Those Early Days in the Black Hills

TREASURE COACHES

Those of Early Days, and the Brave Men Who Defended Them.

LIFE IN THE BLACK HILLS.

The Old Deadwood Coach and the Fortunes It Carried.

ENCOUNTERS WITH THIEVES

Thrilling Episodes on the Dakota Frontier in the Early Seventies.

One night recently at the St. Nicholas I met a man who one time took a ride over several miles of rugged road on the Black Hills treasure coach, and, while seated beside old Buck Henchcliff, the sinewy driver, managed to learn considerable about the history of that perilous route and something of the romance of olden times, with which it is tinged to this day.

Since the settlement of the Black Hills region nineteen years ago, it is estimated that about $85,000,000 in gold has been produced, the most of which has been conveyed to the railroad station in coaches along this route from the Black Hills, says the Cincinnati Enquirer. This enormous amount of bullion was entrusted to the custody of the lumbering stage coaches, which were then the only means of transporting the precious metal to a place of shipment. The roads ran through deep ravines, ambushed by thick underbrush and pine forests.

These brave express messengers of the early times, as a matter of course, took their lives in their own hands in dispatching the duties of their work, but were fearless and courageous to a marvelous degree. It is the history of all rugged countries that their products are correspondingly rugged, but not that their acquisitions are always fearless. To be born among the mountains of Tyrol or other elevated places in the north temperate zone means a certain inheritance of nerve, spirit and fearlessness. To such natural causes has been attributed the sustained independence of little Switzerland throughout an age of monarchies and general civilized despotism.

It seemed, however, that it was unnecessary for a man to be born among the Black Hills, infested at the time with hostile bands of Indians, to succeed to the spirit which most accorded with the natural surroundings. These surrounding consisted not only of dangerous mountain-side roads, gulches and the treacherous savages, who at the time were disposed to pick off the head of any white exposed to their range, but, what was much worse, the desperate road agent, lurking along the coach route, ready to murder for the yellow plunder on board. The presence of the Indians was considered a Godsend rather than a great danger for years, in that their occupancy of the desperate country made these more desperate marauding road agents less formidable. In fact, it was not until after the red men had practically abandoned the territory that these robbers came to be a formidable impediment to the exporting of the bullion.

When the Black Hills first startled the world with their veins of gold the owners of mines at once began to speculate as to how their products could be shipped East. Previous to 1877 this region was owned by the Sioux Indians, and the post office department could not establish communications with the towns already existing. In the time between this and the date when congress ratified a treaty with the Sioux chief a few intrepid men were found engaged in the hazardous business of pony express riding, and prominent among these were H.G. Rockfellow, “Colorado” Charley Utter and Herbert Goddard.

These daring fellows earned some distinction riding between Ft. Laramie and Deadwood, and afterward between Red Cloud, Neb., and Deadwood. For this service they were paid 25 cents a letter. Receipts for a single trip often amounted to $1,000.

The transportation of freight and passengers by regular organized companies was not inaugurated until 1876, when a route from Bismarck to Deadwood was opened up.

FIRST SHIPMENT OF GOLD DUST.

The first shipment of gold dust was made in 1876, when Seth Bullock and the Wheeler boys pulled out with something like $300,000 in dust, the latter concluding that they were willing to leave with their profits, but the former is still a citizen of Deadwood, for the trip was made without the loss of life to any of the party, which, besides the Wheeler boys and Bullock, consisted of men hired at $25 a day for their services.

A nest of desperadoes, who had been located at various places along the route, made their headquarters in the Hat Creek country, 150 miles south of Deadwood. The vigilantes of the Deadwood district had made it pretty warm for these bandits, but they settled in its region, confident that they were safe from the bloodhounds of the law, as their stamping ground was so remote.

About this time a lady, who is the wife of a prominent citizen of Deadwood, was a passenger on the treasure coach one time when the vehicle was held up by the road agents. She wore at the time a watch, which was a gift, and prized very dearly. This she concealed in her hair, while the male passengers were being searched. Presently the robbers came to her and demanded her money and valuables. These she readily gave, when, alas! the fiend saw the watch in her hair, and reached out and took it.

“Please, Mr. Robber,” supplicated the unfortunate woman, “dear, good, kind-hearted Mr. Robber, give me my precious little watch?” This appeal was more than he could stand, and with a laugh, he returned it with his compliments.

Another hold-up took place in 1878. Realizing that the ordinary Deadwood coach was not sufficiently impervious to the attacks of these road agents, a treasure coach was built to order containing a metal box wherein the gold was locked. This coach was manned by five picked messengers, and for several weeks it went its way unmolested.

One evening in June the coach rattled into Cold Springs with a load of precious metal, $45,000 in gold. The driver and guards, or messengers, were dismounting, when a stable door flew open and a rain of lead greeted them. William Campbell was instantly killed, and a messenger was wounded. Scott Davis, chief of the guards, at once took in the situation, and, slipping down on the other side of the coach, hustled for timber. Getting under cover, he began sending hot shot into the robbers, managing to wound one. In the meantime Big Gene, the driver, was captured by the gang. He was forced to walk in the direction in which Davis had fled, while the robbers kept him between them and Scott. When within speaking distance, he was forced to beg Scott to stop shooting. Scott had no alternative, and hurried away for assistance. Big Gene was then given an ax and ordered to smash in the treasure box, which he did, and the gold was soon in the possession of the robbers.

FEIGNED DEATH.

One of the messengers, at the beginning of the attack, saw that resistance meant death, and feigned death himself, falling over in the coach. So well did he act his part that the role was not discovered, and the plans of the gang’s escape were overheard by him. Big Gene was strapped to the wagon wheel. Previous to the attack the stockkeepers at the station were surprised and bound and gagged, so that no alarm could be given. The names of the robbers were Blackburn, Wall, Brooks, Redhead Mike and Price. The officers of the law immediately got on their trail and never gave up the chase until the last of these five desperadoes had been captured.

The robbers at last became thoroughly organized and instituted an old successful Indian method of alarm. When the treasure coach was well guarded a messenger at one station would fly like the wind on horseback to the next, from which another would carry the news, until it reached the robbers’ rendezvous, and no attack would be made.

Once, at Cheyenne, the bullion that had been placed upon the scales was suddenly missing. A vigorous search found it in a coal pile near by. No arrests were made, and, as so many prominent citizens of the town were thought to be implicated, the matter was hushed up.

After the establishment of safes in Deadwood robbing fell off quite perceptibly. Then came courts, and toughs were collared and hustled to the penitentiary at Fort Madison, Iowa. With the first batch of these criminals, a motley crew, to say the least, Seth Bullock, sheriff of Lawrence county, set out. At a little peaceful station in Iowa, while en route for the pen, a fussy little state senator boarded the train, and would not desist from his inquiries until he had found out the offense for which each man had been sentenced. On receipt of this information the little gentleman asked:

“Will these murderers, when their sentences have expired, be taken back to Deadwood before being liberated?”

“No,” responded Seth, “they will be turned loose in Fort Madison.”

“Great Scott!” ejaculated the little senator, “what a murderous lot to be left in this state. where did they all come from?”

“Where?” repeated the Dakota sheriff. “Why, every d–d one of them came from Iowa!”

The senator had nothing more to say.

The gold from the Black Hills is now molded into bricks and handled by express companies, who hold themselves responsible for all the precious stuff intrusted to their care. The railroad communications are now complete, and very seldom is a shipment of gold bricks disturbed.

St. Paul Daily Globe (St. Paul, Minnesota) May 6, 1895

Sitting Bull

Image from the Orlando Scott Goff Biography on Rootsweb.

INTERESTING SETH BULLOCK

The Man Who Succeeded Sitting Bull in Deadwood.

(From the Chicago Times-Herald.)

Curtis Guild, jr., of Boston, accompanying Governor Roosevelt on his Western trip, accidentally heard mentioned one day the name of Seth Bullock. Mr. Guild asked afterward:

“Who is Seth Bullock?”

