was a successful one, and that, too, remember, with only the one shot in the gun. And now I will say to my brother editors, brother printers, and even to some of the past crack buffalo hunters of the plains, get ahead of that buffalo hunt if you can." A Rocky Mountain Stage-coach. The illustration on page 453 represents one of the old coaches that has become historic. It was built in 1868 by the Abbot-Downing Company, at Concord, N. H., and in 1893 exhibited at the World's Fair, in Chicago. It is now being preserved as a Rocky Mountain souvenir mail-coach, having some years ago found its way into the museum of the post-office department, at Washington. Here it will show to future generations the manner in which the mails were carried in the Rocky Mountains, before the first transcontinental railroad was completed through to the Pacific. Among the first vehicles to carry the mails in Montana was this old stage-coach. It was then used once a week between Helena and Bozeman, while now, by railroad, mails are carried over the same route four times a day. The old vehicle has had its ups and downs. While in service it was captured by the Indians in 1877, and recaptured by General Howard. This coach in its day has carried a number of remarkable men as passengers. Among the distinguished parties who have ridden in it in the Rockies are General Garfield, before he became President; General Sherman, on his tour of inspection in 1877, and President Arthur, while visiting Montana and the Yellowstone National Park on a tour for recreation, in 1883. When "Old Tecumseh" was its passenger, the coach, drawn by six horses, with the usual relays, made the distance from Fort Ellis to Helena, 108 miles, in eight hours, an average of 13 1/2 miles an hour. One of the proprietors of the stage line, Mr. P. B. Clark, was on the box, and drove the entire distance. It was a feat in staging in the Rockies that has seldom been equaled. Private Parties with Invalids. We often overtook and passed on the plains private parties with two or three conveyances--some of them containing one or more invalids--going overland to the mountains for recreation and in search of health. Their outfits would nearly always be nice spring vehicles, patterned much after -38 |
the army ambulance, rigged up in comfortable shape, so the journey could be made with comparative ease. Often the parties would have tents, mattresses, camp chairs, a sheet-iron stove (gasoline stoves then were unknown), and most of the utensils for getting up a meal on short notice and in pretty good shape. Now and then, when too much fatigued from the day's journey, they would have a change and take a meal at some of the stage company's eating stations along the route. Such parties almost invariably would be provided with gun and rod, and while making the trip they would have more or less sport hunting on the plains and fishing in the streams. Sometimes people apparently more dead than alive on starting out would become quite strong and robust while yet making the trip, frequently stopping a week or two at a good camping place, where they could enjoy themselves swinging, playing innocent games, and in the enjoyment of such other amusements as could be provided. Ladies, sometimes, who, starting on the overland journey, were too weak to eat anything but the most daintily prepared food, would be so far recuperated that they would relish a slice of ham or a cut of fat bacon before getting in sight of the mountains. Occasionally parties would be met who had taken along a cow, so they could have fresh milk three times a day, or oftener if desired. Some of the benefits of these trips may yet be obtained, and many of those invalids who go by rail to the mountains, only to come back in their coffins, would doubtless recover their health by taking the overland trip in a wagon, and thus become used to the mountain altitudes by easy stages of travel, and have the benefit of the outdoor life that is known to be the health inspirer on the plains. Early Staging in New York and New England. In a volume entitled "A History of the People of the United States from the Revolution to the Civil War," by John Bach McMaster, it is learned that the first coach-and-four in New England began its trips in 1744. The first stage between New York and Philadelphia, then the two most populous cities in the colonies, was not set up till 1756, and made the run in three days. "While Washington was serving his first term, two stages and twelve horses sufficed to carry all the travelers and goods passing between New York and Boston, then the two great commercial centers of the country. The conveyances were old and shackling; the harness made mostly of rope; |
 A PARTY OF INVALIDS IN SEARCH OF HEALTH. Page 594. |
the beasts were ill fed and worn to skeletons. On summer days the stages usually made forty miles; but in winter, when the snow was deep and the darkness came on early in the afternoon, rarely more than twenty-five. In the hot months the traveler was oppressed by the heat and half choked by the dust. When cold weather came he could scarce keep from freezing. "One pair of horses usually dragged the stage some eighteen miles, when fresh ones were put on, and, if no accident occurred, the traveler was put down at the inn about ten at night. Cramped and weary, he ate a frugal supper and betook himself to bed, with a notice from the landlord that he would be called at three the next morning. Then, whether it rained or snowed, he was forced to rise and make ready, by the light of a horn lantern or a farthing candle, for another ride of eighteen hours. After a series of mishaps and accidents such as would suffice for an emigrant train crossing the plains, the stage rolled into New York at the end of the sixth day. The discomforts and trials of such a trip, combined with the accidents, by no means uncommon, the great distance from help in the solitary places through which the road ran, and the terrors of ferry-boats on the rivers, made a journey of any distance an event to be remembered at the end of one's days. . . . "At the outbreak of the second war with England, a light coach and three horses went from Baltimore to Washington in a day and a half. The mail wagon, then thought to make the journey with surprising speed, left Pennsylvania avenue at five o'clock in the morning and drew up at the postoffice in Baltimore at eleven at night. . . "Much of the delay in land traveling was caused by the wretched condition of the highways. On the best lines of communication the ruts were deep, the descents precipitous. Travelers by coach were often compelled to alight and assist the driver to tug the vehicle out of the slough." It is pleasant to contrast the early staging "way down East" with that across the plains on the "Overland" route. A little more than a century ago, one of the most important stage lines in this country ran between our two great commercial cities of that time, New York and Boston. Those Eastern vehicles made from twenty-five to forty miles a day; on the "Overland," in the '60's, from 100 to 125 miles were covered. A third of a century ago, or more, the line operated by Ben. Holladay, between the Missouri and Pacific ocean, made in four to six hours as many miles on the "Great American Desert" as were covered in twenty-four hours in the days of President Washington on the fast line then running between Boston and New York. The Preacher and the Gamblers. On one of Ben. Holladay's stage-coaches bound for the Northwest, in the spring of 1862, was a load of passengers destined for Helena, Mont. The party |
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