Recollections of a pioneer

J. W. (WATT) GIBSON.

RECOLLECTIONS
of a PIONEER

BY

J. W. (WATT) GIBSON

\ V

Press of Nelson-Hanne Printing Co.

107 South Third Street

St. Joseph, Mo.

Bancroft Library

FOREWORD.

The following pages are entirely from memory. I
kept no notes or other record of the events I have at-
tempted to relate, but I am sure my memory has not
often deceived me. My early responsibilities compelled
me to give close attention to the things which transpired
about me and thus fixed them permanently in my
mind. In fact, most of the experiences which I have
•attempted to relate were of such personal consequence
that I was compelled to be alert and to know what was
passing.

I undertook the present task at the solicitation of
many friends and acquaintances who urged that my
recollections of a period, now fast passing out of per-
sonal memory, ought to be preserved. It is probable
that I have made a good many errors, especially, in
my attempts to locate places and to give distances, but
it must be remembered that we had no maps or charts
with us on the plains and that but few state lines or
other sub-divisions were in existence. The location of
the places where events occurred with reference to
present geographical lines has been my most difficult
task.

J. W. (WATT) GIBSON.

St. Joseph, Mo., August 15, 1912.

CHAPTER I.
Early Days in Buchanan County.

I was born in Bartow County, Georgia, on the
22nd day of January, 1829. Sometime during my in-
fancy, and at a period too early to be remembered, my
father and his family moved to East Tennessee, where
we lived until I was ten years old. About this time re-
ports concerning the Platte Purchase and its splendid
farming land began to reach us. I do not now recall
the exact channel through which these reports came,
but I think some of our relatives had gone there and
had written back urging us to come. My father final-
ly yielded and in the spring of 1839 sold his Tennessee
farm and prepared for the long journey overland. I
was old enough at the time to take some note of what
passed, and I remember that my father received four
thousand dollars for his land in Indiana "shin plas-
ters." I recall also the preparations that were made
for the journey — the outfitting of the wagons, gathering
the stock together, and most important of all, the part
assigned to me. I was provided with a pony, saddle
and bridle and given charge of a herd of loose cattle
and horses. We had a rude camp outfit and car-
ried along with us all the household plunder with which
we expected to start life in the new country. As may
be well imagined, there was not a great deal of it,
although the family was large. In those days the peo-
ple had to be satisfied with the barest necessities.
Some idea of the extent of this part of my father's
worldly property may be given by saying that the
entire outfit, including camp equipment, was loaded
into two wagons.

6 RECOLLECTIONS OF A PIONEER

I shall never forget the morning we started.
Everything had been loaded the day before, ex-
cept the articles necessary to the sojourn over night.
We were up bright and early, had breakfast in little
better than camp style, and were off before sun up.
My father, mother, and the younger children took the
first wagon, and one of my brothers and my sisters the
second. I was upon my pony and in my glory. The
wagons moved forward and I rounded up the cattle
and horses and forced them along after the wagons.
I was too young to feel any tender sentiment toward
the old home or to appreciate the fact that I was leav-
ing it forever, but I remember that my father and
mother often looked back, and as we passed over the
hill out of sight, I saw them turn and wave a long
farewell. Many times since I have thought of that
scene and have learned to know full well its meaning
to my father and mother.

I cannot recall all the particulars of this toilsome
journey, and if I could, they would hardly interest the
reader. I remember that I soon lost the enthusiasm
of that early morning on which we started and grew
very tired and longed for the end of our journey.
For a great many days it seemed to me we traveled
through a rugged mountain country. The hills were
long and toilsome, the streams had no bridges and
had to be forded, and I frequently had great difficulty
in getting my cattle and horses to follow the wagons.
On such occasions, the caravan would stop and
the whole family would come to my aid. Of
course, there were no fences along the sides of the
road and my stock becoming wearied or tempted by
the green herbage alongside would wander out into
the woods and brush and give me much trouble.

EARLY DAYS IN BUCHANAN COUNTY 7

When I think of these difficulties, I do not wonder
that I became wearied, but as my life was afterwards
ordered, this boyish experience taught me a lesson
which many times proved useful.

I remember when we crossed what they said was
the line into Kentucky. I could see no difference in
the mountains, valleys or the rivers, but somehow
I felt that there ought to be a difference and that Ken-
tucky could not be like Tennessee, and yet it was.
Here I learned, thus early in life, what so many
people find it hard even in later years to appreciate,
that names and distances do not make differences and
that all places upon the face of the earth, no matter
how they vary in physical appearance, are after all
very much alike. I believe it is the realization of this
fact that makes the difference between the man who
knows the world and the one who does not. After
a long time, as it seemed to me, we passed out of the
mountains and into a beautiful rolling country improv-
ed even in that early day with many turnpikes and
exhibiting every indication of prosperity. There were
negroes everywhere — many more than we had in Ten-
nessee, and I remember hearing them singing as they
worked in the fields. I now know that this country
was what has since been known as the "Blue Grass
Region" of Kentucky, though at the time, I thought
the mountains of my old home a much better place
to live.

For a long time, even before the journey began,
I had heard a great deal about the Ohio River and
knew that we must cross it, and when the people along
the road began to tell us that we were nearing that
stream, I became filled with curiosity to see it and to
know what it would be like and to see and experi-

8 RECOLLECTIONS OF A PIONEER

ence the sensation of crossing it on a ferry-boat. Fi-
nally we came to the top of a long hill and away off
to the north we saw the river winding through a deep
valley, and some one, my father, I think, pointed out
a mere speck on the surface of the water and told us
it was a ferry-boat. When we reached the bank of
the river we found the boat tied alongside, and to my
surprise, horses, wagons and cattle were all driven
upon it. I had no idea that a ferry-boat was such a
huge affair. It was run by horse-power, and it
took us only a few minutes to reach the farther
shore, and I was disappointed that my trip was not a
longer one. The landing and unloading took but a
few minutes. My father paid the man and we started
immediately to climb the hill on the other side. I
must not neglect to mention that somewhere on the
road in the northern part of Kentucky or immediately
after we crossed the river, my father exchanged the
"shin plasters" for which he had sold his farm for sil-
ver, that currency being at par in that locality. He re-
ceived four thousand silver dollars. I saw them with
my own eyes. He put them in a strong box and load-
ed them into one of the wagons along with the other
luggage.

I do not remember at what point we crossed the
Ohio River. I did not, of course, know at the time, and
if my father or any member of the family ever told me
the place afterwards I have forgotten it; but the event
is as vivid in my mind as if it had occurred yesterday.

There was little in our journey across Indiana
and Illinois to impress that portion of the road upon
my memory. All I recall is in a general way that I
could see no familiar mountains, and over parts of the
journey I remember that the country appeared to me
to be monotonously level. I cannot give the length of

EARLY DAYS IN BUCHANAN COUNTY 9

time that was required in making this journey, but
I do remember when we reached the Mississippi
River. We crossed at Alton, if I am not mistaken,
and in place of a horse ferry we had a steam ferry,
which was to me a much more wonderful contrivance
than the horse ferry on the Ohio. Then the river was
so much wider. I remember wondering where all that
vast body of water could come from. They told us,
when we landed on the opposite shore, that we were
in Missouri, and I thought my journey must be nearly
ended, but I was never more mistaken. Day after day
our wagons trundled along, night after night we went
into camp, worn out with the day's journey, only to
get up again early in the morning and repeat the same
experience.

We reached Tremont Township, Buchanan Coun-
ty, on the 29th day of May, 1839, and straightway set-
tled upon a tract of land about a mile and a quarter
southeast of what is now Garrettsburg. A house of
some character was the first thing to which my father
turned his attention, and it was not long before a rude
log cabin was under construction. I was too small
to take much part in this work, but I remember that
such neighbors as we had were good to us and came
and helped. The logs were cut in the woods and drag-
ged to the site of the house and the neighbors and
friends came and helped us at the "raising." The
house consisted of a single room with a wide fireplace
built of rough stone extending nearly across one en-
tire end of the room. The roof was of long split boards
laid upon poles or beams in such a way as to shed the
water and weighted down by other beams laid on top
of them. I do not think a single nail or other piece of
iron entered into the construction of the building, but
we thought it a great improvement upon the tent life

10 RECOLLECTIONS OF A PIONEER

we had experienced on our journey, and my father
was quite proud of his new home. I will not attempt
to describe that country as it appeared to me in that
early day. In fact the changes have been so gradual
that it seems to me to be still very much the same
country it was when I first saw it, though when I stop
to reflect, I know that this is not so. Most of it was
heavy timber. A glade or skirt of prairie passed in now
and then from the almost continuous prairie of what is
now Clinton County. And I remember distinctly that
a stretch of prairie extended from Platte River direct-
ly across from where Agency is now located in an east
and south easterly direction toward Gower, and thence
around to the left where it joined the main body of
prairie land. There were no fences to speak of, and
deer were as plentiful as in any country I have ever
seen. There were few roads and no great need for
them and no bridges. The county seat of the county
was at old Sparta, and Robidoux's Landing was the
most talked of place in the county.

In 1846, my father built a brick house, the first,
I think, that was ever erected in the county. It stood
about a quarter of a mile south of the present resi-
dence of Thomas Barton, a respected citizen of Tre-
mont Township. The brick were made upon the ground
and I was old enough at that time to have quite an
important part in the work, and it was hard work, too.
I helped cut and haul wood with which the brick were
burned, and I "off bore" the brick as they were mould-
ed. I carried the brick and mortar as the house was
being erected and assisted in putting on the roof, lay-
ing floors and finishing the house. It was quite a
commodious structure when completed and was con-
sidered by all our neighbors and friends who still lived
in their log houses as quite a mansion.

EARLY DAYS IN BUCHANAN COUNTY 11

Our farming operations were not very extensive.
The land all had to be cleared of heavy timber, and I
have seen thousands of feet of the finest white oak,
walnut and hickory burned up in log heaps, but there
was nothing else to be done with it. We had to have
the land and there was no use to which we could put
such a quantity of timber. The few rails that were
needed to fence the field after it was cleared, required
only a small portion of the timber that was cut away,
and as all the land except the fields was allowed to
remain unfenced, there could be no profit in expend-
ing time and labor in making rails to be piled up and
allowed to decay.

Most of our work was done on the farm with ox
teams. Our plows were rude, home-made implements,
and the hoe, axe and sickle, or reaping hook, all home-
made, were about the only other tools we had. With
these and with our slow plodding oxen, we thought
we did very well to produce from our stumpy ground
enough for the family to subsist on. Even the accom-
plishment of this small result required the efforts of
almost every member of the family. My mother and
sisters frequently worked in the fields, and I often
saw, in those days, a woman plowing in the field, driv-
ing a single cow, using a rude harness without a collar.
We cut our wheat with a sickle and our hemp with a
hook. We hackled the flax by hand and spun and wove
it into linen. My mother and sisters sheared the sheep,
washed and picked the wool, carded, spun and wove
it into blankets and clothing for the whole family.
They took the raw material, green flax and wool
on the sheep's back, and made it into clothing
for a family of ten. They milked the cows and wash-
ed the clothing besides, and then found time to help
in the fields. It must not be thought that the men

12 RECOLLECTIONS OF A PIONEER

were idle while this was going on. They worked just
as hard, but their tools were so poor and the diffi-
culties so great, and they could accomplish so little
that even with all their efforts they sometimes fell
behind the women in their tasks.

As may well be imagined, there was little time
for a boy or a girl under those conditions to go to
school, even if the opportunity had presented itself.
We had a school in the neighborhood, however, held
for a time at the homes of various members of the
community, and later we built a school house. The
erection of this building was the first public enterprise,
so far as I know or have ever heard, that was under-
taken by the people of that community. I was old
enough to help in it, and I remember very distinctly
the meetings the neighbors had to plan the work of
building, and afterwards, I recall the meeting of the
men with their teams to do the work. Each man fur-
nished two logs which he had previously cut and hew-
ed to the proper dimensions. These he dragged to
the site selected for the building which was, by the
way, upon the ground now occupied by the Stamper
School House. When the logs were all assembled, the
men and boys came in bringing baskets of provisions
and food for their oxen and all went to work. The
house was "raised," as we called it, by laying the logs
one upon the other in the form of a pen, the length
exceeding the breadth by about ten feet. The logs
were carefully notched and fitted down at the corners
so as to eliminate space between them and do away
with the necessity of "chinking" to as great an extent
as possible. The floor was of logs split half in two
and laid the flat side up. The door was of hewed
timber and must have been fully two inches thick,
and was hung upon wooden hinges. At a proper

EARLY DAYS IN BUCHANAN COUNTY 13

height from the ground, one log was sawed out the
full length of the building to afford light. The roof
was of clap-boards with logs laid upon them to hold
them in place. The benches were puncheon — that is
a long round log split half in two and hewed to a
smooth surface with legs driven into auger holes be-
neath. The fireplace extended nearly all the way
across one end of the room. It was built of rough
stone as high as the mantel, and from there up the
chimney was of sticks, plastered inside with clay to
keep them from burning. A long puncheon was plac-
ed at the proper angle just underneath the opening
which served as a window, and this constituted our
writing desk. When the writing lesson was called,
each pupil took his copy book and went to this rude
"desk" where he stood until his lesson was finished.
I cannot at this time recall the names of all the
men who participated in the work of building that
school-house, but among them were George Reynolds,
George Jeffers, Donald McCray, Philip McCray, Henry
Guinn, Ambrose McDonald, William Bledsoe, Robert
Irvin, James Poteet, James Gilmore, Ransom Ridge,
Bird Smith, Isaac Auxier, Tom Auxier, my father,
George Gibson, and my uncle, James Gibson. Most of
these names are familiar to the citizens of this county,
and their descendants are still substantial citizens of
that community. I had the inestimable privilege of
attending school in this building as much as three
terms of three months each, and this constituted my
entire educational course so far as schools are con-
cerned. The sons and daughters of the men I have
named were my school mates and, at this writing, but
few of them survive. The men of that day, of course,
have all passed to their reward many years since.

14 RECOLLECTIONS OF A PIONEER

It will be easy for the reader to understand me
when I say that in that day money, that is currency
or specie, was very hard to procure. Fortunately for
us we needed very little of it, because there was noth-
ing to buy with it that we could not procure by a sort
of trade or barter. We could raise our horses, hogs
and cattle, but there was no market for them. If a
neighbor happened not to have what another neighbor
had beyond his own necessities, some means was de-
vised by which a trade could be entered into and each
secure thereby the things he did not previously own.
I think hemp was about the only thing we could sell
for money. This we took to Robidoux's landing now
and then where we procured cash for it, and we then,
bought such few necessities as our farms did not af-
ford.

It must not be understood that the men of that
day were without enterprise. When I look upon the
great undertakings of the present day and then recall
a venture which my father and older brothers and
myself undertook in 1847, I am compelled to believe
that of the two, that early enterprise required the
greater business courage. I have related how my father
received four thousand dollars for his Tennessee farm
and how he converted this into silver on the way to
Missouri. He had in addition to this quite a sum of
money besides and had accumulated some money dur-
ing the years of his residence here.

In the spring of 1847 he began to purchase from
the neighbors around about and from the men in other
communities, their surplus cattle, and in this way col-
lected a herd of five hundred. These cattle were driven
overland to Iowa where a few of them were sold,
thence on to Illinois and across Illinois and through
Indiana and Ohio, peddling them out as we went, and

EARLY DAYS IN BUCHANAN COUNTY 15

into Pennsylvania, where the last of them were sold.
I went along, and we had many hardships, but some-
how I did not think so at the time. The trip broke
the monotony of my life upon the farm and I was glad
to go, even though I often grew very tired and had to
endure the exposure to hot sun, wind and rain. We
made some money on the cattle — quite a good deal.
We got every dollar of it in silver and carried it home
on horse back. In 1848, brother Isaac and I took
another drove over about the same route for Peter
Boyer, who lived near Easton. Our experiences on
this trip were very much the same as those of the
former trip, and the enterprise netted Boyer a hand-
some profit.

CHAPTER II.
First Trip to California.

Late in the year 1848 or early in '49, we began to
hear wonderful stories about gold in California. News
traveled very slowly in those days, and we could de-
pend very little upon its accuracy, but the reports that
came convinced us that the discovery had actually
been made and we readily pictured in our own minds
the fortunes to be had in that country. Difficult as
the methods of travel were in those days, we were not
without information as to the route and character of the
country intervening between us and California. Rob-
ert Gilmore, a neighbor of ours, had been overland
to Oregon and back, and could tell us very definitely
about the country out to a point beyond the Rocky
Mountains. The talk of gold, and of an expedition to
the country where it had been found, soon became
general and it was not long until a party of men was
made up to try their fortunes in California. Brother
William, brother James and myself agreed to become
members of the party, and we rigged up a wagon and
four yoke of oxen, laid in a year's provisions, provid-
ed ourselves with guns and plenty of ammunition and
joined others of a company who had made like
provision. I must not neglect to mention that
as an important part of our commissary we ad-
ded a half barrel of good whiskey. We started on the
first day of May and stopped over night at St. Joseph.
The next day, everything being ready, we crossed the
river on the ferry boat and pitched our tents the first
night out on Peters Creek. Our party consisted of
twenty men and boys, all from Buchanan County.

FIRST TRIP TO CALIFORNIA 17

They were Robert Gilmore and his son Mat, James
Gilmore and his son Dave, Ben Poteet, a man by the
name of Spires and his son, Milt Gilmore, Lum Per-
kins, a man by the name of Fish, Charles McCray,
Henry McCray, Liel Hulett, Mitch Hulett, old man
Greenwood and his two sons, Brother William, Brother
James, and myself. We had seven wagons, fifty-eight
head of cattle and seven horses.

Robert Gilmore was our pilot. His previous jour-
ney over the road as well as his peculiar fitness for
the task made the selection of any other person out
of the question. He had an accurate memory con-
cerning every point along the road. He knew the cour-
ses of the rivers and how to cross the desert divides
at the narrowest places to avoid long distances with-
out grazing and water for our cattle. He also knew
better than any of us the habits of the Indians, and his
experience with them often avoided trouble and saved
our property and most likely our lives. He was cool-
headed and prudent and as brave a man as I ever
knew. It must be remembered that we made no pro-
vision whatever to feed our cattle and horses. We
expected to move slowly and allow them time to graze
for subsistence. During the first part of the journey
at the season of the year in which it was made, we
experienced no trouble whatever, as grass was very
plentiful, but later on, as I shall relate, we often felt
sorry for the poor dumb beasts that we had taken
from the fine pastures of Buchanan County and driven
out into that arid country.

Our second day's journey brought us to Wolf
River. During the next few days our journey led
us by gradual ascent up on to a high prairie, which
must have been the water shed upon which the town
of Sabetha is now situated. The whole earth was

18 RECOLLECTIONS OF A PIONEER

covered by abundant verdure, and I recall very dis-
tinctly the expansive view which presented itself in
every direction from the crests of the ridges as we
passed over them. There was not a single human
habitation in sight and no evidences that human foot
had ever been set upon this land, except the dim out-
line of the trail we were following. Only one or two
companies were ahead of us and the tracks of their
wagons and oxen made but little impression upon the
fresh grown grass. -Farther out the almost total ab-
sence of trees made the most vivid impression upon
my mind, accustomed as I had been for so many years
to a timbered country, and though I could see no evi-
dences that the soil was not productive, I could hardly
believe this place would ever be a fit habitation for
men. We traveled some days over such country as I
have described and no doubt passed over the sites of
many present flourishing towns. The sixth or seventh
day out, if I remember correctly, we reached the Big
Blue. In our journey thus far, we had occasionally
seen deer and antelope, but when we began to descend
into the valley of the Big Blue we saw great numbers
of these animals. On the banks of the river we
found in camp a party of eastern emigrants who had
left St. Joseph a few days in advance of our train.
Their teams were all horses and they had camped for
a time in order to lay in a supply of venison. Their
horses were then in fine condition and they were rid-
ing them out on the prairies chasing the deer and
antelope. We camped for the night and next morn-
ing, as usual, plodded on. Later in the day we were
overtaken by these emigrants who trotted by us with
their faster teams and made fun of our equipment.
They told us, as they passed, that they would have the
gold in California all mined out before we got there.

FIRST TRIP TO CALIFORNIA 19

Some of us, the younger members at least, who had
had no experience on the plains, felt that they might
be telling us the truth; but Gilmore assured us that
\ve had taken the safer course and that we would reach
California long in advance of those men, and that it
was doubtful if they would ever get there at all.
Weeks later Gilmore had the satisfaction of verifying
what he had told us, for we overtook and passed these
very trains. Their horses were thin and poor, starved
out on the short grass, and famished for water.

From Big Blue we crossed a rolling divide to Little
Blue and followed that stream a long distance, then
across a high prairie, that seemed to be almost per-
fectly level. It was on this part of the journey that
we had our first disagreeable experience. Up to that
time, the boys of the party at least, had looked upon
crossing the plains as a great frolic. The weather had
been fine. The company was congenial and the nov-
elty of the whole thing kept us well entertained.
Shortly after we broke camp one morning and start-
ed on a twenty mile drive, it began to rain and con-
tinued all day long a steady downpour. We had found
no wood with which to cook dinner and had eaten cold
victuals, with some relish, believing we would find
plenty of firewood at night. We traveled until quite
late and finally stopped at a small creek, where other
emigrants had camped, but there was no wood, not a
stick to be found. The only thing in sight was a tough
old log which had been hacked and hewed by preced-
ing emigrants until scarcely a splinter could be chop-
ped from it. The buffalo chips were all wet and it
was still raining. The boys were not so gay that night.
They managed, after hard work, to get splinters enough
off the old log to heat up the coffee and that was the
only warm article of diet we had for supper. We made

20 RECOLLECTIONS OF A PIONEER

the best of it and after supper prepared to crawl into
wet tents to sleep if we could. Bad as the prospect
was, I was happy that it was not my turn to stand
guard. It rained all night and next morning the boys
who had been on guard were sorry-looking fellows
and the cattle and horses little better. I do not re-
member how we managed to get breakfast, but I do
recall that we started early and pushed on still through
the rain. The moving warmed us up and we were
much better off traveling than in camp.

We reached Platte River late the same day at a
point which must have been some miles above the
location of the present city of Grand Island,
probably about the site of the City of Kearney.
The river was running bank full and the only fire wood
in sight was on an island out in the stream. The
stream, though wide, was not deep, and we rode our
horses over and carried back wood enough to make a
fire, though it was a very bad one. It stopped raining
about night, but remained cloudy and cold and we
passed the night with less comfort, I believe, than the
night before. Next day we made only twenty miles
but stopped long before night at the mouth of a little
stream or gulch that descended down into Platte
River which we knew as Plum Creek. The wind had
blown from the north all day and had chilled us
through and through in our wet clothing. The princi-
pal inducement to the halt was the canyon through
which Plum Creek emptied into the river. It afford-
ed a sheltered camping place and its sides were cover-
ed with red cedar which made splendid firewood.
We pitched our tents in behind a high bluff and im-
mediately built a blazing fire. Everybody was busy.
Blankets were stretched upon poles before the fire
and the wet extra clothing was hung out to dry in like

FIRST TRIP TO CALIFORNIA 21

manner. We cooked the best meal the stores would
afford and prepared plenty of it. Before night we
were all dry and warm, had had plenty to eat, and
were again in a happy frame of mind. There was but
one thing to prevent complete satisfaction with the
situation and that was that at this very point in years
gone by several vicious attacks had been made upon
emigrants by the Indians. It was a fine place for
the Indians to ambush the unwary traveler. Gilmore
had learned the story of these attacks on his previous
trip and immediately after we had supper he started
the members of the company out in various directions
to look for Indians. It was an hour or more until
sundown, as I recollect, so we climbed to the tops of
the hills and inspected the country for miles around.
There was not a single sign of Indians anywhere to be
seen. He told us to look particularly for smoke as
we would probably not see the Indians but would dis-
cover the smoke from their fires coming up out of
the valleys. The favorable report made to Gilmore
did not satisfy him. Weary as we all were, he order-
ed a double guard that night. I stood with the boys
the first half of the night. At sundown the sky had
cleared of clouds and the wind had ceased to blow.
The whole earth was as still as death. The only sound
that broke the silence was the howl of a wolf now
and then away off in the distance.

The next morning the camp was astir bright and
early. The oxen and horses were rounded up and
hitched to the wagons and after a good breakfast we
packed the camp outfit and started on our journey
up Platte River, following the south bank. The clear
sky and bright sunshine soon made us forget the hard-
ships of the two previous days, and our company was
again in good spirits. I have not been able to locate

22 RECOLLECTIONS OF A PIONEER

the exact position of Plum Creek. It was out some dis-
tance beyond the Grand Island and almost at the be-
ginning of what we called the sand bluffs. I do not
recall any incident worth mentioning on the journey up
this stream except that in a few days after we left
Plum Creek we passed the junction of the North and
South Platte. The trail followed the South Platte and
we followed the trail. About fifty miles beyond the
junction we crossed the South Platte and went over a
high ridge and down a steep canyon about five miles
in length into the valley of the North Platte. I have
never known why this early trail led up the South
Platte instead of crossing the main stream at the junc-
tion and moving directly up the North Platte, as was
done later by all the emigrant trains.

We reached North Platte about night and found
a large tribe of Indians in camp. It was no very pleas-
ing prospect to most of us to go into camp so near the
Indians, but Gilmore told us that we would not likely
have any trouble as Indians were always peaceable
when their squaws and pappooses were with them. I
never forgot this remark by Gilmore and had occasion
many times afterwards, as I shall relate, to observe
the truth of his statement. We put a strong guard
around the cattle. We did not fear for ourselves, but
were alarmed somewhat on account of the cattle, as we
expected that the Indians were probably scarce of
food and might try to get one or two of them. The
Indians seemed to be astir most all night and we im-
agined that they were watching to catch us off guard,
or probably to catch a stray horse or ox that might
wander away from the herd. Morning brought us great
relief, and we soon packed up and moved on up the
North Platte as fast as we could.

FIRST TRIP TO CALIFORNIA 23

Some seventy-five miles or more up the North
Platte we passed those strange looking elevations which
had the appearance at a distance of immense build-
ings in ruins and which have been mentioned by so
many of the early emigrants. Two of these formations
which stood side by side were especially noticeable.
They both rose abruptly from the level table land to
a height of two hundred feet or more. The larger
and taller of the two was not so well proportioned
as the smaller, but both of them easily gave the im-
pression, viewed from the path of our trail, of great
castles with wings and turrets, all tumbling down and
wasting away. Gilmore told us that the earlier travel-
ers on the Oregon trail had called these formations
the "court houses." Some distance beyond these curi-
osities we came to Chimney Rock, which I am sure
every one who passed over the trail remembers. It
stood out in the valley of the Platte several hundred
feet from the main bluff of the river and rose to a
height of nearly three hundred feet, as we estimated.
The base covered a considerable area of ground and
the top was probably fifty feet across. It was a mix-
ture of sand, clay and stones, and the action of the
weather had crumbled much of the upper portions
about the base.

A little beyond Chimney Rock we came to Scott's
Bluffs, which we reached late in the afternoon. We
drove into a beautiful little valley and camped for the
night. Just about dark the most terrific thunder storm
I ever experienced in my life broke upon us. The
whole valley seemed to be lit up in a blaze of fire
and the thunder was deafening. Some three or four
emigrant trains which we had overtaken were camped
in this valley and next morning we counted fifteen
cattle that had been killed by bolts of lightning. For-

24 RECOLLECTIONS OF A PIONEER

tunately none of them belonged to us. Scott's Bluffs
is a single row of hills or perpendicular cliffs standing
out in the valley between the main table land and the
channel of the river. They are much like Chimney
Rock in formation and are of various forms and moulds
and present a strange appearance from the path of
the trail. We passed for miles between these bluffs
and the table land with the river over beyond the
bluffs.

Fort Laramie was our next point, some sixty miles
farther on. The fort is situated on Laramie River
about a mile above its union with the North Platte.
Here we saw the first white man, except the emigrants
who were outward bound with us, since leaving home.
We were given a very hearty welcome by the soldiers
and the few others who lived there. They asked us
many questions and told us they had had no news from
home all winter until the emigrant trains began to ar-
rive. The Indians were constantly about them and
they had to be very careful to avoid trouble with them.
Their greatest difficulty was to procure firewood,
which they found some considerable distance from
the fort and over the river. They told us they always
sent a guard of soldiers out with the wagons when they
went after wood. We camped there over night and
I was on picket. Next morning at daylight I saw a
beautiful mound not far away,and as I was anxious to
investigate everything, I walked over to it. I found it
was an Indian burying ground, and was literally cover-
ed with human and animal bones which had been
placed around, apparently in an effort to decorate,
and human skulls seemed to be a particular favorite.
Hundreds of them it seemed to me lay grinning at me.
I am sure had I known this grewsome sight was so close
to me I could never have been induced to stand guard

FIRST TRIP TO CALIFORNIA 25

all night in the darkness. I was but a boy then and
this scene horrified me. I soon learned, however, not
to be afraid of dead Indians.

After a rest of a day or two under the protection
of the Fort, we started forward, moving across a high,
mountainous country which occupied the wide bend
in the North Platte River. As I recall, the distance
across this strip of country is probably one hundred
and fifty miles or more. Many places were very rug-
ged and we experienced much difficulty in making
our way. On this portion of the road we had great
difficulty also with the Indians — that is we continually
feared trouble. We were not attacked at any time
nor did we lose any of our horses or cattle, but we
lived in continual fear both of our lives and of our
property. The Crow and Sioux tribes occupied this
land and they were war-like and troublesome savages.
Scarcely a man in the company dared go to sleep dur-
ing the whole journey from Fort Laramie to the point
where we reached Platte River again, opposite the
mouth of Sweetwater. It was in this very country, as
I shall relate hereafter, that these Indians tried to kill
and rob my brothers and myself in '51, and in '55, while
my brother James and my youngest brother Robert
ivere bringing a drove of cattle across, my brother
Robert, only seventeen years old, was killed. I think
all the early travelers across the plains dreaded the
Indians on this portion of the road more than any
other obstacle to be found on the entire journey, not
excepting the alkali deserts of Utah and Nevada.
When we again reached Platte River it was very high
and the current very swift. It was out of the question
to attempt fording it, and it looked for a time as if our
progress would be retarded perhaps for many days.
It would serve no purpose to attempt to find a better

26 RECOLLECTIONS OF A PIONEER

place to cross, for from the amount of water in the
river, we felt quite certain we could find no place with-
in one hundred miles where the wagons could be driven
over. We had one satisfaction left to us and that was
that we had plenty of water and plenty of grass, and
if we had to stay on this side of the river any consid-
erable time we were in no danger of losing our stock.
We camped and rested a day and thought about the
situation. Finally we decided to try rafting the wagons
over and herding the cattle across. We cut four good
sized cottonwood logs from the timber which grew near
to the stream, fastened ropes to them and pushed them
in the water. They were then tied firmly together and
anchored to the shore. We then unloaded the wagons,
took off the boxes or beds, and set one upon these
logs. We then reloaded this bed and four men with
long poles got upon the raft and some one on the
bank untied the rope. I thought from the way this rude
ship started down stream that it would reach St. Jo-
seph in about three days if it kept up that rate of
speed. The current caught it and dashed it along at
a great rate and I was considerably alarmed, I remem-
ber, for a good portion of our provisions had been
placed in the wagon box. The boys on the raft, how-
ever, kept their heads and though none of them were
much accustomed to the water, they understood enough
about it to avoid upsetting the craft. Little by little
they pushed and paddled toward the middle of the
stream and finally brought it up to shore probably a
mile down stream. After anchoring the raft the arti-
cles loaded into the wagon bed were removed, placed
upon the bank and finally the wagon bed was taken
off and likewise placed on high ground. The boys
then with great difficulty towed the raft along the
shore up stream to a point far enough above the camp

FIRST TRIP TO CALIFORNIA 27

on the opposite bank to enable them to pilot it back to
the desired landing place. They finally brought it up
when, after anchoring it firmly, the running gears of
the wagon were rolled down and pushed out upon the
raft, the axles resting on the logs and the wheels ex-
tending down into the water. This cargo was ferried
across in the same manner. In this way after much
labor, paddling and poling this raft back and forth,
our entire outfit was landed safely on the opposite side
of the stream. Our belongings were, however, pretty
widely scattered, because the boys always unloaded at
the place they were able to land. It took much time to
again rig up the wagons and collect the provisions and
camp equipment and get it all together again.

We had allowed our cattle to remain on the east
side of the river during this operation, and after every-
thing was ready on the opposite side we rounded them
up and pushed them into the water. They swam across
in fine shape, the men swimming their horses after
them. It was a great relief to all of us to feel that we
were safely across and to realize that we had saved a
good many days, perhaps, by the effort we had made.
We were especially desirous of keeping well in front
of the emigrant trains that we knew to be upon the
road in order that our oxen and horses might have bet-
ter grazing and we felt that by the accomplishment of
the task which had just been finished we had probably
set ourselves in advance of many of the trains.

After a good rest we moved on and soon entered
the valley of Sweetwater River which we followed for
many miles. Toward the head waters of this stream
we passed Independence Rock, which, even in that day,
was a marked natural curiosity much spoken of by
travelers. There were many names cut in the smooth
face of this immense boulder and we added our own

28 RECOLLECTIONS OF A PIONEER

to the list. A long toilsome climb after leaving Inde-
pendence Rock brought us to the crest of the continental
divide from which we descended into the valley of
Green River. This is an extensive basin and we were
a good many days passing through it, but met with no
occurrences worthy of special mention. As we passed
out of the valley, our road led us over a high range of
mountains and I shall always remember the view
which presented itself in front of us as we reached
the top. The valley of Bear River lay before us for
many miles. The view was obstructed only by the fact
that the eye had not the power to see all that was spread
before it. In all my experience in the mountains, I
can at this moment recall no place that presents so
striking a picture as the one which remains in my
memory of this scene. I cannot locate the place upon
the map, except approximately, though I have often
tried to do so. In those days we had few names. There
were no county lines and no towns by which to locate
natural objects so they might be pointed out to others.
Even the mountain ranges and many of the smaller
streams had either not received names or we had
not heard them. The place I have been attempt-
ing to describe was near the extreme western border
of Wyoming and must have been about opposite Rear
Lake in Idaho, perhaps a little north.

An incident occurred at this place which served to
impress it upon my mind independent of its natural
beauties. Shortly before we approached the crest of
the mountain we began to see emigrant wagons ahead.
Finally we noticed what appeared to be an immense
train stretching out in front of us. On nearer ap-
proach we discovered that some forty or fifty wagons
which had fallen into the Oregon trail at various places
along the line were blocked, apparently by the difficul-

FIRST TRIP TO CALIFORNIA 29

ties attending a descent of the opposite side of
the mountain. We halted our teams and went for-
ward on foot and discovered that there was but one
place where the descent could be made at all and that
was along a steep, rough canyon at one place in which
the wagons had to be let down by hand. We approach-
ed and watched the operation for an hour or two. The
teams and wagons in proper turn passed down to
this abrupt place where the oxen were taken off
and driven down. The wagons, rough-locked with
chains, were then let down by long ropes, a great
many men holding to the ropes to prevent the wagon
from running away. It was very slow work and we
immediately saw that a delay of three or four days
at least was ahead of us if we waited to take our turn
down this embankment. A conference was called as
soon as our men got back to the wagons. Gilmore
said he was not willing to believe that the point these
emigrants had selected was the only place where the
teams could get down, so he and a few more of our
company started to the left of the trail to seek a new
place. After about two hours, Gilmore and his men
came back and said they thought they had found a
place and directed the teams to move forward. A
long winding drive down a spur or ridge that led off
to the left of the canyon brought us to the place Gil-
more had discovered. I went up and took a look
and I confess that I was very much afraid we could
not make it. There was not a tree, nor a log, nor any-
thing else out of which we could make a drag to tie
behind the wagons and thus retard them as they mov-
ed down the slope. I saw that Gilmore had some plan
in his mind, however, and waited to see it develop.
He ordered the three front yoke of oxen off the front
wagon and directed that they be taken to the rear of

30 RECOLLECTIONS OF A PIONEER

the wagon leaving the wheel yoke hitched to the ton-
gue. These three yoke of oxen were tied by a chain
to the rear axle. The wheels were all four rough-
locked with chains made fast and tight. When
this was done we gathered our whips and told the
oxen to move on. As the wheel yoke started forward
the wagon pitched down upon them. They set their
feet forward and laid back upon the tongue. When
the chain tightened on the three yoke tied to the rear,
they, like the yoke in front, set their feet and laid back
upon the chain. Then the whole — wagon and oxen-
went plowing down the mountain side more than one
hundred yards before the ground became level enough
to release the wheels. It was a great relief to be able
to unlock the wheels and release the oxen and know
that all was safe. The six other wagons repeated this
experience in turn. The whole descent had required
but little more than two hours and we found ourselves
well down into the valley of Bear River two days
ahead of time, and best of all, in the lead of those
emigrants who were waiting to let their wagons down
by hand over on the other road.