Mr. Bullock’s own answer to that question is most fitting:

“I am the man who succeeded Sitting Bull in the Deadwood country.”

If you can imagine a sparce, lean man, with the nose of an eagle, the eye of a hawk, the parchment skin of one who knows more of the plains than the pavement, an unwilling tongue, and an indomitable scorn of fear or death, you will have in your mind’s eye the portrait of one of the few survivors of the “original Western pioneers.” Mr. Bullock is unique not alone for what he has been or is, but because in his class he is almost alone in the country which stretches from the Missouri to the basin of the Snake River. He is a man of standing and a property owner of Deadwood, but civilization has taken from him his real occupation, and the days of knight errantry are ended under the skies which arch above the grave of Custer and the chipped monument of “Wild Bill.”

Here is the man who was the first sheriff of Lewis and Clarke county, Montana, a man that every desperado in the Territory laughed at one morning, and the next was fleeing before. Not a talkative man, not a man inclined to boast, sure on the trigger, enduring all things in heat and cold, tireless, relentless friend to all in nature, but friend to few of men.

They quote Seth Bullock as having said once upon a time:

“The only men I like is those that does things.”

And in his vocabulary “doing things” does not consist in following pursuits, in trading and bartering, in capitalizing great corporations or mastering the secrets of “pinching” a dollar. His kind of action was trailing big game, rounding up cattle, mastering wild horses, defying lawbreakers, riding with the mountain wind and defeating the mountain storm. This is the action which calls not only for enormous physical strength and courage, but a moral quality suspected by few novelists, analyzed by still less.

Riding down into Deadwood Gulch, your guide points to a clump of trees. Perhaps he is “Bill” Fraser — “Bill” Fraser, who glibly introduces himself as:

“The original axle grease which greased the way for Seth Bullock to get into this ‘ere town.”

Mr. Fraser waves his hands mildly toward this clump of trees and says:

“That’s where he did it, and over there,” pointing in another direction, “is where he did it again.”

By allowing Mr. Fraser all the time he desires you finally ascertain that the spots are where Mr. Bullock faced the famous road agents, shot them down in their tracks, captured them, and sent some to their just deserts.

“But,” says Mr. Fraser, reassuringly, “Seth wouldn’t hurt anybody what was right. He was just doing his duty.”

Doing one’s duty in primeval ways appears to be the keynote to the character of this silent man, who twenty-five years ago made it possible for a law-abiding man to live in Deadwood without having to fight for his life. What he accomplished was in a quiet way.

“He was the most persuasive man ever in these parts,” says Bill Fraser. You can readily believe that when from well authenticated sources you learn of how he gave the lawless element every opportunity to get away from him, kindly warned them of their danger, left loopholes for them to escape through, but when all these chances were despised and tossed aside, shot down the ringleaders with as little compunction as one would dispose of a worm.

“He would wait until the last minute,” says the irrepressible Bill, “and then he’d sort of shift his and around as though it were jerked lightnin’, and the next thing you knew he was shootin’ — shootin’ to kill. He didn’t miss, he didn’t.”

The “bad” men fled from Lewis and Clarke county after he became sheriff to the Deadwood country and took possession of the mining camps. Deadwood sent for him. In time he came a shadow of a man in physique, but wiry, nervy, enduring. He made himself known in a tone of voice as low and soft as a woman’s. He said he desired the law to be observed. When it wasn’t he proposed to arrest the man who offended or kill him if necessary. In very short order his commands were obeyed. For months and years he stood as the unwritten law of the camps. Things had “to be square” or the malcontents must settle with him. Railroads, Statehood, legislative enactments, pettifogging lawyers, and new population took his occupation from him. There has been nothing left to him but memories.

His idea of humor — the pioneer’s idea of humor — is found in the story he tells of X.Y.Z. Builder. They were building a jail in one of the Montana towns and the new cells were just in position. No prisoners had yet been placed in them.

“One day,” says Mr. Bullock, “X.Y., who was a long-winded story-teller, started out on one of his yarns. He had two or three fellows listening, but one and another left him, until only one was left. This fellow finally quit before the story was ended. X.Y. was mad, but he didn’t say anything. Two or three days later he meets the man who was last listening to him, and he invites him over to look at the new jail. He takes him inside and shows him everything, and finally the fellow steps into one of the new cells. Quick as a flash X.Y. snapped the door on him and he was locked in.

“‘Hi, you,’ say the fellow, ‘let me out.’

“But X.Y. is gone. Pretty soon he comes back with a stool in his hand and his pipe. He sets down, fills his pipe, and makes himself comfortable.

“‘Let me out,’ says the fellow.

“‘No,’ says X.Y. ‘You’re going to stay in there until I get my story finished. You wouldn’t listen the other day. Now you’ve got to.’

He never let the fellow out until the story was all told.”

Seth Bullock is a gentleman to the earth born, but he is lonesome. The great untrammeled sweep of the country once so dear to him is gone. The “fence man” has come in, the summer tourist, the people who gawk and gape at tales of olden days, the men who tremble at the sight of a revolver’s butt and rush for a peace bond if they see its muzzle. This is the order of things, this is commerce rising above the pioneer’s level, but, it is weak, disappointing to the men who once ruled in the country of the Sioux.

There comes to their eyes, as there has come to those of Seth Bullock, the sign of a regret that they too had not passed away when the last tepee was struck on the Rosebud and the Sioux passed from the pages of history to the care of the keepers of legends, fables, and the things that are no more.

The Times (Washington D.C.) Jan 27, 1901

HE PROVED THE CHARGES.

How Seth Bullock Ran for Sheriff and Was Defeated by an Editor.

Spearfish, S.D., March 22. — Capt. Seth Bullock, the famous Black Hills scout, who led the Cowboy brigade at the recent inaugural of President Roosevelt, relates the following incident as being the most vivid of his many early-day experiences in the west:

“Fourteen years ago last fall, while crossing the state of Montana, one morning bright and early I landed in a little mountain town of about three hundred inhabitants. No sooner had I dismounted and tied my horse than a dangerous looking man with a six-shooter in each hand came running down the street. I at once recognized him as Dick Pray, with whom I had scouted in the earlier days.

“Why, Dick,” said I, “what in the world are you trying to do?”

“Do!” he thundered, “I’m going to clean out the editor!”

“Hold on, Dick,” I said, “you’re excited — don’t do that ” just cool off and tell me what is wrong.”

“Wrong!” he shouted — “I ran for police judge here last Tuesday, and the infernal editor defeated me by filling his paper up with lies for the past three months — and now I’m going to fix him!”

“Now Dick, see here, listen — let me tell you — I have had some experience with editors and running for office myself and —”

“The thunder you have — where?” he interrupted.

He was now cooling down, and I began: “Well, Dick, a number of years ago, when I was in Kansas, one election I ran for sheriff. But hardly had I announced my candidacy when the editor of the paper came out and devoted a whole page, issue after issue, to running me down — and among other things he accused me of being the leader of a gang of horse thieves for several years in southwestern Kansas. Naturally, such accusations stirred up quite a sentiment in the public mind against me, so I responded with a lengthy article, in which I denied every charge — and, sir would you believe it — the very next week the editor came back at me again, and he not only reiterated and analyzed all the charges — but he proved them!”

The Norfolk Weekly News-Journal (Norfolk, Nebraska) Mar 24, 1905

The Murder of Chief Logan Fontanelle

Omaha Scouts - 1865

Image from Legends of America with article about the Omaha Indians HERE.

From the St. Louis Republican

Death of Logan Fontanelle, The Omaha Chief.

Logan Fontanelle, Chief of the Omahas, has just been slain and scalped at Loup Fork, by a band of Sioux. Logan was a noble fellow, and in this last mortal conflict he dispatched several of the enemy to the spirit land before, to herald the coming of his own brave soul. He fought long, desperately, and with great effect, but numbers finally overcame him, and his life departed through a hundred wounds. He died a martyr for his people, and his name should be carved on fame’s brightest tablet.

Omaha Camp - 1898 (Image from http://www.newworldencyclopedia.org)

He was on his annual hunt with his nation. A number of his lodges were pitched on the plains near Loupe Fork. — As a young warrior one day rode around the adjacent hills he espied a powerful band of Sioux encamped along a stream in a sequestered vale. He hastened to inform Logan of the propinquity and power of their natural foe. Logan ordered his people to pack immediately, and proceed in a straight line and with all speed for home, while he would remain behind and divert the Sioux by false camp fires and other devices, from a direct purusit of them. This was about twilight. The people got under way as quickly as possible, but not too soon; for scarcely had they turned a highland, when several Sioux warriors came in sight and discovered the place of their recent encampment. They examined it, and found that Omahas had been there, and then they returned to notify their chief, and bring an adequate force to pursue and slaughter them. Logan, from a hiding-place, saw all, and knew no time was to be lost in drawing their attention from the trail, which they would soon discover and follow, and mounting his horse, he dashed away at full speed across the prairie, at right angles with the route his tribe had taken, and struck a fire about eight miles distant, on an eminence where the Sioux could distinctly see it. He had scarcely done so before a powerful band were upon the spot that he and his people had so lately left, and who, without stopping to distinguish the trail, started for the fire, which they saw rising against the clear blue sky, and where they expected in another moment to imbrue their hands in the gore of their unguarded victims. But Logan had not been unwary. As soon as the fire was lighted, he again mounted and rode on eight or ten miles further, and kindled another fire just as they reached the first. This rather bewildered them. They dismounted and examined the ground. Logan, anticipating this, had trotted and walked his horse around it, so as to make the appearance upon the grass of the treading of a dozen horses; and this drew them into the belief that a small body had lingered behind and kindled this fire, and then gone on to where they could see the new fire burning; and so they followed with renewed avidity. The same thing happened as before. Logan had gone on, and another fire met their astonished gaze, while the same sort of foot-prints were about the one around which they were now gathered. Their suspicions were now awakened. They examined the ground more closely, both far and near, and discovered that a solitary horseman had deceived them, and they knew it was for the sole purpose of leading them off from the pursuit of the party whose encampnent they had first discovered.

Logan saw them going round with glaring torches and understood their object, and knew that his only chance of safety was an immediate flight towards his home; and he further knew that by the time they could retrace their way to their place of starting, and find the trail that his own people had taken, they would be beyond the reach of danger.

The Sioux, in the meantime, had divided into smaller bands, the largest of which was to return and pursue the Omahas, and the others to endeavor to capture the one who had misled them. They knew that he must be an Omaha, and that he would either go further and kindle another watch-fire, or start for his nation in a straight line; and, therefore, one party went on a little further, and the others spread out toward the Omaha country for the purpose of intercepting him. Logan pressed forward as rapidly as his jaded steed could bear him, until he thought he had entirely eluded them; but as the day dawned, to his horror and dismay, he saw his pursuers close upon his track. He turned his course for a ravine, which he distinguished at a distance, covered with trees and undergrowth. He succeeded in reaching it, and just within its verge he met an Indian girl dipping water from a spring. She was startled, and about to cry for help, when he hastily assured her that he needed protection and assistance. With the true instincts of noble woman, she appreciated his situation in an instant, and all her sympathies were with him. She directed him to dismount and go to a small natural bower to which she pointed him, in the verge of the woods, while she would mount horse and lead his pursuers away. He obeyed her, and she mounted his horse and dashing on in a serpentine way through the woods, leaving marks along the brushes by which she could be traced. The pursuers soon followed. When she had got some distance down the branch, she rode into the water and followed its descending course for a few steps, making her horse touch its sides and leave foot-prints in that direction, and then turned up the bed of the stream and rode above the place at which she entered it, without leaving a trace, and back to where Logan was concealed. She told him to mount and speed away, while his pursuers were going in a contrary direction down the ravine. He did so, and got a long distance out of sight, and again thought himself beyond the reach of danger, when, in a valley just in front of him, he saw fifty braves coming up the hill and meeting him. — They were some of those who were returning from the pursuit of his people. He changed his direction and tried to escape, but his poor horse was too much exhausted to bear him with sufficient speed. With savage yells they plunged their rowels into their horses’ sides and gained upon him. As the foremost approached within good shooting distance, Logan turned suddenly and sent a bullet through his brain. Then, loading as he galloped on, he soon after made another bite the dust; and then another and another, until four were strewed along the plain. Just then, however, as he was again reloading, his horse stumbled and fell, and the band rushed upon him before he had well recovered from the shock. He was shot with bullets and arrows, and gashed with tomahawks, and pierced with lances; notwithstanding all which, he arose amidst his foes, and with his clubbed rifle and hunting knife, he piled around him five prostrate bodies, and fell with his back upon their corpses and expired, still fighting.

He was scalped, and hundreds of warriors held a great war-dance over him.

Thus Logan Fontanelle departed, and his noble spirit was followed to the spirit-land by the sighs and lamentations of his nation and the sympathies and aspirations of the brave of every land.

The Mountain Democrat (Placerville, California) Oct 25, 1855

Image from http://www.newworldencyclopedia.org

Fontanelle

Woe for the proud departed!
Bowed in grief.
Wail for the lion-hearted
Warrior-chief!
Not from the white man’s steeple
Moans thy knell,
But from thy stricken people
Fontanelle.

They wail thee in thy mystic
Temple’s dome,
The shades of thy majestic
Forest home.
Like some great warrior-eagle
Fought and fell,
Their Sachem, brave and regal –
Fontanelle.

Sublime and self-reliant,
Stern he stood,
High heart and brow defiant
Raining blood,
Death-waters like a river
Rage and swell,
Then didst thou blench? No — never!
Fontanelle.

Like Death himself, thou’rt scything
Down the foe!
Around thee they are writhing
Prone and low,
Yet shadows darkly, dimly,
O’er thee fell;
Thy soul fled, strong and sternly,
Fontanelle.

Thy clay in scorn they taunted,
Stark and frore;
The owl’s cry from the haunted
Sycamore,
Echoed the Sioux’ sharp, savage
Whoop and yell,
Over their deeds of ravage,
Fontanelle.

The springtime blooms in gladness
Everywhere,
Yet dwells a tone of sadness
On the air;
And rythmic winds are sighing
Down the dell,
Where they dead heart is lying,
Fontanelle.

In thine ancestral bowers,
Long ago,
Where through their banks of flowers
Streamlets flow;
A voice, like some soft-ringing
Fairy bell,
Was wont to greet thee, singing –
Fontanelle.

Did life-joys like a river
Sweeping by,
In death’s dread moment quiver
O’er thine eye?
And, did thy brave heart dying,
Strive to quell
Thought of that lone one, crying
Fontanelle?

Did one sweet face, elysian,
Fond and dear,
Seem to thy failing vision
Floating near?
Did eyes that thou wert loving
Passing well,
Look forth to find their roving
Fontanelle?

Aye! Eyes watch from thy fortress
Palisade,
Keen glances of the portress
Pierce the shade;
And footsteps like the markless
Fleet gazelle,
Come bounding through the darkness –
Fontanelle.

That eye-beam ne’er shall greet thee
Home again,
Her fleet foot spring to meet thee
O’er the plain;
Yet all the world, admirant,
Owns thy spell,
Oh! Glory’s young aspirant,
Fontanelle.

We’ve known no sadder story
Heretofore;
Yet live — live in thy glory
Evermore;
Let age to age thy stately
Triumphs tell,
Thou’st perished — but how greatly,
Fontanelle.