Soda Springs on Rear River was our next point.
We reached it after a two days' journey from the point
where we had descended the mountain. Here I saw
another wonder — to me. Water, almost boiling, spurted
right up out of the ground. One spring in particular
which they told us had been named Steamboat Spring
was especially noticeable. Every three or four min-
utes it would throw a jet of water up four or
five feet high, then subside. Just about the time every
thing seemed to be getting settled, the water would
gush out again. This continued at regular intervals
night and day and may, for all I know, still be going
on. There were a number of hot springs, besides

FIRST TRIP TO CALIFORNIA 31

several other springs, the water of which was strongly
impregnated with soda. We halted a little while
here to rest and to inspect this great wonder and
then pushed on in a north-westerly direction to-
ward Fort Hall, which is located on Snake River.
This required about a three days' drive, as I remember.
We knew at the time that this course took us consid-
erably out of the way, but we had no information as
to the barriers to be encountered by an attempt to short-
en the route, so we were content to follow the beaten
trail.

I remember an incident which occurred at Fort
Hall. We had fallen in with a train from Jackson
County which was known as Hayes' train, and we all
journeyed together to Fort Hall. A government fort
was located there and Hayes found in the fort, a negro
man who had run off from his Jackson County planta-
tion six years before. Hayes instead of asserting
ownership over this negro and compelling him to go
back into servitude, made a contract with him to drive
one of his teams through to California and work one
year for him in California, after which the negro was
to have his freedom. This seemed to suit the negro
exactly and he picked up his long gad and started af-
ter the oxen. We all moved together down Snake
River to the mouth of Raft River, and on this part of
the journey an incident occurred which caused all of
us a good deal of uneasiness. Hayes had a bright lad
with him about sixteen years old who was always play-
ing pranks. He also had a driver who was dreadfully
afraid of Indians. One night after we had camped, the
lad took a red blanket and slipped away from the camp
around near to where the driver was standing guard.
He threw the blanket over his shoulders after the
fashion of the Indians and secreted himself behind an

32 RECOLLECTIONS OF A PIONEER

obstruction, and at the proper time, slipped out of his
place of concealment and started toward the driver.
The driver ran just as the boy had anticipated, but
when the boy started to follow, playing Indian all the
time, the driver halted long enough to put a load of
shot into the boy. Fortunately the shot was not fatal,
but the boy was dreadfully wounded and had to be
hauled in one of the wagons clear on to California.
We had little or no means of giving him attention and
the poor boy suffered a great deal, but he finally got
well.

When we reached the mouth of Raft River, a small
stream which flows into the Snake River from the
south, we halted for a conference. Hayes with his train
was accompanying us, but he knew no more about the
country than we. It was clear that we must break
away from the Oregon trail at some point in that im-
mediate vicinity and it occurred to us that this little
river would afford the most likely passage to the crest
of the divide from which we could descend into the
valley of the Humboldt. Accordingly our oxen were
turned out of the beaten path and headed over an
unknown stretch of country. We experienced very lit-
tle difficulty that I now recall so long as we were able
to follow the river, but by and by the stream became
very small and led us into a rugged, mountainous
country. After much climbing and wandering about
we reached the crest of a divide which is now called
the Raft River Mountains; passing down the farther
slope of these mountains we encountered a dreadful
alkali desert before reaching the main stem of the
Humboldt River. The men, horses and cattle suffered
greatly. The alkali dust raised by the moving teams
parched the throat and nostrils and lack of water de-
nied either to man or beast any relief. Fortunately

FIRST TRIP TO CALIFORNIA 33

for us, this did not last many days. Whether by ac-
cident or from good judgment, we soon located a good
sized stream of water which eventually proved to be
one of the main prongs of Humboldt River. We fol-
lowed this stream probably two hundred miles or more,
and while the grazing was very short, we had plenty
of water and were able to get along.

One night just before we reached Big Meadow,
while we were camped alongside the Humboldt River,
a band of Digger Indians slipped into our herd and
drove two of the cattle away. Next morning after
rounding up the cattle these oxen were missed and
search was immediately instituted. Bob and James
Gilmore, Charles McCray and brother William got on
their horses and made a wide circle about the camp.
They discovered tracks leading toward the mountains
and followed them. After they had gone several miles
and could still see nothing of the cattle, they became
convinced that the Indians had taken them into the
mountains, and as McCray and Gibson had gone away
without their guns, McCray was sent back to get them.
McCray reached camp, got the guns and started out
to overtake the boys, but soon returned saying he could
not find them. The company remained in camp wait-
ing continually for their return and when, late in the
afternoon, they had not returned, we began to feel
quite uneasy. When night came and they had still
not returned, we piled sage brush on our camp fire and
kept it burning very bright to light them in. No one
in the camp slept and as the hours passed, uneasiness
increased. Finally, late in the night they came in, all
safe, but very tired and without the cattle, and gave
us the following account of their experience.

They had followed the tracks of the cattle through
the sand fifteen miles and traced them into a steep,

34 RECOLLECTIONS OF A PIONEER

rough gorge or canyon that opened into the valley
from the mountain. They entered this gorge with great
caution and had not gone far when they found the car-
casses of the cattle warm and bleeding, but no Indians
in sight. They were convinced that Indians could not
be far away, and momentarily expected an attack from
ambush. The Indians had evidently posted a watch on
some high point on the mountain, who, when the men
were seen approaching, gave the alarm, upon which
the cattle were immediately killed and the Indians
fled to cover.

It was then nearly night. The horses were poor
and weak, and neither the horses nor the men had
tasted food or water throughout the day, and there was
no relief except in camp. Delay was useless, so they
turned immediately and started back. After reaching
the plain they noticed far out in the distance a cloud
of dust on the horizon and supposed at first it was a
small whirlwind, as whirlwinds were very common
on those sandy deserts. The dust continued to rise
and apparently to approach toward them, and in a
little while they were able to make out objects moving
through it. They then knew that the Indians, having
been warned of their approach and having seen them
enter the canyon, had made a wide circle to the rear,
and that their purpose was to cut them off from camp.
Only a few minutes were required to reveal the fact
that the Indians, about thirty in number, were coming
toward them as fast as their ponies could gallop, and
a brief counsel of war was held. To attempt to out-run
them on the poor jaded horses was out of the
question, and the situation looked rather desperate.
Their lack of guns and ammunition and their inferior
numbers made the result of a fight very doubtful.
They had no choice but to make the best of it, and the

FIRST TRIP TO CALIFORNIA 35

only thing in their favor was the well known coward-
ice of the Indians in an open face to face fight. Each
of the Gilmores had a double barrel shot gun and Gib-
son had his bowie knife and these were the weapons
with which the fight had to be made. The boys dis-
mounted and as the Indians came within easy view of
them they stepped out in front of their horses and
waited. The men with the guns held them in position
to fire and Gibson drew his bowie knife and held it
steadily in his hand. The Indians came on furiously,
screaming and yelling, but the boys did not stir a step.
The plan was to let them come and get as many of
them as possible with the four loads that were in the
guns, then with the knife and the guns as clubs, fight
it out.

The boys said that for two or three minutes there
was every indication that the Indians really meant
to fight. They showed no disposition to halt, but came
yelling and dashing forward until they were almost in
range of the guns. Even though the boys were not
equal to the task they had to keep their nerve. If they
had shown the least disposition to waver or to change
positions the Indians would have been encouraged to
come upon them. They stood as firm and steady as
though they were made of stone. Not a word was
spoken, except that Bob Gilmore quietly counselled
the boys to stand perfectly still. This attitude was too
much for the Indians. They became convinced that
they really had a fight on their hands, and when with-
in seventy-five yards they came to a sudden halt and
all danger was past. The bluff had worked and
the Indians were going to pretend they never had any
hostile intentions. The boys continued to stand per-
fectly firm and wait. After a moment or two, three
or four Indians came forward bowing, making every

36 RECOLLECTIONS OF A PIONEER

demonstration of friendship, saying, "How, How," and
asking for tobacco. Gibson in return bowed to them
and said "How, How." He also indicated they could
have tobacco if they would approach, but the Gilmores
kept their guns steadily raised in the same position.
When within twenty or thirty feet, the Indians stopped
and Gibson approached a little nearer to them and
put on an appearance of great friendship. He had no
tobacco, but the Gilmores had, so Gibson went back
for it, the others remaining in position to fire, and took
it from their pockets. The Indians then bowed and
the boys, bowed and the Indians turned and went back
to their companions. The four emissaries who had
come out for the tobacco mounted their ponies and
the whole thirty of them rode away. The boys kept
their positions until the Indians were far out on the
plain. They could see them as they rode away, turn
on their ponies and watch them, and they proposed
to give them to understand that there was a fight ready
for them if they desired it, and thus probably prevent
an attack farther on in their journey to camp and
after night.

When the Indians were well out of the way, the
party journeyed on. It was then nearly sundown and
fifteen miles to camp. The boys had taken note of
the natural objects along the road out, and before it
grew entirely dark they located these objects with
reference to certain stars that would lead them after
night, and in this way managed to get along until they
came to where they could see the reflection of the
burning sage brush upon the sky. We were greatly
rejoiced to see them, and even though they did not
bring the cattle back, we felt after our hours of anx-
iety that the loss of the cattle was but a trivial matter.

FIRST TRIP TO CALIFORNIA 37

A few days' drive after our encounter with the
Indians brought us to Big Meadow, a name given to a
sort of oasis which was covered with abundant grass
and where our cattle could get the finest water. We
took a good rest here and it was a delight to see the
cattle and horses, after their long drive over the sand
and through the sage brush, wade belly deep in the
finest of grass. During our stay at this place we cut
and cured a large quantity of hay and loaded it on
our wagons. We had heard that there was a desert
ahead and wanted to be prepared for it. We must
have spent four or five days at this place, and when
we set forward both men and cattle were much re-
freshed. A day's journey, as I remember, brought us
to the lowrer end of Humboldt Lake, where, so far as
we could see, Humboldt River stopped, that is the
river ran into this lake and there was apparently no
outlet. We could see a barren country ahead, and
rightly judged that we were approaching the desert
we had heard of.

Next morning everything was prepared for a long
drive without grazing or water. We left early and all
day long traveled over a hot, dry plain without once
finding a drop of water, and where there was no vege-
tation upon which our cattle could feed. When night
came a conference was held. To attempt to camp in
that arid place without food or water would weaken
our stock and exhaust our men, so we decided not to
camp at all. Accordingly the weary oxen and horses
were pushed on at increased speed. We traveled all
night long and when daylight came there was still no
prospect of relief. To stop, however, was more likely
to bring disaster than to go on, so we kept moving.
About noon we began to see some evidences of a
change. Off in the distance we thought we could see

38 RECOLLECTIONS OF A PIONEER

that the land had a green appearance, and this raised
our hopes. On nearer approach we found that our
first impressions were correct and that we were really
approaching food and water. In a little while we came
to a prong of what I learned afterwards was Carson
River, which came down from the mountains and ran
in an opposite direction from the Humboldt River.
The water was clear and had hardly a tinge of alkali
in it. When our cattle and horses saw the water, we
could not hold them and we did not try very much,
for we were almost as nearly famished as they. We
took the yokes off of them and let them go. They
ran pell-mell down to the water and plunged into it.
The men did scarcely better. Many of them jumped
right into the water with their clothes on and drank
and splashed by turns until they had slaked their
thirst and relieved their parched throats. As soon as
food could be prepared, and eaten, everybody went
to sleep except those who were detailed to stand guard
the first two hours. We remained there, the guard
being relieved every two hours, until the following
morning, when both men and cattle were sufficiently
refreshed to proceed.

Thenceforward our journey led us up Carson
River. This was not a hard journey. The grass was
fine and the water clear. There was no occasion for
hurry. It was then growing toward the end of July
and the worst of our journey was over.

We moved only fifteen or twenty miles a day and
allowed our cattle and horses to browse along and fill
themselves as they went. Nearly a hundred miles up
the river we came to Carson Valley, where Carson
City is now situated. As I recall my whole journey, I
can think of no place that so impressed me with its
beauty. Six miles across this valley, we came to

FIRST TRIP TO CALIFORNIA 39

the mouth of Carson River Canyon where the river
flows out of the mountain. Six miles farther on and
after crossing the river a dozen times or more, we
passed out of the canyon and found ourselves at the
foot of what we named "The Two-Mile Mountain."
This mountain had to be climbed. It was so steep that
ten yoke of oxen were required to draw each wagon
up. This made slow work, as some of the wagons had
to be left at the bottom and the oxen brought back to
get them. After reaching the top, we journeyed on
and came to Red Lake. This was a beautiful body of
water. I am not sure whether it is what is now called
Lake Tahoe or not, though I feel sure it is. After pass-
ing beyond this lake, we came to the "Six-Mile Moun-
tain." This was not so steep as the "Two-Mile Moun-
tain," but it was a much longer pull. As we approach-
ed the top we came to snow. This was the 5th day
of August, 1849. Before we reached the very crest of
the range our oxen had to pass over great drifts of
frozen snow which, for all we knew, may have been
hundreds of feet deep. At the top of the mountain we
were on the crest of the Sierra Nevada Range, and it was
a great relief to start down hill. One of the men went
forward and picked out a route and twelve miles down
the mountain we came to Rock Creek. Beyond this
we encountered a descent which was almost as abrupt
as our descent into Bear River Valley, but in the pres-
ent place, we had plenty of timber, so we cut large
trees and tied them by chains to the rear of the wagons
and allowed them to drag behind. This put a very
effective brake upon the wagons and enabled them
to go down safely.

I remember an occurrence which took place shortly
before we made this descent. Our road led along the
edge of a steep declivity which seemed to be a thousand

40 RECOLLECTIONS OF A PIONEER

feet above the valley below. Mitch Hulett and I found
it great sport to roll rocks off this precipice and watch
them bound away down along the mountain-side.
Sometimes we would pry a rock loose that would weigh
two or three tons and watch it plunge down, tearing
through the timber with frightful noise, scaring grouse,
pheasants and wild animals out of the brush in great
numbers. Some of the huge rocks would occasionally
strike a jutting portion of the mountain and bound a
hundred yards downward without striking a single
obstruction. We had not noticed the lapse of time and
the train got far ahead of us. By and by, we heard a
great noise to the rear and in another moment a band
of Indians dashed around a curve in the road and
were right upon us. There was nothing we could do
but run. The road ahead was down hill, and I have
always thought we made a pretty good job of it. We
broke away at full speed, never stopping to look back,
and expecting every moment to feel the arrows in our
backs or to see or hear them whiz past us. Every step
gave us hope, and after a long run and when complete-
ly exhausted, we ventured to halt and look and listen,
we discovered that we were not being followed at all.
The Indians must have been greatly amused at our
fright, but we were still unwilling to take chances and
made the best haste we could to overtake the wagons.
It required more than two hours, so rapidly had the
time passed in our sport. That was the last time our
pranks ever induced us to let the teams get so far ahead.
A place which afterwards came to be called Leake
Springs is the next point I remember. We camped
there for the night and on subsequent journeys I grew
familiar with it. Twenty miles beyond this we came
to Grass Valley and emerged from the high moun-
tains. Fifteen miles farther we came to Weaver

FIRST TRIP TO CALIFORNIA 41

Creek, August 12th, 1849, where we first saw the gold
glitter.

We thought our train was first over the trail, but
somehow a few had beaten us in. When we got down
to Weaver Creek, three emigrants were at work pan-
ning out the gold. We stopped and camped and watch-
ed them for a long time. That night I was taken sick
with the flux. It was a bad place to be sick and I
was dreadfully sick, too. They fixed me sort of a pal-
let under the shade of a big tree, and I lay there night
and day for a week and they didn't know whether I
would live or die. Trains were constantly arriving and
in one of them there was a doctor. He came down to
see me and told the boys they must hunt up a cow
and give me fresh warm milk. They told me after-
wards they found a train in which somebody had fore-
sight enough to bring a cow along, and they got the
milk and brought it to me. I drank it and soon re-
covered.

CHAPTER III.
Gold Mining in '49 and '50.

At last we were in California. I had a rather bit-
ter introduction, but I soon felt well again and began
to look about to see what California was really like
and to learn the truth of all the wonderful stories
I had heard about gold. We didn't want to take up
claims immediately — wanted to look about and get the
best location possible. They told us about Sacramento
City being down the river and we decided to go down
there. Weaver Creek was a small tributary of the
American River, so we went down to the main stream
and moved on down in the direction of Sacramento
City. We met a man who said he had just been down
there. We asked him how far it was, and he said forty
miles. Said it was at the mouth of the American
River, that is, where the American River flowed into
the Sacramento River. In two days we reached the
mouth of the river, but we didn't see any city. I saw
a few tents, and there was an old sail boat anchor-
ed on Sacramento River up close to the bank, but that
was all. I asked a man where Sacramento City was.
He said, "This is the place."

We didn't expect to find much of a city, but were
hardly prepared for what we found. We stretched our
tent, turned our cattle out to graze and prepared for a
rest. It was a delightful place. I never saw finer grass
nor finer water, and we still had plenty to eat. Toward
the close of the day I went down to where the sail boat
was being unloaded. Four or five men were carrying
provisions — flour, bacon, pickled pork, sugar, coffee,
rice — in fact everything substantial to eat, out of the

GOLD MINING IN '49 AND '50 43

boat and throwing it upon the bank among the grape
vines. I saw no owner. There were no police and no-
body seemed to be afraid of thieves. They were not
afraid either of rain, for none could be expected at
that season of the year. Nor was there even any dew.
Everything seemed to be safe both day and night.

Our lean old cattle fattened fast and in a little
while we could hardly recognize them. It was a joy to
see them eat and drink and rest after the hardships
they had endured. The poor things had suffered even
more than the men.

About the first of September we started back to
the mines. Twenty miles up the American River we
each took up a claim and went to work. Everything
was placer mining. Each man had his pan and with it
and the water of the river, he washed the gravel away
from the loose gold. We worked there^ several weeks
and so far as we could see, exhausted the gold that was
in our claims. We found on estimating the result of
our work that each man had averaged about sixteen
dollars a day for every day he had worked.

About the time our claims were exhausted, we were
surprised to meet Russell Hill, a cousin of mine, who
had worked his way down from Oregon to Sacramento
by way of Shasta City, and learning at Sacramento
that we were up the American River, had come on up
to see us. He had left his home in Iowa the year be-
fore and had gone to Oregon. He told us he had stop-
ped a few days at Shasta City and believed it to be a
better mining place than the American River, and urg-
ed us to go there. Accordingly we yoked up our oxen
and packed our belongings into the wagons again and
started. When we reached Sacramento City this time,
it was not necessary to ask where the city was. The
whole valley was covered with tents and lunch stands.

44 RECOLLECTIONS OF A PIONEER

There must have been several thousand people there.
They had come in from everywhere, off the plains by
caravan, up the river from San Francisco by boat, and
from every other place in the world, it seemed to me.
There were as yet no houses. People, men mostly,
lived in tents and the lunch counters consisted of the
sideboards of the wagons laid upon poles supported by
forks driven in the ground. Meals were a uniform price,
$1.00, but lodging was free. Just spread your blanket
down on the grass anywhere and make yourself at
home.

Shasta City is two hundred miles up Sacramento
River and a little northwest of Sacramento City.
Knight's Landing, near the mouth of Feather River, was
our first stop of any consequence. We went up Feather
River to where Marysville now stands and thence in a
northwesterly direction back into the Sacramento Val-
ley. This valley is about an average of twenty-five
miles in width and at that time there were no towns or
even camps upon it and consequently I can give little
account of our progress. I only recall that about every
twenty miles we came upon a ranch occupied by a few
families of Spaniards. These Spaniards had made
slaves of the Digger Indians who lived in mounds or
huts covered with earth. The Indians raised wheat
and gathered it in cane baskets. They then rubbed the
wheat out of the straw and beat it into flour. These In-
dians went almost naked and lived, themselves, on sal-
mon, acorns, grapes and grasshoppers. They were the
most disgusting mortals I have ever seen in my life.
When we passed the huts or mounds in which they
lived, the pappooses would dart back into them exact-
ly like prairie dogs. I asked an old Spaniard why he
kept these filthy Indians around him, and he said they
protected him from the wild Indians.

GOLD MINING IN '49 AND '50 45

The whole valley was covered by abundant vege-
tation and was full of wild herds of Spanish horses
and thousands of wild Spanish cattle. It was also full
of many savage wild animals, grizzly, brown and black
bear, California lions, panthers, wolves, wild cats and
badgers. There was an abundance also of elk, deer
and antelope, and we never lacked for fresh venison.

We reached Shasta late in September, and like
Sacramento City, found everything but the city. One
or two log cabins and a few tents made up the sum of
all the improvements. We put in a few days looking
over the situation and viewing prospects for getting
gold and decided to spend the winter there. This made
it necessary for us to look immediately into our stock
of provisions, and upon going through it we found that
we had hardly enough to last us. Nothing could be
done but go back to Sacramento and secure an addi-
tional supply, and brother William and a man by the
name of Gleason, from Iowa, who had made the trip
with us up the river, started back with one wagon and
four yoke of oxen. We stretched our tent and stored
all the provisions we had in it in such a way as to
protect them, and brother William and Gleason bade
us good by.

This trip meant four hundred miles more of hard-
ship and danger, and we hated very much to see them
leave, but nothing else could be done. The boys made
the trip down without trouble, so they reported upon
their return, but on the way back the rainy season set
in and swelled the rivers so that they were past fording
much of the time. The trip ought to have been made
easily in twenty-five or thirty days, but it occupied
from the latter part of September until Christmas.

Hard as this trip was upon the two who made it,
their sufferings were hardly to be compared to the

46 RECOLLECTIONS OF A PIONEER

condition of brother James and myself. We had but
a small tent in which to shelter both ourselves and our
provisions and such meagre equipment as we had
hauled across the plains. We had been alone but a
few days when brother James was taken down with
the scurvy. About the 10th of October the rain set in
and continued almost in a steady downpour for about
three weeks. Everything was completely soaked. It
was next to impossible to find fuel enough to start a
fire. I had to take care of brother James and keep
changing the provisions to prevent them from spoiling,
had to dry the blankets and clothing three or four times
a day. In all, I don't think I averaged more than two
hours sleep out of the whole twenty-four during this
period of continued rain. I battled along the best I
could, and at the end of about three weeks it ceased
to rain so hard.

I shall never forget two friends who came to my
rescue at this time — Charles Laffoon and Mike Cody.
Both were from St. Louis and had run a dray on the
wharf on the Mississippi River, they said. They had
reached Shasta a few months ahead of us and had
built a log cabin. On one side of this they attached a
shed which they used for a cook room and the whole
made a very comfortable dwelling. Lately, however,
a great many people had arrived and they had arrang-
ed a bar at one end of the main cabin and fixed up
some tables at the other for a poker game. Roth
of these enterprises proved good money makers and
they were getting along fine. After it had been rain-
ing three or four weeks, Mike came up to our tent one
morning. He saw the trouble we were in and said we
must not stay there. I told him I knew nothing else to
do. He said he would arrange that all right; that he
would make room for us in his cabin. He didn't even

GOLD MINING IN '49 AND '50 47

wait for an answer, but set to work packing things up.
In a little while everything we had was moved under
a roof. He fixed a bunk in the shed or cook room for
my brother and brought some men up and carried him
down and laid him on it. We used our own blankets
of course, and I cooked our meals, but Mike and his
partner took care of the rest of it. Everything was very
quiet in the day time when the men were out working
in the diggings, but at night things were mighty lively
—drinking, gambling and fighting. We didn't mind all
this, for it was so much better than the leaky old tent
we had put up with for so long, and no kinder men
ever lived than Mike Cody and Charles Laffoon.

Brother William and Gleason got back on Christ-
mas day, worn out themselves and their teams in worse
condition. It was still raining. They had had a dread-
ful time, high water, mud, rain and no shelter. They
had to expose themselves in order to keep the pro-
visions dry.

A cabin, some distance away from the cluster of
houses which was called the town, had been vacated,
and we moved in, though I think Cody and Laffoon
would have arranged in some way to accommodate all
of us in their eain'n had they thought we could do no
better. The cabin was fairly comfortable. It had a
good fire-place and a good roof, and these were the
principal necessities. The weather was not very cold,
but everything was so entirely saturated that fire was
even more necessary than if the weather had been
cold. We had room in the cabin for our cots and
provisions, and we settled down about the first
of January to spend the winter. We drove the cattle
ten miles down the river to Redding's Ranch and
turned them loose in his wild herd to graze until
spring. About the middle of January, William took

48 RECOLLECTIONS OF A PIONEER

the scurvy. James had improved very little, so I now
had both of them on my hands. They both lay there
unable to walk a step for three months. There was
but little that could be done for them, but I had a great
deal on my hands doing even that and was thankful
that I had been spared from the disease myself, for
if I had taken down we should all have been cast upon
the generosity of the wild, rough men who made up
that camp. I had no fear, however, but what we would
be taken care of. During the latter part of the winter,
I was taken with a light attack of the same disease.
I was very much afraid it would become serious, but
I did not get down. I could walk flat footed on my
left foot, but had to tip-toe on my right, and all through
the balance of the winter I did the cooking, provided
the wood, and ran the errands, hobbling along the best
I could.

Besides this, we were somewhat troubled by fi-
nances. Everything was going out and nothing coming
in. Everybody at work making plenty of money, but
we were compelled to stay in this cabin and spend what
we had made. We were rich, however, in provisions.
Had enough to last us a year and they were worth more
than gold. I remember that flour was worth two hun-
dred dollars a sack, and most everything else was in
proportion.

Late in March a doctor drifted into camp. He
heard that we had sickness up at our cabin and came
up. He looked my brothers over. He had no medicine
and there was very little, if any, in the camp. He pre-
scribed raw Irish potatoes sliced in vinegar. We had
no potatoes. I went down to see if I could find them
in camp. I hunted the place over and could not find
any. I was going home discouraged when I met Mike
Cody. I told him what I had been doing and he said

GOLD MINING IN '49 AND '50 49

if there was a potato in California, he would get it
for me. Next morning a man brought a bushel up to
our cabin and told us that was all the potatoes in that
part of the country. I asked him what he wanted for
them and he said they were paid for. When I asked
him who paid him he said it was Mike Cody. I then
asked what he got for them. He said seventy-five dol-
lars. I took the potatoes and fixed them up as the doc-
tor had told me and gave them to the boys. In a few
days they began to mend and in two or three weeks
were able to hobble about the cabin, and by the first
of May they were well enough to take care of them-
selves nicely. I hadn't forgotten Mike Cody in the mean-
time. I went down one day and told Mike I wanted to
settle for the potatoes and for the use of his cabin
the early part of the winter. He said "You don't owe
me anything for staying at the cabin and the potatoes
were a present." Said if he could do anything else,
just let him know. I thanked him the best I could, but
he told me that he didn't want any thanks, and that I
must not feel under obligation to him. He reminded
me that on several occasions when he wanted to go
out in town and have a good time, I had kept his
bar and run his poker game for him, and said that
paid for everything he had done for us. I knew that
was only an excuse to keep me from feeling so much
in debt to him, but I let it go at that and never lost an
opportunity to show that I appreciated what he had
done.

I ought to mention, probably, my experiences as
a bar-keeper and manager of a poker game on the few
occasions when I was called upon to assume those
responsible positions. The bar was a broad plank
which rested upon supports and extended clear across
one end of the cabin. The bottles of whiskey and bowls

50 RECOLLECTIONS OF A PIONEER

of gold dust were kept on this plank. Mike sold noth-
ing and had nothing to sell but whiskey. When a
man wanted a drink he would hand me over his sack
of gold dust. I poured out the price of a drink in
the scale pan and put it over in the bowl. I then gave
him his drink and handed him back his bag of gold
dust. The poker game was not very hard to manage.
The players had their rules and kept their guns close
by to enforce them. This made everybody very cau-
tious about observing the rules and seeing that a fair
game was played. As long as the fellows remained
sober I never saw any trouble over these games. Some-
times a fellow would get drunk and try to start trouble
and he usually succeeded. We generally saved the
lives of such fellows by taking them immediately away
and putting them to bed.

About the 1st of May, Gleason, who had remained
at the camp all winter, and I rigged up a couple of
pack mules and went over to Trinity River, thirty
miles west. There we found quite a prosperous camp
where they were getting a good deal of gold. We each
took up a claim and went to work, and got quite a
quantity of gold. About the 1st of June, James and
William, who by that time were able to ride horse-
back, came over and they each took a claim. By the
1st of August we had worked these claims pretty well
out and decided to go on to Salmon River, forty miles
farther west. While we were at Trinity River, Alfred
Jack of near Camden Point, Platte County, came in
and joined us. He decided to go on with us to Salmon
River and we all packed up and started. The trip was
without incident, except that over toward the end of
our journey we came to an Indian village. We rode in
toward the village and as we approached we saw the
bucks all running away as fast as they could, leaving

GOLD MINING IN '49 AND '50 51

their squaws and pappooses behind. This was strange
behavior and we wondered what it meant. When we
got up to the village, we found a white horse which
they had just shot full of arrows. This looked a little
dangerous to us. We didn't know the meaning of this
conduct and took it to be a sign of war. We
passed on through the village, hurried after the Indians
and soon overtook them. We had our guns and plenty
of ammunition and were pretty well prepared for a fight
with them, as against their bows and arrows, though
they greatly outnumbered us. When they saw we were
prepared for them and knowing as they did that we
had not harmed their squaws and pappooses, they
came and told us that they had run away because
their dogs had run at sight of us. They didn't explain
why they had shot the horse full of arrows, but I have
always been of the opinion they intended to waylay
and kill us if they could.

We reached Salmon River late in the afternoon
and camped for the night. Next morning we took our
picks, shovels and pans and went out to look for gold
and found it. By noon when we gathered back at the
camp every man was satisfied to make permanent camp
and remain a while. We were the first in this immedi-
ate section of the country. Other parties were farther
up the river and still others farther down the river,
but we found no evidences at all that any white men
had ever been in this particular place. We seemed to
have a way of getting in ahead. We were in the lead
across the plains, among the first to reach Sacra-
mento, about the first at Shasta City, and Trinity River,
and actually the first on Salmon River. We were not
there long, however, until others began to come in,
and in a short time all the available locations for placer
mining were taken. We remained some six weeks, as

52 RECOLLECTIONS OF A PIONEER

I recollect, on Salmon River and panned out quite a
quantity of gold; enough to pay us well for the trip
but hardly as much as we anticipated we would
get when we left home, after hearing the reports
that came to us. Still we were satisfied and now that
we all had good health, had no complaint to make.
Some one who came into our camp on Salmon River
brought the word that our brothers were coming across
the plains from Missouri, and would get in sometime
in September. We decided to go back and meet them,
so we broke camp and went back to Shasta City. Here
we loaded our plunder into our own wagons which had
been left during our absence, and after procuring
our cattle from Redding's Ranch — so fat and sleek
we could hardly recognize them, we set out down Sac-
ramento River. The trip was made without incident.
It was the dry season of the year. There was plenty
of game, plenty for the cattle to eat, and no trouble
about fording the river. While we were in camp one
night at Knight's Landing, I put a sack of dried beef
which we called "jerky," under the back part of my
pillow to make sure the coyotes would not get it. In
this I was mistaken, for sometime that night a coyote
came up and helped himself and we had no jerky for
breakfast. My slumbers were not disturbed in the least
by the burglar.

A little farther down the Sacramento River, while
in camp one night, we were all awakened by an unu-
sual noise. The camp fire was burning dimly and af-
forded enough light for us to see, not twenty yards
away, a huge grizzly bear. He was sniffing around
picking up scraps of meat and bone which we had
thrown away. There was a good deal of quiet excite-
ment in the camp over the discovery of this guest, but
fortunately everybody had sense enough to keep still.

GOLD MINING IN '49 AND '50 53

The old fellow prowled about the camp for a long
time. Sometimes he would get right up by the fire
and then we had a good look at him. He paid no atten-
tion to us at all. Apparently didn't know we were in
the neighborhood. At least if he knew it, he didn't
let on. By and by, after satisfying himself that there
were no more scraps, he walked slowly away and we
could hear him rattling the bushes and crushing the
dead limbs and sticks that lay upon the ground for a
long distance. It was not until he had been out of
hearing for quite a long time that anybody dared to
speak, and then our first words to each other were of
congratulation. We hadn't had very much experience
with grizzly bears at that time and didn't know but
what the old fellow might have attempted to piece
out his meal on one of us. We were glad enough when
he decided to go and hunt up some more bones and
scraps and let us alone.

We reached Sacramento City about September
20th, and from there went up to Salmon Falls on the
American River, where we found our brothers, Isaac,
Zach and Robert, and quite a company of our Buchan-
an County acquaintances — Calvin James, Charles Ram-
sey and his family, Perry Jones, William Glenn, James
Glenn, and some others whom I do not at this moment
recall. Charles Ramsey's wife was the first white
woman I had seen since I left St. Joseph, May 2nd,
1849.

It was a great joy to us to meet these old acquaint-
ances and to feel that we were now not quite so lonely
out in that wild country. We all remained in camp at
Salmon Falls for several weeks. During this time the
boys looked around to see what they had better do.
Chas. Ramsey and Calvin James took up a ranch about
thirty miles west of Sacramento River on Cash Creek.

54 RECOLLECTIONS OF A PIONEER

The five brothers of us decided that the best thing we
could do was to take up a ranch also. We went over in-
to the same neighborhood and squatted on a body
of land. There was no law prescribing any amount
that each man could take, and the grazing land was
held largely in common. We had a good bunch of
cattle and horses of our own and emigrants were con-
tinually offering their teams for sale. Isaac, Zach and
Robert had brought considerable money out with them,
and James, William and myself had practically all the
gold we had cleaned up in mining, so we were in shape
to begin the cattle business on a pretty good scale. By
the first of December we had a fine herd of cattle,
all branded with our particular brand, grazing on the
pasture along Cash Creek.

We built a cabin close to the cabin that James and
Ramsey had put up, and staked out our ranch. There
were five men in the James cabin and seven in ours — '
six Gibson brothers and Eli Wilson. The whole valley
of Cash Creek as well as much of the valley of Sacra-
mento River, was covered with wild oats. Red clover
grew wild and there were many other grasses just as
good for cattle.

We had plenty of flour, sugar, coffee and such
other common groceries as were to be had in the mar-
kets at Sacramento. It had cost quite a sum of money
to get these provisions — I do not remember just how
much, but it was fabulous almost, and the only conso-
lation we got was out of the fact that we didn't have
to buy meat. We had our own cattle if we wanted
beef, but there was no need even for that when venison
was so plentiful.

It must have been sometime during the first of
December that we organized a hunt for the purpose
of laying in a good supply of meat for the winter. We

GOLD MINING IN '49 AND '50 55

rigged up ten pack mules, went to the mountains a
few miles distant and camped. From this camp we
conducted our hunting expedition and in a few days
had more than enough venison to last through the win-
ter. We killed elk, deer and antelope enough to load
our train. Part of this we took down to Sacramento
and traded it for other provisions. We felt that we
could get meat any time when we had to have it, but
might not be able to get other provisions, and that an
extra supply would make us feel more comfortable.

The grazing was fine all through the winter. The
climate, as every one knows, is not cold and the one
discomfort was the continued rain, but this had its
compensations. When the rivers and sloughs filled
up with water, the wild ducks and wild geese came
in to feed upon the wild oats. We had little to do but
look after our cattle and think about what we would
like to eat. If we decided in the morning to have
duck or goose, some one took the gun, went out and
brought back just what we had decided upon. The
rivers were full of the finest fish and they were
no trouble to catch at all, so when we wanted fish, it
was at hand. I have never lived at any place in my life
where I felt so sure of provisions as in that cabin
during that winter. We had four large greyhounds
that had come across the plains with some of the emi-
grants and we picked them up as company We
trained them to hunt bear — that is the bear soon train-
ed them. It was no trouble to get them to trail bear.
They seemed to do this by instinct, but seemed not al-
ways to be sure of the kind of animal they were after.
I judged this by watching them tackle the bear after
they had overtaken it. They would dash in with as
much confidence as if he were a jack rabbit or a coyote
and showed plainly that they proposed to take him in

56 RECOLLECTIONS OF A PIONEER

and annihilate him at once. They would also show a
good deal of surprise when the old bear would rise up
on his hind feet and box them ten feet away. They soon
learned to keep their distance and play with the bear,
keeping him standing on his hind feet, watching them
until we could come up close enough to get a shot.
That always ended it. Sometimes the bear would
take to a tree. In either case we always got him. These
dogs were great company for us. If we happened not
to want any bear meat, we would take the dogs and
chase jack-rabbits and coyotes. They were pretty
swift dogs, but it was seldom that they could pick up
a jack-rabbit, and rarely ever got a coyote on a straight
run, but we had as much fun and more probably than
if the dogs had been able to pick them up right along.
Thus passed the winter of '50 and '51 — as pleasant a
period as I recall during my whole life. By the spring
and early summer of '51 our cattle were fat and fine
and ready to be sold for beef. We peddled them out
to the butchers and miners along the Sacramento and
American Rivers. They brought us an average of one
hundred and fifty dollars a head. By the first of July
they were all gone and we began to look for emigrants'
cattle to re-stock the ranch. We supposed that emi-
gration across the plains would continue and in order
to get first chance at cattle that might be for sale, we
loaded up our pack mules, crossed the Sierra Nevada
Mountains, and went down Carson River to Humboldt
Desert. We were greatly surprised to find only a few
straggling emigrant trains coming in and most of these
were bent on settlement rather than mining and had
brought their families. Of course, they had no cattle
to sell. We waited until the latter part of July, and
when we became convinced that no cattle were com-
ing we had to determine the next best thing to do.

GOLD MINING IN '49 AND '50 57

The grazing of cattle had proved so much more
to our liking than digging gold that we wanted to con-
tinue in that business, but we couldn't do it without
cattle. We thought about the thousands of cattle back
in Missouri that might be had for ten or fifteen dollars
a head, and decided to return across the plains and
during the winter gather up a herd and take it back
the following summer. This plan seemed to suit best.
Brother William was not in the best of health and
didn't feel equal to the task of crossing the plains, so
it was agreed that he and Eli Wilson would stay with
the ranch and take care of things during the year and
that the rest of us would go back.

CHAPTER IV.
Back Across the Plains.

It was now close to the first of August, 1851. We
were camped at the western side of the fifty-mile
desert which gave us so much trouble on our way over.
We had packed provisions and equipment sufficient
only to take us across the Sierra Nevada Mountains and
back. We always allowed for emergency and put in
plenty. The question now was whether we were well
enough equipped to start on a long journey back across
the plains. We made an inventory of our stock of pro-
visions and supplies, and decided that we could make
it. Brother William and Wilson took only a small
quantity of supplies with them on their return journey.
They were going into a country where plenty was to
be found, and if they ran low, it would make no great
difference. With us it was different. We had no as-
surances that we could get supplies of any kind at
any point on the journey, at least not until we reached
the outposts near St. Joseph.

As already related, we had carried our supplies
from home on pack mules. We had no wagons or
oxen with us and had to arrange to make the entire
journey carrying our provisions and camp equipment
on the mules.

After getting everything ready we bade goodby
to brother William and Wilson, and started early in
the morning. We entered at once upon the fifty-mile
desert and traveled that day and all the following
night. Our mules made better progress than the ox
teams, and we reached the Carson Sink a little after
daylight where we found water. We also fell in with

BACK ACROSS THE PLAINS 59

four men who said they had started to Salt Lake, but
had heard from the passing emigrants that the Indians
were on the war path ahead and were afraid to go
any farther alone and were waiting for company.
We had heard the same story, so concluded their ex-
cuse for being there was a good one and that they had
no designs upon unwary emigrants. We sized them all
up and decided to take them into our company. Three
of them were brothers whose names were Kilgore. The
fourth was a German whose name I have forgotten.
They all lived in Iowa. They seemed very much fright-
ened at the idea of going on, and suggested that we
wait for further reinforcements. We told them we
had no time to waste and that we were going on and
they could join us if they wanted to. They finally con-
sented, rigged up their outfit and made ready. We
traveled up the Humboldt River over the old road
until we reached the head waters of that stream.
There were three roads open to us from this point.
One to Fort Hall on Snake River, a middle road which
had been blazed since we came over, called Hedge-
path's cut-off, and the South road to Salt Lake. We
took the Salt Lake road, though it was new to all of us.
We struck Bear River, about one hundred and fifty
miles from Salt Lake, crossed it and traveled down
the East side to Weaverville and then on to Ogden.
Here we rested a few days and had our mules and
horses shod.

The day after we camped, Brigham Young paid us
a visit. He asked us many questions, but we gave him
little satisfaction. We had ten thousand dollars in
gold with us and hadn't any confidence in the Mor-
mons, so we kept close watch. A day or two after this,
we took our mules and started to Salt Lake City. About
twenty miles out on our journey we met a large ve-

60 RECOLLECTIONS OF A PIONEER

hicle drawn by eight big white horses, a driver on top,
and a great many women and one man inside. I recog-
nized the man as Brigham Young, but said nothing.
A little farther on we overtook a man in the road and
I asked him who the man and all the women were that
we had met back on the road. He said it was Brigham
Young and twenty of his wives.

We made a short stop at Salt Lake. There seemed
to be but one road out of the valley in which the city
is situated and that led us south about ten miles, thence
east through a steep, rough canyon. It was at the mouth
of that canyon where the Mormons later built the wall
to resist the government soldiers. The road through the
canyon led us finally to the top of a high range of
mountains. Passing over this and down the eastern
slope, we came to Ft. Bridger on Black Fork of Green
River. We followed this stream down to the main
prong of Black River and went thence northeasterly to
Green River, thence up a prong of that river until we
reached the divide at South Pass. Here, after four
hundred miles over a strange road and over wild and
rugged mountains and deserts, we came again to the
Oregon Trail, and found a familiar road.

This portion of the road is now familiar also to the
reader. It led down Sweetwater, past Independence
Rock and Devil's Gate to North Platte River. Just
after we crossed the North Platte, we stopped for din-
ner. We had eaten our meal and were resting when
we saw what appeared to be a band of Indian ponies
back across the river and about a mile away. We could
not tell whether Indians were upon the ponies or not,
but there was little doubt in our minds but that there
were. We packed our mules hurriedly, saddled our
horses, and started on and had made but a short dis-
tance when three Indians came running up in our rear

BACK ACROSS THE PLAINS 61

on foot. They had dodged out from behind a boulder
somewhere along the road. They appeared to be quite
friendly. They said "How, How," and pointed to the
good grass along the road. By these signs we under-
stood that they wanted us to camp and were recom-
mending the place to us. All this time the ponies were
getting closer to us and all doubt that Indians were upon
them was removed. When the three saw that we were
not going to stop, one of them grabbed the bit of the
horse ridden by one of the Kilgore boys and attempted
to hold it. Kilgore threw his gun down at the Indian,
who loosed his hold and ran back. One of the three
during this performance dropped behind and raised
a sort of flag. At this the whole band of ponies start-
ed towards us and every pony had a red-skin on his
back lying close down to the pony's neck. They came
galloping as fast as the ponies could carry them and
in single file. As they came closer we saw that
they were all painted up in war style with black
feathers plaited in their hair. There must have been
twenty-five or thirty of them, and there were nine of
us — five Gibsons, three Kilgores, and the Dutchman.
This Dutchman rode in a little cart while the rest of us
were on horse-back. We had eight pack mules loaded
with our camp equipment and provision, and they had
to be taken care of.

We put the pack mules abreast and pushed them
directly ahead of us. The first Indians to reach us ap-
peared to be very friendly, as if they could deceive
anybody by that old ruse. They said "How, How," and
appeared to be very anxious for our welfare. Their
purpose in this, it was plain enough to see, was to al-
low their companions all to come up. When the last
of their party caught up they all set up a great yell

62 RECOLLECTIONS OF A PIONEER

and made a dash to get between us and our pack mules.
Every man in our company drew his navy and each
man pointed at a different Indian. We had the drop
on them. They had not drawn the guns which some
of them had or the bows and arrows which others car-
ried, and the first attempt to draw a weapon meant
a dead Indian and they knew it, so they halted and fell
back. As soon as they were out of the way we moved
up and formed a ring around the pack mules, facing
outward. This seemed to please them wonderfully,
for they started galloping around us, yelling and going
through all manner of ferocious maneuvers, but ap-
parently never getting in a position where they could
draw a weapon. As soon as we had surrounded our
mules, Zach and Robert slipped off their horses and
coupled all the mules together. This would keep them
from scattering out. In a moment the boys were back
in their saddles and back in the ring facing outward.
The Dutchman in his cart was outside of our ring. He
was very much agitated for a time for fear he would
get cut off from us and be taken by the Indians. He
managed to dash in, however, and get right close to
our line and stop his horse. This gave him a chance
to get out his double barrel shot gun which he car-
ried in the cart and get ready for action.

This milling and yelling, around and around, must
have kept up for ten or fifteen minutes. We didn't
want to kill any of them, but we didn't propose they
should get any advantage of us, and every man was
on guard. By and by, Robert and Zach, who faced the
road ahead, put spurs to their horses and broke
through the ring, Robert turning on the Indians to the
right and Zach to the left, each with a navy in each
hand and the bridle reins in his mouth. This caused
the Indians to break up the milling and hurry to the

BACK ACROSS THE PLAINS 63

rear in order to keep their forces together. At the
moment when they started back, two of our men put
whip to the mules and forced them out through the
gap as fast as they could gallop. The rest of us stood
firm and steady, holding our guns on the Indians. We
held them in this manner until the mules were well
out of the way, then turned and galloped after them.
We knew all the time that we had the Indians bluffed.
They couldn't get any advantage of us and they would
not fight in the open. They stood completely still af-
.ter we left them and continued to watch us as long
as we were in sight.

We made good haste that afternoon and traveled
late. By 6:00 o'clock we were twenty-five miles away,
and after supper we pressed forward until mid-
night. We counted that this put us a safe distance
away, but to make still more certain of our position,
we rode off from the trail about a mile to camp. At
daylight we were moving again and the next day at
noon reached Ft. Laramie. Perhaps this haste and
forced marching were all unnecessary, but in dealing
with the Indians, it is a good idea to put just as much
distance as you can between yourself and them. Ft.
Laramie offered us the first real security we had known
since we crossed the Continental Divide. The whole
territory, especially between Platte River and Ft. Lara-
mie, was infested with the worst bands of Indians then
known to emigrants, and many trains had been rob-
bed and the members killed on this portion of the
journey.

We found sixty thousand Indians at Ft. Laramie
to draw their pay from the government. All were
camped across the river north of the Fort. As we left
Ft. Laramie we rode over and stopped for our mid-day
meal. They gathered around us, made signs, tried to

64 RECOLLECTIONS OF A PIONEER

swap ponies with us and pretended to be, and were in
fact at that time, very friendly with us. I remember an
amusing incident that occurred at this time. Brother
Isaac had a little Spanish mule which he offered to the
Indians for a pony. The Indians asked if the mule was
gentle. Isaac told them it was perfectly so, and in order
to prove it, he jumped upon the mule bareback and
with nothing but a halter to control it by. The mule
had carried a pack all the way from Sacramento, but
this was a new experience. He immediately bowed
his back, stuck his head down between his knees, and
began bucking. In a twinkle, Isaac was rolling ten
feet away in the sand. I never saw anything give as
much delight as this gave the Indians. They whooped
and yelled and kept it up. Now and then it would
subside and then break out again. We joined the In-
dians and laughed as heartily as they; everybody en-
joyed it but brother Isaac. It was like most funny
things, no fun at all to somebody.

About 2:00 o'clock we started down North Platte.
The soldiers warned us to look out for scouting parties
of Indians, and our own experience told us this was
good advice. We met with no trouble, however, and
reached the mouth of South Platte in good time. On
this ride from Ft. Laramie to South Platte I think we
must have seen hundreds of thousands of buffalo.
They were so tame they would hardly give us the road.
We had all the good buffalo beef we wanted every
meal. A while before camping time, one of our party
would ride ahead, pick out a good place where water
and fuel could be had. He would then ride out to the
closest buffalo herd, pick out a fat yearling, shoot it,
and have it ready when we came up. It was short
work to make a fire, make our bread, make the coffee
and broil a fine buffalo steak. I have never enjoyed

BACK ACROSS THE PLAINS 65

any meals in my life more than these. There was only
one trouble about this method of getting our meat—
the wolves kept us awake most of the night
fighting over the carcass. In order to avoid this we
usually dragged the carcass out of hearing of the camp.
On the trip down from Ft. Laramie we noticed one
day a great herd of buffalo far in front of us and a
little to the right of the trail, which seemed to be graz-
ing on the hillside in a circle. As we came nearer
we made out the situation more clearly. Hundreds of
them grazing, heads outward, formed a complete
circle in which there must have been a thousand little
calves all lying down. On the opposite hillside a half
mile away, we saw about twenty savage wolves watch-
ing the herd. The buffalo were watching also. They
knew the wolves were there and they were protecting
their calves against them.

When we reached Ft. Kearney we learned that the
Indians on Little Blue were on the war path, so kept
on down Platte River fifty or sixty miles farther, and
then passed across the country where Lincoln now
stands, and reached the Missouri River at old Ft. Kear-
ney, where Nebraska City is now situated. We crossed
the Missouri River into Iowa and thence down the
east side of the river. About the middle of the after-
noon one day, we crossed the Missouri line, journeyed
on to night, and went into camp without a guard, the
first in three months. We passed Jackson's Point and
Oregon, in Holt County, and reached Jimtown, Andrew
County, where we stopped for the night with Drury
Moore, a cousin of ours, and slept in a bed, the first in
three years. Next day we reached home.

We rode up, driving our pack mules loaded with
blankets, bread pans, frying pans, coffee pots, tin cups,
and sacks of provisions; hair and beard long and un-

66 RECOLLECTIONS OF A PIONEER

kempt and tanned as brown as Indians. Mother, sister
Mary and brother Isaac's wife were the only members
of the family at home and they came out on the portico
of the house to watch us. They were not expecting us
for two years, and of course, thought the caravan they
saw belonged to strangers. When we began climbing
off our horses and fastening the pack mules to the
fence, they fell back into the house. We hitched, got
over the fence, and walked up to the door without be-
ing recognized. In fact, we had a real hard time con-
vincing them that we were really ourselves, and I am
not very much surprised that they should not have
known us. The dirt, sand, wind, sun and the grimy life
we had led for more than six weeks without a shave
or a hair cut was enough to disguise us.

We reached home about the middle of September,
1851. It was a delightful thing to be at home once
more, but in order to carry out our plans we had little
time to spare during this season of the year. Prairie
hay grew in great quantities on the old farm and it
was now in perfect condition to be cut and cured. We
rested only a day or two, then sharpened up the scythes
and went to work. We cut and cured twenty or thirty
tons of this hay in order that we might have something
to feed the cattle on as we collected them together.
After this was done, we had a good long period of rest.
Christmas came and we entered into the fun with the
young folks. I think I shall never forget this winter
at home.

About the first of January, 1852, we began buying
cattle and kept it up throughout the remainder of the
winter. By the first of May we had five hundred and
fifty head collected upon the old farm ready to start.

CHAPTER V.
Across the Plains With Cattle.

The first days of May found us on the banks of
the river at the mouth of Black Snake. Most of the
men went along with the first load of cattle ferried
across the river. As the cattle were driven out on the
farther shore, the men corralled them and held them
on a sand-bar to await the slow process of bringing
the whole herd across. Elwood bottom at that time
was a perfect wilderness of timber with only an Indian
trail leading through it out as far as Peter's Creek.
After much delay, the last of the herd was ferried over
and then came the wagons, oxen, horses and mules.

There were twenty-five men in charge of this
drove of cattle. Each man had a horse, and besides
this, we had a number of mules. We took three wagon
loads of provisions and had four yoke of oxen to each
wagon. This comprised the outfit.

The Indians occupied the land on the Kansas side
of the river and they came down to see us cross. They
were peaceable and harmless, and did not mean to give
us any trouble. They would come up close to the trail,
and stand and stare at the cattle, and this was about
as bad a thing as could have been done. I don't know
why it is, but cattle never liked Indians. The whole
herd would pass a white man without paying any at-
tention to him, but if an Indian stood by the
wayside where the cattle could see him, he would
create a great commotion, and frequently, unless the
greatest care was observed, a stampede would follow.

68 RECOLLECTIONS OF A PIONEER

The cattle were not used to traveling, and we ex-
perienced our greatest trouble the first week out. We
had not only the Indians to contend with, but we had
to break the cattle to drive, and the brush and timber
were so thick that every man in the company had to be
on the watch to keep from losing some of the herd. The
men were as green as the cattle, and with all these hin-
drances we made slow progress the first period of our
journey. At the end of about a week or ten days, and
after we had reached the high prairie, things began to
settle down. The men learned their duties and the
cattle had apparently been as apt as the men. They
understood exactly what was before them when the
start was made in the morning. One of our company
always rode ahead and it was a pretty sight to see all
the cattle break away from grazing and start out after
this leader as soon as the men began to crack their
whips and call to them.

We made no haste. The grazing was good and the
water plentiful, and we wanted our cattle to get in as
good condition as possible before they reached the
desert part of the journey. Ten or fifteen miles a day
was counted a good day's drive. At this rate, there
was plenty of time for grazing and rest. The new men
with us were impatient to go faster, but those of us
who had been over the journey knew too well the
trials ahead to permit haste on this part of the
road. We wanted to save our strength in order that
we might make haste across the mountains and the
alkali that lay between us and the end of our journey.

At Little Blue we overtook a train lying in camp,
and learned that Cholera had broken out, and that
several deaths had occurred. An old man by the name
of Frost came out to where we were and said he had
been waiting for us; that he had heard we would

ACROSS THE PLAINS WITH CATTLE 69

be on the road this year, and when misfortune and
sickness overtook his train, he decided to wait for us.
He lived on Grand River, and his son had died of the
Cholera, and we wanted to take the body back home.
He said he had enough of the plains and didn't care to
spend the remainder of his days amid such hardships.
He had forty head of choice dairy cows and asked us
to buy them. We told him we had no money for that
purpose with us. He said he didn't want the money,
if we would give him our note it would be good enough
for him. We accordingly gave him a note for six hun-
dred dollars and he turned his little herd over to us.

Brother Isaac decided to return with Mr. Frost
and wait until he heard from us, and if we succeeded
in getting our cattle through without difficulty, he
would bring another herd the next year. Within a
week after Isaac left, brother William, who had made
the trip home by way of Panama and New York, over-
took us with a drove about equal in number to ours.
We combined the two and all moved together, thence-
forth throughout the journey.

I may anticipate a little here and say that after
arriving in California, we sent the money back to take
up our note given for the forty cows. It reached our
father and he communicated with Mr. Frost, paid him
the money and took up the note. It was pretty slow
business, but it was accomplished without difficulty.

When the two herds of cattle and two companies
of men were joined together, they made quite a cara-
van. A good many Buchanan County boys made the
trip with us, among them were James and Russell
Deakins, Joe and Sebastian Kessler, Rufus Huffman
and a man by the name of Streeter, who went along as
cook in brother William's company. There were many
others, but I cannot now recall their names.

70 RECOLLECTIONS OF A PIONEER

We journeyed without incident that I now recall
until we reached Plum Creek, which I have described
in the account of my first trip out. Close to this place
the wolves attacked our cattle one night and caught a
fine cow and a heifer, and before we could relieve them
tore their flanks so dreadfully that they both died.
The bellowing of these two raised the whole herd and
came near creating a stampede. It was a very
dark night. The entire company got out upon horse-
back and rounded up the cattle, and kept galloping
around them the remainder of the night, firing their
guns to frighten away the wolves. It is a wonder we
didn't have more trouble with wolves than we did.
The buffalo had all gone south and had not returned,
and the wolves were savagely hungry and would attack
most anything that offered them a chance of securing
food.

We kept our course on up the Platte, taking every
protection against wolves and Indians, and finally
reached a point just below the junction of the two
rivers. Here we decided to try a new road. We would
not go up the South Platte as we had gone on our pre-
vious trip, but would cross the river and follow up the
North Platte. We spent half a day sounding the
bottom of the river and found we could cross by rais-
ing our wagon beds about ten inches. The banks of
the stream were low, but the water was running nearly
bank full. By the middle of the afternoon we had the
wagon beds all raised and the banks spaded down and
ready for the start. We hitched ten yoke of cattle to
one wagon and drove in with five men on horseback
on each side of the cattle to keep them straight. This
wagon crossed over in good shape and the oxen were
driven back and a second wagon taken across the same
way. As the last wagon crossed, we pushed the whole

ACROSS THE PLAINS WITH CATTLE 71

drove of cattle, a thousand in all, after the wagon. The
loose cattle traveled faster than the work cattle and
began to bunch behind the wagon and around the oxen
until we could not tell the work cattle from the loose
ones, except by the yoke. The loose cattle crowded
on, more and more of them gathering about the wagon
until I began to think our work cattle as well as the
wagon were in great danger. We took quick action to
relieve the situation. I ordered fifteen or twenty of the
boys to rush right in, and with their whips force the
loose cattle away from the oxen. They cut and slashed,
whooped and yelled, and finally got in alongside the
wagon and the work cattle. They then forced the oxen
as fast as they could to shore and drove them out safe-
ly on the opposite bank. This left the loose cattle with-
out any guide as to their course across the river. The
current was running swiftly and the cattle wandered off
down the river, sometimes getting beyond their depth
and finally when they reached the bank, it was in many
places so steep they could not climb out. It was a pret-
ty serious situation for a little while, but by and by
through hard work and much racing of the horses, we
got them all out on the opposite shore and rounded
them up about sundown.

Next morning we started on our slow journey up
North Platte and moved on day by day, passed Fort
Laramie, and a few miles above it struck across
the mountains along the old trail most of us had
twice traveled. Scenes were familiar along this
route by this time — Fremont's Peak in the distance
to the north, Independence Rock and Devil's Gate,
and farther on South Pass, which divides the waters
of the Atlantic from the Pacific.

Green River was past fording. A couple of men from
the east somewhere had constructed their wagon beds

72 RECOLLECTIONS OF A PIONEER

of sheet iron made in the shape of flat boats and had
left home ahead of emigration and when they reached
this river, unloaded and set their wagon beds on the
river and were ready for business. They set our wagons
over at five dollars per load, and we swam our horses
and cattle after them. We chose the old trail over
which we had gone in forty-nine, as better than the
Hedgepeth cut-off, and so we passed Soda Springs and
Fort Hall, thence down Snake River to mouth of Raft
River, up Raft River and over the divide to the Hum-
boldt, down the Humboldt, over the desert and across
the Sierra Nevada Range, and down on the other side.
Every spot seemed as familiar to me as my father's
door yard, but the most vivid recollections came when
I passed the old pine tree at Weaver Greek under which
I lay sick for ten days in forty-nine.

We crossed Sacramento River on a ferry at Sacra-
mento City and went forty miles southwest into the
Suisun Valley, nearer San Francisco Ray than our first
ranch. We stopped a few days on Charles Ramsey's
ranch until we could locate grazing land of our own.
Ramsey was a son-in-law of Calvin James, and, as here-
tofore related, had brought his family with my brothers
on their trip out in 1850. He built a pre-emption house
in a black-haw patch where Easton, Missouri, now
stands. After his arrival in California in 1850, he took
up a ranch in Suisun Valley and passed the remainder
of his life there.

After resting a few days at Ramsey's, brother
James and I went back east about ten miles to Barker
Valley and located a ranch, and returned for our cat-
tle. Our first thought was of the cattle and after they
had been provided for, we thought of ourselves. We
put up a substantial cabin to shelter us from the rainy
season, and then built a large corral by cutting posts

ACROSS THE PLAINS WITH CATTLE 73

and setting them deep in the ground, and binding the
tops together with rawhide. We then dug a deep ditch
around it, after which we were sure it would hold a
grizzly bear. Our ranch proved to be on land claimed
by Barker, a Spaniard, who lived about ten miles away,
but he gave us no trouble. He had a little village of
Spaniards around him and about fifty Digger Indians
who were his slaves. They were quite friendly, and we
all worked together looking after the cattle.

By the time all preparations had been made for
winter, the season was pretty well advanced. Through
it all, we had not had time to lay in a supply of venison
for the winter or to enjoy a good hunt. After every-
thing else had been done and we had rested a few
days, we rigged up our pack mules and started for the
mountains. I have already described the abundance
of game in this country, and on this hunt we found no
exception. Deer, antelope, elk and bear in plenty. We
had to watch also for California lions, wolves and wild-
cats. They were abundant also. We were gone on this
hunt about a week. Had a camp in which we assem-
bled over night and brought in the results of our day's
work. It was great fun to sit about a big camp fire and
re-count the experiences of the day. We secured all
the venison we could possibly need for a long period
of time, and with it set off to our cabin to spend a
winter very much the same as we had spent a previous
winter farther up the valley.

Our only diversion was with the gun and the dogs.
Wild fowl was still abundant, and we had the choicest
meats whenever we wanted them. I remember dur-
ing this winter that a large herd of elk were driven
out of the swamp by the water, and into an open valley
near our cabin. The dogs sighted them and made
for them. They singled out a monster buck and

74 RECOLLECTIONS OF A PIONEER

he took to the water to battle them. The dogs were
plucky and swam in after him, but they had little
chance, as the water was beyond their depth, while he
could easily stand on the bottom. As the dogs would
approach him, he would strike them with his front
feet and plunger them under. We watched the pro-
ceedings for a few minutes and soon saw that our
dogs would all be drowned if we let the buck alone,
so one of our boys rode in and shot him with his re-
volver. We dragged him out and dressed him. He
was a monster, and must have weighed as much as 800
pounds. His antlers were the largest I have ever seen.

CHAPTER VI.
A Bear Hunt.

By March, our cattle were fat, and we began
marketing. A bunch of dairy cows shipped across
San Francisco Bay to San Francisco brought
two hundred dollars a head. A month later we took
over one hundred beef cattle and sold them to Miller
and Lucks for one hundred dollars per head, and at
various intervals throughout the spring months, we
culled out the fattest cattle still on hand and took them
over, receiving for all of them prices ranging from sev-
enty-five to one hundred and fifty dollars per head.

Our plan was to stay in California during this sum-
mer, and we congratulated ourselves that we were to
escape the burning plains. We had very little to do,
had plenty of money and plenty to eat, and I believe
every man in the camp was pretty well satisfied with
California.

Late in the fall, as was our custom, we organized
another hunt. I would not mention it but for an
incident that occurred out in the mountains which
may be interesting. The party consisted of my
brothers, William, James and Zack, Joe and Barsh
Kessler, and myself. We reached a good place to camp
late one evening and pitched our tent. Some of the
boys went to work about the camp, others took their
guns and went out to look for camp meat and found
it. One of the boys brought down a nice deer, and
brought it in in time for supper. Next morning the
party was up bright and early, and took off in various
directions to look for game. We had not been separat-
ed a half hour until I heard the guns popping in vari-

76 RECOLLECTIONS OF A PIONEER

ous directions. I was crawling along the side of a
gulch making my way up the mountain, and had con-
cluded luck was against me. Shortly after I had made
this reflection, I heard the sound of brother William's
gun, which I knew very well, off to my right and
across the canon. Then I heard a dreadful growling
and howling and knew that William had wounded a
bear. In a moment I heard a second shot, but the
growling continued. I ran down the side of the gulch,
crossed the ravine at the bottom, and started up the
other side when I saw farther up the mountain a
big grizzly making his way slowly along sniffing,
growling and plowing through the wild oats that cover-
ed the side of the mountain. I was satisfied it was the
bear that William had wounded, and I knew it
was not safe for me to get very close to him. However,
I was then in safe quarters, and I decided to move on
to a position where I could get a shot that would bring
him down, and, if I could not do this, it was my plan to
keep him in sight so I could direct William, who was on
horseback, how to follow him. In passing through the
brush and undergrowth, however, I lost sight of the
bear. I stopped and listened, but could hear nothing.
I was in fairly open ground and could see some dis-
tance away, and as the bear was quite a distance ahead,
I decided to move cautiously along. I really
thought the bear had gone over the mountain. I mov-
ed "slowly and as I approached fairly well to-
ward the top, I noticed a thick bunch of weeds off at
a distance, but it did not occur to me that the bear
had stopped there. However, I continued up the
mountain, intending to leave the weeds to my left.
I slipped along until I got opposite the weeds, and
there to my great astonishment, I saw the bear
not thirty yards from me. His eyes were set upon

A BEAR HUNT 77

me and his hair all turned the wrong way. I then
thought for the first time how indiscreet I had been.
I had only one chance, and I took that in a hurry.
I dropped my gun and started down the moun-
tain for a scrubby tree which stood about sixty
yards away. When I started to run the bear took af-
ter me. I ran with all my might and as I passed under
the tree, I jumped up and grabbed the lower limb and
swung myself up. The bear came growling and plow-
ing down the mountain, and raised on his hind feet,
and grabbed my boot with one of his paws just as he
passed under me, but the ground was so steep and his
momentum was so great that it forced him on down
the side of the mountain beyond me. This gave
me time to go up the tree as high as I could, though
it was so small that I could not feel very secure. The
bear came back growling and snarling, and came up
to the tree, stood up on his hind feet with his paws
around the tree, and tried to reach me. I was not
over five feet above him, but he could not reach me.
I pulled off my hat and threw it upon the ground.
He growled and fell back after it, and tore it all to
pieces. This seemed to satisfy him for he did not come
back to the tree any more, but stood looking around
for a while and then walked away. He went on up the
side of the mountain, perhaps a hundred yards, and
crawled into a thicket of chapparal brush and laid
down. I called William as loud as I could but got no
answer. I called again and again, and finally he heard
me. The first thing he said was, "Look out, there is a
wounded bear up there." I called back to him and
told him it was gone, but he didn't understand me. He
said, "Get back, get away from there, there is a wound-
ed bear in the weed patch right by you." I answered

78 RECOLLECTIONS OF A PIONEER

and told him to come on up, and he did so. He seem-
ed surprised to see me in a tree, but I soon related my
experience and pointed out the chapparal brush in
which the bear was lying.

I had had a pretty narrow call, but I was not
willing to give up without the bear. The question was
how could we get him. I would not risk getting down
and walking up to the brush patch. One experience
of that kind was enough. There was a tree standing
a few yards from the thicket, and after looking the sit-
uation over a while, I told William to go and ride be-
tween the tree and the brush, and keep a close look-
out, and I would get down, run to the tree, climb it,
and go out on a limb that extended toward the brush
where I thought perhaps I could see to get a shot. He
said it was a little dangerous, but I told him I was will-
ing to give the old bear a dare anyway, that he had
caught me off my guard the first time. We waited
quite a long time and heard nothing from the bear, so
William concluded to try it. He rode around up the
side of the mountain between the brush and the tree,
and made considerable noise, but the bear lay still.
He called me, and I climbed down, ran as hard as I
could, and was soon up the other tree and out of
danger. This was a large tree and gave me plenty of
protection. After I was well up the tree, I pointed out
where I had dropped my gun and William went and
got it. He said he had hard work to find it, as it was
almost covered with wild oats straw and dust which
the bear had dragged over it in his chase after me.
The gun was father's old Tennessee rifle and as true
a weapon as I ever used.

William handed the gun up to me and I examined
it to see if it was all right. I then climbed high up in
the tree and went out on the limb that extended toward

A BEAR HUNT 79

the brush. From this point I had a good view down
into the thicket and I soon located the bear. I laid my
gun across a limb and drew a bead on his head. At
the crack of the gun he straightened out and began to
tremble and kick, and I knew the fight was over. His
struggles dislodged him from his position on the steep
mountain side and he tumbled over and over down
the slant to the bottom of the gulch. He looked as
big as an ox, but not half so dreadful to me as when I
was scampering away from him an hour before.

We dressed him and went to camp. The other
boys were there and each had a story to tell. Ours
was of big game and easily carried away the honors.

We put in a week or more at this camp and had
a good time and got any quantity of venison. Every-
thing was so free, the air and water were so pure, and
the wild tent life so fascinating that I often think of
those days with delight.

Shortly after our return from this hunt, Joe Kessler
and I loaded our pack mules and started back across
the Sierra Nevada Mountains to meet brother Isaac, who
was about due with his drove of cattle from across the
plains. We had heard nothing from him since he left
us the summer before, but he had told us he expected
to get a herd of cattle and come. We met him on
Carson River, and as I recall now, there were a number
of Buchanan County boys with him — William James,
John Sweeney and John Bridgeman were three that I
recall. They had some eight hundred or a thousand
cattle, and had crossed the plains without any very
great difficulty, except the suffering and hardship from
the drouth and alkali which could always be expected.
We got the cattle across the mountains and on the
ranch without difficulty and turned the poor things
out to rest and get fat.

80 RECOLLECTIONS OF A PIONEER

We remained on the ranch and in the cabin until
everybody was well rested and then Bridgeman and
the other boys who had come out with Isaac, began to
talk about a hunt. They had heard our bear and deer
stories and wanted some experience of their own.

I .must tell one thing that occurred on a hunt that
was planned for these boys especially, although I have
previously related at considerable length my hunting
experiences. We had been out in the camp a day or
two and had not had much luck, especially with bear;
but one afternoon while we were all moving along
pretty close together and somewhat contrary to our
ordinary methods of hunting, we ran on to two brown
bears just as they were going into a dense thicket
covering about twenty acres of ground. We had no
chance to get a shot before they went in. We immedi-
ately surrounded the thicket and posted men at con-
venient distances apart, and began an effort to dislodge
them. In spite of the danger of doing so, some of the
boys went into the thicket and made a great noise
which drove the bears to the farther side and
gave the boys on that side a fair chance for a
shot, but they did not get them and the bears ran back
into the thicket. The same tactics drove them from
one side of the thicket to the other for an hour or
more, and nobody was able to make a telling shot. By
and by both got away, and everybody was deeply
chagrined — especially the boys who were out for the
first time.

We moved away from the thicket and down
the mountain side, all still much excited, and
stopped to rest in a little glade that was almost com-
pletely surrounded by thick brush. There was not a
loaded gun in the crowd. As we sat there talking, a
grizzly bear that looked as big as an old gray mule,

A BEAR HUNT 81

walked out of the brush not twenty steps away. He
raised up on his hind feet with his paws hanging down
to his sides, dropped his lip and showed his teeth. I
don't think I ever saw a crowd of men so badly scared.
They jumped and ran in every direction. The closest
tree stood between where we were sitting and the bear.
Sweeney made for it.

He was beside himself. He tried to climb the tree
but lost his hold and fell back. He tried again, but the
tree had a smooth trunk and he slipped again. He
slid down until he sat flat upon the ground with his
arms and legs locked around the tree. Here he lost
his head completely. His desire to get up the tree had
evidently placed him there in his own imagination, for
he called out: "Hand me my gun up here! Hand me
my gun up here!" He then said, "Why in the hell
don't you boys climb a tree?"

I stood perfectly still and kept my eye on the bear.
I soon saw there was no danger in him; that he was as
badly scared as we were. He stood a moment, dropped
on his four paws to the ground, wheeled and went
tearing back through the brush. I told the boys he
couldn't understand what they were doing and took
their conduct to be preparation for a great fight, and
that I didn't blame him for getting scared. If the
devil himself had seen them and hadn't understood that
they were scared, it would have frightened him.

When we got over our scare, we loaded our guns
carefully and started for camp. The boys were still
excited and as we passed over the stream which flowed
at the bottom of the canon, we saw where a bear had
apparently, but a few minutes before been wallowing
in the mud and water. The mountain sides were steep
and rough and covered with brush, and our boys after
their recent fright, were in almost as much terror at

82 RECOLLECTIONS OF A PIONEER

this evidence of nearness to a bear as they were when
they could actually see him. The experienced mem-
bers of the party looked into the situation for a mo-
ment and decided that we would probably get this
gentleman. We climbed back up the canon, every now
and then loosening a big rock and rolling it down
through the brush. By and by we routed out a brown
bear. He started up the mountain on the opposite
side of the gulch and in plain view. I gave him a
sample of what my Tennessee rifle could do and sent
him rolling back to the bottom of the gulch ready to
be dressed.

We remained in camp a week or two on this hunt
and everybody, as usual, enjoyed it. We went back to
the cabin where six Gibson, brothers lived together.
The cattle were little trouble, and there was
nothing to do most of the time but loaf, and this didn't
suit us after so much activity. We soon began to
plan for the succeeding year. The cattle were not
much trouble and two men could easily take care of
them. James, Zack, Robert and myself volunteered to
return to Missouri and bring another herd out next
year, leaving William and Isaac in charge while we
were gone.

CHAPTER VII.
Home by way of Panama and New York.

About the first of November, the four of us left
the ranch for San Francisco. There we bought four
tickets for New York for eight hundred dollars, and
each man belted a thousand dollars in twenty-dollar
gold pieces around him. Our ship was the John L.
Stephens, and carried about a thousand passengers,
besides a large quantity of freight. It was my first ex-
perience on the water, and as we sailed out through
the golden gate and into the open sea, I had many mis-
givings and wished myself back upon the plains among
the Indians. But in a little while I grew accustomed
to life on the ship and really enjoyed the whole trip.
At some point on the coast of Old Mexico the ship an-
chored and took on board a drove of beef cattle, and
that was the only stop between San Francisco and Pan-
ama.