By Lucy Virginia French

Title: One or Two?
Authors: Lucy Virginia French, Lide Smith Meriwether
Publisher: Meriwether Bros., 1883
(Google book LINK) pgs. 76-79

From the following book:

Title: Our Debt to the Red Man; The French-Indians in the Development of the United States
Author: Houghton Louise Seymour
Publisher: BiblioBazaar, LLC, 2009

Page 70 – Limited Preview only on Google Books

From the following book:

Title: The American Cyclopaedia: A Popular Dictionary of General Knowledge, Volume 12
Authors: George Ripley, Charles Anderson Dana
Publisher: D. Appleton, 1883
(Google books LINK page 624)

This Child For A Horse

Image from http://www.historycooperative.org

WHITE CHILDREN AMONG THE INDIANS.

The St. Louis Republican states on the authority of a gentleman personally cognizant of the fact, that the Osage Indians have among them about twenty white children, whome they purchased from the Comanches, by whom they were stolen from their parents in Texas and New Mexico.

The same paper says in addition:

Our informant states that such of them as have been seen by the whites are said to be sprightly and intelligent children, of both sexes, but generally have been taken so young as to have lost all recollection of their parents, homes, or of the place from whence they were taken.

The Osages will only sell them for horses or goods. Occasionally they bring one into the settlement to barter off. A few days since a gentleman of Newton county purchased, for a hrose, a pretty girl, about eleven years old. — A few days before our informant left, another Osage brought in a boy, about eight or nine years old, which he, however, did not succeed in selling.

The Sandusky Clarion (Sandusky, Ohio) Jul 11, 1845

Fred M. Hans: Indian Fighter and Frontier Scout

HEAD OF NORTHWESTERN RAILROAD’S FORCE A DEAD SHOT.

Train Robbers Fear Fred Hans — Although “Fred” is Mild-Mannered His Colt .45 Has Laid Low Many Western Desperadoes.

Western bandits who prey upon the express treasure and passengers carried by the railroads have been so active of late that the managers of properties in that section are making extra efforts to outwit the robbers. The success of Messenger Baxter in killing a road agent on the Burlington, near Omaha, a few weeks ago has put new life into the railroad people. The Union Pacific, the Burlington, the Rock Island, and the Northwestern out of Omaha are arming their messengers anew with Winchester “pump” guns, having new shells with sixteen buckshot each loaded for them, and in other ways are preparing to exterminate the first road agent band that attempts to hold up one of their trains.

Every large railroad operating out of Omaha employees from one to a dozen men whose exclusive duty it is to protect their trains from bandit raids, trail the robbers after they hold up the train, and chase them into the fastnesses of the mountains and kill or capture them. Of all the famous characters who have made bandit hunting a business, none is better known than Frederick Hans of Omaha, who is chief of the Northwestern bandit hunters. For years it has been the business of Frederick Hans to protect the treasure trains of that company operating through the Black Hills.

From Deadwood to Omaha the Northwestern carries the treasure of the great Homestake mines. During some months this company ships over $100,000 in treasure over this road. The lines of the company are operated for many miles through a wild and desolate section after leaving Deadwood. It is a most inviting spot for the work of road agents. The fact that these treasure trains escape the raids of bandits is undoubtedly due to their fear of the man who is the head of the force of bandit hunters the company employs.

Mild -Mannered but Dangerous.

Fred Hans is a mild-mannered fellow with blue eyes and of most affable address. As he saunters along the streets of Omaha he is about the last man in the world one would pick out for desperate work with rifle and revolver. Yet this same pleasant-appearing fellow, with his careless smile has been in more desperate affrays with road agents, killed more outlaws, and sent more to penitentiaries than any man in the West today. “Fred,” as he is known to nine-tenths of the people of Omaha that he gets a chance to see once a month or so, but most of his time is spent “up in the hills,” circulating among that element that is most likely to engage in hold-ups.

It is his business to locate all these characters the moment train is held up in his territory. This he can very nearly place the responsibility for a train robbery in the Northwest the day after it occurs. Incidentally, it may be said that Fred Hans carries a considerable number of bullet wounds on his person, slight testimonials of his many desperate fights.

Above image from the American Antiquarian Society website.

Another image and The Modoc Indians: A Native American Saga
by Cheewa James, Modoc Tribe of Oklahoma (Shacknasty Jim’s great-grandson) can be found HERE.

It was Fred Hans who went into the “Hole in the Wall” after “Shacknasty Jim” and his outlaw band and killed the leader and two of his companions before he returned. Again Fred Hans met five members of the famous “Robbers’ Roost” gang one bright morning on the Running Water in South Dakota. He had but shortly before that been instrumental in piloting a posse of Custer citizens to the lair of the band where nine of them had been killed, and they thought to get even. The fire road agents waited until Hans rode close to the sand hill behind which they were hiding, then rode down on him, firing their rifles as they galloped. A fortunate shot passed through the heart of the horse that Hans  was riding. Using the animal for a shield, the railroad bandit hunter got out his heavy pistols and began business right there. He only shot four times. The first bullet he fired passed through the heart of the nearest bandit, the next one struck one of the horses of the oncoming gang and killed it, the third bullet passed through the head of another bandit, killing him instantly, and the fourth passed through the body of one of the gang and he died later. The two remaining members of the band surrendered and were taken into Custer by Hans. The men he killed on the spot were known as “Texas Fleet Foot” and “Mountain Pete.” The other tow, “Long Tom” and “Skinny,” were sent to the penitentiary for life.

Colt’s 45′s His Choice.

This is the kind of a man who guards the Northwestern treasure trains through the territory west of the Mississippi River. He is probably the quickest and deadliest shot with a revolver in the West. He carries two enormous “forty-fives” of the Colt pattern of thirty years ago. The fact that the guns are of the vintage of another generation does not worry Fred Hans. He has been presented by different people with a number of handsome modern pistols, but he says he can’t shoot them like his[he] can his own “irons.”

Discussing bandit hunting and the methods of road agents in holding up trains, a few days ago Fred Hans said recently:

“It requires a man of very desperate courage to undertake to handle a railroad train crowded with passengers. Of course, you find men every day who are willing to take the chances involved in spite of the fact that few of them escape the consequences long enough to enjoy whatever they have secured in the hold-up. In truth, it is not the act of robbing the train that requires the greatest exhibition of skill and daring, but rather the escape after the crime has been committed. You see, in robbing a train the band stands little chance of opposition. Passengers are as a rule unarmed. and the express messengers are not in a position to make much of a fight. The use of dynamite by road agents is a terrifying element for express messengers. The minute the bandits start to make their escape, however, they come in contact with fighting men who are as well armed and well mounted as they are knows how to use their guns. This is the element of danger that deters many bandits from attacking a railroad train.

“When a gang of men contemplate a hold-up now, the first thing they do is to arrange for their escape. A route of retreat is selected, and the bandits go over the trail, so that they can follow it, night or day. They frequently secrete food for themselves and horses along the route and lay in plenty of ammunition. The Black Hills and the country in Southern Wyoming are favorite resorts for train robbers these days. Here most of the desperate road agents live. These men are, however, not of the class that will undertake single handed to rob a train. They operate like the James gang did, but of course are not so dangerous, because they have not the sympathy of the community in which they operate. They are not so expert with firearms as the James gang, neither are they bound together by associations such as made the James gang so successful. Those bandits merely trust each other as long as they are together, and they know it is a matter of self-preservation

Bandits’ Outfits Expensive.

“The same energy, hardship and daring these men expend in robbing trains, if turned into honest channels would reap for them a great deal more substantial profits than the dangerous business they engage in, but they are attracted by stories of enormous hauls, made by train robbers and dazzled by reports in the newspapers that this or that gang secured a hundred thousand dollars in a raid. Of course these raids sometimes net the robbers a big sum, but in most cases they do not get enough to pay the expense of the undertaking. It costs a pile of money for a gang of six or seven Western desperadoes to prepare for a train hold up. They must have the best horses money will buy, they must get a city crook, as a rule to handle the dynamite; they must have white powder for their guns in the event of a collision with a posse, which is quite certain, and a thousand little details. The minute the news of a hold-up is flashed over the wire we start posses from a dozen different points. These close in on the robbers. The road agents are afraid to split up in the face of a possible fight. They know they will be killed one at a time if they do not stick together. That is their only chance and of course it makes the trail easier for us to follow.