When we reached Panama the ship anchored
about a mile from shore and little black natives row-
ed out in small boats to carry the passengers in.
When the boats reached the side of the ship, they were
hoisted by ropes to a level with the deck, loaded with
passengers and lowered again to the water. The na-
tives grabbed the oars and away we went. All pas-
sengers remained in Panama over night, and next
morning a train of pack mules was lined up for the
overland trip. We rode twenty miles on mules to the
Charges River, then down the river in boats twelve
miles and then eight miles by railway to Aspinwall.
The ship, George Law, was waiting for us, but it re-
quired two days to get all the passengers and baggage

84 RECOLLECTIONS OF A PIONEER

across the isthmus and loaded. During that time we
remained in Aspinwall. It was a wonder to me that
the task could be finished so quickly. There were a
thousand passengers — many women and children — and
the sick who had to be carried on stretchers by the na-
tives twenty miles over the mountain to Charges River.
Besides, the road was a mere pack trail through rocks
and cliffs, often very steep and very rough. To make
the task more difficult, the passengers of the George
Law — about as many as were on the John L. Stephens —
were making the trip in the opposite direction to take
our ship back to California. Those were busy days for
the natives.

The George Law steamed right up to shore against
a rock bluff and the passengers walked directly over
the gang plank on to the ship. When all was ready
the seamen hauled in the cables and we sailed for New
York. The sea was very rough all the way — that is, it
seemed so to us. We landed at Key West, but re-
mained there only a few hours and stopped next time
at New York City. As the passengers started for shore
the captain told them to look out for their pocket books.
We had done that back in San Francisco when we put
on our belts.

Our first thought on landing was clothing. We
were dressed for summer time, as the climate we had
been in required, but it was winter in New York, with
deep snow on the ground. The afternoon after land-
ing saw us duly provided with plenty of warm cloth-
ing and tickets by railroad and boat to St. Louis — rail-
road by way of Buffalo, Toledo and Chicago to Quincy,
and from Quincy to St. Louis by boat. At St. Louis
brother Robert was taken sick and we all remained
there a week. The usual course from St. Louis home
was by stage, but we met a man named Andrew Jack-

HOME VIA PANAMA AND NEW YORK 85

son from Holt County, who told us if we would pay
him stage fare — twenty-five dollars each — he would
buy a span of mules and a carriage and drive us through
— as he needed both the mules and the carriage at
home. This arrangement was made and we left St.
Louis about the middle of December. The weather
was very cold, snow a foot deep or more, and the roads
very rough in many places. One pleasant thing about
the trip was that we always had good, warm lodging
places for the night along the road. Towns were close
enough together to enable us usually to reach one of
them and put up at the tavern, but if we failed in this,
we always found good treatment at the farm houses
by the way.

A few miles west of Keytesville, Chariton County,
we put up one night with a man named Tom Allen,
who had a hundred head of steers ranging from two
to four years old. They were exactly what we wanted,
but were so far from our starting point that we were
uncertain whether we could take them. He asked
three thousand dollars for the herd. Next morning
we looked them over carefully, and told him if he
would keep them until the first of April we would
take them. He agreed to this and we paid him a thous-
and dollars down and continued our journey. He was
a complete stranger to us and we to him, but in those
days men seemed to have more confidence in one an-
other. No writing of any kind was entered into and
we felt not the slightest uneasiness about getting the
cattle.

We reached home Christmas day, 1853, having
made the trip in less than two months.

CHAPTER VIII.
Another trip across the plains with cattle.

From Christmas until the middle of March, 1854,
the time passed rapidly, with mother and father and
with visits to old friends and acquaintances. On April
first, according to contract, we arrived at Tom Allen's
in Chariton County, and paid him the balance of two
thousand dollars — in gold — and got our hundred head
of cattle, all in good condition. As we passed Bruns-
wick, we bought one hundred more and attempted to
ferry the whole herd across Grand River in a flat-boat.
We cut off a bunch and drove them down the bank
on to the boat. They all ran to the farther end of the
boat and sunk it, and the cattle went head foremost
into the water. All swam back to the same shore,
but one steer. He swam to the other side and ran
out into the brush. We could do nothing but watch
him go and gave him up for lost. A strange thing hap-
pened in regard to that steer. Just a year later, I
found him on our ranch in California — the same
marks and the same brand, besides my recollection
of him. There could be no mistake about it. I can
account for his presence there easily, for at that time
many men were driving cattle across the plains. Some
one found him and drove him along and, .after arriv-
ing, as ranches were large and unfenced, he wander-
ed with other cattle up into our ranch.

After the unsuccessful attempt to ferry the cattle
over the river we changed our plan and drove them
twenty miles up the river to a point where it could
be forded. Passed Carrollton where we picked up a
few more cattle, and came on up to John Wilson's in

ANOTHER TRIP ACROSS THE PLAINS WITH CATTLE 87

Clay County, gathering a few here and there until we
had three hundred head. Wilson had a herd of one
hundred which we bought. These four hundred with
two hundred purchased around home completed the
herd. By the last day of April we had six hundred
head in father's pasture at home, thirty head of horses
and mules, two wagons loaded with provisions — four
yoke of cattle to each wagon — and twenty men employ-
ed to go with us. As we laid the pasture fence down
to let that drove of cattle out into the wide world,
every man had to be on his guard. It was a timbered,
brushy country and very hard to drive the cattle with-
out losing them. There were probably fifty of our
neighbors on hand to see us start — many of them on
horse-back — and they gave us much assistance. By two
o'clock next day we had everything across the river at
St. Joe and the cattle herded on a sandbar above
where Elwood now stands. After starting off the sand-
bar we had the same trouble in the heavy timber and
with the Indians that we experienced on the first trip,
but finally got out on the high plains with horses, cat-
tle and men fairly well trained, and then considered
our hard work finished, although two thousand
miles of plains and mountains were ahead.

Brothers James, Zack and Robert all started to ac-
company me on this trip, but, as it was unnecessary to
have so many along, James and Robert returned after
we had reached Big Blue, to gather up a herd for the
following summer, and Zack and I continued the jour-
ney. I was considerably older than Zack, and the
principal responsibility fell to me. The cattle were
very valuable, but, in addition to that, I felt in a meas-
ure responsible for the lives of the thirty persons who

88 RECOLLECTIONS OF A PIONEER

accompanied the train — at least, in any conflict with
Indians, I would be depended upon for counsel and
guidance.

I shall not attempt to give the details of this trip.
The road is now familiar to the reader, and I hope also
that, by this time, he can appreciate the tediousness of
such a journey. He may be aided in this if I say here
that we hadn't a pound of grain or hay with us, either
for the horses and work cattle or for the herd, but all
of them had to subsist by grazing. It was impossible,
therefore, to make more than a few miles a day and
it was only by determined persistence and a display
of patience that I cannot describe, that we ever ac-
complished the journey. There are a few incidents,
which, in addition to the ordinary hardships, served to
make the trip still more tedious and trying, and these
I will mention.

One night we camped on a high, rolling prairie
out beyond Little Blue. The cattle were grazing peace-
fully and the horses and mules — except those used by
brother Zack and myself and by the guards — had been
picketed out, and everybody in camp was asleep. One
of the mules pulled up his picket stake and dragged it
at the end of a long rope through the camp and caught
the picket stake in the bow of an ox-yoke. This fright-
ened the mule and he ran into the herd of cattle still
dragging the yoke. A stampede followed. Work cat-
tle, horses and mules — everything — and the noise sound-
ed like an earthquake. The guards could not hold
the cattle at all. Zack and I, who kept our horses sad-
dled and bridled and tied to a wagon, were out in a
moment, but we could give little assistance to the two
guards in managing the crazy cattle, and the other men
could not come to us for their horses had gone with
the cyclone. It was very dark and our only guide to

ANOTHER TRIP ACROSS THE PLAINS WITH CATTLE 89

the location of the cattle was the roar of the ground.
After a race of a few miles the roar ceased and we
knew the cattle had checked. We rode in front of
them and held them until daylight. They were badly
scattered and exposed to wolves and Indians. It was
twelve o'clock next day before we got them rounded up
and ready to start forward. All the cattle and horses
were found, but one of our mules was missing. No trace
of him could be found anywhere, so we left him alone
somewhere on those plains for the Indians or the
wolves, or possibly, for a succeeding emigrant train.

Day by day and week by week the journey con-
tinued without incident, until we reached a point high
up on the North Platte. We camped one night upon the
banks of a small stream that emptied into the Platte,
and during the night a terrific hail storm came up.
Shortly after it broke upon us, one of the guards came
and said the cattle had gone with the hail storm, and
the guards could do nothing with them. Several of us
were on our horses and after them at once. A flash of
lightning now and then helped us to find the main
bunch, which we rounded up on a sand-bar in Platte
River. No more sleep that night. When daylight came
the hail lay two inches deep on the ground. I never
experienced such a hail storm in my life, and it is my
opinion that but few like it have ever visited this coun-
try.

The count that morning showed thirteen cattle
missing. For fear of a mistake we went forward and
strung them out between us and counted again. Still
thirteen short. To leave them without further effort was
out of the question, so I picked five men — James and
Russell Deakins, Joshua Gidlett, Buchanan County
boys, and Tom Sherman and Henry Marks, two boys
from Boston who joined our train at St. Joseph, and,

90 RECOLLECTIONS OF A PIONEER

with our guns and blankets and a small amount of pro-
visions, started back to circle the camp and look for
tracks leading away. I thought the Indians had them
and told the boys we would likely have to fight, but all
were willing to go. Zack was to move the train slow-
ly forward until he heard from us.

We did not search long after reaching the place
where the cattle had been grazing when the storm
came up, until we found tracks leading to the north,
and by appearances we were able to conclude that
there were just about the number we had lost in the
bunch that had been driven away. We followed the
tracks a few miles, looking all the time for Indian
tracks and pony tracks, and could see neither, but
there were numbers of what appeared to be dog tracks.
This suggested wolves, and I began to look closely at
the tracks made by the cattle. Going up the sides of
the sand hills the cattle seemed to remain together,
but going down they would separate and run, and on
level ground would get together again and all circle
around and wander back and forth. At such times
we had great difficulty in tracing them. The move-
ments of the cattle convinced me that wolves were af-
ter them.

The tracks led us to the north about ten miles
and then turned westwardly. We had followed in that
direction about five miles when night came. As soon
as it grew so dark we could not see the tracks, we
staked out our horses, ate a lunch and spread our
blankets down on the ground. We rested, but slept
little. We had seen no Indians, but did not know how
many had seen us, and might be following us. Two
stood guard at a time while the other three lay on the
ground in the darkness with their eyes wide open. At
daybreak we were up, and as soon as it was light were

ANOTHER TRIP ACROSS THE PLAINS WITH CATTLE 91

on the trail again. Some miles on the tracks turned
south, and this gave us courage, as Platte River and the
emigrant road lay that way, but the wolves still had
our cattle. The tracks led us on and on and finally
up the side of a high range of sand hills, from the top
of which we could see the valley of North Platte and
the river far in the distance. We followed down the
opposite side into the valley, and when within about
two miles of the river I saw a bunch of cattle lying
down near the bank. I was confident they were our
cattle, unless other emigrants had lost a bunch in the
storm, which was not probable. We hurried on and
when within half a mile of the cattle found a carcass
lying in the high grass and twelve or fifteen savage
old wolves lying near by asleep. We pulled our navies
and waked them up with bullets — killed three and
wounded several others. We then rode on and found
that the cattle were ours — twelve of them. A three
year old heifer missing — the carcass we had found.
The cattle were sore and gaunt, but otherwise unhurt.
We pulled the saddles off our horses and staked them
out to graze and lay down for a little rest. We had
been gone from camp twenty-four hours, had had but
two scanty meals and were . probably twenty-five or
thirty miles farther up the trail than the camp we left.
Our train had not passed, as there were no fresh tracks
on the trail, and we decided to endure our hunger and
rest awhile before starting to meet it. In about an
hour, however, I looked down the valley and saw the
train moving slowly along. It reached us just about
noon and all were greatly rejoiced. The noon meal
was prepared and I think my tin cup of coffee was
the best I ever drank.

92 RECOLLECTIONS OF A PIONEER

The train moved on without incident until we
reached a point on North Platte some seventy-five
miles above Fort Laramie, where a spur of the moun-
tain, or rather a very high bluff, prevented us from
following the river, as had been our purpose on this
trip, and forced us across ten miles or more of rocky,
mountainous country. When I entered my train upon
that part of the journey I calculated there would be no
obstruction, as no emigrants were ahead that I had
heard of, and I knew no cattle trains were ahead of
us. I rode in front always and the lead cattle follow-
ed close to my horse's heels. Always the same cat-
tle, three or four in every herd, insisted on being in
front, and if left in the rear as the train started out in
the morning, they would crowd through the herd and be
in front within an hour; then came the whole drove
and then the wagons, followed by the loose horses and
mules. Strung out in this fashion we started across this
portion of the road, which in many places permitted
only one wagon and team and not more than four cattle
side by side. I led the long, winding string to the top of a
mountain, and from that point I could see a line of
dark objects a quarter of a mile long approaching us.
I looked closely and determined it was Indians, and
passed word to that effect back along the line. The
men rushed to the wagons and got their guns, and by
the time they had returned to their places I had made
out that the Indians were moving and that we need not
fear attack, as Indians never fight when the squaws
and pappooses are along, but I was surprised at the lit-
tle comfort I received out of that assurance. The puzzle
to me was how to meet and pass them without stam-
peding the cattle. Cattle do not like Indians. They do
not like their looks and they do not like their smell,
and it is hard work to get them to pass a band of In-

ANOTHER TRIP ACROSS THE PLAINS WITH CATTLE 93

dians on the broad prairie where they have plenty of
room to shy. To pass on this narrow road was out of
the question. I stopped to think and to look. Some
distance ahead, but closer to us than the Indians, I saw
what appeared to be a cove or basin, almost complete-
ly surrounded by high bluffs and opening upon the
road. I rode hurriedly forward, beckoning the men
at the same time to push the cattle after me. When
I reached the mouth of the basin I stopped and
turned the cattle into it. Little more than half the
herd had gone in when the Indians came up. The
cattle began to hoist their heads and shy, but the
Indians did not stop. I rode back a few paces and
met them, bowed and said "how-do" as friendly
as I knew how, and made signs that I wanted
them to stop. They seemed not to understand until
I pointed to the cattle, still hoisting heads and tails,
and when crowded forward, jumping to the side and
running into the basin. When they saw this the whole
train stopped. Our cattle and wagons and loose horses
all came up and turned in — the men standing along the
roadside to see the Indians pass in their turn. When
everything was safely lodged in the receptacle, which
it seemed to me Providence had designed for just such
an emergency, I turned, took off my hat and bowed
long and low and rode aside. The Indians bowed in
return and passed on. We stood by the roadside and
saw the whole caravan pass. There were probably five
or six hundred of them — a tribe of the Crows. The
long tent poles were tied one on each side of a pony,
the ends dragging on the ground behind with a plat-
form or base joining them, on which the tents and
skins and such rude camp equipment as they had were
piled. The shorter tent poles were tied one on each
side of a dog, with baskets resting on the rear ends in

94 RECOLLECTIONS OF A PIONEER

which the pappooses were hauled or dragged along.
Everything turned loose — not a halter or strap on dog
or pony — all herded or driven like cattle. They were
nearly an hour in passing us, and the men who were
on the plains for the first time thought it an amusing
experience. It required but a short time, after the
movers had passed, to get our cattle out and start them
on the road again, and, by night, we had passed over
the mountains and were back on the river. A double
guard kept watch that night, as we feared a band of the
bucks that had passed us might come back and try
to get some of our cattle, but the moon shone very
bright, and as our whole force had stood by the road-
side with guns across their saddles, they probably
thought such an attempt would be useless.

Our train moved on slowly, passed Independence
Rock and over the continental divide and down into
Green River Valley. When we reached Green River we
rounded the cattle upon a sandbar and forced them
all into the water at once. They got to milling around
and round and going down the swift current, until we
thought they would make the rest of the journey by
water, but they soon found the water too cold for their
enjoyment and headed for the farther shore. All got
out but one.

We took Hedgepeth's cut-off and reached the head
waters of Humboldt without difficulty, thence down this
river mile after mile, through sage brush and
grease wood and alkali shoe mouth deep. As the cattle
passed, a dense, black cloud rose above them, almost
stifling men, horses and cattle. At night the men were
black as negroes and complained of sore throat and
sore lungs, but there was no escape. Big Meadows, as
I have heretofore described it, afforded a delightful
resting place just between the dense alkali and the

ANOTHER TRIP ACROSS THE PLAINS WITH CATTLE 95

sixty-mile desert. But for this oasis, I may call it,
where rest and food and water could be had, it is
doubtful if herds could have been taken across the
plains. Certainly a different trail would have been
required.

With all our precautions the trip across the sixty-
mile desert was a very hard one. The weather was hot.
Not a drop of water nor a blade of grass for thirty
hours. When the cattle caught sight of Carson River late
one afternoon they went wild. No power could hold
them. They ran headlong into the river and next morn-
ing five were dead. After the long march across the sand
and alkali, the trip up Carson River and over the Sierre
Nevada mountains was an easy one, and we made it
without difficulty. Going down the opposite side we
had to pass through great forests of pine timber, and
the cattle, after being so long upon the treeless plains,
seemed not to understand this and gave a great deal of
trouble. One night we camped near Leake Springs
in a heavy body of pine, quieted the cattle and had
them all lying down, as we thought, for the night.
Something frightened them, and away they started,
right across our camp and back toward the top of the
mountain. At the first sound of the stampede we
jumped to our feet, whooped and yelled, threw our
blankets in their faces and tried in every way to stop
them, but they paid no attention and came crashing on
through the brush. We were compelled to get behind
trees to protect ourselves, and after the tornado of cattle
had passed, gathered our horses and took after them.
They were all strung out on the road, running as fast as
they could, and we had to pass them by making our poor
jaded horses outrun them. It was no easy task, and
the leaders of the bolt for home were some fifteen
miles away before we overtook and passed them. It

96 RECOLLECTIONS OF A PIONEER

was almost daylight when we succeeded in doing this,
and it required most of next day to gather all of them
up and get back to camp. Not a man had a morsel to
eat until we returned to camp. We decided to keep
moving slowly throughout the entire succeeding night,
as the best means of preventing another stampede and
in order to get out of the timbered mountains and into
the valley where the cattle were not so apt to get ex-
cited. Early next day we reached the valley and
stopped. Horses, men and cattle took a good rest.
This stampede jaded both horses and cattle more than
crossing the sixty-mile desert, hard as that was.

After a day's rest we pulled on and passed through
the mining district of Weaver Creek and American
River, and reached Sacramento River at Sacramento
City, crossed the river on a ferry and camped for the
night on the farther bank. No guard out that night—
the first in four months — and the boys went up to see
the sights of the town. Human tongue can hardly tell
the relief I felt when I could lie down and
sleep without fear of Indians or wolves or stampedes.
A better set of men than I had with me never crossed
the plains, always ready for duty and to help me out of
trouble. It was about thirty miles out to our ranch and
I told the boys if they would go out with me I would
board them as long as they wanted to stay. About half
of them went and the others began to look about for
themselves. It was an affectionate farewell that took
place between us, and in all the years that have passed
I have never seen many of those boys, but I shall never
forget them.

We reached the ranch without difficulty and
turned the cattle loose. The poor things had been
traveling so long and had become so accustomed to it

ANOTHER TRIP ACROSS THE PLAINS WITH CATTLE 97

that we had to watch them every day for nearly a
month. They seemed to think they had to be moving,
and after grazing awhile in the morning would string
out on any road or path they could find and sometimes
get miles away — the old leaders always in front — be-
fore we would discover them. After awhile we got
them convinced that their journey had ended and that
grass belly deep was a reality which they might actual-
ly enjoy.

CHAPTER IX.
Sojourn in California.

The fall of 1854 and the winter and spring of 1855
were not unlike our previous winters in California.
There was but little to do except watch the cattle to keep
them from straying. Hunting was about the only diver-
sion and game was still plentiful. Grass was abundant
all through the winter and the cattle fattened rapidly.
During the spring and summer months we marketed
all that were in proper condition, still receiving excel-
lent prices. About the first of August brother Zack
and I rigged up our pack mules and started back to
meet James and Robert who had turned back the year
before to gather up another herd and bring it across
the plains during the summer. We passed over the
mountains and reached the sixty-mile desert, which
was about two hundred and fifty miles back on the
plains from our ranch. In all the year we had heard
nothing from home, and the only information we had
that they were on the road was the promise they made
us as they left our train the year before.

We camped just at the western edge of the desert
and during the night a train pulled in off the desert.
We inquired of them next morning whether they had
.seen or heard of Gibson's train. They said they had
passed it somewhere on Humboldt River, but could not
give the exact location. They also told us the Indians
had killed one of the Gibson boys. They did not know
which one — had just heard of the circumstance as they
passed. This sad news was a great blow to us. We
broke camp hurriedly and started across the desert,
weighed down by the sad reflection that we would

SOJOURN IN CALIFORNIA 99

meet only one of our brothers — both equally dear, not
only from boyhood association and ties of kindred, but
from association in hardship across the dreary plains.
We carried our weight of sorrow all that day and all
the following night, across the barren sand, and at day-
light we could barely make out Humboldt Lake in the
distance. Upon closer approach we saw a large herd
of cattle just being rounded up preparatory to the
start across the desert. We hurried forward, hoping
it was the train we were looking for, and yet fearing to
know the truth of the rumor we had heard. A few mo-
ments dispelled our doubts. It was Gibson's train and
Brother James was alone with his cattle and his men.
Robert, our mother's baby, seventeen years old, was
the victim. Brother James, with tears streaming down
his sunburnt face, related to us the manner of his death
at the hands of treacherous Indians, and the train halt-
ed on the threshold of the desert long enough for us to
hear the story and dry the tears from our eyes.

He said one day while on their journey over the
mountains between Fort Laramie and the higher wa-
ters of North Platte, and while the herd was moving
forward in order, he rode ahead to locate a camping
place for the night and left Robert in charge.
He had been gone but a short time when six Indians
came up to the train and in their way inquired for the
captain. One of the men told them he was in the rear.
They rode back and when they reached the men in
the rear turned their ponies and rode along with the
train some distance. Robert, who, though only seven-
teen, had made four trips across the plains and under-
stood the Indians, told the boys to watch them as he
thought they were up to mischief. He feared they in-
tended to get between the wagons, which were travel-
ing close up behind the cattle, and loose horses and

100 RECOLLECTIONS OF A PIONEER

mules, which were in the extreme rear, and cut them
off, so he dropped back and motioned the men who
were driving the horses and mules, to close up and at
the same time stopped the wagons. He had the stock
driven around the wagons, thus placing them between
the cattle and the wagons, leaving the wagons in the
extreme rear. He then took his place alongside the
cattle. All this time the Indians had said nothing, had
simply followed along with the train. The show of
authority was what they were waiting for. They evi-
dently could not believe the boy they saw was in fact the
captain. As soon as Robert took his place by the side of
the cattle three of the Indians rode up by his side and
began to jabber and make signs. The other three rode
up behind him. One of the three behind had an old
army musket and while the three in front engaged
Robert the one with the gun rode up very close and
shot him in the back. He fell from his horse and was
dead in an instant. The Indians whirled and galloped
away as fast as their ponies could carry them. One of
the boys rode forward to notify Brother James and met
him returning at full speed. He had heard the report
of the gun and knew by the sound that it was an In-
dian's gun, and that it meant mischief of some kind.
As soon as he returned to the train he mounted ten
men and armed them and started after the Indians.
After following about five miles he came in sight of
them. About the same moment the Indians spied him
and laid whip to their ponies. They were making for
the mountains, but soon saw they would be overtaken
and turned in the direction of the river. A hot race
followed with the white men gaining all the time, but
the Indians reached the river and plunged their ponies
in. They had hardly reached the farther shore when
James and his men were upon the bank. They fired

SOJOURN IN CALIFORNIA 101

at them but the distance was too great for the shots to
take effect. The party thought it unwise to cross the
river in pursuit, as it might be difficult to recross and
all this time the cattle and the train were insufficiently
guarded, so they turned and made their way back,
conscious that had they overtaken the Indians and
slain them all such an act could not have restored Rob-
ert to them, and their hearts would still have been
heavy with their loss.

When they returned to the train the boys had
rounded up the cattle and were standing guard over
them and the dead body. Nothing could be done but
move on, but what was to be done with Robert's body?
James said to attempt a burial where the wolves and
coyotes would dig the body up was out of the question,
and then he could not bear the idea of leaving him
alone on those desolate mountains. So he put the
body in one of the wagons and carried it forward two
days journey, where they came to a trading post on the
upper crossing of North Platte kept by an old French-
man. There they procured a wagon box which they
used for a coffin and buried him the best they could
and protected the grave from wolves. James, learning
that the Frenchman intended to go back to St. Joseph
in about two months, employed him to take the body
back with him and gave him an order for five hundred
dollars in gold on Robert Donnell. I may as well re-
late here that the Frenchman kept his promise, brought
the body back and got his money, and that Robert now
lies buried in the old family cemetery in Tremont
Township. I learned this on my return, and that
mother identified the body by examining the toes,
one of which Robert had lost in an accident when quite
a little boy.

102 RECOLLECTIONS OF A PIONEER

Although the story was a sad one and our hearts
were very heavy, still we could not tarry with our grief.
The cattle must cross the desert and reach food and
water beyond. James asked if we had had breakfast.
I told him we had not — that we had traveled hard all
night, but that we had a camp outfit and would pre-
pare something after the cattle had started across the
desert. When the train was under full way, we stir-
red the coals of their camp fire, threw on some grease-
wood brush and soon prepared bread and meat and
coffee. The mules browsed on grease wood and we
rested a couple of hours and then started after the
train. All that day and all the next night — a steady
drive, only now and then an hour's halt for food for
ourselves and rest for the cattle. By eleven o'clock the
following morning we were on Carson River, and glad
we were, too. Zack and I had crossed over, taking
twenty-four hours and back thirty hours — fifty-four
hours without sleep or rest except two hours at the
end of our first journey. In all my travels, and I look
at it now after more than fifty years, with the exper-
iences of the Civil War intervening, I have never seen
a place so beautiful as Carson River and valley, not
because it is more picturesque or naturally more en-
chanting than many places I have seen, but because
it was so welcome with its cold mountain waters and
fresh green vegetation after our weary journeys across
the barren desert, and I never thought it more beau-
tiful to behold than on this, my last visit.

Men, cattle and horses all took a good long rest,
but the train was up and many miles on the road be-
fore Zack and I awoke and followed. Two weeks more
and the cattle were safe on the ranch and we were

SOJOURN IN CALIFORNIA 103

off duty once more, and as events transpired, off the
plains for all time — after nearly seven years of almost
constant hardship.

During the fall of 1855 and the spring of 1856 we
marketed off the fat cattle. Sold Graham and Henry
of Georgetown five hundred head to be delivered
fifty head every two weeks. Georgetown was a mining
camp one hundred miles northeast of our ranch. Our
cattle were scattered over our own ranch and the
ranches of Phillips, Wolfscale and Barker, and were
well mixed with their wild cattle and horses. It rained
almost constantly. The plains were boggy and the
streams full of water. We had no time to lose and
were in the saddle almost day and night, if not on the
road to Georgetown, then rounding up and sorting out
the cattle. We delivered the first fifty head on the fif-
teenth day of October and the last on the first of
April, and were glad when our task was over.

The summer following passed without event
worthy of mention. In the fall we sold Graham &
Henry three hundred more cattle to be delivered in
the same manner as the first, and had much the same
experience, except that our work did not last so long.

In the fall of fifty-seven, we sold our fat cattle and
dairy cows to Miller & Lux, wholesale dealers in cattle
in San Francisco. Delivery there was not so difficult.
Our ranch was but twenty miles from San Francisco
Bay, and after a drive to the shore of the bay the cattle
were shipped across to the city. In the spring of eigh-
teen hundred and fifty-eight, Brother Isaac withdrew
from the business and returned to Missouri. We gave
him fourteen thousand dollars in gold and deeded him
sixty acres of land in Tremont Township, Buchanan
County, for his interest. We continued the business
through the year 1859 as partners. Brother William

104 RECOLLECTIONS OF A PIONEER

remained with us, but had his own cattle and kept
them on our ranch. Zack and I still had about one
thousand head of stock cattle, and during the year, we
bought several lots both of stock cattle and heifers.
One bunch of a hundred heifers we turned over to
James Glenn and Barsh Kessler, Buchanan County
boys, to keep three years and breed for us, with the un-
derstanding they were to have half of the increase as
pay for their trouble. Another bunch of fifty heifers
was turned over to Perry Jones, another Buchanan
County boy, on the same terms.

Toward Christmas we heard that our mother had
died. This left our old father alone on the farm with
the negroes, and we decided to leave our cattle in the
care of Jones, Glenn and Kessler and go back and visit
him. It was too late in the season to attempt the
plains. The hot, dry summer on the plains had
parched and withered the scant vegetation that had
grown in the spring and early summer, and the exces-
sive cold and accumulations of snow in the higher alti-
tudes, rendered a trip by land almost impossible in
winter, so, much as we disliked the trip by water, we
decided to make it. I will not attempt to relate the
incidents of this trip, as they were unimportant. There
was, besides, little to distinguish it from the first voy-
age over the same route, which I have already de-
scribed.

After reaching home we remained with our father
until the first of May, when the start back overland
must be made. It was decided that one of us must re-
main with father, and as Zack and I were in partner-
ship and William was alone in his business, the choice
of remaining at home lay between Zack and myself,
as either of us could easily care for our cattle. I gave

SOJOURN IN CALIFORNIA 105

the choice to Zack and he decided he would go, and he
and William, accordingly, rigged up our outfit and
started.

I took charge of the farm at home and with the
help of the negroes, managed it through the season,
and thus relieved father of all worry and responsibil-
ity. He had his horse and buggy and a black boy to
care for it and drive him about the farm and over the
neighborhood. Everything moved along in the usual
way and I had a pleasant and restful summer — not so
much restful from work, but restful compared with the
excitement and over-exertion incident to a journey
with cattle across the plains. I congratulated myself
upon the choice Zack had made and was preparing
for a year or two more of peace and quiet, but the
death of my father the following fall left me alone
with the farm and negroes. I remained with them
throughout the winter, lonely and unpleasant as it was
without my father, and planted and harvested most of
the crop in sixty-one under many trying conditions.
Stirring public events which began with the breaking
out of the war interrupted my farming operations,
and my part in them will furnish the material for sev-
eral succeeding chapters.

CHAPTER X.
Beginning of the War.

Shortly after the beginning of the war, Elijah
Gates organized a company of southern boys, and most
of my neighbors enlisted for six months. They wanted
me to join them, but I said "no." I had been in camp
for ten years and had some idea of the hardship of a
soldier's life. I knew my place there on the farm
would give me a far better opportunity to take the
rest I felt to be so needful after my years of activity
on the plains and in camp, and I could not be easily
induced to leave it. Besides, I could not believe that
a terrible war was upon us, and for a long time I had
great faith that wise counsel would prevail and some
reasonable adjustment be made of the differences be-
tween the North and the South.

Gates' company and the regiment to which it had
been assigned left home with a great flying of colors,
but notwithstanding my expressed sympathy with the
South, this did not tempt me and I remained at home
with my crop. I took no part in the wild talk that
could be heard on every hand and paid close attention
to my own business, but I soon found that I would not
be permitted to live in peace. The Southern boys had
no sooner left for the front than the opposition began
to pour in around me. My sentiments were well
known — in fact I had never tried to conceal them, be-
lieving that a man in this country had a right to his
opinions, but no man could point to a hostile word
uttered by me. Notwithstanding this, those who were
not willing to allow me to hold my opinions in peace
began to harass and threaten me. I endured it until

BEGINNING OF THE WAR 107

about the first of August, when I saddled my horse,
buckled my navies around me and started alone to
join the Southern army. I rode to Liberty where I ex-
pected to fall in with a company that I had heard was
being organized, but it had gone. I met a man from
St. Joseph by the name of Walter Scott, who was like-
wise disappointed at arriving too late for the company,
and he and I set out together to join Price in Arkan-
sas. We rode slowly along, stopping at night at farm
houses and talked little to anyone about our plans.
When within about ten miles of Springfield we stopped
for the night with a man who told us that Lyon's army
was at Springfield and that Price was camped at Wil-
son's Creek, about ten miles southwest of Springfield.
I knew there was going to be a fight, and I slept
little that night. It came sooner than I expected, for
about sun up next morning we heard cannon off to the
southwest. We sprang out of bed, and without wait-
ing for breakfast, saddled our horses and galloped
away. I knew Gates' company and my neighbors were
in the fight and I wanted to help all I could. We had
no trouble finding the way as the cannon and muskets
were roaring like loud thunder and the smoke was
boiling up out of the valley like a black cloud. We
guessed right that Lyon had advanced out of Spring-
field and was between us and Price's army, but we
hurried on expecting to take care of that situation
after getting closer to the battle. When within a few
miles of the battle ground the firing ceased and short-
ly afterwards we saw Federal soldiers coming toward
us. We galloped away from the road and hid behind
a cliff of rock and watched them go by. They were
completely disorganized. Every man was pulling for
Springfield in his own way, from five to fifty in a
bunch, the bunches from one to three hundred yards

108 RECOLLECTIONS OF A PIONEER

apart. Some had guns, some had none. Some had
hats, some were bare-headed. Every battery horse car-
ried two and some carried three — all hurrying on. We
finally grew tired, and at the first opportunity dashed
across the road between squads and made our way
along a by-path toward the battlefield. We had not
gone far until we met wounded men trying also to
make their way back to Springfield. Some would walk
a short distance and get sick and lie down by the
roadside and beg for water. Some would hobble on
in great misery, stopping now and then to rest. Others,
and the more fortunate it seemed to me, had crawled
off in the brush and died.

In advancing we found it would be necessary to
cross the main battlefield in order to reach Price's
camp which was located down on the farther side
of Wilson's Creek. Here we found the dead lying so
thick that we had to pick our way and then often had
difficulty in going forward without riding over a dead
body.

We reached the camp and asked to be shown to
Gates' company. All were glad to see us and made
many inquiries about home and families and friends.
They were just cooking breakfast. William Maupin
apologized for their late breakfast by saying that
"Pap" Price had called upon them very early to do a
little piece of work and they had just finished it and
that had delayed their breakfast. I told them what I
had seen on the road down and up upon the battlefield,
and asked how their company had fared. They told
me that one man, George Shultz, was shot through the
head the first round and that was the only loss their
company had sustained. This was the tenth day of
August, 1861.

BEGINNING OF THE WAR 109

Next day I helped bury the dead Federal soldiers,
and when this was done Price moved his army up to
Springfield, as the Union army had in the meantime
gone back to St. Louis. We remained there some two
or three weeks. During my stay, Mrs. Phelps, the wife
of Colonel Phelps, who commanded a regiment in
Lyon's army at Wilson's Creek, and who had gone with
the army to St. Louis, called on General Price for pro-
tection. She lived about two miles east of Springfield,
and by the way, if I remember correctly, General Ly-
on was buried out at her place. Price sent Gates
with his company, and as I had joined that company, I
went along. We remained there as long as Price was
camped in Springfield and took good care of her
premises.

Price decided to go north and this greatly pleased
the boys. He had no army — just a lot of boys who
furnished their own horses, guns, ammunition and
blankets and most of the time their own provisions.
He had little, or at least he didn't attempt to have
much, discipline. We elected our own lieutenant, cap-
tain and colonel by vote, and General Price seemed en-
tirely satisfied so long as we were all on hands when
there was any fighting to be done.

When we reached Little Osage River on our way
north, Price went into camp and next day sent Gates
out on a scout. Gates went in the direction of Fort
Scott. We traveled about fifteen miles and came with-
in a short distance of the Fort where we found two
soldiers herding a drove of horses and mules on the
grass. Lane was in Fort Scott with a large force, but
evidently he had no idea Price was anywhere near for
he had no pickets out. We made a run for the horses
and mules and took them and tried to get both men,
but one of them got away. We knew he would report

110 RECOLLECTIONS OF A PIONEER

and that would give us trouble. If we could only have
secured both men we could have had the entire herd
in our camp before Lane could have discovered that it
was gone. We determined to do our best and get
away if possible. Each horse and mule had a long
rope attached to his neck which dragged along be-
hind and this gave us much trouble and prevented fast
traveling, as the horses stepped on the ropes and
checked their speed. We got some four or five miles
away and when on top of a high hill we looked back
across the prairie and saw what appeared to be about
two thousand mounted soldiers coming in hot haste af-
ter us. Gates had but five hundred men. The ground
was hilly and Gates picked a few men and sent them
on with the horses. He then stopped half his men
just over the turn of the first hill, dismounted them
and detailed every fourth man to take the horses
further down the slant and hold them. The remainder
lay flat dowrn on the ground. The other half of his
company he sent over beyond the next hill with direc-
tions to follow the same course. When our pursuers
were a little more than half way up the hill coming
toward us, we arose and fired into them. Lane dis-
mounted his men and threw them in line of battle. By
that time we were on our horses and gone. They
could not see that we were gone and approached the
top of the hill with great caution. This caused delay
and that was what we wanted. When they found we
were gone they mounted and followed. When about
half way up the next hill the other half of our com-
pany gave them another round and, as they feared we
intended this time to make a stand, they again dis-
mounted and prepared to fight. They were again dis-
appointed. This was kept up for several miles. When
we first saw we were pursued a courier was sent to

BEGINNING OF THE WAR 111

Price, but before Price could rally his army and reach
us Lane gave up the idea of recovering his horses and
went back to Fort Scott. We had one man wounded
in the arm.

We all returned to camp on Little Osage and next
morning broke camp and started off as usual. I did
not know the plan, but when Gates' company was
placed in front and led off over the same road
we had traveled the day before, I knew an attack
on Fort Scott was in mind. When about ten miles
out we came to the top of a hill overlooking a wooded
valley with a small dry creek running through it. We
could see a long distance across the valley into the
prairie hills beyond, but could see no sign of soldiers.
The whole force halted and Gates was directed to go
forward across the valley and through the timber,
which I judge was nearly a mile in width. We passed
down the hill and went very cautiously through the
woods, but neither saw nor heard anything to arouse
suspicion. On reaching the farther side of the timber
we stopped and got off our horses to rest and allow
them to graze. The whole company was entirely off
guard and the boys were talking and laughing and
having a good time, when suddenly cannon and mus-
kets began to roar behind us.

We soon saw what had happened. The Federal
troops lay concealed in the timber and on discovering
that we were but an advance guard, allowed us to pass,
guessing aright that Price, after allowing us time to
pass through, would, if we were not molested, move
his main force forward. Price had followed us and
the guns we heard were the beginning of the attack
upon him. In a moment every man was in the saddle.
We dashed back through the timber and found that
Lane had advanced and attacked Price in the open

112 RECOLLECTIONS OF A PIONEER

and while in the line of march. We could see some con-
fusion, and it took a good while to get the men up out
of the line of march and in a position to fight. Bled-
soe's battery, however, was in action and Lane's men
charged and captured it, wounding Bledsoe. Presently
two regiments came up and recaptured the battery.
By that time a second battery had come up and
opened fire. We were still in the rear of Lane and in
great danger from our own men. We picked a time
when everybody on both sides seemed to be engaged
and started around to the right of Lane and up the
crest of a long ridge that led to the top of the hill.
When about half way to the top a company of cavalry
started up a little valley to our left to cut us off. We
had the best horses and a little the advantage in dis-
tance. Besides we were going toward our own army
and getting safer all the time, while the company pur-
suing us was all the time getting closer to danger. We
hoped they would follow until a company of our men
could cut in between them and their main force, but
they were too cautious for that and abandoned the
chase. We galloped around, reaching our forces just
as the fight was over.

When our whole force was brought up and placed
in fighting line the situation got too severe for an
army with a good shelter behind it, so Lane's men
broke ranks and started for the timber. They made no
attempt to rally and come again, but went directly on
to Fort Scott. The road was dry and the dust fogged
up through the timber like a black cloud and made
a good target for our batteries. Lane lost more men
and horses in the retreat through the timber than in
the main fight. Price crossed to the opposite side of
the valley and camped for the night. Next morning

BEGINNING OF THE WAR * 113

very early he sent a scouting party with directions to
ascertain as far as possible the probable strength of
the forces in Fort Scott. The party found the place
completely evacuated and so reported. Price made no
attempt to follow, but continued his journey to the
north.

CHAPTER XL

The Battle of Lexington.

When within a few miles of Warrensburg, we
learned that a portion of Mulligan's force was camped
there. We camped for the night and next morning
discovered that the detachment had gone during the
night to join the main force at Lexington. Gates was
ordered to follow them. We traveled all day on a
forced march, and when within a short distance of
Lexington were fired upon from both sides of the road
from behind corn shocks. We hastily dismounted and
commenced shooting at the corn shocks. The firing
from behind then soon ceased and the men hurried
away towards Lexington. We followed, but as we were
then less than a mile from the town we thought it un-
wise to go too close until our main force came up.

Next day Price came up and made his headquar-
ters in the fair ground just south of town. We camped
there three days picket-fighting but getting ready all
the time to attack Mulligan behind his breast-works.
We had to mold our bullets and make our cartridges
and when sufficient ammunition had been prepared
we were ready. We marched up and were met at the
edge of the town where the fighting began. We
marched down the sidewalks on each side of the streets
with a battery in the center of the roadway. Mulli-
gan's men fought well and kept the street full of mus-
ket balls, but when the battery would belch out its
grape shot they had to go back. I well remember, that
at every opportunity we would jerk the picket fences
down and go in behind the brick walls to shun the bul-
lets. When the end of the wall was reached we had

THE BATTLE OF LEXINGTON 115

to step out on the sidewalk and face the music. They
made a great effort to keep us out of town before they
went behind their breast-works, but they had to go.

When Mulligan reached and went behind his for-
tifications we closed in and surrounded him except
upon the side next the river. Price sent a regiment up
the river and one down the river. They charged and
captured those portions of the breast-works which pre-
vented us from getting to the river front and thus in
their rear. This was done late in the evening and
Gates' regiment lay on the hillside behind a plank
fence all night to prevent a recapture. They made sev-
eral attempts during the night but failed each time.

The warehouses were full of hemp bales, and next
morning we got them out and rolled them up the hill in
front of us — two men to the bale — both keeping well
down behind it. When we got in sight of their ditches
we had a long line of hemp bales two deep in front
of us, and then the fight commenced in earnest. They
shot small arms from their ditches and cannon balls
from their batteries. Sometimes a ball would knock
down one of our top bales,but it soon went back in place
We brought our battery up behind the breastworks and
by taking the top bale off we made an excellent port-
hole for the muzzles of our guns. The fight went on
some two or three hours in this way. They in their
ditches and we crouched behind our hemp bales.
Every time a man showed his head half a dozen took
a shot at him. They soon learned to keep their heads
down, but they would put their hats on gun sticks
and hold them up for us to shoot at, but we soon dis-
covered this device and wasted very few bullets after-
wards.

116 RECOLLECTIONS OF A PIONEER

If this situation continued it looked as if the siege
might last a month, so we decided to move closer. The
top bales were pushed off and rolled forward with
two men lying nearly flat behind each bale. When
within forty yards of the trenches the front row halted
and waited for the rear line of bales to come up. It
took but a moment to hoist the one upon the other and
thus we put our breastworks in much better position.
Our batteries came up with little trouble, as we covered
the opposite line so completely that no one dared to
raise his head and shoot. Their batteries were posted
on an exposed hill some two hundred yards away,
but not a man was to be seen about them. Their gun-
ners had all gone to the trenches. Our only suffering
was when moving our hemp bales up the first time, and
again when we advanced them the second time, as at
these times we were too busy to return the fire, but we
were well protected and lost very few men.

We lay in this position for three days. Mulligan's
trench must have been nearly two miles long. We had
no idea what was going on at any other point, but
guessed the situation was very much the same along
the whole line. We could hear through the woods a
single gun now and then, reminding us more of a
squirrel hunt than a battle. At the end of three days
Mulligan surrendered. We were glad to see the white
flag, not so much because it meant victory for us as
because we were hungry and tired.

Mulligan marched his men out and had them stack
arms. Then we marched them away from their arms
and lined them up unarmed. Price took charge and
put a guard around them, and then paroled them and
sent them home. Some of them went back to Buchan-
an County where they told friends of ours that Price
had no privates in his army; that they saw nobody un-

THE BATTLE OF LEXINGTON 117

der a lieutenant. They may have reached this conclu-
sion from the way all left the hemp bales and went up
to see the surrender.

Price went back to Springfield and Gates and his
company came home. Billy Bridgeman, a nephew of
mine who lived near Bigelow, in Holt County, was with
us and when we reached my home he wanted me to go
on with him to his home. It was a dangerous trip.
St. Joe, Savannah, Forest City and Oregon were full
of soldiers. We left home in the morning about day-
light, passed up east and north of St. Joe, crossed the
Nodaway River just above its junction with the Mis-
souri, hurried across the main road between Oregon
and Forest City, where we were most apt to be dis-
covered, and reached his home on Little Fork, about
night. We remained there about three days when
some zealous female patriot saw us and reported
us. We learned that we had been reported and kept a
close watch all day and at night, feeling sure that the
Forest City company would try to capture us, we sad-
dle'd our horses and rode out away from home. It was
bright moonlight, and when about two miles from
home we heard them coming and stopped in the
shadow of some trees. When they got within forty
yards of us we fired into them with our navies, and
kept it up until we had emptied our six-shooters. They
whirled and ran back as fast as their horses could carry
them. We loaded our guns and followed. The first
house they passed one man jumped off his horse and
left him standing in the road. We stopped at the fence
and called. A woman came out of the house. I asked
her if any soldiers had passed there. She said — I use
her words just as she uttered them: "Yes, they went

118 RECOLLECTIONS OF A PIONEER

down the road a few minutes ago like the devil was
after them." Billy and I did not know we had scared
them so.

The fine mare Billy's father had given him hurt
her foot in some way and was limping badly, so he pul-
led off the saddle and bridle and turned her loose. She
started at once for home, and Billy saddled up the
horse that had been left and we started on. It was
then midnight and we had sixty miles before us. It
was dangerous to ride in daylight, but more dangerous
to stop anywhere on the road as we had no friends or
acquaintances on the way. We could do nothing but
go on and take chances. When, early in the forenoon,
we reached the ford of the Nodaway on the old Hack-
berry road leading from Oregon to Savannah, we met
a man who told us that a regiment of soldiers had left
Savannah that morning for Oregon. We crossed the
river and turned to the right, leaving the main road
and picking our way to the bluffs of the Missouri and
down along these bluffs to a point just above St. Jo-
seph. There we left the bluffs and went across the
country to Garrettsburg on Platte River and reached
home just at night. I called our old black woman out
of the house and asked her if she had heard of any
soldiers in the neighborhood and if she thought it
would be safe for us to stop for supper. She said she
had heard of no soldiers and she thought there would
be no danger, but that Brother Isaac and George Boyer
were up at Brother James' house waiting for us, so we
rode on up there.

We watered and fed our tired and hungry horses
and had a good supper — the first mouthful since sup-
per the night before — and all sat down to rest and
talk. The house was a large two-story frame building
fronting north, built upon a plan that was very popu-

THE BATTLE OF LEXINGTON 119

lar in those days. A wide hall into which the front
door entered from a portico, separated two large
rooms — one on the right and the other on the left. A
long ell joined up to the west room or end and extended
back to the rear. A wide porch extended along the east
side of the ell and along the south side of the east room
of the front or main part of the building. A door in
the rear of the front hall opened upon this porch, while
doors from each of the rooms in the ell also led out
upon the porch. We were all in the east front room
with Brother James and his family. Brother Isaac and
I were talking over our business affairs. Bridgeman
had lain down upon a sofa and dropped off to sleep,
and Boyer and Brother James and his family were
chatting pleasantly, when a company of soldiers
sneaked up and stationed themselves around the house.
After they were sufficiently posted the captain gave
us the first notice of their presence by calling out in a
loud voice, "Come out, men, and give yourselves up,
you will not be hurt." We knew by that call that a
good strong force was outside and that trouble was at
hand. We hurriedly lowered the window shades and
blew out the light and remained perfectly still. The
captain called again, urging that we would be treated
as prisoners of war if we would surrender. We knew
too well the value of such a promise made by the cap-
tain of a self-appointed gang of would-be regulators,
who did not know the duty of captors toward their
prisoners, and if they had known were not to be
trusted. Besides we had no notion of surrendering as
long as our ammunition held out.

When the captain found we were not to be coaxed
out by his false and flattering promises, he began to
show his real intentions. He said, "Come out! G — d —
you, we have got you now." We still gave no answer.

120 RECOLLECTIONS OF A PIONEER

Then he said if we did not come out he would burn
the house down over our heads. When that failed
he called on us to send the women and children out so
he could burn the house. We accommodated him that
much and sent them out. I told them to go out at the
front door and to be sure and close it after them. When
the women were gone we opened the door and passed
into the hall and then to the back or south door,
Bridgeman in front. He opened the door just enough
to peep out. He had a dragoon pistol in his right hand
and a Colt's navy in his left. When the door opened a
man stepped up on the porch with his bayonet fixed
and told Billy to come on. Billy gave him an ounce
ball and he fell back off the porch. The fight was then
on and had to be finished. Just after Billy fired the shot
he accidentally dropped his navy from his left hand
and it fell behind the door in the dark. He stooped to
feel for it and Brother Isaac asked, "Billy was that
you shot?" I told him that it was. He then said, "we
must get out of here now." With that, and before Billy
found his gun, I jerked the door wide open and went
out. Brother Isaac followed me, Boyer next and Billy
last. There was no one to be seen but the dead man
by the side of the porch. The others had taken shelter
behind the east end of the house and the south end of
the ell. I went south along the ell porch and Isaac fol-
lowed close behind me. When I got to the end of the
porch I jumped off and there I found about a dozen
men lined up. They fired at me but the blaze went
over my head. I turned my face to them and took a
hand myself. By that time Brother Isaac was at my
side, and, although unaccustomed to warfare, he did
good service. We opened fire and they turned and
ran. We followed them around the house and ran
them off the premises and out into the public road.

THE BATTLE OF LEXINGTON 121

When Billy found his navy and came out, he saw
men at the east end of the house firing across at us
from the rear so he ran down the porch that led to that
end of the house. Just as he reached the end of the
porch a man stepped from behind the house and raised
his gun to shoot at us. Quick as a flash Billy stuck the
end of his navy within six inches of the man's face
and shot him in the mouth. The man dropped down
on the ground and bawled like a steer. At this the men
farther around in the chimney corner broke and ran
and Billy followed. They did not stop running and
Billy did not stop shooting until they were well off the
premises.

Boyer who was the third man out of the house
afterwards related his experience to me. He jumped
off the porch and ran out through the back yard. He
stumbled and fell over a bank of dirt that had been
thrown out of a well, but Brother Isaac and I were
keeping all of them so busy that no one seemed to no-
tice him. He was up in a moment and going again.
When he got to the rear of the smoke house he ran
over a man who lay hid in the weeds. The fellow
jumped up and ran and Boyer shot at him, but both
kept on running. Boyer reached a corn field and lay
hid the remainder of the night.

After the fight was over Billy, Brother Isaac and
I went down into the woods and sat for a long time
talking it over. We had no idea how many men were
in the company, but were confident that it went away
somewhat smaller than when it came. They got our
horses and saddles and, as we had fired all the loads
out of our pistols in the fight, we had nothing but the
clothes on our backs and our empty revolvers. We
didn't dare go back to the house, so, late in the night,
we started out first to replenish our ammunition. We

122 RECOLLECTIONS OF A PIONEER

stopped at Jack Elder's, a mile to the west. He gave us
powder and bullets, but he had no caps. We then went
over to Judge Pullins' who had a good supply and fur-
nished us plenty of them. After loading our guns we
went north to the home of Joe Evans. Evans was a
lieutenant in the Southern army, and his wife, who was
Nelly Auxier, was at home with her children. We had
known her from childhood, so we went in and went to
bed. Nelly sat up the remainder of the night and kept
watch. This was the first sleep in nearly forty-eight
hours. At seven she woke us for breakfast. About ten
o'clock Judge Pullins, who knew where we were,
brought over the morning St. Joe paper. It contained
a long account of the fight, and said that Penick's men
had gone down into "the hackle" the night before and
killed two of the Gibson boys and captured the remain-
der of the "gang." This was amusing news, and
about as near the truth as most reports of that kind.

Although it was dangerous for us to travel by
daylight, we concluded we might, with proper caution,
get back over the ground and see for ourselves what
had been done. We kept well in the timber and
reached Brother James' house about noon. The house
was considerably scratched up by bullets and blood
was strewn all around it. Four men had been killed and
five wounded. Harriet, our old negro woman, told us
the soldiers had first stopped at father's old place and
inquired for us. She started across the fields at once
to notify us, but could not make the half mile on foot
in time and had reached only a safe distance from the
house when the fight began.

We remained in the neighborhood, hidden at first
one place and then another for several days. Brother
Isaac, being rather too old to go in the army left home
and went to Illinois for safety, as he knew there would

THE BATTLE OF LEXINGTON 123

be no peace for him after the fight, no matter how
conservative he had been in the past or how well be-
haved he might be in the future. The unfortunate cir-
cumstance which, on account of his association with
us, had compelled him to fight for his life, had ren-
dered his efforts to remain at home out of the ques-
tion. Billy and I, having lost our horses, saddles and
blankets, were compelled to remain, in spite of the
fact that soldiers were hunting us like hounds, until we
could get properly equipped to leave. We were not
long in doing this, and then we set out on horseback
through a country patroled by many soldiers to join
our company at Springfield.

CHAPTER XII.
Back to the South.

We left in the afternoon, and, taking byroads,
passed Stephen Bedford's and went on to Doc Brown's
on Casteel Creek. We spent the night there. Brown
kept us up until midnight, asking questions about our
experiences at Wilson's Creek, Fort Scott and Lexing-
ton and about the fight with Penick's men at Brother
James' house. He had heard the firing although eight
miles away, and suspected that some of the Gibson boys
were in the fight. We started early next morning for
Clay County where my sister, Mrs. Harrison Wilson,
lived. We reached her home without difficulty and
remained there over night. It was about fifteen miles
from her home to the Missouri River where we expect-
ed to have trouble, as soldiers were on guard at every
crossing point between St. Joseph and the Mississippi.
If we could not find a ferry unguarded we expected to
bind cottonwood logs together, get on them and swim
our horses alongside. This was disagreeable and very
dangerous and was not to be thought of so long as there
was any chance to cross on a ferry. We decided, there-
fore, to go to old Richfield and try the ferry by fair
means or foul. We reached the high bluff that over-
looks the town, about five o'clock in the afternoon,
and looked cautiously down. The soldiers were
camped just below the town and the ferry land-
ing was a little above it. Everything was quiet —
no soldiers up in town or about the ferry landing that
we could see. While we were watching, the ferry boat
crossed to this side and landed. We rode quietly down
the hill and on to the boat. Billy asked the ferryman

BACK TO THE SOUTH 125

if he was going right back. He said no, that he made
regular trips. Billy asked how long before he would
start. He said thirty minutes. Billy told him we could
not wait that long, and that he must go back imme-
diately. The ferryman looked up into Billy's face and
said he would wait for time. In an instant he found
himself looking into the muzzle of a Colt's navy.
Billy told him to stand perfectly still if he valued his
life. I jumped off my horse and loosed the cable that
held the boat to shore. The current carried the boat
out into the river and Billy told the ferryman to take
charge and set us over. He did it without a word and
we rode out in safety on the other shore. In all that
happened on the boat, not a loud word was spoken,
and, so far as I know, the soldiers did not even suspect
our presence.

When we rode out on firm land on the southern
side of the Missouri we felt much safer, because the
task we had most dreaded was over. We passed about
five miles into the country and put up for the night at
a farm house where we found seven or eight southern
men all on their way to the Confederate lines. Two of
these were Confederate soldiers and the remainder
were old men leaving home for safety. The two sol-
diers were John Culbertson of Buchanan County and
Sol Starks of Clay County. The next morning about
nine o'clock, as we rode peacefully along, two boys
about twelve years of age came galloping toward us
as fast as their horses could carry them. We said noth-
ing to them and they said nothing to us, but I thought
their conduct rather strange. In a few minutes they
passed back, still riding very fast. Starks and I were
riding in front and I told him I thought we had better
stop the boys and ask them what they were up to. We
galloped after them leaving the other men behind, and

126 RECOLLECTIONS OF A PIONEER

when we had overtaken them and inquired the cause
of their fast riding, they told us there was a gang of
"Jayhawkers" in the neighborhood and they (the boys)
were hiding their horses. While we were talking to
the boys Starks left his mule standing at the roadside
and stepped aside. I also alighted from my horse.
There was a short curve in the road just in front of
us and while in the position I have described, Jenni-
son's regiment came dashing around the curve and
right down upon us. Starks left his mule standing in
the road and ran for his life out through the timber. I
jumped on my horse and took the same course. They
soon overtook Starks and shot and killed him. A band
of them followed me shooting and calling "halt," but I
only went the faster. I had gained a little on them by
the time I came to a rail fence. It looked like they had
me, but I had no idea of stopping. I threw off the top
rail and made my horse jump the fence into a corn-
field. They were at the fence in a moment firing and
calling halt. I threw myself down on my horses's side
in cowboy fashion, hanging on by leg and arm and
sent him at his best speed down between two rows of
corn. I soon came to a road where the corn gatherers
had been hauling out the corn, and finding this better
traveling and thinking it might lead to an outlet from
the field I took it. They were still following and shoot-
ing at me. The fence where the road entered the field
was up, but I had passed over one and could pass an-
other. I held a tight reign and forced my horse to take it.
He knocked off the top rail, but landed on his feet. Out-
side the field a firm road led down a long slant directly
away from my pursuers. This gave me an advantage
and I made good use of it. The soft ground of the corn-
field checked their speed and the fence halted them, I
think, for I never saw them any more. When my

BACK TO THE SOUTH 127

horse reached the bottom of the slant and struck the
level ground, the change of the surface threw him
headlong. I went sailing in the air over beyond him
carrying the bridle reins with me. Although terribly
jolted I beat the horse up and was on his back the mo-
ment he could stand. I took no time to throw reins
over his head, but with the rein swinging from my
hand to the bit I pushed him into the brush and a half
mile farther on before stopping.

My poor horse was almost dead, but as I could
hear no one following me it looked like he had car-
ried me to safety. I looked and listened intently but
could neither see nor hear anyone. I got off my horse
that he might get a better rest, as I did not know how
soon he might have to run again, and after the first
few breaths of freedom, began to think of my com-
panions. As the main body of the regiment kept the
traveled road and only a detachment followed me, it
was certain that Billy and Culbertson and the old men
would meet them. I feared for the result — especially
to the old men. Billy and Culbertson I thought could
likely take care of themselves. The point where I had
stopped was at the head of a long ravine, and while
standing there I saw a man approaching on horseback.
I watched a moment and discovered that it was Bridge-
man. We were rejoiced to see each other. Billy asked
about Starks and I told him his fate. I asked how his
party had fared. He said when they saw the soldiers
coming he and Culbertson were in front. They fired
at the soldiers and took to the brush. He had seen none
of his companions since. By chance Billy had taken
the same general direction that I had gone and that is
how we happened to meet. We thought it almost provi-
dential.

128 RECOLLECTIONS OF A PIONEER

I heard afterwards, but I cannot say as to the
truth of the report, that the old gray haired men who
were with us were all captured and killed. Whatever
may have been their fate, we could do nothing for
them against a regiment and counted ourselves more
lucky than wise that we escaped with our own lives.

Billy and I remained in seclusion most of the day
and then, hearing nothing of Culbertson and the old
men, started on our journey. We rode leisurely
along and reached Springfield without further diffi-
culty. There we found Culbertson, waiting and look-
ing for us. He was sly as a red fox and as hard to
catch. He had gotten away from Jennison and had
made better time to Springfield than we, and, as he
knew our destination, waited our coming as proof
that we had not been caught.

General Price was in winter quarters. We re-
mained with our company a few weeks, and just before
Christmas Billy and Jim Combs, his brother-in-law,
and I got permission to spend the holidays at Granby
with Jeff Whitney, Comb's step-father, who had for-
merly lived in Holt County. While on this visit Whitney,
who was a man of considerable wealth, concluded he
would move farther south in order to secure better
protection for his family and property, and asked us to
accompany him across the mountains as a guard. We
consented to do it and made the trip with him over
land to Fort Smith, where Whitney, after going just
acrdss the Arkansas line, erected a cabin in the Chero-
kee Nation. We remained with him about a week as-
sisting him to get settled, when we got a letter from
Colonel Gates informing us that a strong army was ap-
proaching from St. Louis and calling us back to our
places in his company.

BACK TO THE SOUTH 129

We set out for Springfield immediately and met
our army as it retreated to join Van Dorn at Fayette-
ville. I shall always remember our meeting with this
army. The ox teams were in front, four yoke to each
wagon, a long string of them, winding slowly down
the road. Then the mule teams, six mules to each
wagon, many of them the same mules we had captured
at Fort Scott. Next a regiment of soldiers, then Gen-
eral Price and his body guard, then the main body of
the army with Gates in the rear. The pursuing army
was making forced marches in an effort to bring on a
general engagement before Price united his forces with
Van Dorn. We had hardly joined our company, when
the enemy, seeing that another day's march would
place Price very close to Van Dorn, sent two regiments
of cavalry to attack our rear. The first regiment came
dashing upon us without warning, yelling and shooting.
Gates ordered his men to dismount and take to the
brush. They obeyed in an instant, leaving their horses
in the road. The horses, frightened by the attack from
the rear, stampeded and dashed forward upon the in-
fantry. The attacking regiment followed, and before
they realized their peril were far in between two lines
of hidden Confederates who, protected by the brush,
piled horses and soldiers thick along the road. There
were but few left to tell the tale. The second regi-
ment on discovering the situation of the first, failed to
follow. Price, on discovering that the attack had
been made sent a regiment of infantry back to support
us, but when it arrived the work had been done. We
came out of the brush and followed the infantry, still
protecting the rear until our horses were sent back.

130 RECOLLECTIONS OF A PIONEER

That was the last day of the retreat. Price took a
stand at Cross Hollow where Van Dorn joined him.
The Union army stopped at Pea Ridge. Both armies
rested three days. On the night of the third day Price
broke camp and traveled all night. By daylight he was
in the road behind the enemy, and at sun up moved
south toward their camp. We had not gone far when
we met fifteen or twenty government teams going on
a forage. They were greatly surprised, but grinned and
said nothing. Price put a guard over them and moved
on. When he got in position on the rear he fired a
cannon as a signal to Van Dorn that all was ready.
The engagement soon opened front and rear. Price was
successful on his side, but Van Dorn was defeated. In
less than an hour not a gun could be heard along the
whole south side of the army. The whole force then
turned upon Price and he was compelled to retreat.
He went north until he came to a road leading across
the mountains to White River. The Union forces did
not follow and the retreat was made with little diffi-
culty. We had no baggage except the artillery and
the teams captured early in the morning. The roads,
hqwever, were very rough and our progress was very
slow. On the following morning while we were toiling
over the mountains, General Price rode by with his
arm in a sling. The boys cheered him until the moun-
tains resounded for miles. In a few days we were be-
yond danger of pursuit and made our way in safety to
Fort Smith.

From Fort Smith Price was ordered to Memphis.
He started at once over land to Des Arc on White
River. From there we went to Memphis by boat. After

BACK TO THE SOUTH 131

a short stay in Memphis, Brother James, who had re-
turned from California and joined the army, was sent
back to Missouri as a recruiting officer. Billy Bridge-
man and I got leave to accompany him and we all came
together back as far as Des Arc. There Billy decided
to return to Memphis and go on with Price, while
Brother James and I came home on horse back. This is
the last time I ever saw Bridgeman.

CHAPTER XIII.
Home for Recruits.

I do not recall the incidents of the trip home. I do
not remember the road or how we crossed the river or
anything about it, though I have tried very hard to
recall them. I only know that we went from Des
Arc to Dover, Arkansas, and that somewhere on the
road Henry Gibson and Harold Shultz joined us and
that we all reached home together. Henry Gibson is
dead. Schultz is insane and confined at State Hospital
No. 2 at St. Joseph, and Brother James is in Idaho, so
I have no way of refreshing my memory, and as the
trip, although it covered nearly four hundred miles,
was made forty-eight years ago, my foot steps have
grown cold. It is more than probable that a single
hint would rescue the entire journey and its incidents.

I recall events after we reached home with per-
fect distinctness. We remained out in the brush most
of the time. Brother James, at such times as he could,
met all those who wanted to join the army. Be-
sides the boys on the east side of Platte River, he en-
listed John and Wash Lynch, two of the Greenwood
boys, Jack Smedley, Jim Reeves, William and John
Reynolds and Richard Miller from the west side. In all
there were some twenty-five or thirty. We secured a
tent and pitched it in a secret place in what was then
and now sometimes called "the hackle," about a mile
east of Garrettsburg. We had scant provisions, some
flour, sugar, coffee and bacon which we kept hang-
ing in a tree. During the day we managed to partly
satisfy our hunger on this diet, but at night we went out
to see the girls and get good meals. In spite of the con-

HOME FOR RECRUITS 133

stant fear of discovery, we had a good time. Dur-
ing all this time the boys were collecting guns and am-
munition. These they got wherever they could. Most
often from friends who gave or loaned them, but some-
times from a straggling soldier or militia man who
was caught away from camp.

Everything was ready and the night fixed for our
departure. Doc. Watson had informed us that there
was a company of militia camped in his yard about
three miles distant from our camp, cooking, eating and
sleeping on his blue grass. Our plan was to march up
near them during the night and wake them at day-
break and bid them goodby. During the entire time our
camp remained there, we took no pains to conceal it
from the negroes, for the most of them — and we thought
all — could be trusted as far as our white friends. We
made a mistake in one of them. He turned traitor and
told the company at Doc Watson's that about two hun-
dred "bush-whackers" were camped in the Hackle.
They informed the authorities at St. Joe and the night
before we proposed to execute our plans they marched
two regiments — one infantry and one cavalry — down
close to our camp and next morning surprised us by
calling about sun up. It was clear they had a guide
for they followed the trail through the thick woods
directly to the tent.

The tent was stretched in a little valley and over
beyond a deep gulch, so that it was impossible to ap-
proach nearer than fifty yards of it on horseback.
This was too close to be comfortable to the eight men
who were in it sound asleep. Without a moment's
warning they fired into it. The aim was high and not
a man was hit. They jumped and ran for their lives
and all escaped. It was our good fortune that more of
the boys were not in the tent. As it was to be the last

134 RECOLLECTIONS OF A PIONEER

night at home, most of the boys had gone to bid their
friends goodby and had remained with them for the
night. Brother James and I had gone home with
Charley Pullms, who had joined our company, and, in
place of returning to the tent, we all took our blankets
and slept in his rye field.

Early next morning we were awakened by the
barking of PuJlii.s' dog. We jumped up and looked
and listened. A regiment of infantry was passing along
the road. They had a six gun battery with them and I
could not mistake the creaking of the old truck-wheels.
We picked up our blankets and ran to the house and
threw them in at the back window, and then stepped
around in front to watch them go by, some two hun-
dred yards distant. We had no idea they were after
us with all this equipment, but supposed they were
simply marching from Easton to St. Joe and had prob-
ably missed the road. We knew nothing of the attack
upon the tent, nor did we know that at that moment
the cavalry regiment had divided into squads and was
galloping from house to house all over the neighbor-
hood, looking for the Gibson boys.

While we stood watching the procession pass we
heard a rumbling noise behind us, and back of the
house. I turned and saw the cavalry coming under
lash. We ran for the front gate which led away from
the infantry that was passing. A few rods beyond the
gate lay a heavy body of timber and we made for it.
As I went out I passed my fine saddle mare graz-
ing in the yard, and I threw the yard gate
wide open. By this time the soldiers had galloped
around both sides of the house and commenced firing
at us. At the first shot my mare threw up her head
and tail and made for the gate. She was safe in the
timber almost as soon as we were. When we reached

HOME FOR RECRUITS 135

the timber bullets were flying after us pretty thick, but
1 stopped and threw my double barrel shot gun to my
shoulder. Brother James called to me to save my
loads, but as we each had two six shooters and a double
barrel shot gun, I thought I could spare one load so I
gave it to them. They, like all soldiers at that time,
were dreadfully afraid of the brush, and, whether it
was my shot or the fact that we had reached the timber,
they stopped firing and started around to the farther
side of the woods. I lost sight of Pullins and James,
and when I saw the soldiers start around the timber I
ran back towards the house and into a cornfield on the
opposite side. When I reached the fence at the farther
side of the cornfield, I ran directly upon two of the in-
fantry soldiers who had apparently become lost from
the regiment. They were as much, if not more sur-
prised than I was, for I had presence of mind enough to
use the remaining load in my shot gun and they tore
through the brush like wild deer.

I went up to the tent expecting to find the boys
there. Instead, I found the tent riddled with bullets
and several old guns which the soldiers had destroyed
by hammering the barrels around a tree. I was, of
course, greatly surprised, but after looking over the sit-
uation I was gratified at finding no evidence that any
of our men had been killed. I learned afterwards that
but one man had been killed in the whole raid. That
man was George Reynolds. After the attack upon the
tent the soldiers rode over to Reynold's house and
found him, an old gray haired man, carrying a basket
of corn to his hogs. They shot him where he stood
and rode off and left him for the women of his family
to bury, as the men in the community didn't dare come

136 RECOLLECTIONS OF A PIONEER

out of the brush to their assistance. One man, Rich
Miller, who knew of his death, ventured out and helped
bury him.

The raid scattered our little band of volunteers
and all hope of gathering them together was aban-
doned. On the evening after the raid my saddle mare
— the one I had let out through the gate at Pullins',
after remaining in the woods all day, came up to the
gate at the old home, as though she knew — and I be-
lieve she did — that it was not safe for her to be seen
on the road in daylight. During the night that fol-
lowed I located Brother James and he, Pullins and I de-
cided to go back into the Confederate lines. Within a
day or two we left expecting, as upon our preceding
trip, to cross the river at Richfield. We passed through
old Haynesville on the line between Clinton and Clay
Counties, which was then a thriving village, but which
I am told is now abandoned as a town, and then on
directly toward the river. There was considerable
Union sentiment about Haynesville and some one there
must have suspected our purpose and informed a com-
pany of militia that happened to be in the neighbor-
hood. We rode leisurely along, not suspecting that we
were being followed, and, when we reached the home
of Reuben J. Eastin, some six miles south of Haynes-
ville, stopped for dinner. Eastin was related to
Pullins and the family were all glad to see us, and in-
vited us into the house and the old gentleman directed
his son to take our horses to the barn and feed them.
I told him we had better go to the brush and feed our
horses and have our meals sent to us. He said there
was no danger as there were no soldiers in the com-
munity.

We all pulled off our belts and threw them, with
the navies in them on a bed and prepared for dinner.

HOME FOR RECRUITS 137

As I stepped across the room to a looking glass to comb
my hair, I glanced out the door and saw a company
of militia coming up the road from the north under
whip. Brother and I sprang for our navies and
buckled them around us and ran out at the back door
and into a corn field, which was on the south side of
the house. Pullins, who was not accustomed to war-
fare, was so frightened that he forgot his guns. It was
August and the weather was very hot. We ran down
between two rows of corn as fast as we could, Pullins
in front, Brother James behind him and I in the rear.
I got hot and called to them not to run so fast, but they
did not hear me and kept going. I stopped and sat
down. I could then hear the horses galloping around
to the farther or south side of the field, so I turned and
ran east toward the main road which ran in front of
the house, and along the east side of the field. When I
got to the fence I looked both directions and saw no
soldiers. They had evidently anticipated that we
would all make for the heavy timber which lay south
and west of the field, and had undertaken to head us
off in that direction. There was a woods pasture just
across the road, with only large trees in it, but I saw
beyond the timber a thicket which seemed to skirt a
draw or gully and I made up my mind to cross the road
and take my chances. I remember thinking that if I
should be discovered while crossing the open pasture
there would probably be no more than four or five men
in the squad and that I could get behind a big tree and
wait until they came close to me, when with my skill
in the use of the navy, I could protect myself against
them. I jumped over the fence and made good speed,
taking no time to look back, until I reached the thicket.
Not a man of them saw me. They had left a gap open,
and I was out of the trap. I followed the brushy ra-

138 RECOLLECTIONS OF A PIONEER

vine some distance and came to another cornfield. In
passing through this field I came upon a water melon
patch, completely surrounded by the corn. I decided
this would be a good place to stop and wait for de-
velopments. I took a big ripe melon out into the corn
and proceeded to supply as much as possible the din-
ner the soldiers had caused me to lose. I knew I was
safe, but I was not so sure about my companions. In a
few minutes I heard two pistol shots. They were from
Brother James' navy. I had heard the report too many
times to be mistaken. This assured me that he had
not at that moment been captured. In about five min-
utes I heard two musket shots, and this alarmed me.
I felt perfectly sure if they had fired at Brother James
they had not harmed him and he had escaped without
returning the fire, but I could not be so sure about Pul-
lins as I knew he had no weapons with him. No fur-
ther shots were fired.

I remained in the corn field until nearly night and
then started for the home of my sister, Mrs. Wilson,
who lived about three miles north and east. I reached
her house about nine o'clock at night, but did not go in.
She brought food to me in the timber near by and re-
mained with me waiting and watching for Brother
James and Pullins. We were both very uneasy and
greatly feared they had been captured. We knew either
or both of them, if alive and not captured, would come
to her house to find me before attempting to go on to the
south. About midnight Brother James came in. He
knew nothing of Pullins. We watched for him all night
but he never came. Next morning Mrs. Wilson saddled
her horse and rode over to Eastin's to see if she could
hear of him. When she returned she told us they had
captured Pullins and taken him to Liberty. The last
word Pullins' young wife had said to me as we left

HOME FOR RECRUITS 139

home, was, "Take good care of Charley." There was
little that could be done for him now, but in the hope
that we might be able to do something, or that, as he
was a perfectly innocent boy, making his way south for
safety, he would be paroled and released and allowed
to return to his home. We remained in the brush a
week waiting for him. During this time Brother James
gave me a full account of his escape.