“The ‘Hole in the Wall’ country is the place these Western bandits now make for. That is a wild section and most difficult of access. If the gang gets in there it is hard to get at them. Usually we merely wait for them to come out, and then we get ‘em.

“Most of the bandits we come in contact with are of the most desperate character. Of course they know that sooner or later they will die with their boots on. Most of them are wanted for some crime that would keep them in the penitentiary for life if it would not carry them to the scaffold, and so of course they will not surrender. I usually hunt these characters singly and with only my pistols. It is my experience that in the wild country, a desperate character, seeing a lone man who does not carry a rifle, will permit him to approach where otherwise he would hide if the same man was armed with a rifle or accompanied by others. With my pistols I can get close to a bandit on the plains and then I jump from my horse, use the animal as a breast-work, and begin to shoot before the robber expects the attack. He surrenders or is killed, just as he prefers. My experience is that a quick shot with a pistol is worth a dozen long-range shots with rifles.

Deadly Range of 300 Yards.

“I have had some measure of success hunting road agents and have been forced to kill some of these desperate characters, but all of my work has been done with a heavy revolver. I do not recall a fight I have been in, except possibly when I was scouting in the Indian service, where I used anything but my revolvers. I can kill a man at 300 yards every shot with my pistol. I carry on my watch chain today a rifle bullet I cut from the heart of my horse. It is a souvenir of the fight I had with the ‘Robbers’ Roost’ gang on the Running Water. The man who fired the shot used a Winchester and was firing at me from a distance of 500 yards. Before he reached the range of my pistols he had probably shot at me six times, one of his bullets plowing a furrow through the top of my scalp, but the moment he came within range of my heavy revolver I placed a bullet squarely between his eyes. This was Fleet Foot, probably one of the worst murderers and road agents the West has ever produced.

“I usually carry three heavy revolvers when hunting road agents, and carry about 500 extra shells. I would rather have plenty of cartridges than plenty of food when I am looking for real bad people. My experience, however, is that train robbing has been made so dangerous that it is losing its popularity and will totally disappear in a few years.

Davenport Daily Leader (Davenport, Iowa) Nov 7, 1900

ESCAPED ROBBER CAPTURED

Frank Daniels of Omaha Placed Under Arrest.

OMAHA, Neb., Aug. 5. — (Special) –

Frank Daniels of this city, was taken to Logan, Harrison county, Iowa, this evening on a requisition charging him with robbing a freight car. His arrest grew out of the arrest of Dick Latta, by Special Detective Hans on the night of July 6, near California Junction on the Northwestern road. The detective secreted himself beside the boxes of goods that had been thrown from the train and Latta and his companion were caught when they came to get the good. Latta was held, but the companion escaped after Detective Hans fired four shots. Latta is a young man twenty-two years old living with his mother at 1622 Burt street. Daniels is one of the Daniels brothers who live near the railroad tracks in a shanty. Daniels proves to be the brother of Officer Hans’ first wife, and it is said by the friends of Latta that the two Daniels brothers got Latta into the trouble for the purpose of making some cheap glory for the detective, the plan being to allow them to escape and to hold Latta. Latta had refused to tell who was with him, and the detective showed a lack of enterprise in finding out. Latta today signed an affidavit implicating Daniels. Daniels once lived at Blair.

The Nebraska State Journal (Lincoln, Nebraska) Aug 6, 1901

“Detective Fred Hans, of the Elkhorn road is getting a whole glob of notoriety out of an arrest he made over in Harrison county a few days ago. It seems that Hans got Francis Daniels to go in cahoots with a fella by the name of Dick Latta for the purpose of plundering a freight car so that the great detective could get a chance to arrest someone just to convince the officials of the railroad that he was still true and always working for their interests.

Yesterday’s Bee contained a long article by Daniels’ accomplice laying blame on him and making it look rather ‘fishy’ for Hans when we remember that Daniels is a brother-in-law, and another article gives an interview with Daniels who claims Latta was at the bottom of it. Both Daniels and Latta are in jail in Mo. Valley and the outcome of the robbery will be watched with a great of interest by residents of this place. Daniels was arrested here three years ago for having stolen Emmett Bolt’s carpenter tools and served several months for the job. Everybody here knows Detective Hans and this escapade only brings to mind the time when a couple of men were sent to the pen for stealing corn, when it looked mighty much like Hans had his hand in the planning of the theft. Great is Hans the Detective!”

Blair Courier (Blair, Nebraska) Aug 8, 1901

“Fred Hans is surely getting his share of the ills of life since he did that wonderful piece of detective work when he landed young Latta behind the bars for breaking into a freight car near California Junction a couple of weeks ago. Hans was arrested last week over there on the charge of conspiracy and his hearing set for the 20th inst, but on Monday, Francis Daniels confessed in his part in the crime and ‘peached’ on Hans as the bloke who put up the job, his trial has now been set for September 10th.

The people of Blair and Washington county are watching this case with a great deal of interest and when they think of the ‘smooth’ work of this chief of detectives of the F. E. they are inclined to let their memory wander back to the time when they were kids and read “Old Sleuth” novels behind the corn crib and wonder if that wasn’t where Freddie got his inspiration to become a detective. To hear Hans tell it he has had many close calls and narrow escapes but never got in too late. From reading the World Herald of a couple of years ago we are constrained to believe that paper has a reporter who has a vivid imagination or was allowing Hans to make a big sucker out of him, when it told of Hans being a government scout for a number of years and describing some of his adventures on the border. In the light of this case folks are now bringing to mind many pieces of work that could be traced to his instigation.

Blair Courier (Blair, Nebraska)  Aug 22, 1901

Governor Savage issued an extradition warrant yesterday and immediately evened up the population of the state by issuing a requisition. The man extradited is Special Detective Fred M. Hans of Omaha who is charged with hatching a conspiracy to have a Northwestern train robbed of freight so he could reap the glory of a capture. Hans was sent to Logan, Ia., just across the Missouri river, where he is wanted on the charge of perjury. Frank Daniels, brother-in-law of Hans, was one of the two men implicated in the robbery. Dick Latta who was captured says he was led into a trap. Hans swore at one of he hearings that Daniels was not present when the capture was made, and Daniels testified that he was present. The requisition was for James Toman, under arrest at Cedar Rapids, Ia., who is wanted at South Omaha on the charge of assaulting James Koskeh, August 20, with intent to murder.

The Nebraska State Journal (Lincoln, Nebraska) Aug 27, 1901

HANS CHARGED WITH PERJURY.

LOGAN, Ia., Aug. 27, — The latest case of Fred M. Hans of Omaha, the railway detective charged with perjury in the Latta-Daniels arrests, has been set for September 2. He has retained Rodifer & Arthur of this place to defend him.

The Nebraska State Journal (Lincoln, Nebraska) Aug 29, 1901

IN THE GOVERNOR’S COURT

GARNETT C. PORTER OBJECT OF A REQUISITION.

DID HE SWEAR FALSELY?

Case Continued Till Tuesday to Give Porter’s Attorney’s Time

Governor Savage sat as a court yesterday and listened to argument from an attorney who told him why he should honor a requisition from the governor of Iowa for the return of Garnett C. Porter to Logan, Ia., on the charge of perjury. He also heard two able attorneys set forth reasons why he should not do any such thing. The day was warm and the governor took off his coat to permit the oratory to have its full effect. At the conclusion of the hearing he gave the defendant until Tuesday at 10:30 a.m. to show further cause why the requisition should not be honored. Mr. Porter was represented by Frank Ransom and Will F. Gurley of Omaha and the great state of Iowa was represented with due dignity by George William Egan of Logan.