He said when he and Pullins reached the south
side of the corn field they could hear the horses com-
ing and decided it would not be safe to attempt to get
out into the timber, so they put back into the field and
became separated. In a short time men were all
around the field and in the field riding through the
tall corn. When James discovered that men were in
the field he crouched down beneath a bush and re-
mained perfectly quiet in order that he might hear the
approach of the horses through the rattling corn. He
had remained in this position but a short time when he
saw a single horseman coming toward him. He drew
his navy and lay still. When the man got very close he
arose and shot him in the leg. He then shot his horse
and ran. He could easily have killed the man, but did
not want to do it. At the sound of these guns all the
pursuers started in the direction of the supposed fight.
James heard them coming and decided to go back to-
ward the house in the hope of finding it unguarded.
In that case he would secure his horse. When he got
to the fence near the barn he set his foot upon a rail
and raised his body to look. At that moment he saw
two soldiers on guard and they saw him. They raised
their guns to fire, but James threw up his hands and
said, "Don't shoot." They thought he had surrendered
and dropped their guns. In the twinkle of an eye
he fell back off of the fence and put back into the

140 RECOLLECTIONS OF A PIONEER

heavy corn. The soldiers both fired at him but
he had the fence as a shield and their shots were harm-
less. The guards then yelled, "Here he is," and the re-
mainder of the soldiers in the field and out supposing
the musket shots had killed one or more of us, all gal-
loped for the barn. James heard them going from all
directions and kept close watch that none who were in
the field might come near enough to see him. When
they were all well on toward the barn he made quick
time back through the field and into the woods be-
yond. He had not gone far in the timber when he
heard them coming again, and, as he was almost worn
out and feared he would not be able to get out of reach
of them he climbed a tree that had thick foliage upon
it and remained there the whole afternoon. He could
hear the soldiers riding around the field and through
the corn and in the timber near him. When night came
they gave up the search, and James climbed down and
made his way to Mrs. Wilson's.

By the end of a week we had the full story of Pul-
lins' fate. They had taken him to Liberty and there
pretended to try him, found him guilty, but of what
crime no record will ever show and no man will ever
know, sent him back to old man Eastin's, where he
was shot by twelve men. They then plundered Eastin's
house, took his horses, harness and wagons, bedding
and table ware, provisions and everything movable
and moved him, a blind and helpless cripple, out
of his house and under the trees of his orchard, set fire
to his house and burned it to the ground.

We could do nothing but go on, so with sad hearts
and without horses or blankets, with nothing but our
trusted navies and plenty of ammunition, we skulked
our way to old Richfield again, some fifteen miles from
Mrs. Wilson's. We reached the river just about dark

HOME FOR RECRUITS 141

and lay in the bluffs all night, without food or shelter.
Early in the morning we ventured down to a house and
asked for breakfast. We knew by the way we were
received that he was a southern man, but we were too
cautious to make our wishes known at once. By the
time breakfast was over we decided we could trust
him, so we asked him if he knew of any way we could
get across the river. He told us there was a man on
the other side of the river who had a skiff and made a
business of setting southern men across, but he was
very cautious and would not come to this side except
upon a signal. We then asked him if he would assist
us and he said he would, but we must be very careful
to evade the northern soldiers on guard and not let
them see him as if they suspected him they would
probably kill him and burn his home. We assured him
that we were discreet, so he went with us. He took us a
short distance above Richfield and into a timbered bot-
tom, and when we got to the road which paralleled the
river he told us to stop and wait for him. He passed
across the road and out into the willows that grew be-
tween the road and the water. While we stood wait-
ing a man and woman approached through the tim-
ber from the west singing Dixie at the top of their
voices. We knew this was a ruse to deceive just such
men as ourselves. Federal soldiers were so near that
no sincere southern person would sing Dixie at the top
of his voice within their hearing. We ran back into
the timber and lay down behind a log. The couple
passed, still singing, and went on toward the town. In a
few minutes our man came back. We left our hiding
place and followed him to the river. The man was
there with his boat waiting for us. We jumped in. Our
friend shoved the boat from shore and put back into
the willows. Our boatman told us that soldiers both

142 RECOLLECTIONS OF A PIONEER

above and below the town had been trying to get him to
come across all morning, but they did not know his sig-
nal and he would not come.

Our man in crossing towards us had taken a course
which kept his boat out of view, and as he went back
he kept behind an island until well toward his own
shore and out of range. As the boat passed out from
behind the island they discovered us and commenced
shooting, but we were too far away to fear their bul-
lets.

We landed safely and then, having passed over
what was considered our greatest difficulty, began to
think about other troubles still ahead. Independence
was full of Federal soldiers. Lone Jack and Pleasant
Hill were no better. Roving bands of foragers and
scouts kept the country between closely patroled. We
had but one hope and that was that we might chance to
fall in with Quantrell on one of his raids. William Hill,
a cousin of ours, lived near Pleasant Hill, and if we
could reach him, we felt sure he could tell us when
Quantrell might be expected in that locality. We left
the river and walked cautiously through timber and
fields, stopping at farm houses for food only after
night, sleeping on the ground without blankets and
finally reached Hill's place. He was at heart a strong
southern man, but had managed to deceive the Union
soldiers and his Union neighbors. We asked about
Quantrell. He informed us that some of his neighbors
belonged to Quantrell's band, and that Quantrell was at
that time in camp about three miles away. We did not
know Quantrell nor any of his men and asked Hill to
go with us to the camp. He objected. Said that he had
acted the part of a northern man so completely that
Quantrell had threatened him, believing him to be in
earnest. We told him if he went with us he would have

HOME FOR RECRUITS 143

nothing to fear. He seemed not to understand how this
could be if we knew neither Quantrell nor his men.
We then explained that Jesse and Frank James were
with Quantrell and that they lived in Clay County
near the home of our sister, and were well acquainted
with us by reputation.

Hill finally consented and saddled horses for all
and took us to the camp. He introduced us to Quan-
trell and then in turn we met Frank and Jesse James,
Cole Younger and his brothers and other leaders of
the company. We explained Hill's relation to us; that
we had known him from his birth in Tennessee and
that he was with us at heart. They told him to go
home and fear nothing from them. Hill took his horses
and left well satisfied.

The whole company remained in camp some days,
and during the time one of Hill's neighbors gave
Brother James a fine mare, bridle and saddle. I have
always thought that Hill furnished the money for this
equipment and gave it in the name of a trusted neigh-
bor. It was not long until a fine outfit was presented
to me. I took it and said nothing. I liked the horse,
but did not like the saddle. It was an old dragoon
government saddle with brass mounted horns both be-
fore and behind.

About this time a detachment of Shelby's men
came north on a scout. Quantrell joined them and at-
tacked Pleasant Hill and drove the Union forces to
Lone Jack. He followed and defeated them at Lone
Jack and drove them out of that section of the country.

We returned to Pleasant Hill and were received
with great cordiality by the people. The women baked
cakes and pies and sent them into camp, which
were fully appreciated. At the pay office which
had been maintained by the Federal officers we found

144 RECOLLECTIONS OF A PIONEER

large quantities of greenbacks of small denominations
lying on desks and tables and scattered upon the floor.
It was counted of little value at that time and in that
community. One dollar of Confederate money was
worth five of the governments' greenbacks.

After a rest, the scouting parties that had joined
Quantrell in the attack upon Pleasant Hill and Lone
Jack, started south. Quantrell traveled with us about
three days, and I seriously contemplated joining that
band and remaining in Missouri. I mentioned the mat-
ter to Brother James and he discouraged the idea. He
said winter was coming on and the camp equipment
was inadequate, besides he preferred that I should go
into the regular service. I took his advice, and have
since had many reasons to be thankful to him for it.
We finally reached a place in Arkansas called Horse-
head, where winter quarters had been established. At
that time I did not belong to the army, as my term of
enlistment had expired, but at Horsehead I enlisted
for three years, or during the war. My horse, saddle
and bridle belonged to me, hence my enlistment was in
the cavalry. During the early part of the winter the
officers decided that as horse feed was so scarce, the
horses should be sent into Texas to graze through the
winter, promising that each man's horse should be re-
stored to him in the spring. I parted with my horse
reluctantly, but of course, after enlistment had to obey
orders. I never saw him again and when spring came
I was compelled to enter the infantry. Brother James
and many others were in the same condition.

We were assigned to a company of Missouri
troops. Our captain's name was Miller. His home was
in northeast Missouri. Our first lieutenant's name was
Miller also, and his home was in Burr Oak Bottom, Kan-
sas.

HOME FOR RECRUITS 145

The first business in the spring was the guarding of
the line across Arkansas from Fort Smith to Helena.
We had our portion and did our work. Later General
Holmes was given command and marched us across the
state and, I have always thought, very foolishly at-
tacked the fortifications at Helena. The river was full
of gunboats and if he had been successful he could not
have held the place. He was repulsed, however, and
his troops badly cut up. The Missouri troops declared
they would serve no longer under Holmes. Whether
for this or some other reason, he was removed and
command given to General Drayton.

I do not remember that Drayton did anything but
keep us lying in camp, drilling every day, with now and
then a dress parade, with all the women and children
in the country invited to come and see us. This was
very distasteful to us. We felt that we were not there to
be raced around over the hot sand in the hot sun just to
be looked at. Aside from this we had a pretty good
time cock-fighting, horse racing and playing seven-up
for tobacco.

General Price came back to us about Christmas
and the Missouri boys planned a great celebration.
Christmas day about five hundred took their guns and
marched around to the headquarters of each colonel
and made him treat or take a bumping against a tree.
We then marched up to General Drayton's headquar-
ters. His negro cooks and waiters were getting supper.
They were soon cleared away and the general was
called out. He backed up against a tree as though he
expected to be shot, but he soon found we were only
bent upon a little fun. The boys produced their fid-
dles and set to playing. Then they sang and danced
and now and then we fired a volley just to make the
woods ring. The General seemed to enjoy the fun and

146 RECOLLECTIONS OF A PIONEER

told the boys to play on the bones. One quickly re-
plied that we had been playing on bones all winter and
pretty dry bones, too. The General saw the joke and
smiled good-naturedly.

We next moved up and took possession of a six-
gun battery. The muskets were not noisy enough. The
first round brought Drayton. He ordered us to stop,
but we told him it was Christmas and paid no attention
to him. He sent for General Price, and as the General
and his body guard rode up we ceased firing and set to
waving hats and cheering. "Pap," as we called General
Price, told us we could have our Christmas fun but we
must not disturb the battery. That was enough. We
always did what "Pap" told us to do. If he said fight
we fought, and when he said run we ran.

It was too early to stop the fun, so we decided to go
over and see the Arkansas boys who were camped
about two miles away. We found on arriving that the
boys who wrore straps on their shoulders had organ-
ized a dance in a big tent and invited the girls for
miles around. The dance was in full swing. The
guards around the tent halted us and asked if we had
a pass. We said "Yes, this is Christmas," and passed
on. We made no noise or disturbance, but walked
quietly up around the tent, and each man cut himself a
window so he could look in on the scene. The shoul-
der straps were furious and came swarming out like
hornets. We laughed at them and told them to go on
with the dance, but they would not do it and sent for
General Price. We learned this and started back, and
met the General going toward the Arkansas camp and
cheered him wildly. He passed on and said nothing,
though I am sure he knew we were the boys he was af-
ter. We went into camp and nothing was ever said
about our frolic.

CHAPTER XIV.
War in Arkansas.

Some time early in the year 1863, Price moved his
forces to Little Rock. The Federal forces under Gen-
eral Steele approached from Springfield, and Price be-
gan preparations to receive them. His army was much
inferior to the attacking force and every precaution
was taken to give us the advantage. We crossed to the
north side of the river from Little Rock and dug a
trench in the shape of a rainbow touching the river
above and below the town and more than a mile in
length. The enemy approached within two miles of
our trench and halted and remained in that position
nearly a week. We had little rest during that time. The
drum tapped every morning at four o'clock and we had
to crawl out and fall into our ditch, where we re-
mained until the danger of an early morning attack was
over and then got out for breakfast.

On the seventh day, if I remember correctly, the
Federals broke camp and marched ten miles down the
river and commenced building a pontoon bridge. Price
sent his cavalry and artillery down to visit them, but
the fire was not heavy enough and the bridge was built
in spite of their best efforts. We were called out of
our trenches in the meantime and taken across the river
on a foot bridge built upon small boats. When we
reached Little Rock I was surprised to find everything
gone. Ox teams and mule teams were strung out for
miles hauling our freight and army supplies. We
marched behind with orders to protect the train and I

148 RECOLLECTIONS OF A PIONEER

thought we would certainly be attacked, but we were
not. Steele made Little Rock his headquarters for the
summer.

About fifty miles south of Little Rock we went in-
to camp. At that time I belonged to Clark's brigade.
Mercer was our Colonel, Gaines our major and Miller
our captain. Clark's division was ordered to go down
on the Mississippi River below the mouth of the Arkan-
sas and destroy steam boats that were carrying sup-
plies from St. Louis to Vicksburg. The siege was going
on at that time, and the Federal troops were being sup-
plied with provision largely by way of the river. There
were two regiments in the division and we had with us
a six gun battery. We reached the river and concealed
ourselves at a point where the current approached
close to the west bank, judging, by the low stage of the
riv.er, that the boats would be compelled to follow
the current. We had not been in hiding very long un-
til we saw seven boats steaming their way down the
river with a small gunboat trailing along behind as
guard or convoy. When the foremost boat reached a
point near the shore and directly opposite us, it was
halted and ordered ashore. There were soldiers on the
boat and they ran out on deck and fired at us. We re-
turned the fire and cleared the deck the first round.
The next round was from our battery. The range was
easy and one ball struck her boilers. The hot water
and steam flew in every direction. She headed for
the farther shore and drifted on a sand bar. The sol-
diers leaped from the boat and swam for their lives.

The six other boats received very much the same
treatment. They were all disabled and sunk or drifted
helplessly down the river. The little gunboat was help-
less also. When the attack began it was under a bank
and had to steam back up the river before it could get

WAR IN ARKANSAS 149

in range to shoot at us. When the little bull dog got
back in range it threw shot and shell into the timber
like a hail storm, but our work had been done and we
were out and gone. The volley fired from the deck of
the first boat wounded one man, John Harper, in the
knee. That was our only damage.

We then went some fifteen miles farther down and
from the levee crippled two more transports. From
there we followed the levee until we could hear the big
guns at Vicksburg. That was July 3d, 1863. Next day
about noon the heavy artillery ceased and we soon
learned that Pemberton had surrendered. On July 5th
cavalry sent across the river from Vicksburg were
scouring the Arkansas side of the river, looking for
"bushwhackers who had cannon with them." We fled
back into the pine knobs and escaped easily.

I have been unable to recall further active service
in 1863. We remained inactive and in camp most of
the time and the monotonous life failed to impress its
small events upon my memory.

Active operations in 1864 began, as well as I re-
call, about the first of March, when Steele left his sta-
tion at Little Rock and started for Shreveport. We
understood that his army numbered forty thousand
men. It was certainly much larger than Price's army.
As soon as it was learned that Steele had started south
Price broke camp and set out to meet him, not with the
idea of entering into an engagement, but for the pur-
pose of harassing and delaying him. I do not remem-
ber where the two armies first came in contact with
each other, but I recall distinctly the weeks of scouting,
marching here and there, skirmishing now and then
with detachments of Steele's army, and retreating when
reinforcements appeared. The infantry kept always
in front, resisting progress at every point, while the

150 RECOLLECTIONS OF A PIONEER

cavalry under Marmaduke and Shelby went to the rear
and threatened the long train of supplies. They made
dashing attacks upon the line at every available point,
fighting only long enough to force Steele to prepare for
battle and then rapidly retreating. In this way Steele's
men were kept on the run, forward to fight the infantry
and backward to resist the cavalry. At night our men
would frequently push a battery up near his camp and
throw shells in upon him all night. I do not know how
fast Steele traveled, but he must have considered five
miles a day good progress.

During this time Banks was approaching Shreve-
port up Red River with sixty thousand men, and the
object was to prevent a union of these forces. Eight
gunboats were also making their way up the river.

General Dick Taylor had about ten thousand Texas
and Louisiana troops and he was resisting the approach
of Banks. As I remember it, Taylor had risked several
engagements with Banks, but had been compelled to
fall back each time. Finally he sent to Price for help.
Price decided to employ his cavalry upon Steele so he
sent his infantry, about five thousand, to Taylor. That
included me, as my horse had never been brought back
from pasture in Texas.

We made a forced march of one hundred and fifty
miles to Shreveport, and then hurried down Red River
to Sabine Cross Roads. We joined Taylor and on the
eighth day of April attacked Banks and defeated him.
He retreated to Pleasant Hill. After the battle we took
a few hours' rest, and when night came Taylor ordered
us to cook one day's rations ahead. About nine o'clock
we were ordered out and placed like blood hounds up-
on Bank's tracks. They were easy to follow. The
tracks were fresh, blood was plentiful and dead and
wounded negroes lay now and then alongside the

WAR IN ARKANSAS 151

road. We marched all night and until twelve o'clock
next day. About that hour we came to a small stream
about two miles from Pleasant Hill. There we stopped
and had a drink and ate a lunch.

About two o'clock in the afternoon we were thrown
into battle line and ordered to march on to Pleasant
Hill. Banks had received reinforcements and was
waiting for us. We passed through a body of timber
and there encountered the Zouaves who were hid be-
hind trees. One of them shot and killed our cook, Al
St. John, who was from Platte County, Missouri. This
was a bad start for us, but we routed the Zouaves and
marched on through the timber to an open cotton field
which lay between us and Pleasant Hill. When we
passed out of the timber we could see the town and
Bank's army lying in gullies and behind fences waiting
for us.

When we got within range firing began. I do not
remember which side opened, but I know the fight
was open and in earnest. Our line was about a
mile long and for a time each side stood firm. Directly
I heard a yell up at the north end of our line. It was
too indistinct to be understood and for a time I did not
comprehend it, but it came closer and closer by regi-
ments one after the other until our regiment was or-
dered to charge. Then we took up the yell and dashed
forward. The yell passed on down the line until our
whole force was on the move. We routed the enemy
and drove them back into the city where some of them
crept under old out houses to escape the bayonet. Then
our line came to a stop. Their reinforcements came in
from the rear with a yell and went after us. It looked
like the whole sixty thousand had suddenly sprung
from the earth. We thought we had gained a great vic-
tory when really we had only driven in the pickets. As

152 RECOLLECTIONS OF A PIONEER

they came the yell went up on the other side. We stood
right there and tried to whip the whole army. We
stopped the yell but had to go. As we turned to go back
I saw a battery horse running across the battle ground
with his harness on and his entrails dragging the
ground. Several other horses were running with sad-
dles on their sides, showing their riders had been shot
and in falling had turned the saddles. Those horses
were all killed by bullets from one side or the other
before they got off the battlefield.

We fell back about two hundred yards and ral-
lied and made a second attack. By that time Banks was
moving away from us. When the guns ceased suf-
ficiently to enable me to hear the report of my own
gun, I could hear also Bank's baggage and trap wagons
rattling and banging out of Pleasant Hill. They went
like a cyclone and that ended the bloody battle. We
marched back two miles to the little creek where we
had stopped at noon for lunch and camped for the
night. Next morning Taylor's cavalry started in pur-
suit and saw Banks safely back to New Orleans. There
Banks lost his job. At the same time the cavalry
started in pursuit of Banks, the infantry began a
forced march to Shreveport to meet Price and Steele.
When we reached Shreveport neither Price nor Steele
had arrived and we did not halt, but continued on to-
ward Little Rock. About forty miles back on the road
we came upon Price camped by the roadside, with
Steele penned up in Camden, a town on the Ouachita
River. Steele had gone into an evacuated Confeder-
ate fort to allow his army to rest, and Price had sur-
rounded him except upon the side next the river. It
was about two o'clock in the afternoon when our forces
joined Price. The boys were all well and in fine spirits

WAR IN ARKANSAS 153

and had many things to tell us and were greatly inter-
ested in our experience on the Mississippi and at
Pleasant Hill.

About five o'clock in the afternoon Price rolled
two guns up on a hill and fired a few shots into Steele's
camp, but got no answer. He ceased firing and nothing
more was done that night. Next morning Steele and
his whole army were gone, and the bridge across the
river was burned. A temporary bridge was hurriedly
built and the infantry crossed and started in pursuit.
We followed all day and all night and overtook them
about ten o'clock the following morning. I understood
that our cavalry had followed by forced marches also
and had gone ahead of Steele. At any rate, Steele, in
place of following the main road, switched off and
went about three miles down into the Saline River bot-
tom. The river was very high and all the sloughs and
ditches were full of water. When we came up Steele
was throwing his pontoon bridge over the river and
his forces were digging ditches and felling trees to keep
us back until they could get across.

Marmaduke made the first attack, as I remember,
and charged the rude breast- works. He drove the troops
behind them back into the level bottom and there the
Arkansas infantry was set to work. They forced the
line gradually back toward the river, and after an
hour's fighting we were sent to relieve them. Our at-
tack began about twelve o'clock in a pouring rain. They
would make desperate stands behind rail fences and in
clumps of timber and we sometimes had hard work to
dislodge them. When driven from one point they
would immediately take up another. This would force
us to maneuver through the mud and water to get at
them again. The last strong resistance was made about
four o'clock in the afternoon. The forces fighting us

154 RECOLLECTIONS OF A PIONEER

had managed to get into a body of timber on the north
side of an open cotton field. A high rail fence separ-
ated the field from the timber and this fence made ex-
cellent breast works. In charging we were compelled
to cross the field exposed to their fire. We made a run
and when about half across the bullets came so thick
we could go no further. We were ordered to lie down.
Every man dropped on his face with his head toward
the enemy. Lying in this position we fired upon them
and turned upon our backs to reload. We fought in
this fashion until Taylor's infantry relieved us.

When Taylor's fresh troops dashed over us with a
yell the forces behind the fence wavered and finally
ran, but it was then about time for them to run. They
had held us until most of the army had crossed the
river. They then made their escape and cut the pon-
toon bridge behind them. We secured most of their
heavy guns as they had to keep them back to use on us.
The battle was ended and I was glad of it. I never
passed a more dreadful day. With rain pouring down
from above, with sloughs waist deep to wade, and with
mud ankle deep over the whole battle field our con-
dition may be easily imagined. Besides this we were
black as negroes when we went into camp. In biting
off the ends of our paper cartridges the loose powder
would stick to our wet faces and become smeared over
them. Our gun sticks were black with exploded powder,
and in handling them with wet hands we became com-
pletely covered with grime. I shall never forget the
sorry looking, miserable, muddy, rain soaked and be-
draggled soldiers that came into camp that night.

We were not the only men who suffered that day.
While we were lying on the field, Price ordered a bat-
tery to our assistance. The captain pulled his battery
down the road and ran into a negro regiment concealed

WAR IN ARKANSAS 155

in the timber. The battery boys dismounted and were
getting ready for business when the negroes charged
and captured the battery. About half the company
swam a slough and got away. The other half were ta-
ken prisoners. They had no sooner laid down their
arms than the negroes shot and killed them all. As we
lay upon the field we could see and hear but little, but
this massacre occurred in plain view from where we
lay. As soon as we were relieved a portion of our
forces immediately attacked the negro regiment and
without mercy killed and wounded about half of them
and recaptured the guns; but the negroes had shot the
horses and that rendered the guns useless.

Next day I was detailed to help bury the dead.
Several large wagons were provided with six mules
and a driver to each wagon. Four men to each wagon
loaded the bodies in. The end gate was taken out of
the bed. Two men stood on each side of a body. One
on each side held an arm and one each side a leg. The
second swing the body went in head foremost. When
the wagon was full it was driven off to where another
squad had prepared a long trench into which the bodies
were thrown and covered up. It required most of the
day to complete our work.

The wounded were removed from the field and
cared for temporarily as they fell. The flight of the
Federal forces made it impossible for them to care for
their wounded immediately, so they were taken up by
our men and given such attention as we could give
them.

Next day was the doctors' day. I was ordered to
go along and assist. Three doctors went together,
and over each wounded man they held a consultation.
If two of them said amputate, it was done at once.
When they came to a man with a wound on his head

156 RECOLLECTIONS OF A PIONEER

they would smile and say, "We had better not ampu-
tate in this case." It seemed to me they made many
useless amputations.

One doctor carried a knife with a long thin blade.
He would draw this around the limb and cut the flesh
to the bone. The second had a saw with which he
sawed the bone. The third had a pair of forceps with
which he clasped the blood vessels, and a needle with
which he sewed the skin over the wound.

The first man I saw them work upon was a Union
soldier. All three said his leg must come off. They be-
gan administering chloroform, but he was a very hard
subject and fought it bitterly. They asked me to hold
his head, and I did so. As soon as he was quiet they
went to work on him. When I saw how they cut and
slashed I let his head loose. I thought if he wanted to
wake up and fight them he should have a fair chance.
I told the doctors that I did not go to war to hold men
while they butchered them; that I had done all to that
man that my contract called for and that I thought he
was well paid for his trip. I was in real earnest about
it, but the doctors laughed at me and said they would
soon teach me to be a surgeon.

CHAPTER XV.
Back Into Missouri.

I have no distinct recollection of leaving the
camp on Saline River, nor do I recall the military oper-
ations that followed the battle I have just described.
I know that Steele went on south and that Price did not
follow him. Steele and Ranks were both well out of
the country, and it is probable that we passed a few
weeks of idleness and inactivity. At all events, my
memory, upon which I depend entirely, fails to account
for the events immediately following the experience I
have related, and my next vivid recollection begins at
White River, where we were swimming our horses
across on our march back into Missouri. Price, Shelby
and Marmaduke were all together. We passed through
Dover, a little town where John H. Rennett, a cousin of
mine, who was captain of one of our companies, lived
and thence on to Ironton.

There we found about two thousand government
troops, well fortified just north of town, in a little valley
at the foot of a mountain. They came out and met us
two miles from Ironton where we had a skirmish and
they went back into their den. We marched into town
and camped. It was reported among the soldiers that
Price was having ladders made with which to scale the
walls, but I did not believe it. Such an attack would
have been successful in all probability, but it would
have cost Price many men and I was sure he had none
to spare. Toward night he had two field pieces rolled
up on top of the mountain by hand and began to drop
shells into their camp. They had neglected to fortify
the heavens above them and Price was taking advan-

158 RECOLLECTIONS OF A PIONEER

tage of their neglect. When a shell dropped into camp
you could see them running away in every direction
looking for a place to hide.

Some time in the night they broke through our
picket line and marched ten miles to a railroad station
where they were loaded upon flat cars and taken to St.
Louis. Price continued on toward St. Louis and great-
ly alarmed that city. Troops were hurried from east
and west to its defense, but Price had no such plan. His
sole idea was to threaten and draw troops from other
places to its protection.

On the way up from Ironton we captured two or
three hundred militia at every county seat. For all that
could be guessed from his actions, Price intended to
march directly into Jefferson City, but shortly before he
reached there he turned to the west and went to Boon-
ville. There he captured quite a large force of Fed-
eral troops and a steam ferry boat. Marmaduke with
his brigade crossed the river and marched up the north
side toward Glasgow, while Price and Shelby kept to
the south side. Price put a guard on the boat and
compelled the crew to run it up the river in conjunc-
tion with his forces. At Glasgow we captured some-
thing like a thousand troops. Marmaduke then re-
crossed the river and joined Price.

At Glasgow Lieutenant Evans got permission for
himself and twenty-five men to return to Buchanan
County to see their friends. I was one of the twenty-
five. From Glasgow we went to Keytesville where we
met Bill Anderson, the noted "Bushwhacker," with
about one hundred men. Anderson and his men ac-
companied us to Brunswick, where we learned that
there were about three hundred militia at Carrollton.
Anderson said they were dreadfully afraid of "bush-
whackers," and that he believed the twenty-five of us

BACK INTO MISSOURI 159

could run them out of town, but he sent fifteen of his
men with us. We left Brunswick in the night and at four
o'clock next morning were a mile north of Carrollton.
There we stopped to wait for daylight. When it began
to grow light we all rode together until we encountered
the pickets. As soon as they saw us they turned and
galloped into town as fast as their horses could carry
them without firing a shot. This enabled us to get in-
to the town before any alarm was given, as our horses
were as fast as those ridden by the pickets. We rode
in with a whoop and a yell, dismounted and got behind
a fence. The fifteen bushwhackers ran around to the
west side of town in plain view of the militia camp and
commenced firing. Lieutenant Evans sent a man ask-
ing them to surrender. The colonel asked who the at-
tacking force was. The man told him it was Jo Shelby.
The colonel sent word back that he would surrender in
one hour. Evans returned the messenger with direc-
tions to the Colonel that if he did not surrender in five
minutes he would open the artillery upon him. The
colonel decided to surrender and marched his men out
into an open place and had them stack arms and march
away to a safe distance. We closed in and immediately
took possession of the arms and marched the Federals
into the court house and locked them up. They had sur-
rendered believing we were merely the detachment de-
tailed to come and receive the surrnder and were great-
ly chagrined when they found that we constituted the
entire force that had attacked them. It was all over by
six o'clock in the morning.

We cooked our breakfast upon their fires and
out of their provisions. The town took a holiday, as it
was strongly southern in sentiment, and so did we. In

160 RECOLLECTIONS OF A PIONEER

the afternoon we engaged all the barbers in town, and
as we were coming back home to see our girls we had
considerable shopping to do.

The ferry boat, still under order of General Price,
had come up the river and we sent a messenger down
to stop it, and late in the evening marched our prison-
ers down and loaded them on. We also hauled along
all the provisions, guns and equipment and sent the
whole across to Price.

Anderson's men left us and returned to Brunswick,
and we camped for the night on Waukenda Creek, two
miles west of Carrollton. Early next morning we
moved on and by noon were in the hills north of Rich-
mond and at night were in camp at Watkins' woolen
mills in Clay County, two miles east of the home of
my sister, whom I have fequently mentioned.
Watkins gave us a cordial welcome, dressed a
shoat and a sheep and brought them out to us and
otherwise showed us many kindnesses. Next day we
visited Mrs. Wilson and the following day completed
our journey and camped in the brush in Tremont
Township.

Everything seemed quiet, but we observed great
discretion and did not venture from camp in the day-
time. After remaining on the east side of Platte for
about ten days without being molested, we crossed the
river and camped in the hills along Pigeon Creek. Wall
Brinton, Harvey and Bennett Reece, George Berryhill,
and Joe, Bill and John Evans, boys in our party,
all lived on that side of the river. Our camp
remained there some two weeks without being
molested. During the time we captured three soldiers
a few miles west of Agency. They were on picket, sent
out from St. Joseph, and in patroling the road came
very close to our camp. As we did not need any

BACK INTO MISSOURI 161

pickets we took them in. One of them volunteered to
join us, and as we knew him we allowed him to do so
and to keep his gun. The other two were kept pris-
oners and their guns given to Bennett Reece and Har-
vey McCanse, two recruits, who had joined us.

Shortly after this our camp was moved back to the
east side of the Platte and located in the bluffs near
the home of Joab Shultz. Here we remained in seclu-
sion, keeping the captured pickets as prisoners to pre-
vent them from returning to St. Joseph and disclosing
that we were in the country. We had little difficulty
in keeping our presence from the knowledge of Pen-
ick and his men, as most of the residents of the com-
munity were our friends. Bad luck, however, befell
us. John Utz and Billy Jones, hearing that we were at
home and desiring to go south with us on our return,
came to my old home to ascertain our whereabouts. My
sister, who lived on the place, would tell them nothing
but referred them to James Jeffreys. Instead of going
to James Jeffreys, they went to George Jeffreys, a
strong Union man, and asked him if he knew where
Gibson and Brinton were. Jeffreys replied that he did
not know they were in the country. Jones said, "Yes,
they are here with twenty-five or thirty men." Failing
to learn of us from Jeffreys they returned to the home
of my sister, where, during their absence, Cousin Mar-
garet Gibson had arrived, and as she knew Utz and
Jones, told them how to find us.

George Jeffreys, that "good Union man," lost no
time in communicating with Penick, for next day all
roads were full of soldiers. Cousin Margaret Gibson
came running to our camp and told us the soldiers were
looking for us. We released our prisoners and started.
When well out on the road we agreed upon a meeting
place and separated, thus leaving each man to look out

162 RECOLLECTIONS OF A PIONEER

for himself and at the same time taking responsibility
for any one else off of each man. This was thought to
be wise, as our little band was no match for the enemy,
bue the enemy were not acquainted with the by paths
through the woods and brush, and by going singly we
were at liberty to dodge to better advantage. Jones and
Utz came to join us shortly after we broke camp, and
undertook to follow. Penick's men caught them and
made them prisoners.

Every man showed up at the meeting place a mile
below Agency. There we crossed to the west side of
the river and stopped for a hasty lunch and to see if we
were being followed. Seeing nothing of the enemy we
concluded they had taken another course and that we
were safe in remaining in the neighborhood over night.
In the afternoon we procured flour and bacon from
Jim Patee, where we were all given a square meal,
after which we went to old man Reece's for the night
in order that the Reece boys might say farewell to their
father and mother.

In the morning early we started, crossing the Pigeon
Creek hills and making our way south. At Isaac
Farris' blacksmith shop we stopped and got horse-shoe
nails and a shoeing hammer. I shall never forget also
that Mr. Farris brought out a stack of pies which
seemed to me to be a foot high. Although I had been
at home a month where I had feasted bountifully, pies
still tasted good. I had lived on hard tack or worse so
long that I felt I could never again satisfy my appetite
with good things to eat.

We next stopped at the home of Pleas Yates, where
we found Captain Reynolds, an officer in Penick's
regiment. He had left his company and was visiting
his family. He had been very active against the south-
ern people in the community and, as we believed, justly

BACK INTO MISSOURI 163

deserved their censure, if the word hatred would not
better describe their sentiments. As we rode up Rey-
nolds came to the door, the ivory shining on the pistols
in his belt. He seemed to think we were his own men.
Lieutenant Evans ordered four men, myself and three
others, to go in and arrest him. Reynolds remained in
the door until he saw us dismount. He seemed to step
behind the door, but in fact he made a dash for the
back door to make his escape. I saw him pass out and
gave the alarm. Evans ordered the men to follow and
commanded them not to take him alive. I threw the
gate open and the boys galloped into the yard. It
seemed to me that Yates had ten acres of land fenced
off into small lots about his place, but they delayed us
only a short time. The first man to reach the fence
would jump from his horse and throw it down, the
remainder would ride forward. All this time the boys
were shooting at the running captain as fast as they
could discharge their guns and reload them.

We had with us a tall, swarthy Kentuckian, with
black hair and long black whiskers, whose name I have
forgotten, and who looked, in his rough soldier clothing,
more like a bear than a man. He was the first to reach
Reynolds. As he came up Reynolds pulled a silver
mounted navy from his belt, but the Kentuckian was
too quick for him and had a holster pointed at his head.
In an instant Reynolds dropped to his knees, threw up
his hands and began to beg. The Kentuckian disobeyed
orders and took him prisoner. He said if Reynolds
had continued to show fight he would have killed him,
but he could not shoot a man who was begging for his
life. He brought the Captain backhand, as he was then
our prisoner, his life was safe, for no man with whom I
ever served ever mistreated a prisoner.

164 RECOLLECTIONS OF A PIONEER

When we reached the house Reynolds' wife and
the Yates family came out begging and crying pitifully
for his life. We had no time to stay and argue or ex-
plain. We feared the reports of our guns had reached
the ears of Reynold's company and that they would
come upon us at any moment. Wall Brinton told the
Captain he must go with us, and ordered him to get
behind him on his horse. The captain did so amid the
wailing and crying of the women and we started away.
Reynolds' wife said she would go too, but I told her
she could not do so, as we rode through thick brush, and
that she could do no good by going.

As we rode along Reynolds said he feared we were
Bill Childs and his band of bushwhackers, and that if
Childs had found him he would not have been permit-
ted to surrender. He expressed the fear also that his
life would not be safe even as our prisoner, if Childs
should fall in with us. I assured him that Childs was
not as bad as he thought him to be, and that he need
have no fear. But even this did not satisfy him. On
further inquiry, I learned that Child's wife had been
taken by the Union forces and placed in jail, and that
Childs charged Reynolds with responsibility for this
act. Reynolds' terror of Childs made me believe, with-
out knowing the facts, that the charge was probably
well founded.