Mr. Porter appears to have got into all this trouble through a desire to act as a press agent for a detective who was going out to make a raid on robbers of freight trains. Mr. Porter is a newspaper correspondent living at Omaha. When Special Detective Fred Hans invited him out to see the fun he could not resist the temptation to become a war correspondent for a short time. After two robbers were caught, Dick Latta and another man, the latter escaping in some mysterious manner, it was charged in the newspapers that the detective concocted the robbery and that his brother-in-law was the man who got away. Latta was held and pleaded guilty. The robbery of the cars took place on the Northwestern railroad on the Iowa side of the Missouri river and therefore the trial of Latta took place at Logan. Latta finally signed an affidavit charging that Hans and his brother-in-law hatched the burglary and induced him to enter into the scheme. Hans and Porter both made statements in court in regard to the case which led to the charge of perjury. Hans was taken to Iowa and gave bond for this appearance. Now an effort is being made to get Mr. Porter on Iowa soil to answer to similar charge.

The Nebraska State Journal (Lincoln, Nebraska) Oct 23, 1901

GUILTY OF MURDER.

Sioux City, Ia., Oct. 24. — Fred M. Hans, formerly a railroad detective, well known in the west, has been found guilty of the murder of David Luse on April, 1901, at Ainsworth, Neb., and was today sentenced to life imprisonment.

The Daily Review (Decatur, Illinois) Oct 24, 1903

I couldn’t find anymore about his murder/conviction, but he must have gotten released for one reason or another.

Gravestone picture from Find-A-Grave, posted by Dennis & Gal Conn Bell.

SLAYER OF 23 DIES IN ACCIDENT

Famous Indian Warrior Crushed in Elevator Shaft

SAVED LIVES OF MANY

Defended Whites in Battle Against Red Men

OMAHA, Neb. — (Associated Press)–

Fighting, smiling, gray-haired, old “Lone Star” Fred M. Hans, Indian fighter, frontier scout and possibly last of the real “two gun cross arm draw” experts net death here last night with his “boots on.” But death did not come on the field of battle where he had so often faced it, nor on the wings of a bullet. He was crushed to death in an elevator shaft at the Omaha World Herald plant where he was night watchman.

Lone Star was caught by the elevator when he attempted to move the control lever from the outside and the lift suddenly shot upward.

Lone Star began his career as plainsman at the age of 16, when he left home to search for a brother kidnapped by Sioux Indians. He broke into fame first in 1876 in the “Hole in the Wall” country, Powder River, Wyoming, when single-handed he shot and killed “Shacknasty” Jim and his two fellow bandits. It was Lone Star’s hammer fanning that won the unequal fight.

The Indians called him “We-Cha-Pe-Wan-Ge-La,” which means Lone Star.

PROMINENT EVENTS

Other high spots of Hans’ life were:

Shot and killed two stage coach bandits April 12, 1877, near Valentine, Neb. Shot five Indians in battle of Little Missouri near Black Hills, August 31, 1877, saving the lives of a party of twenty prospectors. Killed eleven Indians with 12 shots, using both guns, hammer fanning, in the battle of Wounded Knee, South Dakota, in 1892 [I think this should be 1891]. Killed bandit Ainsworth, Nebraska in 1878. Shot and killed bandit in Fremont, Neb., in 1897. Was official war department investigator of Custer massacre and followed Sitting Bull six hundred miles on horseback, inducing him and his band to return to the reservation.

Was present at Sitting Bull’s death; was chief scoutmaster for General Phil Sheridan for six years; was chief special agent of the Northwestern railroad for years. In all Hans was credited with having killed eight white and twenty Indians.

“I was never beaten on the draw,” he often declared.

Until a month ago, Hans wore a scalp lock 13 inches long which he kept curled under a skull cap as he sat around in the Herald editorial rooms at night, often displaying his skill with his two guns to reporters and visitors.

“No one is after it now,” he explained when he ordered his lock cut off.

Lima News (Lima, Ohio) Apr 18, 1923

DEATH CLAIM IS SETTLED

World Herald Company Pays $2,650 to Heirs of Nightwatchman Killed in Elevator.

State Compensation Commissioner, L.B. Frye has approved a lump sum settlement in which the World Herald Building company of Omaha paid $2,650 to the heirs of an employee, Fred M. Hans, night watchman who was instantly killed by a freight elevator of the World Herald building, April 17. The heirs agreed to this and the case was dismissed. The question of whether Hans had dependent heirs or was negligent in starting the elevator which killed him had arisen. The divorced wife, Roberta M. Hans, is alleged to have resumed marital relations. She was given $1,525 of the lump sum settlement and is to pay the cost of burial over and above $150 allowed by law for that purpose. The federal bill was $369. Lillian Caroline Budd, a child of the deceased watchman, was given $875. Grace L. Davis, another child was given $100.

The Evening State Journal and Lincoln Daily News (Lincoln, NE) Sep 21, 1923

*****

Read the book written by Fred Hans: (Google Books link)

The great Sioux nation:  A complete history of Indian life and warfare in America By Frederic Malon Hans. 1907

Emigrant Train – Attack!

HIGH LIGHTS OF HISTORY -  By J. Carroll Mansfield

An Attack on an Emigrant Train

The Constant Danger

Injun Warning

War Whoops

Defense or Defeat

New Castle News (New Castle, Pennsylvania) Jul 23, 1926

Elizabeth Zane: Pioneer Heroine

Image from http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fort_Henry (WV)

This story was actually part of the the article with the Squatter Life story in my previous post, but since it was a completely separate incident, I broke it into separate posts.

Who has not heard of the heroic Miss Elizabeth Zane, at Fort Henry, in 1777, where the city of Wheeling now stands?

When a large army of savages had been collected under the infamous Girty, and had attacked the fort, having killed in an outside skirmish several officers and men,  fearful crisis had arrived. The fort was reduced to eleven men and boys. The houses of villages were occupied by the savage foe, who for the moment had ceased hostilities, and had withdrawn to the base of the hill, which rose abruptly and precipitously from the narrow valley.

Fort Henry (Image from http://freepages.genealogy.rootsweb.ancestry.com)

The ammunition of the fort was nearly exhausted; and the stock must be replenished, or all would fall — men, women and children — a prey to the merciless savage. About sixty yards distant, at the house of Ebenezer Zane, there was a keg of powder. If that could be procured they would be enabled successfully to defend the fort, and keep the Indians at bay. Not a man or boy, for they were almost equally good marksmen, could be spared; and yet, some one must hazard his life in the undertaking. It was the forlorn hope of that little band, and on it their fate was to turn.

The commander, Col. Shepherd, called for a volunteer in this perilous undertaking. Several promptly offered their services, both men and boys; but they were the bravest of the band, and could least be spared. The difficulty seemed to be not so much in finding the heart stout enough for the fearful undertaking, but in making the selection. Just then, up stepped a slender, delicate girl. With the spirit of her father, she said to the commander,

“I will bring the powder. If I die in the attempt, my loss will not be felt.”

In vain they strove to dissuade her, she would most certainly be shot; besides she could not run with the fleetness of a man. All entreaties were vain, and she heroically exclaimed,

“Open the gates, and let me go!”

With tearful eyes the gates were opened, and the intrepid girl bounded toward the house. The moment she emerged from the fort she was seen by the Indians, who, instead of firing at her, seemed to be taken by surprise, and astonishment that for a moment suspended their murderous purpose. She reached the house, entered it, secured the desired keg, and started back to the fort. The soul of the heroic girl was in the effort, and bravely it sustained her. As she sped across the space with her burden, a dozen rifles were raised, and their sharp, simultaneous crack, seemed to announce her doom; but she neither fell nor faltered. On with accelerated speed she urged her way; and, passing the gates, she entered the fort in safety.

Elizabeth Zane (Image from http://www.wvculture.org)

The deed of that brave girl saved the fort; and an advantage was gained over the savage from which they did not recover so as to renew their depredations in future on that frontier outpost. Pioneer life in the West abounds with incidents of female heroism; and the simple story of their deeds possesses a more thrilling interest than can be infused by the most fervent and fruitful imagination into any scene of fiction.