Evans and I rode along with Brinton and Reynolds
and allowed the remainder of the boys to get consider-
ably ahead of us and completely out of sight. When
the proper time came we turned out of the road into
the thick woods and stopped. Evans then told Rey-
nolds if he would go to St. Joseph and have John Utz
and Billy Jones released from prison and resign his
office and go back to his family and stay there and be-
have himself we would turn him loose. The Captain

BACK INTO MISSOURI 165

was more than willing to do all this. Evans then asked
him to hold up his hand and be sworn. I told Evans
that was not necessary, as I would vouch for the good
conduct of the prisoner. Evans then set him free and I
never saw a more grateful man in my life. We parted
good friends and I learned after the war was over
that Reynolds kept his promise, except that he was un-
able to secure the release of Utz and Jones, as that was
out of his power. In all other things he was faithful.
I have heard that he often said to those who wanted
him to return to the service that Watt Gibson had
saved his life, and that but for him both his company
and his family would have been without his services;
and that he did not propose to break the promise to
which he owed his life.

When we overtook the boys and they found we
had released Reynolds, it required hard work to keep
them from going back after him, but we finally pre-
vailed and the whole squad moved on into Platte Coun-
ty. We camped about two miles east of Camden Point
and remained a few days. Mose Cunningham and a man
by the name of Linville joined us as recruits. During our
stay there some of the boys went over to New Market
and spent a portion of the time. The day before we ex-
pected to leave, Brinton and I went over to Alfred
Jack's, as I wanted to see his daughter, Mollie, before I
left. We rode up to the yard fence and there in front
of the house lay a dead man — a Federal soldier. We
called Mr. Jack and asked him how the man came to
be there. He said that some hours before a party of
Union militia and a few men that he took to be Con-
federates had passed his house shooting at each other,
but that he did not know anyone had been killed. This

166 RECOLLECTIONS OF A PIONEER

was the first news we had that the Federals were in the
community. The skirmish was between some of our
men and a scouting party from the other side.

Mr. Jack was greatly disturbed and feared that he
would be accused of the man's death, and thought of
leaving home. I told him not to do that. He was en-
tirely innocent and the soldiers knew the man had been
killed in the skirmish. We helped him carry the body
into his yard and started for camp. I knew the
news of the fight would soon stir up all the Federals
in the community, and, though I missed seeing the
young lady, I was glad I learned of the trouble in time
to get back to camp. By noon the roads everywhere
west of us were full of soldiers. We got glimpses of
them now and then from the hill on which we were
camped.

We prepared our small camp equipment for travel-
ing, saddled our horses and crossed to the east side of
the Platte. Here we selected a good place to be at-
tacked and waited two or three hours. Either they
could not find us or did not want to find us, for they
did not appear.

Late in the afternoon we resumed our journey to
the south, and passed out of Platte and through Clay
County without difficulty. The Missouri River was
again the great obstacle, as there were a number of us
on this trip. Richfield, the point where we had pre-
viously crossed, was passed by, and we reached the
river bottom some miles below that place, just at night.
We cooked and ate supper, and about eight o'clock
started for the river, not knowing how we would get
across. As we passed through a paw-paw thicket an
amusing incident occurred. A man called "halt." As
our horses were making a great deal of noise we did
not hear either his first or second call. He called again

BACK INTO MISSOURI 167

in a loud voice, "Halt, third and last time!" We stop-
ped at once. He said, "Who are you?" Our lieutenant
answered, "Shelby's men. Who are you?" "I am a
bushwhacker, by G — ." He then asked if any man in
our company lived near this place. Our lieutenant
answered that a man with us by the name of Hill lived
at Richmond. "Tell him to come forward and meet
me half way." Then the bushwhacker began calling
to his men to fall in line. Hill went forward and met
an old acquaintance. Hill asked how many men he
had. He said he had none; that he was alone, and
was just running a bluff on us. When Hill and the
bushwhacker came back to us we all had a jolly laugh.

We learned from him that Bill Anderson, with
whom he belonged, was crossing the river with his
band of bushwhackers about a mile below, and had
sent him out as a picket. He went down with us and as-
sured Anderson that we were his friends. The night
was very dark. Anderson had forty-five men and one
small skiff. Two men besides the oarsman got into
the boat, each holding the bridle of his horse. The
horses were then forced in, one on each side, and the
skiff put off. It was a long swim for the horses and
a long wait for the skiff's return, but it was better than
drifting on cottonwood logs, as we had expected to
do. With the boat we could all land at the same place.
Anderson's men had been crossing since early in the
evening and by midnight all were over and the skiff
delivered to us. The last of our company reached the
southern shore just at sun up, and our long journey
seemed almost over with the river behind us.

Anderson, after crossing, learned that a Federal
regiment was in camp at Sibley. He took his forty-
five men and surprised them. They charged through
the whole regiment, yelling and shooting, and killed,

168 RECOLLECTIONS OF A PIONEER

wounded and ran over about twenty of them without
losing a man. Not satisfied with this they charged
back, and by that time, the soldiers had collected their
senses and their guns. Anderson was killed and three
of his men wounded. I have always believed that An-
derson and most of his men were half drunk that morn-
ing. The wounded men were placed in a tent in the
thick willows and left to the care of sympathizing wom-
en. Anderson's death left his men without a leader.
Forty-one remained able to go forward and they joined
with our thirty. This made a pretty strong squad and
we traveled the public roads in day light.

After two days our provisions gave out and we
separated into little companies of from four to six in
order to get provisions and horse feed from the resi-
dents of the country along the road, arranging in ad-
vance to unite at a given place. I recall an incident of
this trip which afforded us great amusement. It hap-
pened near the north bank of the Osage River. Our
straggling parties had united in order to be together
at the fording of the river, and as we passed down to-
ward the river we met a squad of about ten militia.
Neither party appeared to be suspicious of the other,
and the militia really thought we were a part of their
own forces. We rode directly up to them and spoke
very politely. Asked them where they were going and
they told us they were going home. Said they had been
after Price and had driven the d — d old Rebel out of
Missouri once more and were just getting home. We
then told them we were a part of Price's forces that
had not been driven out, and drew our navies on them.
It was pitiful to see the expressions of terror that came
over their faces. We made them dismount and disarm
themselves. They did so with the greatest apparent
willingness. We destroyed their arms as we had no

BACK INTO MISSOURI 169

use for them, and made them swear a dreadful oath
and promise they would never molest Price or any of
his men again. When they did this they were ordered
to move on, and seemed greatly rejoiced that their lives
had been spared. The many bitter experiences I had
during the war led me to doubt seriously whether we
would have been as well treated had we been caught
by our enemies at as great a disadvantage as we had
them. And some of our men had long been with Bill
Anderson, about whom the most dreadful stories of
cruelty have been written — by men I presume who
never dared to come out of hiding and who wrote the
terrors of their own cowardly souls rather than any-
thing real or true.

It must be understood that I am not attempting a
defense of Anderson or his men further than to relate
what their conduct was while I was with them. It was
by chance only, in the manner I have related, that I
was thrown with these men on this trip southward, and
though we met a number of returning squads of mili-
tia in the same way and always had the advantage of
them, not a man of them was mistreated other than
to be disarmed, if that may be called mistreatment.
The situation may and probably was different when
these men were attacked or when the enemy was cam-
paigning against them. I have heard it said that, under
such circumstances, men who encountered Anderson's
men had to fight, run or die.

With more or less difficulty and with many hard-
ships, but without any incident worth mentioning, we
made our way to the Arkansas River about twenty
miles below Fort Smith. The river was running pretty
full and there was no hope of finding a ferry without
encountering Federal troops, so we constructed a rude
raft of cottonwood logs, got on it and swam our horses

170 RECOLLECTIONS OF A PIONEER

alongside. This occasioned considerable delay, but
we got safely over and made our way to Red River,
where we had much the same experience. We reached
Price at Clarksville, Texas, and remained with him
there until January.

At this time Price's army was all cavalry — just as
it came off of the raid into Missouri — and consisted of
about five thousand men. Early in January he moved
down on Red River about fifty miles distant in order
to get feed for his horses. Horse feed was scarce about
Clarksville, but in Red River bottom the cane was
abundant and the move was made that the horses
might be grazed upon the cane. Price remained there
until spring and was still there when Lee surrendered.
Price and his staff prepared to go to Mexico and seven
of us — Buchanan and Platte County neighbor boys —
saddled our horses, bade him goodby and started for
home.

CHAPTER XVI.
Worse Than War.

The members of our party were Bill and Jack
Evans, Curly Smith, Mose Cunningham of Camden
Point, and one of his neighbors, whose name I do not
now recall, Wall Brinton and myself. Our horses were
in good condition, and, though the war was over, we
supplied ourselves well with arms and ammunition
and it was well we did, for in all my experiences,! never
suffered such hardships or came so near losing my life
as on this journey home after the war was over. We
traveled a long distance, as it seemed then, and met with
no difficulty except lack of food. Homes in that coun-
try were few and far between and when we chanced
upon a house no one was at home but half starved,
ragged women and children. They had little to offer
us and lived themselves by. taking their dogs to the
woods and chasing game or wild hogs which had gone
through the winter and were unfit for food. They al-
ways offered to divide, but we did not have the heart
to accept their offer, and lived on such game as we
could kill as we traveled along. We always gave these
women such encouragement as we could, told them
the war was over and they might soon expect their
husbands and sons to return to them. We did not say
if they were still alive, but we and they sadly under-
stood always that such a condition might well have
been added.

I do not recall how we got across the Arkansas
River, but I do remember that in the heavy timber on
this side we came upon nine men in camp who
claimed to be "bushwhackers." They invited us to

172 RECOLLECTIONS OF A PIONEER

join them and as we were tired and hungry we did so.
We rested the remainder of the day and at night they
told us there was to be a dance — frolic — in the neigh-
borhood and invited us to go. We did so and witnessed
a dance in truly Arkansas style. I took no part, but
enjoyed looking on at the others. When we reached
camp late in the night we all spread our blankets down
around the fire and slept, feeling the greatest security.
Next morning three of their men and three of our
horses were gone. We said nothing, but cooked and
ate our breakfasts and went back to the cane-brake to
make further search for the horses. We hunted until
noon, but could not find them. We returned to the
camp where the six remaining members of the party
were and got dinner. After dinner at a given signal
we drew our navies and made them disarm, which they
did with much more haste than "bushwhackers" would
have done. We then asked them to tell where our
horses were. Three of the six proved to be really our
friends and knew nothing about the horses. The other
three were in with the men who had gone. The missing
horses belonged to Mose Cunningham, Wall Brinton
and myself. They told us various stories. One said
that my horse had been taken by the son of a widow
woman who lived seven miles east. Others said the
horses had been taken to Fort Smith, twenty miles
west. We settled the matter by saddling three of their
horses and riding away. We rode the remainder of
the day and until two o'clock in the night without any-
thing to eat. About this hour we came upon a house
and roused the inmates and told them we must have
provisions. We got a ham, some flour, sugar and
coffee and started on. By nine o'clock next morning
we had gotten far up into the rugged, mountainous
country where it seemed safe to stop. We dismounted

WORSE THAN WAR 173

and cooked breakfast, but took the precaution to send
two men back on the mountain to keep watch. I had
eaten my breakfast, saddled my horse and was ready
to go. The other boys were taking more time. I re-
minded them that we might be followed and that they
had better make haste. I had scarcely uttered the
words when the boys on the lookout came running
down the mountain and before they reached the camp
a company of soldiers appeared at the crest. They
commenced throwing hot lead down at us, and we re-
turned it and kept it up until the boys got into camp
and grabbed up a handful of provisions. I made a
breastworks of my horse and stood and shot across
my saddle until the horse fell at my feet. By that time
our guns were empty, and without time to reload we ran
to the mountains, leaving everything but our guns and
the clothes upon our backs.

It was disheartening to think that, tired and hun-
gry as we were, we could not have peace long enough
to cook and eat the poor provisions secured at the farm
house the night before, and it was still more disheart-
ening to reflect upon where the next meal was to be
found. In spite of this we still had much to be thank-
ful for. Although left on foot and without provisions,
we still had our lives and plenty of powder and lead,
and, in those days when human life was so cheap,
these were our greatest concern.

The party attacking did not follow us into the
brush on the mountain side. We had all the advantage
there and were desperate enough to have used it to
any extent and without much conscience, had occa-
sion required. Our little party was scattered, each
man taking care of himself. Some kept moving up the
mountain while some crouched like hunted quails in
what appeared to be safe hiding places. In a little

174 RECOLLECTIONS OF A PIONEER

while our pursuers gathered up our horses and the
fragments of provisions we had left and started away.
After a long wait the boys began to signal each other
and shortly we were united.

It was a long and weary trudge to Fayetteville.
We were compelled to keep near the main traveled
road, (which was little better than a bridle path),
because the country was so rough and the timber so
heavy that we feared we might lose our way. Our only
food was the game we killed — squirrels and wild tur-
key and now and then a deer. This we dressed and
broiled over a camp fire and ate without bread or salt.
Hard as this method of subsistence was, it had at least
one advantage over an army march — we had plenty
of time. The bare ground had been our resting place
so long that we were quite accustomed to it, and even,
without the luxury of a blanket, we slept and rested
much.

At Fayetteville we got the first square meal since
leaving the camp on the Arkansas River, and, as it was
by no means safe to remain there, we secured such
provisions as we could carry, and started on, still on
foot. Above Fayetteville the country became less
mountainous and, although we always slept in the tim-
ber, we found little trouble in securing food. We
crossed Cowskin River and made our way to Granby,
where the lead mines were located. In a little valley
shortly out of Granby we found a drove of poor, thin
horses. They had fared badly during the winter, but
looked as though they might be able to help us along
somewhat, so we peeled hickory bark and made halt-
ers and each man caught himself a horse. We had not
gone far when we discovered that riding barebacked

WORSE THAN WAR 175

on the skeleton of a horse was a poor substitute for
walking, so we turned our horses loose and continued
the journey on foot.

Johnstown, a small town in Bates County, is the
next point, I remember distinctly. A company of mili-
tia was stationed there and all the people in the coun-
try round-about were colonized in and near the town.
Although we knew the militia were there, we took our
chances on going quite near the town, for we were com-
pelled to have food. Late in the afternoon we stopped
at a house in the outskirts of the town and found the
man and his family at home. The man belonged to
the militia company, so we held him until the family
cooked supper for us. After we had eaten we started
on, taking the man with us to prevent him from report-
ing on us, advising his family at the same time that if
we were pursued it would be because some of them
had informed on us and in that event the man would
never return. They were glad enough to promise any-
thing that would give them hope of his return, and we
felt quite sure we would not be discovered from that
source.

We left the house between five and six o'clock and
had not gone far when we saw three militia men who
had been out on a scout, riding toward us. When they
came within a hundred yards or so the leader called
on us to halt. He asked, "Who are you?" Wall Brinton
replied, but I do not recall what he said. The leader
evidently did not believe him for he replied by telling
us to consider ourselves under arrest. This was, under
our circumstances, equivalent to opening hostilities,
so we replied with our navies. One horse fell with the
man on him. The other two hastily assisted the rider to
mount behind one of them. They galloped back and
took another road toward the town. We hurried on to

176 RECOLLECTIONS OF A PIONEER

a thick grove of timber some distance ahead where
we could secure protection against the attack that we
felt sure would later be made upon us. As the news
of our presence had now gone back to headquarters,
our prisoner could be of no more service, so we turned
him loose. We reached the timber and waited and
watched, but, for some reason, no attempt was made to
capture us. Darkness soon came on and we lost no
time in making our escape. At daylight next morning
we were at Little Grand River, fifteen miles north.

Shortly after we left our hiding place in the tim-
ber near Johnstown, it began to rain and rained on us
all night long as we journeyed. Little Grand River
was running nearly bank full, but we had to cross. We
made a raft by binding logs together with hickory bark,
placed the guns and clothing upon it and pushed out,
each man holding on at the rear, swimming arid push-
ing. We were soon across and as it seemed to be a
wild, uninhabited spot, we built a fire and warmed our-
selves and dried our clothing, and all got a little sleep,
one man always standing guard. About ten o'clock I
grew restless and uneasy and awakened the boys and
told them we had better move on, as that company of
militia might start early in the morning to follow us
and, if they did so, they might be expected to appear at
any time. Wall Brinton, our captain, agreed to this
and we made another start, although some of the
boys opposed it and said we had as well be killed as
run ourselves to death.

We traveled westwardly, up the river, about two
miles and then north to the bluffs where we found
what appeared to be sufficient protection in the timber
and hills to warrant a stop for further rest. It was a
beautiful day after the rain the night before and we lay

WORSE THAN WAR 177

in the warm sunshine and slept as well as hungry men
could sleep. We peeled slippery elm bark and ate it,
but it did little to satisfy our hunger.

Late in the afternoon, Curly Smith, Wall Brin-
ton and I were chewing upon our elm bark and six of
our boys were fast asleep, when a company of soldiers
rode up in twenty yards of us before we saw them.
Smith saw them first and said to me, "Who is that?"
I sprang to my feet, turning around as I did so. I knew
them at a glance and knew also that we were in
trouble. There was no time to plan — no time even to
run — and six of the nine of us fast asleep. My first
thought was to wake the boys so I called out at the top
of my voice, "Who are you?" They gave no answer,
but opened fire upon us. Brinton, Smith and I each
took a tree and let them come on. It was a desperate
situation and every load in the brace of six-shooters
we carried must be made to count. When they were
close enough for our work to be effective, we began
on them. From the way they dropped out of their sad-
dles I am sure very few of our bullets went astray.
The captain kept urging his men on, calling "Give them
hell, boys!" and we kept busy. The captain himself
galloped up within two rods of me, threw his saber
around his head and ordered me to surrender. I had,
as I thought, just one shot left. I put it through his
heart. I saw it twist, as it seemed, through his coat, and
I shall never forget the writhing of his body and the
dreadful frown as he fell from his horse. Most of them
who were left had now exhausted the loads in their
guns, and when they saw their captain fall re-
treated. We whirled and ran with all our might.
The boys who had been asleep were gone. They
had awakened and started at the first volley.
A short run brought us in sight of the other boys

178 RECOLLECTIONS OF A PIONEER

who were at the moment trying to pass around a
long, narrow slough, which lay between them
and timber on the other side. Brinton's right arm was
broken between the wrist and elbow. He had received
the wound as he threw his arm from behind the tree
to shoot. It was bleeding badly, but we kept running
and calling to our companions to turn and fight. They
paid no attention to us, but kept on around the
slough. During this time the men who attacked us
had rallied and were riding down upon us. Brinton
kept calling and urging the boys to turn and fight, and
finally as our pursuers drew closer they turned and
fired, and this checked the men who were after us for
a moment. By this time poor Wall had grown weak and
sick from loss of blood and could go no farther. We
had been running side by side. The last words he said
to me were, "I am sick, I can't go on. I will have to
surrender. Make your escape if you can." Such a thing
seemed impossible at the moment, but I feared nothing
so much as the "mercy" of the men who were after
us. Wall threw up his well arm and I ran as fast as I
could toward the slough or lake and plunged right in.
The brush and vines on the other side were my only
hope, aside from the discovery I made as I ran that
I had one more load in my navy. Our enemies, ex-
cept one man, took after the boys who were running
around the lake. As I waded in water nearly waist deep
the man who had followed me rode up to the edge of
the lake and ordered me to halt. I paid no attention
to him but waded on, watching him all the time. He
rode out into the water, raised his gun as if to shoot
and called the second time. I stopped and turned and
leveled the muzzle of my navy at his belt and fired.
He fell off his horse into the water. When I got across
I looked back and saw him struggling to keep his head

WORSE THAN WAR 179

out of the water. I do not know what became of him.
I foresaw when he came up and rode into the lake that
he or I would be doing that very thing, and I felt
that the chance load left in my navy was, as it proved
to be, my only protection against it. The fight was still
going on up the lake. I looked and saw Jack Evans
down in the water and heard him calling for help.
The other boys were just wading out. I ran to them
and as I came up I saw blood streaming from the leg
of one of the men. He had been shot in the thigh, but
was still able to walk.

We soon got out of sight in the thick brush and
they did not follow us. Including the man who re-
mained with us, four of our men had been wounded in
the fight. Three of them, Wall Brinton, Jack Evans
and one of the Platte County boys, were compelled to
surrender, and we learned that all of them, wounded
prisoners though they were, were shot in cold blood.
We never knew how many of their men were killed
and wounded.

We hurried on through the brush back toward the
river, and when we reached it we found a log for our
wounded man and all swam across to the south side.
After traveling a few miles down the river we crossed
in the same manner and made directly north. Just
before dark we came to an abandoned log house and
stopped. We were in a pitiable condition. No food
since the night before, tired and wet, depressed in
spirits by the loss of our comrades, whom we knew had
already been killed, and with a wounded man upon
our hands. To remain there so close to the men who
were after us meant that we would be captured and
killed.

We talked the matter over. The wounded man,
whose name I do not recall, in company with his

180 RECOLLECTIONS OF A PIONEER

brother, fell in with us at the Arkansas River. He was
so weak and was suffering so much that he could go
no farther, so he and his brother decided to remain at
the cabin through the night and trust to the mercy of
some one whom they might find next day to give them
assistance and shield them from the soldiers who had
pursued us from Johnstown. They agreed that the
four of us who were uninjured would not be so apt to
secure sympathy and that we had better move on.

It was a sad farewell that we bade our wounded
companion and his brother that night, and it was, for
me at least, a farewell indeed, for I have never seen or
heard from them since, but it seemed the best and only
thing that could be done. As soon as it was dark we
started and traveled all night, though very slowly, and
until late in the afternoon of the day following. At that
time we came near a small place, the name of which I
do not now remember. We went up close to the town
and stopped at a house. Two men in blue clothes were
there with the family and we immediately took charge
of them and ordered supper. They prepared a splen-
did meal for us and we ate it as only men can eat who
have gone forty-eight hours without food. It was a
cool evening and they had a small fire in an old-
fashioned fire-place. After supper we asked them to
spread some bed clothes before the fire and three of
us lay down and slept while the fourth stood guard
over the men. We took turns standing guard through
the night and next morning ordered an early break-
fast and left as soon as it was daylight.

We started north, and as soon as we got out of
sight of the house turned east a short distance and
then went back south about a mile to a high knoll
covered with black jack. We lay there all day and
watched the maneuvers of the blue coats. They

WORSE THAN WAR 181

scoured the country to the north far and near, but
never approached the knoll on which we were hidden.
We had a fine rest after our two good meals, and we
needed it following the events of the past two days.
When night came and everything got still we came
down and went to the same house for supper. The
men had not returned from hunting us, and the women
were much surprised to see us. They gave us a good
supper and we bade them goodby and started north,
listening all the time for approaching horses from
either direction. We had no difficulty, and by morn-
ing were well out of the way.

The next place I remember was in Jackson
County near Independence. As we were worn out,
ragged and almost barefooted, and as the war was over,
we decided to see the provost marshal and get a pass
on which we could travel on to our homes in safety. I
went to a good Union man's house and told him what I
wanted. He promised to see the marshal for me, and
I directed him where to find us. Upon his return he
said the pass would be provided. Next morning they
sent a small company of soldiers out and we saw that
we had been deceived. They looked us over carefully
and talked pretty saucy, but did not harm us. We
looked so shabby that they evidently thought we did
not amount to much. They put us in a two-horse
wagon and took us to Warrensburg, forty miles far-
ther from home. There we were placed in a guard-
house where we were kept two or three days, without
telling us what their plans were. One morning a
guard came and took one of our men — a mere boy-
down to headquarters and quizzed him to find out if
he knew anything about the fight on Little Grand
River. He denied it. Then they came and got one of
the other boys, but he managed also to convince them

182 RECOLLECTIONS OF A PIONEER

that we had been together — just the four of us — since
we left the south. This seemed to satisfy them for they
did not call on me, but we were not released.

The day following a guard came and marched us
out to the edge of town and set us to work hoeing in a
garden, with a negro woman for a boss. I called her
"aunty," and cut up as many beans and peas as I did
weeds. I kept my "boss" busy showing me how, and
she got precious little work out of me. I began to sus-
pect they were trying to connect us with the Grand
River affair, and feared they might get some one who
would identify us or pretend to do so, and I did not like
the prospect, so I made up my mind I would leave them
some how and go home without a pass. The guard-
house was a brick building that had been a dwelling.
A water tank stood out in the yard and the prisoners
all went there for water. Four men stood guard day
and night, and it was customary at six o'clock to turn
the men in and lock them up. On the evening that I
decided to escape I managed to hide in a pile of lumber
that lay in the yard near the water tank, and when
the guards put the men in and locked the doors they did
not miss me. I lay very still until late at night. I
could hear the guard pass on his beat and by the time
required to pass me and return I could judge the
length of his heat. When I thought it safe to make my
dash I watched and after he had passed south, I waited
until he had gone, as well as I could estimate, to the
end of his beat, then I leaped across his path so quickly
that he did not have time to think, much less shoot. I
ran down a dark alley and had no trouble in reaching
the outskirts of the town. I took across the fields, not
knowing where I was going, nor caring much, just so
I was getting away. I had been gone but a little while
when I heard the town bell ring and knew the alarm

WORSE THAN WAR 183

had been turned in. Then I heard horses galloping out,
as I supposed, on every road from town. I heard the
horses gallop across a bridge some distance from town,
and concluded I would cross no bridges that night. I
moved cautiously on, and by and by came to a creek
somewhat in the direction I had heard horses cross the
bridge. I followed the creek, watching all the time for
bridges and after a while came to a foot-log. I crossed
and made my way out of the thick brush and stopped
to get my bearings. It was a starlight night. I located the
north star and took it for my guide and traveled all
night.

When daylight came I found myself in a creek bot-
tom and in a body of very large timber. I found a
large, hollow sycamore with a hole in the side reaching
down to the ground large enough to admit me. I sat
back into that tree to get a little rest and possibly a
little sleep. I watched and listened. A good while af-
ter sun up I saw a man going with a yoke of cattle to-
ward a field, which I could see through the timber, to
plow. Two big, savage looking dogs were following
him. The dogs raised their heads and came toward
me as though they scented me and I made sure I would
be discovered, but they turned in another direction be-
fore they got very near and did not disturb me. I sat
there all day and, in spite of my hunger, slept and rest-
ed. When night came I made another start as soon as
I could see the north star. I traveled all night and when
morning came I still had but little idea where I was.
I went up on a high hill which was covered with brush
and from which I could see all about me. Everything
was quiet, so I lay down and slept. I awoke about ten
o'clock and saw a stage-coach loaded with passengers
passing along a road below me. This was the first in-
formation I had that I was near a public road. I re-

184 RECOLLECTIONS OF A PIONEER

mained in the brush awhile and then decided to move
along cautiously by daylight. I saw a house now and
then and, though terribly hungry, I did not dare ap-
proach it and ask for food. Toward night I reached the
rugged hills, from which I judged I must be near the
Missouri River. Just before dark I found an empty to-
bacco barn and crawled into it and remained through-
out the night. This was the third night with two days
intervening — sixty hours — in which I had not tasted
food, and I was worn out with my long tramp besides.

I did not sleep well that night. My accommoda-
tions were very poor and my gnawing appetite, made
me wakeful. I had one comfort, however, I was well
hidden, and this reflection rewarded me for much of
my suffering. Since this trip home I have had a warm
sympathy for all hunted beasts.

When day began to dawn I commenced observing
my situation -without. I saw a house near by and
watched it for an hour. I could only see two women,
and from the way they attended the work outside as
well as in the house, I concluded there were no men
about the place and that it would be safe for me to
venture up and ask for something to eat, and, if I got
into trouble, trust my legs, the only weapons I had, to
get me out. I went up cautiously and found what I
could not discover from my hiding place, that one was
an old lady and the other a girl just grown. I spoke to
the old lady and told her my famished condition. She
said she was sorry for me, but she had orders to feed
nobody on either side and that she could not disobey
them without getting into trouble herself. I told her the
war was over and that I was trying to get home. I had
tried to quit fighting when I left Price on Red River,
but had had greater difficulty in keeping myself from
being killed since I quit fighting than before. She still

WORSE THAN WAR 185

refused to give me anything. Finally, my entreaties won
the girl. She spoke up and said, "Mother, I have made
no promises. You have kept your promise and have
refused him food. I will give him something to eat."
With that she told me to draw my chair to the table and
she began to set such a meal before me as I had not
tasted in years, it seemed. Cold boiled ham, light
bread, milk and butter, preserves, honey, cake and pie
—plenty of all, and rations I had not heard of in
months. I will not attempt to describe how ravenously
I ate. I was probably as shabby looking a mortal as
ever sat down to a meal at a civilized table. My hair
and beard were long and had not been combed for
days. I had not washed my face since I escaped from
the guard-house. My clothes — what was left of them—
were, with walking through mud and rain, wading
lakes and sloughs and swimming rivers, soiled and
grimy beyond description. When I had finished eating
the girl asked me if I would take a lunch along with
me. Of course I told her I would, and that I would al-
ways be grateful to her, and I have kept my promise. I
have many times remembered that kindness and
thanked that young lady over and over a thousand
times in my heart.

I took my package and bade the girl and her
mother goodby and started for the woods. I soon
reached level ground and heavy timber and knew I
was in the river bottom. I went cautiously along until
I saw the river in the distance. Then I selected a good
shade and lay down and had a fine rest after my good
meal. I awoke some time along in the afternoon.
Everything was quiet — no sound of human foot or
voice. I ate my lunch and went down to the river bank
to select a good crossing place. I found a place that
suited me. Then I prepared three logs and brought

186 RECOLLECTIONS OF A PIONEER

them to the water's edge and tied them firmly together
with hickory bark which I peeled from the saplings
near by. I found in a drift close at hand a clap-board
suitable for an oar, and my craft was ready to sail.
I might have made the crossing in daylight without
being molested, but, not knowing what I might encoun-
ter on the other shore, I decided to wait for night.

As soon as it began to grow dark I went down and
pushed my raft into the water and tied it to the root
of a tree. I then got astride of it with feet and legs up
to the knees in the water to see if it would bear my
weight. It appeared to be sufficiently strong, so with
my clap-board in my hand I cut loose. The current
caught me and took me rapidly down stream, but
I was sure if I kept using my paddle it would have suf-
ficient effect to land me on the other side some time. It
soon grew very dark, so that I could not see the shore
on either side, and I could not tell I was moving ex-
cept by the water running past my feet and legs. After
what seemed a very long time, and after I had grown
very tired both with my labor and my position on the
raft, I felt my feet strike the sand. I got up and towed
the raft to shore and pulled it up on dry land. Then I
took a rest and planned. I might be on an island
and in that case I would have further need for my raft.
I could only ascertain my position by investigating, so
when sufficiently rested I started on across the land,
breaking the top of a bush every few steps to guide me
back in case I should find myself upon an island. I
soon came to a slough which I waded without difficulty
and passed on. A little farther on I came to another
slough, which I also waded. The ground under my
feet seemed to grow firmer as I walked away from this
slough. I passed into a body of good sized timber and
finally I came to a wagon road, and I knew then that I

WORSE THAN WAR 187

was on the main land and the Missouri River which had
given me so much trouble during the four preceding
years was again behind me. My little raft might rest
and I should have no need to retrace my steps by the
broken bushes.

I had no idea what time of night it was. I was
tired and wet, but with all that, felt much better than
on the preceding night when so hungry. I thought it
must be twenty miles or more to where my sister lived
in the northeast portion of Clay County, so I again took
the north star for my guide and set out, bearing west
somewhat when I found traveling that way agreeable,
but never east. I paid no attention to roads unless they
led in my direction. When daylight came I was at a loss
to know where I was. I saw a house in the distance and
went up near it. No one was up, so I sat down to wait. In
a little while a girl came out to a wood pile and began
picking up chips. I went up and asked her how far it
was to Greenville. She said one mile. I asked her which
direction and she pointed east. I thanked her and start-
ed in the direction she pointed. I was no sooner out of
sight than I turned my course due north, for I was then
in less than two miles of my sister's home. I arrived
shortly after sun up, and as I went into her house and
sat down to a good breakfast, I felt that my troubles
ought to be fairly over, now that the war had closed;
but my terrible experiences on the way home caused
me to doubt whether I could go back and live in peace,
even if there was no war.

I remained with my sister a day or two, never
showing myself in daylight, for I learned from her
that now since fear of southern soldiers was over, all
those who were too cowardly to go to the front but had
remained at home and robbed and harassed old men
and women and children, were giving the community

188 RECOLLECTIONS OF A PIONEER

more trouble than at any time during the war. They
were all very brave then and organized companies and
marched and drilled and galloped over the roads, seek-
ing all manner of pretenses to rob and kill those who
had sympathized with the south. Returning Confeder-
ate soldiers, were, in those first days after the close of
the war, in greater danger than when in the front of bat-
tle, as my own recent experience had shown, and I was
not alone, for my sister told me of a number of soldiers
who had returned from the south only to be killed after
reaching home.

I was sure I would find much the same condition in
Buchanan County that I had encountered all along my
route home, and I did not like the prospect that lay be-
fore me.

I learned from my sister that Trav. Turner, a neigh-
bor of hers, was at St. Joseph fitting up a freight train
for Salt Lake. I knew Turner well. He had carried food
to Brother James and me while we lay in the brush
waiting to hear the fate of Charley Pullins who was cap-
turned when we were all overtaken at the home of Reu-
ben Eastin in that neighborhood, and I knew, if I could
reach him, I would have no difficulty in getting away
from the country. Something had to be done. If I
should be discovered at the home of my sister it would
give the "yard dogs," as those brave murderers of that
community were called, a pretext for robbing her and
probably for killing her husband or some of her family.
We decided upon a plan. I shaved very clean and
parted my long hair in the middle, put on one of my
sister's dresses and both of us put on sunbonnets. We
got in a buggy and started for Saint Joseph. We passed
right through old Haynesville, the center of all the pat-
riotic parading of the "yard dogs," on through Platts-
burg and reached the home of Jack Elder, a half mile

WORSE THAN WAR 189

from my old home, where we stayed all night. Next
morning we drove on to Saint Joseph and took dinner
with my brother, Isaac. I remember this incident par-
ticularly for the family had company for dinner. I was
introduced as a Clay County friend of Mrs. Wilson's
and sat down at the same table, and the visitors did not
suspect me through my disguise. After dinner we drove
to the ferry at the foot of Francis Street and drove on.
The boat was crowded and they had to place our buggy
in line in order to make room for others. Two men
took hold of the buggy to lift it around. My sister said,
"Wait and we will get out." The men said, "No, sit still
ladies, we can lift it with you in it." We sat still, and
crossed over. On reaching the other side we drove out
through the woods and found Turner's camp. Passing
on beyond and out of sight, I removed my disguise,
after which we returned to the camp and I bade my sis-
ter good-by.

CHAPTER XVII.
Across the Plains in Sixty- five.

I was perfectly at home in Turner's camp, not only
on account of my acquaintance with him, but on ac-
count of my old familiarity with plainsmen's ways.

There were nineteen men in the train, and but three
of them, Turner, Cap. Hughes, the wagon boss, and
James Curl, of Rushville, knew me. They were all dis-
creet and kept their knowledge to themselves. I went
by the name of John Allen. Just before we were ready
to start my brother-in-law, James Reynolds, sent me a
mule, bridle and saddle and a small amount of money.
We pulled out early one morning, sixteen wagons, four
yoke of oxen to each wagon, and forty hundred in each
load. Some time was required to get the men and cattle
accustomed to traveling, and for a while our progress
was slow. At Fort Kearney the soldiers stopped our
train. They told us the Indians were on the warpath
ahead and the authorities refused to permit any train
to pass on without fifty men. This forced us to wait un-
til another train came up. During this time we were
required to organize ourselves into a company of sol-
diers, elect a captain and drill several hours every day.
The captain ordered me out to drill with the boys. I
told him I knew as much about drilling as I wanted to
know and refused to go. Turner thought he had to obey
the authorities and had all his men drill very indus-
triously. I told him he had better stop that foolishness
and pull out or he would not reach Salt Lake before
Christmas. He said he did not know how to get away
from the orders given him by the soldiers. I told him to

ACROSS THE PLAINS IN SIXTY-FIVE 191

turn the matter over to me and I would show him. He
did as I requested and gave orders that until further
notice I should be obeyed.

The following morning I was out before daylight. I
quietly aroused the men and ordered them to prepare
to move. Everything was soon ready and before sun
up we were on the road. I made twenty-five miles that
day, which put us so far ahead that we never again
heard of soldiers or of the trains that expected to ac-
company us. Turner wanted me to remain in charge of
the train, but I told him I could not do it, as I had had
trouble enough the past four years, but that I would
give him all the assistance in my power.