– Pioneer of the West.

Richland County Observer (Richland Center, Wisconsin) Aug 11, 1857

*****

Interesting book on Google books, which mentions Fort Henry, but not this incident, that I could find:

Frontier defense on the upper Ohio, 1777-1778
By Reuben Gold Thwaites, Louise Phelps Kellogg, State Historical Society
Madison, Wisconsin Historical Society, 1912

LINK to the book

A similar book:

The Revolution on the Upper Ohio, 1775-1777
edited by Reuben Gold Thwaites, Louise Phelps Kellogg
Wisconsin historical society, 1908

LINK to book

Both books: “compiled from the Draper manuscripts in the library of the Wisconsin historical society and published at the charge of the Wisconsin society of the Sons of the American revolution“

*****

You can also read the book, Betty Zane, by Zane Grey (a descendant of Ebenezer Zane,) online HERE.

From the dedication and note:

For a hundred years the stories of Betty and Isaac Zane have been familiar, oft-repeated tales in my family–tales told with that pardonable ancestral pride which seems inherent in every one. My grandmother loved to cluster the children round her and tell them that when she was a little girl she had knelt at the feet of Betty Zane, and listened to the old lady as she told of her brother’s capture by the Indian Princess, of the burning of the Fort, and of her own race for life. I knew these stories by heart when a child.

Two years ago my mother came to me with an old note book which had been discovered in some rubbish that had been placed in the yard to burn. The book had probably been hidden in an old picture frame for many years. It belonged to my great-grandfather, Col. Ebenezer Zane. From its faded and time-worn pages I have taken the main facts of my story. My regret is that a worthier pen than mine has not had this wealth of material.

*****

“HISTORY OF WASHINGTON COUNTY, PENNSYLVANIA”
EDITED BY BOYD CRUMRINE
1882

If you are interested in an account of the torture/death of Colonel Crawford (witnessed by Simon Girty, mentioned in the above article,) after clicking HERE, scroll down about to the sub-heading:

126 – HISTORY OF WASHINGTON COUNTY, PENNSYLVANIA.

WARNING! It is very gruesome.

The Dangers of a “Squatter Life”

Log Cabin (Image from http://photographs.mccumber.us)

SQUATTER LIFE.

Among the early settlers of the West were many who moved out and selected sites for their homes upon the unoccupied land they might find, and, by clearing a portion of it and building a cabin, they obtained a pre-emption right to the soil, or, at least, a certain portion of it, and in possession of which they have been protected by the government, at least, so far as that no one could dispossess them without paying them an equivalent for the improvements; and even then they had a prior claim, or privilege of purchasing at government price over every other purchaser. Such pioneers have been denominated “Squatters.”

In an early day a man, who had left the sterile soil of an Eastern State, started with his young and rising family to better his condition in the rich and fertile valley of the West. He was a poor, but honest man; had struggled hard to raise his family, and by patient industry was enabled to obtain an outfit of a horse and cart to journey to the West. Passing through what was then a wilderness, he at length reached a spot on the Illinois river, about two hundred miles from its mouth, where he pitched his tent, and subsequently erected his cabin. His family consisted of a wife and three children the eldest, a boy, was in his nineteenth year, the next a girl, in her eighteenth year, and the youngest a boy of fourteen. They were all vigorous, the very material suited for the hard toil and poor fare of pioneer life.

One day there came to the squatter’s cabin three Indians, professing to be friendly, who invited the father to go out on a hunting excursion with them. As the family subsisted mostly upon game, he finally concluded to accompany them, taking with him his eldest son. They expected to be absent about a week, as they intended to take a somewhat extensive range.

After three days had passed away, one of the Indians returned to the squatter’s house, and deliberately lighting his pipe and taking his seat by the fire, he commenced smoking in silence. The wife was not startled at hsi appearance, as it was frequently the case that one, and sometimes more, of a party of Indian hunters, getting discouraged, would leave the rest and return. This was usually the case when they imagined they discovered some bad sign, and it would not only be useless, but disatrous, for them to hunt under such circumstances.

The Indian sat for some time in sullen silence, and at length, removing his pipe from his mouth he gave a significant grunt to awaken attention, and said –

“White man die.”

The squatter’s wife at his replied,

“What is the matter?”

“He sick; tree fall on him; he die. You go see him.”

Her suspicions being somewhat aroused at the manner of the savage, she asked him a number of questions. The evasiveness and evident want of consistencly of the answers, at length confirmed her that something was wrong. She judged it best not to go herself, but sent her youngest son, the eldest, as we have seen, having gone on a hunt with his father. Night came, but it brought not the son or the Indian. All its gloomy hours were spent in taht lone cabin by the mother and daughter; but morning came without their return. The whole day passed in the same fruitless look out for the boy; the mother felt grieved that she had sent her child on the errand, but it was now too late. Her suspicions were now confirmed that the Indians had decoyed away her husband and sons. She felt that they would not stop in their evil designs, and that, if they had slain the father and his boys, they would next attack the mother and daughter.

No time was to be lost; and she and the daughter, as night was approaching, went to work to barricade the door and windows of the cabin in the best manner they could. The rifle of the youngest boy was all the weapon in the house, as he did not take it when he went to seek his father. This was taken from its hangings, and carefully examined to see that it was well loaded and primed. To her daughter she gave the axe, and thus armed they determined to watch all night, and, if attacked by the savages, to fight to the last.

About midnight they made their appearance, expecting to find the mother and daughter asleep, but in this they were disappointed. They approached stealthily, and one of the number knocked loudly at the door, crying,

“Mother! Mother!”

The mother’s ear was too acute and she replied, “Where are the Indians, my son?”

The answer, “Um-gone,” would have satisfied her, if she had not been before aware of the deceit.

“Come up, my son, put your ear to the latch-hole. I want to tell you something before I open the door.”

The Indian applied his ear to the latch-hole. The crack of the rifle followed and he fell dead.

As soon as she fired, she stepped on one side of the door, and immediately two rifle balls passed through it, either which would have killed her.

“Thank God!” said the mother in a whisper to her daughter, “there are but two. They are the three that went to hunt with your father, and one of them is dead. If we can only kill or cripple another we shall be safe. Take courage, my child; God will not forsake us in this trying hour. We must both be still after they fire again. Supposing they have killed us, they will break down the door. I may be able to shoot one,” — for in the meantime she had re-loaded the rifle, “but if I miss, you must use the axe with all your might.”

The daughter, equally courageous with her mother, assured her that she would do her best.

The conversaton had hardly ceased when two more rifle balls came crashing through the window. A death-like stilness ensued for the space of several minutes, when two more balls, in quick succession came through the door, followed by tremendous strokes againt it with a heavy stake. At length the door gave way, and an Indian with a fiendish yell, was in the act of springing into the house; but a ball from the boy’s rifle, in the mother’s hand, pierced his heart, and he fell across the threshold. The surviving Indian, daring not to venture — and it was well for his skull that he did not — fired at random, and ran away.

“Now,” said the mother to the daughter, “we must leave;” and taking the rifle and the axe, they hastened to the river, jumped into a canoe, and without a morsel of provisions, except a wild duck and two blackbirds which the mother shot on the voyage, and which they ate raw, they paddled their canoe down the river until they reached the residence of a French settler at St. Louis.

Some time after, a party of hunters started over into Illinois, and scoured the country in every direction; but they returned without finding either the squatter or his boys. Nor have they been heard of to this day. Should the traveler pass by the beautiful city of Peoria, in his westward wanderings, the old settlers in that neighborhood can point out the spot where stood the cabin of the squatter, so heroically defended by his wife and daughter, and who so nobly avenged the death of the father and sons.

The pioneer women of the West, like the men, were made of sterner stuff than enters into the composition of most of our modern ladies and gentlemen. They were brave in entering the wilderness, and they showed themselves equally so in grappling with its difficulties, and encountering its perils.