The train moved along slowly over the old road up
the Platte which was so familiar to me, until it reached
the upper crossing at South Platte, where I crossed in
forty-nine. From that point we continued up South
Platte over a road with which I was not familiar. When
we reached the mouth of the Cache le Poudre River we
crossed and left the Platte and followed the Cache le
Poudre up about 75 miles, as I remember it. There
we left the river and passed over a high plateau, or di-
vide as we called it, and down into a beautiful valley,
the head waters of Laramie River. After crossing this
valley we passed through a very rough country that lay
between the Laramie and the North Platte. On this
stretch of the road and at a point I do not now remem-
ber, we passed a government fort. There I saw Gillis-
pie Poteet, with whom I had gone to school as a boy.
He was a private in the Federal service. I do not know
whether he recognized me or not. I passed him with-
out speaking or making myself known. My experiences
in the war had made me doubtful of even my old school
mates when I saw them in such company as I found
him.

192 RECOLLECTIONS OF A PIONEER

After crossing North Platte, which was but a small
stream at that point, we passed into the worst alkali
country I ever saw in my life. It extended from the
North Platte to the Colorado River — a distance of one
hundred and fifty miles or more.

We had a hundred and twenty-five head of cattle
and about one-fifth of them gave out before we were
half way across the desert and had to be herded behind
the train. In this state of affairs, which seemed about
as bad as it could well be, Turner was taken sick. He
and Captain Hughes had been having trouble with the
men, and Turner was greatly worried, and I thought at
first that he was homesick. The second day after Tur-
ner was taken sick he came to me and asked me to take
charge of the train and let him go on by stage to Salt
Lake City where he could rest and see a doctor. I had
been thinking for several days that I would like to
leave the train and go on by stage myself, but did
not like to leave Turner while he was in trouble. So
when he proposed to go on I suggested that he leave the
train with Captain Hughes and that I go along with him
to care for him. He said he could not consent to go on
unless I remained with the train; that if we both went
the men would abandon the train on the desert. I then
told him I would do my best; that he had stood by me
when I was in trouble, had carried food to me in the
brush when, if he had been discovered, it would have
cost him his life, and that I was ready to do everything
I could for him. I saw Captain Hughes and found it
was agreeable to him that I take charge.

We had then been nearly three months on the road.
The cattle were poor and worn out and there was little
food for them upon the desert. The men were tired and
had been inclined to rebel against Turner and Hughes,
and many times it was all that all of us could do to keep

ACROSS THE PLAINS IN SIXTY-FIVE 193

them from abandoning the train. Under these trying
conditions, I took charge, much against my inclination,
but out of a sense of duty to Turner.

Turner took the stage and left us. I immediately
gave the men to understand that I would have no
foolishness and that I intended to push the train on in
good order and as rapidly as conditions would permit.
The men seemed to believe I could do what I said I
could do and became very well satisfied. I had trouble
with only one man — a negro that Curl had picked up
at Fort Kearney, and placed in charge of one of his
teams. He weighed about 180 pounds, and had just been
discharged from the Union army. He felt very
important, and still wore his blue uniform. The
trouble arose in this way: At night we placed
the wagons so as to form a large corral, leaving
a gap on one side. In the morning the cattle would be
rounded up and driven into the corral to be yoked. This
negro would not go out in the roundup, but would re-
main at the camp until the cattle came up, then in place
of waiting until the cattle were safely in the corral, he
would pick up his yoke and start for his cattle directly
in front of the drove. Many of the cattle would frighten
at this and run away and have to be rounded up again.
The boys had scolded him frequently, but he paid no
attention to them, and when I went in charge they com-
plained to me. I spoke to the negro firmly but kindly
and told him to wait until the cattle were all driven in
before attempting to yoke his cattle. He paid no atten-
tion to me, and as usual frightened the cattle back. I
said nothing more to him. The next morning I took one
of the long bull whips, the stock of which was of sea-
soned hickory and eight or ten feet long, and took my
stand at the side of the gap as though I intended to as-
sist in driving the cattle in. When the front cattle came

194 RECOLLECTIONS OF A PIONEER

up the negro started for his oxen with the yoke in his
hands. Quick as a flash I changed ends on the whip-
stock and with the butt of it I gave him such a rap on
the side of the head that he dropped his yoke and stag-
gered out of the way. That was the last trouble I had
with that negro. He was as obliging and obedient to me
after that as I could ask a negro to be.

I got the train to the Colorado River where there
was plenty of water and grass, and rested three days.
I crossed the river and moved on up Black Fork about
forty miles to Fort Bridger. There I met Turner who
had returned from Salt Lake to see how we got along.
I drove the train up close to the fort and stopped on a
stream. The cattle were unyoked and I had gone with
them to the stream to see that they all got water. It
was a beautiful place to camp, and with the fort so close
at hand I thought we could all lie down and rest with-
out fear of Indians. While I was at the creek three
men with yellow stripes on their shoulders rode up and
asked me where the owner of the train was. I directed
them to Turner, who was at the camp. They rode off
and I followed and reached the camp in time to hear
them tell Turner that he must move on; that he could
not camp in five miles of the fort; that they were sav-
ing the grass for hay. Turner asked me what he should
do. I told him there was but one thing to do — move on.
That the fort was placed there for the purpose of pro-
tecting emigrants, and freighters, but that did not mat-
ter. Those gentlemen in blue clothes and yellow stripes
must be protected or they could not draw their salaries.

The dead line they had drawn was five miles be-
yond, and it was nearly night and our cattle were
hungry and we were foot-sore and worn out, and all the
Indians on the plains could rob and scalp us that dis-
tance away from the fort and not a gentleman in blue

ACROSS THE PLAINS IN SIXTY-FIVE 195

clothes and yellow stripes be disturbed by it, but we
had to move. I was rebellious again — more so I believe
than at any moment during the war, which had just
closed — and but for my recent efforts and my dismal
failure, I should have felt much like challenging the
whole regiment with my twenty cowboys. We were not
the only sufferers. An emigrant train of about twenty
families, men, women and children from near Rush-
ville, Buchanan County, in which were Joe Hart and
Tom Hill, who I remember had fallen in with us and
were traveling close behind, they, too, had to pack
up and start. It was late at night when we reached a safe
distance from the fort under escort of the gentlemen in
blue clothes and yellow stripes, and we stopped on a
desert so barren that we had to corral the cattle and
hold the poor hungry things all night. In the morning
we moved on some miles farther and found grass and
water and stopped the remainder of the day. A little
less than a week later we pulled into Salt Lake, seventy
miles west of Fort Bridger, with the merchandise in
good condition, but with the cattle pretty well played
out. I remained with Turner until his wagons were all
unloaded. When that was finished my free boarding
house was closed. My mule was so poor that he was
almost worthless. I had but little money, and my
friends were all preparing to start back. I could not
think of going with them and I felt the necessity for
stirring about and finding something to do.

In a few days a large train pulled in from the west.
I went to the boss and asked him what his plans were.
He told me he was hauling flour from Salt Lake City to
Helena, Montana. I asked him about the Montana
country, and where and how he wintered his cattle. He
said he grazed them on Boulder Creek near Helena, and
that there was no better range in the west. I learned

196 RECOLLECTIONS OF A PIONEER

farther that he would start on his last trip before win-
ter in about a week. I did not tell him that I thought of
applying for a job driving an ox team.

Next day Turner, having disposed of his goods,
asked me what he owed me. I told him he owed me
nothing; that he had paid me long ago by protecting
me in time of war, and had brought me away from dan-
ger free of charge. Turner said he would not have it
that way; that if I had not been along his train would
be back upon the alkali desert, and that he proposed to
pay me. I then told him of my plan to drive an ox team
on to Montana, as I was a pretty good bull-whacker and
had to have some place to go. In reply to this he said
I must do no such thing; that if I would name the place
I wanted to go he would see that I had a way to get
there without driving a team. I told him I had no place
in particular in mind, but would be satisfied anywhere
among the mountains and Indians — just so I could get
away from the old war troubles back in civilization.

In a few days Turner came back and told me his
cattle were so poor that he could not sell them, and pro-
posed that I buy them and take them along with me. I
replied that I had no money, besides I was alone and
felt that I could not handle the cattle. He said I did
not need any money, that he would take my note and as
to the other matters he would fix them. He then
made me a present of a fine mare, a gun and a
hundred dollars in money. He also gave me a wagon
loaded with provisions. With this equipment, it began
to look as though I could take the cattle, and that the
plan he had made for me was much better than any I
could have made for myself. Jim Curl, a Buchanan
County boy, had sixteen head of cattle which he added

ACROSS THE PLAINS IN SIXTY-FIVE 197

to mine. He loaded a wagon with provisions and each
of us hired a man to drive our team, and with this ar-
rangement made we were ready to start.

We remained at Salt Lake until Turner had fin-
ished his business. His entire outfit at St. Joseph cost
him about seven thousand dollars. He paid about two
thousand dollars in wages to the men who assisted him.
He received twenty-five thousand six hundred dollars
for his cargo. I saw him get the money and put it in a
bank. I realized then what a loss it would have been
to him had he failed to get his train across, and he often
told me if I had not been along he might never have
succeeded. I gave Turner my note for four thousand
dollars for the cattle and he took the stage for home.
The next day Curl and I left for Boulder Valley.

For seventy-five miles or more out of Salt Lake
we had to pass through the Mormon settlements and
we had great difficulty in keeping the cattle out of the
fields and gardens. We crossed Bear River just
above the point where it empties into Salt Lake and,
after crossing a range of mountains, found Hedge-
peth's cutoff, a road I had traveled in 1854. A short dis-
tance farther on, and from the top of a high divide, I
could see Snake River valley near Fort Hall, my old trail
in 1849. When we got down to the river and crossed
the deep worn trail, the scene was quite familiar to
me, although it had been a good many years since I had
viewed it the last time. After crossing Snake River we
set out across the mountains for our destination. I can't
remember the names of many points on this trip. In
fact the road was comparatively new and but few
places had names. I remember passing over a broad,
sandy desert, where our cattle nearly famished for
water, and then down a long grade over almost solid
rock. Near the bottom of this grade I saw a small

198 RECOLLECTIONS OF A PIONEER

stream some distance away, and rode down to see if I
could find a way by which the cattle could reach water.
I recall this distinctly because while hunting a path to
the water I saw two queer looking animals, the like of
which I had never seen before. I learned afterwards
that they were lynx.

Next day we passed into a beautiful valley where
we had plenty of water and grass, but it snowed most
of the day — a wet snow that soon melted and did not
interfere much with grazing. Passing on we reached
Black Tail Creek, (so named after the black tail deer),
which we followed down to Nelson River. After cross-
ing Nelson River we passed over a low range of moun-
tains and down into Boulder Valley, the place we set
out to reach. In spite of the high recommendation
given this valley as a place to winter cattle, I did not
like it, and we moved on up the river about fifty miles,
and reached a place where the grass was abundant, but
the frost had killed it. Curl thought this was the place
to stop, but I was not satisfied. I saw no bunch grass,
and my experience with cattle in California told me that
we would not be safe unless we found a place where
bunch grass grew on the mountain sides. However, we
camped at this point and remained a few days to look
about. Just above our camp a small creek, which
seemed to come down from a big mountain in the dis-
tance, put into Boulder River. Curl and I passed up
this creek toward the mountain, which was covered with
snow. Some miles up we found the finest bunch grass
I ever saw growing upon the low hills which surround-
ed the high peak. We spent the whole day looking over
the place and went so far as to select the site for our
cabin. Returning to camp, entirely satisfied with our
day's work, we planned for the winter. Next morning
early we were on our way to the mountain home we had

ACROSS THE PLAINS IN SIXTY-FIVE 199

selected. The grade was steep, our wagons were heavy
and there was no road. We had to circle about the hills
and wind and twist in order to get along at all. It was
nearly night when we arrived at the spot selected.

I had expected, from reports given me, to find a
white settlement in Boulder Valley, but there was none,
and if there was a white person within fifty miles of
our camp that night we did not know it. Virginia City
and Helena were mining towns about a hundred miles
apart, and we were half way between them. I could
hardly have found a place in the whole western country
where the chance of meeting a white man was so small.
It was, by good fortune, the very spot I set out to find
when I left Missouri. I told my friends when I left that
I was going out among the savage Indians for protec-
tion against the "yard dog" militia, who had not been
in the war, and who only commenced fighting after the
war was over and returning Confederate soldiers were
at their mercy.

A hurried camp, such as we were accustomed to
make when traveling, was all we did the night of our
arrival. Next morning we were up bright and early
and, after attention to the cattle to see that none of
them had strayed, we began building our winter home.
We had but one axe and one shovel — one implement for
each of us. Abundance of pine and cedar grew near.
I took the axe and began cutting the logs while Curl
with the shovel leveled the earth upon the site selected
for the cabin. Curl's task was soon done, but not until
I had a number of logs ready to be taken in. The oxen
were then yoked and as fast as the logs were cut they
were dragged in. When we decided logs enough were
upon the ground, building began. It was slow work
and hard work. Each log had to be raised and laid in
its place and notched carefully so that it would hold

200 RECOLLECTIONS OF A PIONEER

firm and leave as little space as possible to be "chink-
ed." When the proper height for the eaves had been
reached, we elevated one side by adding logs to give
slant to the roof. Stout poles were then laid side by side,
over which we spread a thick layer of cedar branches
and covered the whole with gravel. We chinked the
spaces between the logs and plastered over the chinking
with mortar made of mud. We then cut out a door, over
which we hung a heavy blanket, and with such stones as
we could select, suitable to be used, built a fire-place,
laying the stones in the same kind of mortar used in the
chinking. Thus we had a house without a nail or a
piece of iron about it.

Before I left Salt Lake, I bought two fine grey-
hounds. I trained them to sleep just inside our door.
I told Curl they must serve as a lock to our door. They
were faithful and obedient and I knew no Indian could
get near us without warning. I felt more secure when I
lay down to sleep with those dogs by my door than if I
had had a puncheon door, barred and locked.

We moved into our cabin late in October, and I felt
for the first time in more than four years that I was at
home. I was glad also to get a rest. I had left Red
River, fifty miles above Shreveport, in April, walked
the seven hundred miles to Ruchanan County,
fighting, running and hiding — much of the time
without food, as I have related; then twelve hundred
miles to Salt Lake, with a week's rest, then six hundred
miles to Roulder Valley — six months of trial and hard-
ship which few men are called upon to endure. In view
of this I looked upon my winter in the cabin, in spite of
its loneliness, with a good deal of pleasure.

There was an abundance of game all about us.
Elk, deer, antelope, bear, moose, and smaller game,
grouse, pheasants and sage hens plentiful. Elk was my

ACROSS THE PLAINS IN SIXTY-FIVE 201

favorite meat, and, while we had great variety, I always
kept as much as one hind quarter of elk hanging upon
the corner of our cabin. Any day I chose I could take
lay gun and go out upon the mountain side among the
cattle and bring back just such meat as my appetite
fancied.

We lived thus until near the first of the year 1866,
without once seeing a human face — either white man or
Indian. One morning about the time mentioned, Curl
and I went out to get our ponies when we saw a dozen
buck Indians chasing an antelope down the valley.
Some were on foot and some on ponies. We hurriedly
climbed up the side of a mountain which gave us an
extended view of the whole plain, and to our astonish-
ment we saw, about three miles away, a perfect village
of wigwams. We were no longer without neighbors.
Curl was considerably alarmed, but I told him we had
nothing to fear, except that our game would not be so
plentiful and so easily procured. He asked me how I
knew we were in no danger. I pointed to the squaws,
and pappooses which we could see about the village,
and told him that my experience with Indians was that
they were always peaceable when they had their fam-
ilies along. I told him, however, that we must be dis-
creet and make friends with them, and assured him that
I knew how to do that and that he must follow my ad-
vice.

Out of extra caution we went back to the cabin and
immediately put all our guns in good condition. We
had hardly finished our task, when about noon, two In-
dians ran upon our cabin, to their utter astonishment.
They stopped and looked in consternation. Our dogs
went after them and I had hard work to make the dogs
understand that they must not harm them. When the
dogs were quiet I went up to them, showing my friendli-

202 RECOLLECTIONS OF A PIONEER

ness in every way I could. They answered me with signs
showing that they too were friendly. When I had con-
vinced them I meant no harm, I had them come into the
cabin, and there I tried to find out what their plans
were in the valley. I could understand but little they
said, but I felt perfectly sure that by proper cultivation
we should soon become quite friendly.

I then set food before them. I had a kettle of
thoroughly cooked navy beans simmering over our
fire. I filled a couple of pans from the kettle, set them
out and provided bread and meat. They went in on
the beans and ate them ravenously. I tried to induce
them to eat bread and meat, but not a morsel would
they touch, but kept calling for beans. I told Curl we
must find some way to stop them if possible, as so many
beans in their starved stomachs might make them
sick and the tribe would think we had poisoned them.
We both then began to make all manner of signs to-
ward the bread and meat, but it was useless. The two
ate the entire kettle of beans and looked around for
more. When they saw the beans were gone, they ate
large quantities of bread and meat, and made signs that
they were much pleased with their meal. When they
left they made us understand that we were invited to
see them. They pointed to their camp and said "wakee
up." We made them understand that we would come
and when they were gone I told Curl we must keep our
promise.

Next day we saddled our horses, buckled our navies
on the outside of our clothes and each with a rifle in
front across the horn of the saddle, rode down. The
dogs followed us. When we rode up the squaws and
pappooses ran for the tents like chickens that have seen
a hawk in the air. But few bucks were in camp, the
majority of them being out hunting. Fortunately for us

ACROSS THE PLAINS IN SIXTY-FIVE 203

one of the bucks who had dined with us so heartily on
beans the day before was lying in his tent (perfectly
well, to our surprise), and when the alarm was given he
came out and recognized us. He came up and bade us
welcome, and invited us into his tent. I was surprised to
see how comfortably he was fixed. The poles of his
tent were probably twenty feet long and tied together
at the top. The lower ends of the poles were set in a
wide circle, making a room twelve or fourteen feet
across. It was a cold, winter day and a small stick fire
was burning in the center directly beneath an opening
at the top of the tent. The draft was such that the
smoke all arose and escaped from the tent. They had
gathered pine needles and packed them upon the floor
around the fire and over them had spread dressed buf-
falo robes, making as fine a carpet as I ever set foot
upon.

We sat down by the fire and talked as much as we
could to our host, making him understand that we were
entirely friendly. Our dogs, seeing the good feeling be-
tween the Indians and ourselves, accepted the situation
and throughout the entire winter made no hostile dem-
onstrations toward them except when they came about
the cabin. From this visit the whole tribe became aware
that we were friendly, and within a very short time the
very best feeling prevailed.

Their only means of subsistence was the game they
killed, and as they had no weapons but bows and ar-
rows it required almost constant effort upon the part of
the bucks to keep the tribe supplied with food. They
were very clever in their methods and would bring in
game when white men under such circumstances would
have failed entirely. One of their favorite plans was
this: Fifty or more would mount their ponies and
make a wide circle, driving always toward Cottonwood

204 RECOLLECTIONS OF A PIONEER

Creek. The banks of this stream were very steep and
there were but few crossing places. The antelope on
becoming alarmed would start for these crossings, and
as they passed down the narrow gulches, other Indians
with bows and arrows waylaid them from behind rocks
and brush, and shot them down. They did wonders
with their bows and arrows, but many antelope passed
through without being touched. Others, though wound-
ed, escaped.

We soon began to join in these hunts, and I have
from my station behind a rock at one of these crossings
killed as many as fifteen antelope in a single hunt. I
was an expert with the navy in those days and rarely
missed a shot. I always gave them every one to the In-
dians, as neither Curl nor I cared for antelope meat,
and they were, of course, greatly pleased and regarded
us both with our skill and navies as fortunate acquisi-
tions, and we lost nothing by our kindness to them.

We had a hundred and sixteen head of cattle and
four horses. The Indians had about two hundred
ponies. All herded and grazed together in that valley
for four months. When the Indians left in the spring
we rounded up our cattle and found every one of them.

About the first of May, 1866, we moved our cattle
over on Indian Creek, about forty miles north. There
was a little mining town near and we set up a butcher
shop, furnishing our own beeves to it. The town was
not large enough to enable us to do much business and,
after two months, we moved to Helena, another mining
town, but larger than the first. At that time Virginia
City was the capital of the territory. By the first of
September we had disposed of all our cattle one way or
another and were ready for something else.

ACROSS THE PLAINS IN SIXTY-FIVE 205

While we were deciding what next to do, Brother
William and his family arrived in Helena. I had not
seen him for six years — since he and Brother Zack left
me at home in 1860 to care for father while they went
back to California to look after the cattle. I had heard
little from our ranch and our cattle in California, but
was hardly prepared to learn that war times had been
so bad there. From William I learned that great law-
lessness prevailed in California and that our cattle had
been shot and driven away and that long before the war
was over William and Zack had nothing left but their
families. They went to Idaho and mined a while, and
then on to Montana. While in Idaho, Brother James,
who had escaped from prison in St. Louis — and a death
sentence also — had managed to join them with his fam-
ily. James and Zack had bought a drove of cattle and
had them in another portion of Montana, so William,
Curl and I decided to come home.

CHAPTER XVIII.
The Return to Missouri.

It was too late in the fall when this decision was
reached to make the trip by land, and we began to look
about for an opportunity to go by the river. Two men
were fitting up a flat boat at Fort Benton, a hundred
miles down the river from Helena. We all — William,
his wife and little daughter, Curl and myself got in Wil-
liam's two-horse wagon and made our way over to Fort
Benton. There were no white people living between
the two places, and we were told that it was not safe to
attempt the journey, as the Indians had killed and rob-
bed many persons on that road. We were too well ac-
quainted with Indians to be much afraid of them, so we
decided to go. We saw no Indians, but I was robbed one
night. William and his family slept in the wagon, Curl
and I under it. One night a coyote slipped up and stole
a sack of vension from under the back part of my pil-
low. That was the second experience of that kind. The
other, which I think I have related, happened years be-
fore in California.

When I left with Turner at St. Joseph I was on the
west side of the Missouri River. When I reached Fort
Benton I was on the east side, and that was the first
time I had seen the river since I had left it at St. Joseph.
I had gone entirely around it.

The boat that was being rigged out was a curious
affair. It had no steam, no sails and no oars — just a
flat bottomed scow with a rudder — designed to float
with the current. The only equipment for navigation
besides the rudder was a number of long poles to be
used in aiding the boat off of sand bars. About two-

THE RETURN TO MISSOURI 207

thirds of the floor space of the boat was housed in by
stretching dry raw hides two deep over a heavy frame
work, leaving port holes at convenient places through
which our guns could be directed at the Indians in case
of attack. The boat was built by Sloan and Parcell, two
men from Iowa, and they were very proud of their craft.

When everything was ready, fifty passengers got
aboard, including two families, and the cable was cut.
The current was swift and we went down at a gait so
rapid that it was almost alarming, but we soon grew
accustomed to it. While in the mountains we fre-
quently came to shoals and riffles over which the boat
dashed at a speed that turned us dizzy, but we had to
stay with it and trust to the man at the rudder to keep
her straight ahead.

At the mouth of the Yellowstone, we passed a tribe*
of Indians in camp. The boat drifted around a little
curve and up within forty yards of the bank on which
the camp was situated before we noticed them. They
were more surprised, I think, than we, for they stood
looking until we passed entirely out of sight. It snowed
all that day, and next morning we were drifting through
mushy ice which sometimes threatened to squeeze our
boat. We were in constant fear of a gorge and tried
several times to reach the shore and land, but could not
get through the ice. Had our boat encountered a gorge
it is probable that the whole crew would have been
drowned. Late in the afternoon a south wind began
to blow and in a few hours the river was nearly clear.
This was a great relief.

We had calculated on reaching St. Joseph in a
month and had laid in provisions accordingly. When
we struck the Bad Lands the current of the river be-
came so sluggish that we could scarcely perceive that
we were traveling. We had plenty of flour, but no

208 RECOLLECTIONS OF A PIONEER

meat, so every now and then, slow as we were going, we
had to tie up and get out and kill a deer or an antelope.
Sometimes this required a good deal of time, as our luck
in hunting was bad. The current got so slow and the
prospects of getting into swifter water looked so bad,
that we rigged up a set of oars out of long cottonwood
poles cut on the banks and flattened. With these
we set the men at work by turns, two to each oar,
night and day and made much better progress. I think
if we had waited for the current we should not have
reached home before June of the next year. When we
reached Yankton we got additional supplies and finally
reached Sioux City, where we found an opportunity to
take the stage to Omaha, and did so. At Omaha we got a
steamboat to St. Joseph, and reached home late in Oc-
tober, two months and a half out of Fort Benton.

I found conditions in Missouri much better than
when I left. The war was really over. The militia had
all been discharged and there was now no longer any
excuse for killing and robbing men. After such a long
period of lawlessness it required some time, of course,
to reduce everything to order and to secure a rigid en-
forcement of the law, but I was surprised and gratified
at the progress that had been made. I passed a very
pleasant winter with relatives and friends, and it began
to look like I would be able to settle down and live in
peace. There were those in the community who were
disappointed with the results of the war to themselves
because they had expected to get possession of the
land belonging to Confederate soldiers. In fact, our
negroes told me during the war that certain men had
said the Gibson boys could never come back to this
country, and they intended to get their land. Of course,
my presence at home with every prospect of remain-
ing naturally displeased those who had designs upon

THE RETURN TO MISSOURI 209

my land and that which belonged to my brothers, and
I could hardly hope to remain unmolested — especially
as all the public officials were ready to give willing
ear to every report against me. Bancroft Library

About the first of March, after I had lived publicly
and peaceably in my home community and in St. Jo-
seph all winter, a man named Joe Lemons, who was the
tool of other men whom I knew, swore out a warrant
charging me with stealing his horse during the war. As
soon as I heard the warrant was out my blood went up
to the old war heat, but I said nothing. I made no at-
tempt to escape or to conceal myself, but went about my
business. A few days later I had business in St. Joseph
and went up as usual, determined to have no trouble if
I could avoid it. I was standing in front of Nave and
McCord's wholesale grocery house, talking to my
brother Isaac, when Phelps, a deputy sheriff, came up
and asked me if my name was Jim Gibson. I told him
my name was John Gibson. He then said, "I guess I
have got a writ for you." I said, "Have you? Let's hear
it." He had a heavy shawl or blanket around his shoul-
ders, such as men wore in those days. His hands were
both concealed beneath the shawl, and when I asked to
hear the writ he drew his left hand with the writ in it
from under his shawl and in so doing moved the shawl
from over his right hand and I saw that he held a six-
shooter with that hand. I did not move or make any at-
tempt to resist him, but stood until he, trembling like a
leaf, had read the writ. When he had fin-
ished, I waited for him to say what should be done next,
but he stood some moments greatly embarrassed, and
said nothing. Finally I said, "Well, what about it?" His
courage then came to him sufficiently for him to say.
"You will have to go to the court house with me." I
said, "all right," and turned and asked brother Isaac

210 RECOLLECTIONS OF A PIONEER

to go along with me. We started to the court
house and just then old Fish, the sheriff, came gallop-
ing up with his big spurs on his heels and jumped off
his horse. He blustered up and slapped me on the shoul-
der and said, "y°u d — d horse thief - - give up your
arms." I put my hand on his breast and shoved him off
the sidewalk, and in stepping off the curbstone he fell.
He got up and he and Phelps stood looking at me. I
did not say "what about it" any more, but started on to-
ward the court house. When I had got about ten steps
away Fish said to Phelps, "Why don't you shoot him?"
Phelps said he did not want to kill anybody and Fish
then said, "Give me the gun, I will shoot him." With
that he snatched the gun from Phelps and pointed it at
me. I jerked my gun from my side and leveled it at him.
He lowered his gun instantly and I turned and walked
on. Fish then began to yell, "Catch him ! Catch him !"
keeping all the time a good, safe distance behind. He
followed me to Edmond Street, all the time keeping up
his yell and by that time he had raised half the town,
it seemed to me. Everybody, policemen and all, ran out
to see what was the trouble with old Fish. I passed on
up Edmond Street and came to a man with a stick of
wood in his hand. He raised it and told me to stop. I
told him to drop his stick and not to bother me. He
obeyed and I walked on. I turned on Fourth Street and
went into a feed stable, and through it to an alley, and
then around to the south side of the stable. No one was
near me and I stopped. I had stood but an instant when
a brother of Phelps, the deputy sheriff, came running to-
ward me. I drew my gun and asked him what he
wanted. He turned and ran. There was a board fence
about five feet high in front of him. He sprang up on
it on his breast and turned a somersault over it into
the alley and struck the ground flat on his back. I had

THE RETURN TO MISSOURI 211

to laugh at the frightened fool and that put me in a
better humor. I went to Fourth Street and went into
the back door of a barber shop. The front door was
closed, but there was a great throng standing outside
and Fish was still yelling. The crowd was quiet and
orderly. I had been in the shop a few minutes when I
heard some one say, "Don't go in there, that man will
shoot you !" Another man said, "If you will go in I will
go with you?" At that time I did not intend to hurt any-
one and if Fish had let me alone I would have been at
the court house, for I knew there was no case against
me. But just as the conversation I have related took
place Fish and his man jumped in at the back door,
Fish with his navy cocked and pointed at my breast.
He called out in a loud voice, "Now, you d — d horse thief
— give up your arms !" That was too much for me to
take a second time. The last word was not out of his
mouth until the muzzle of my six-shooter was against
his neck and hell was blazing inside of me. I pulled the
trigger, the cap burst with loud noise but the gun, for
the first time in my experience with it, failed to go. Fish
thought he was shot and fell backward out at the door.
Three policemen entering by the front door came up be-
hind and grabbed me and took my guns away from me.
By this time Fish had come to himself and jumped back
in the back door and shot at me. I knocked the muzzle
of the gun up and the ball went into the ceiling. My
little finger hit the end of the gun just as it was dis-
charged and the ball grazed the flesh off down to the
bone. A policeman caught Fish and pushed him back
and said, "Nobody but a d — d coward would shoot a
prisoner."

Fish and his brave deputies then formed a proces-
sion and started me off to the court house. Phelps, to
whom I had really surrendered on the reading of the

212 RECOLLECTIONS OF A PIONEER

writ, and who I think understood all along that there
would have been no trouble but for Fish's insulting
bluster, led me by the arm. Fish walked behind with
my two navies — one in each hand, and one other deputy
loaded down with guns rode Fish's horse by my side.
Another deputy, whose name I will not mention, an old
school mate of mine, remained far behind, thinking, I
suppose, that I had not seen him. I had met him on
Felix Street a half hour before Phelps presented the
writ to me and as soon as Phelps came up I knew
where he had received information that I was in town.
This deputy knew that I would not resist arrest if
treated with anything like decency, and might have
had me go with him to the court house upon his re-
quest even without a writ, but this method did not
suit the bragging, make-believe methods of the men
who were vainly trying to convince the community of
their bravery.

As the procession moved with the desperate man
up Fifth Street, attracting the attention of everybody,
greatly to the satisfaction of the brave fellows who had
made the capture, I said to Phelps, that he need not
hold my arm as I would not attempt to run. Fish, who
heard the remark, said to Phelps, "Turn him loose
and let him run." I halted and turned to Fish and said,
"If you will give me one of my navies I will run!" I
would have done exactly what I said, and Fish knew
it, I think, for he would not give me the gun. 1 had no
idea he would accept my challenge, but I stopped his
pretense at bravery and showed him to be exactly the
coward that he was.

When we reached the office, Fish, who was an old-
timer at the business, went through my pockets. He
knew just where to lay his hand to get my money and
took from my inside vest pocket eighty dollars in

THE RETURN TO MISSOURI 213

greenbacks, but before he did this he made my brother
leave the office so he could not see how much money
he took from me. After getting my money he turned
me into the jail and locked me in a cold cell without
fire or blankets. I lay on the cold rocks and shivered
all night with my finger bleeding on me.

Next day was a busy one for Fish. My friends
came in by the dozen to see me and Fish would not let
them talk to me through the hole in the wall out of his
presence, so they kept him standing by most of the day
to hear what was said. My old friend Curl came in.
He asked me if I wanted to get out. I told him I thought
I would get out in a short time. Curl said, "If you want
out today I will go and get enough men to take you
out." Fish did not open his mouth, but I told Curl I
thought I had better wait and give bond. Shortly after
that Judge Parker, who stood in with Fish, fixed my
bond at twenty thousand dollars, thinking, I suppose,
that I could not give it and that I would have to lie in
jail until my trial came off. They were mistaken in
this. I gave the twenty thousand bond — and could have
given a hundred thousand as well — and was released. I
walked down town and presently met Fish. He ran up
and shook hands with me as though he was greatly
pleased to see me, and said, "I thought you had gone."
I said, "No, this is my home and I intend to remain
here." I never saw Fish after that that he did not go
out of his way to speak to me and shake hands with
me. I knew his object was to make fair weather with
me, but he had nothing to fear. I was over my anger
and would not have harmed a hair of his head so long
as he did not provoke me as he had done on the day of
my arrest.

214 RECOLLECTIONS OF A PIONEER

After meeting Fish I went on, and on Third Street
I met two policemen. They asked me to go into a sa-
loon and have a drink. I went in and took a toddy and
while there one of them slipped a Colt's navy in my
hand and told me to protect myself. I felt much safer
with such and old acquaintance with me, for I did not
know when some of my old war enemies might under-
take to make trouble for me.

Two indictments were pending against me — one
for horse stealing and one for an assault upon Fish
with intent to kill. I went about my affairs until court
convened. On the morning the case was called Fish
and Lemons were both present. I went in and sat down
very close to them and where I could look directly in
their faces. Neither of them would look at me, but kept
their eyes upon the floor or wandering about the court
room. My counsel, Judge Tutt, took a change of venue
and the cases were sent to Platte City.

Judge Parker gave me an order upon Fish for my
money and my guns. Brother William, who had re-
turned from the west, went with me to get them. We got
the money and one gun. Fish said the other gun had
been taken to Easton by one of his deputies and that
he would get it for us later. In a few days William and
I went back for the other gun and on our way to the
court house met Fish, hurrying away to catch a train, so
he said. When we asked him about the gun he said he
would not stop to talk to us as he was in a great hurry.
William told him he would stop, that he came for that
gun and intended to have it. Fish insisted that he did
not have time to get it for us. William said, "time or
no time, we will have that gun and have it now !" So we
turned him round and marched him to the court house
and got the navy and told him he might then go to his
train.

THE RETURN TO MISSOURI 215

Court convened in Platte City in May. I felt sure
that neither Fish nor Lemons would appear
against me. Fish had said that he had found a man
that would shoot and that he had taken desperate
chances in attempting to arrest me. I knew he was
afraid of his shadow and that Platte County was the
scene of many of his misdeeds during the war. As for
Lemons, and the horse stealing charge, I felt equally
sure there would be no prosecution, but on the day
court convened I went down prepared for trial. I
reached Platte City the day before the case was to be
called. I met the sheriff of that county and told him
about my case. He asked me who the sheriff of Buch-
anan County was, and when I told him he said Fish
would never come to Platte County; that he had done
too much mischief there during the war, hanging and
robbing gray-haired men.

Next morning when court opened I walked inside
the bar and directly in front of the judge. No one knew
me. The judge opened his docket and commenced call-
ing over the cases. In a few moments he called my
case and no one answered. He called the second time
and I arose and said, "the defendant is present and
ready for trial." "Where is he?" asked the judge. "I
am the man," said I. The judge then asked where my
counsel was. I told him I had none; that Judge Tutt of
St. Joseph had promised to look after my cases, but he
had not yet arrived. The judge then told the sheriff
to go to the front door and call the prosecuting wit-
nesses three times. The sheriff did so but no one an-
swered. The cases were dismissed and I was released
from my heavy bonds and went out of the court room a
free man, much to the satisfaction of my good friends,
Matt Evans, Bennett Reece, Ham Ray, Tom Finch and
others who had gone along as witnesses.

216 RECOLLECTIONS OF A PIONEER

The cases were dismissed in May, 1867. I came
home from Platte City and from that day to this have
never heard of them. Lemons said his horse was taken
from the stable at twelve o'clock, broad daylight. The
truth is that at ten o'clock the night before he claimed
his horse was taken, and while I was not in the coun-
try, that same man, with others, led away from
my place eleven head of horses and mules and no mem-
ber of my family ever saw them again. I never thought
of calling them to account for it. It was war times,
and, after the war was over, I felt too thankful to have
escaped with my life ever to attempt to hold the con-
duct of any man during that period against him.

I went to work at whatever I could find to do to
make an honest living. All my toil and hardship on the
plains, by which I had accumulated a comfortable for-
tune before the war, had been spent in vain, and I had to
begin anew and under very trying conditions. I asked
nothing but to be let alone, and it now looked as if this
wish of my heart might be gratified.

In a short time my prospects were much improved,
and on the 25th day of August, 1868, I was married.
Since that time I have, aside from a few months spent
in Colorado during the early eighties, farmed and
dealt in cattle in Missouri and Nebraska. I own the
farm on which I live, have reared my children to matur-
ity, and educated them as best I could, and, though
often lonely when I think of my brothers and compan-
ions of earlier years, I am, in spite of my eighty-three
years, enjoying good health and the added blessing of
many friends.

THE END.