– Pioneer of the West.

Richland County Observer (Richland Center, Wisconsin) Aug 11, 1857

*****

Pretty awesome educational site: SQIDOO

The creator is a retired teacher/homeschooling mom and so the info is geared for children/teachers.  This particular page is full of information about the 1780s.

The Tobacco Argument

Image from http://www.lva.virginia.gov

“Down in Indian Territory something happened that gave the moralists grounds for a tirade against the use of tobacco and the other side grounds for argument in favor. A squaw who had began the use of tobacco at the age of 13, died at the age of 114. How long would she have lived had she began using tobacco at 10 or even 11?

Nevada State Journal (Reno, Nevada) Jan 9,  1931

Lieut. Slaughter, Slaughtered

Lieut. Slaughter and Wife (Image from http://www.historylink.org)

DEATH OF LIEUT. SLAUGHTER.

From a copy of The Puget Sound Courier we learn that Lieut. WM. A. SLAUGHTER, of the 4th Regiment of Infantry of the U.S. Army, )son of Judge A.B. SLAUGHTER of this place,) was killed near the junction of White and Green rivers, Washington Territory, on the evening of the 4th of December, last.

Capt. Keys, commandant of the Puget Sound district, reports that at a place when Lieut. S. had halted “there was a small log house in which Lieut. Slaughter, Capt. Hewitt, Lieut. Harrison, and Dr. Taylor of the Navy, were conversing together. At about 7 o’clock P.M. of the 4th inst., the Indians fired a volley at the house and through the door. One ball passed between the logs, and through the breast of Lieut. Slaughter. He fell dead without a groan, and without speaking a word. The Indians kept up their fire until about 10 o’clock, killing Corporal Barry, of Company C, 4th Infantry, and Corporal Clarendon of the Steilacoom volunteers, and wounding six other men.”

The Courier says:

Lieut. Slaughter was born in the state of Kentucky, in the year 1827. Early in life he removed with his family to the town of Lafayette, Indiana. In 1844 he entered the Military Academy, and graduated with distinction in 1848.

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Soon after graduating, Mr. Slaughter joined the 2d Infantry in California, as Brevet 2d Lieutenant. For a while he served with the escort to the commission for establishing the boundary between the United States and Mexico, and in the spring of 1850, having been promoted to the 4th Infantry, he returned to the United States. He again embarked for the Pacific with the 4th Infantry in 1852, and after being stationed a short time at Fort Vancouver, he was ordered to Fort Steilacoom in February, 1853. From that time till the date of his untimely death, he was constantly on duty in this portion of Washington territory.

In the difficulties which have heretofore disturbed our Indian relations in the neighborhood of Puget Sound, Lieut. Slaughter’s services were often required. His activity and energy, and the alacrity with which he performed his duties, caused him, as a general rule, to be selected as the leader of the expeditions which from time to time were sent to suppress the threatened and actual hostilities of the savages.

Upon the breaking out of the war with the Yakimas, Lieut. Slaughter was ordered, in September last, to cross the mountains with a command of only 40 men. He was shortly recalled, and after joining his 40 men with the force under Captain Maloney, again set out for the Yakima country late in October; before proceeding far, Capt. Maloney was induced to retrace his steps. In the combats with the Indians, on the 3d and 4th of November, on White and Green rivers, Lieut. Slaughter’s conduct and gallantry were such as to win the admiration of all parties, both of regulars and volunteers.

After the conflict on Green river, Lieut. Slaughter was detailed with a separate command. In crossing the Pualylup [Puyallup], over a fallen tree, the two loading men were shot down by Indians ambushed on the other side. As the men fell, Lieut. Slaughter called out to them separately by name, but receiving no answer, he ordered his soldiers to charge across. Two sprang forward, he, himself, following next, and then all rushed over and drove the red skins from their covert.

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Lieut. Slaughter was uncommonly successful in his encounters with Indians, and if his life had been spared no estimate too high could be placed on his capacity to chastise these monsters. His appearance was not robust, but he would start out, on foot, in the dress and equipment of a common soldier, with his blanket and provisions on his back, and march all day through rain, mud and frost, and bivouac at night without any complaint of fatigue. Such hardships and deprivations, ordinarily so discouraging to the strongest men, seemed only to enliven his spirits, and inflame his ambition.*

It is supposed he was shot by an Indian boy, once his servant at Fort Steilacoom, towards whom he had always been kind and indulgent. Such is the character of the savage!

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The remains of Lieut. Slaughter were consigned to the grave at Fort Steilacoom with Masonic and Military honors.

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On the receipt of the intelligence at Olympia, of the death of Lieut. Slaughter, both branches of the legislative assembly adjourned after passing resolutions expressive of their regard for the memory of the deceased.

Richland County Observer (Richland Co., WI) Apr 13, 1856

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The White River Valley Museum website had more about Lieut. Willam A. Slaughter and the Treaty Wars and Indian Uprisings.

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On the USgenweb.org website, Gary Reese has posted more information about William A. Slaughter.

Gold-Digger Survives Indian Massacre

Image from http://visitmantonca.com

UNITED AFTER MANY YEARS.
Supposed Victim of Indian Massacre Finds His Family.

Lost for forty-eight years and given up for dead as one of the victims of an Indian massacre in 1859, when the other thirty-nine of the party were killed, Alanson X. Lockwood, father of Mrs. I.M. Bennett of 3631 Greenwood avenue, Seattle, has been located in Manton, Cal., and the daughter, now past the half-century mark, left Saturday over the Northern Pacific to meet her father she had supposed to be dead, says a Seattle correspondent of the Winnipeg Journal.

Merest chance has placed the long-separated father and daughter in communication and wrought events in such a manner that the aged father can be brought back to the family long lost to him. His aged wife, who married again after the report of the massacre of her husband, will hasten back to Seattle from Princeton, Ill., where his is now visiting. The second husband, whom she married forty-four years ago, died a few months since, and she will now meet her husband of fifty years ago.

During the gold rush to California in 1859 Mr. Lockwood went from Faribault, Minn., with a party of thirty-nine others to seek his fortune in the gold fields, leaving behind his young wife and daughter of 3 years. By the slow overland route of those days the party reached Boise, Idaho, where they constructed a raft and started down the south fork of the Boise and Snake rivers with the intention of going to Astoria and thence to California.

What became of the party no one ever knew, but the bones and belongings of thirty-nine of them were found bleaching upon the prairies and the report went back to the little Minnesota town that all had been killed by the Indians. Years crept slowly by and the little child became the wife of E. Wickham and the fate of Lockwood passed into the forgot past.

Friends of Mrs. Bennett in the east recently heard of a man by the name of Alanson X. Lockwood, living in California, and the peculiarity of the name aroused their interest. They wrote to Mrs. Bennett and she asked a friend who was going to California to investigate. The result was that after an exchange of letters if was learned beyond all doubt that Mrs. Bennett’s father was still living.

Only meager details of the escape of Mr. Lockwood and his subsequent failure to find his family have been sent to  Mrs. Bennett, but that little reads like a chapter from the strangest romance. When the party was set upon by the Indians after leaving Boise, Mr. Lockwood was struck upon the head and the Indians, believing he was dead, threw his body into the river.

How long he remained in the water he does not know. Eventually he made his escape and after many privations reached Lewiston, Idaho. From there he traveled to Astoria, and in time reached California. Meeting with success he sent for his family. But in the meantime the report of the massacre had reached Faribault, and the widow, believing the story, had moved away. Thus when Mr. Lockwood’s letters came there was no one to claim them and no one knew where Mrs. Lockwood had gone.

Mr. Lockwood remained faithful to the memory of the wife and daughter whom he had left behind. He could never account for their disappearance, and believed them both dead. He read of Indian troubles in Minnesota, and supposed his loved ones perished that way. The reunion of the long separated family will take place in Seattle.

Mountain Democrat (Placerville, California) Jan 25, 1908