He then told about Yates being taken prisoner for tampering with Indians. And after talking quite excitedly, he said, "We have got away with him. What do you think the Old Boss," (meaning Brigham) "will say?"
Now if Yates had been killed as Hickman related in his book he would not have manifested so much interest in what President Young would say. He tried hard to draw an approval from me of what he had done. I told him I knew nothing about such modes and did not know what Brother Young would say about it.
Hickman killed Yates for his money and horse the same as any other thief and murderer would have done, and then excused himself by telling that he was counseled to do these things. I know positively that Governor Young's orders were to avoid bloodshed in every way possible. I was continually acting and around in places and under circumstances that gave me the best of opportunities to know.
During the time that Johnston's army was at Bridger, there was an effort made to turn the Indians against the Mormons. This partially succeeded, but did not last long. As they soon got tired of the treatment received from their new friends.
While in camp near the head of Echo Canyon in May, 1858, a number of Weber and Goshutes came and camped on Yellow creek not far from our location. A few of us visited them. They expressed a desire to be peaceable with the Mormons. A meeting was appointed, they agreeing to come to our camp and talk over affairs and make satisfaction for some things they admitted having done. At this conference A. Miner presided, Abram Conover and myself acting as interpreters. I do not remember all that was said at the time. The Indians acknowledged having committed various thefts, at the same time giving their reasons for having done so.
Early in the spring of 1860 orders came from Washington for a portion of the troops at Camp Floyd to move to New Mexico and to explore a wagon road from Salt Lake to Santa Fe, naming the route, as selected by the map, down Little White river, now Price creek, and crossing over the mouth of the Dolores, thence on to Santa Fe. On the old maps these rivers showed very well as far as directions went. At this time I was the only person in Utah that knew anything of the country desired to be explored, and my knowledge was limited to the old Spanish trail and some few side trails to Indian camps.
The offer was made me to act as guide for the expedition. I declined at first but finally consented to go as far as Green river with an exploring party under Lieut. Archer, and see if a wagon road could be found by way of Spanish Fork to Green river.
We succeeded in locating a road, but not down Price river. We left that river to the right, crossing the plains and striking the river at the lower crossing. It was decided to put a working force of soldiers on the route. This was the first opening of Spanish Fork canyon. I agreed to go as far as Green river with this company, with the privilege, given as an inducement to get me to go, of taking along a trader's wagon under the protection of the command. I arranged with my brother-in-law, S. B. Moore, to go with me and take this wagon, and attend to the trading business, we being equal partners in the venture.
While working in Spanish Fork, making road, an ox was killed by a soldier. The ox belonged to a settler in Spanish Fork. Mr. Moore saw the soldier shoot the ox and told me about it. Next day John Berry, came into camp, he being president of the settlement, and in a very excited manner demanded satisfaction for the ox. The commander, Captain Selden, said that he knew nothing about the killing and asked me if I had heard anything. I told him that I knew who had killed the ox. Berry wanted the man brought forward at once. The captain told him that the man should be given up to the civil authorities at once and proper restitution made. Berry seemed to get worse and worse; said he did not want any thief to take back with him, but wanted to see him and have him punished. Captain Selden told him that the army regulations defined modes for even bad men; that everything had to be done properly. He advised President Berry to take a course to have the man either arrested or else to leave the matter to him and he would work the punishment so as to get the pay and send to the owner. Berry would not listen to any proposition whatever. Finally, I told him that he was unreasonable and that I would not point out the man to him, but would to the captain before pay-day; that I would bring the money with me on my return, and that I would leave it to Bishop Miller, the presiding bishop of Utah county, whether I was right or not.
On my return I offered to pay to Berry the amount. He would not accept it unless accompanied by a plea of guilt to a charge already preferred against me before the High Council of being a traitor to the Church, aiding and abetting an enemy to destroy property belonging to a brother and refusing to point out the guilty party when called on to do so. Taking the whole charge together it was too steep for me. That I had refused to point out the party was a fact, and I was willing to be judged on the merits of the refusal when all the reasons were stated. So I refused and was brought to trial.
The charge was read and considerable testimony given. In the charge the price of the ox was demanded. No effort was made to oppose this, but it was acknowledged and offered to be settled. At length Bishop Miller, the president, stood up and motioned that the charge be sustained. This aroused me. I replied to the Bishop's motion in an excited and insulting manner, so much so that he motioned that Daniel W. Jones be cut off from the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints for insulting the Priesthood.
I replied, "You hold on; you cannot do it."
"What do you mean?" he asked.
"I mean I have had my say; I am done. Now you have yours, and whatever you require of me I will do. But I will not be cut off from the Church even if I have to acknowledge to the charge."
Here Joseph Clark asked permission to speak. He said he did not think the charge was sustained by the evidence; some others spoke the same. Finally Bishop Miller said to the clerk, "Read the charge again." On hearing it read the second time he said: "Oh, I do not mean to sustain the charge that Brother Jones is a traitor or anything of the kind. I had paid no particular attention to that part. All I mean is that Brother Jones pay for the ox according to agreement."
This was a close call for me, but I saved my standing and honor. If I had said nothing probably this whole charge would have went on record as it was. Inasmuch as I had offered to pay the amount sent by the captain the whole charge was thrown out.
This command under Selden was about one month working a road through to Green river. We had a pleasant time, doing well with our trading. We were treated well by both officers and men. Captain Selden was a kind-hearted officer, without any prejudices against the "Mormons," although he was of one those ordered out to wage a war against the people.
On arriving at Green river where another guide was to take my place, we found he was not there. As the man, a Mexican, had not arrived I was told that my services would be required the balance of the trip. I refused to go. Before leaving Utah I had received word from Brother Brigham that he did not wish me to go on this trip. George W. Bean told me that Brother Young had said, "Tell Brother Jones I consider him one of my good boys and I do not want him to go off into that dangerous country and risk his life for money." I knew this to be the best of counsel, for the country was dangerous. The Mexicans of New Mexico were not over their bad feelings about the Indian slave trade. The ones who had profited by this traffic still held a grudge against "Mormons." This I had learned from some of my old associates that came through with Colonel Marcy. Both Utes and Navajoes were uncertain in those days, particularly those living on the borders of New Mexico. There were no regular mails or communications in those days between the two countries.
Not only having a desire to respect the kindly advice of Brother Brigham, but knowing the risk we would run, I declined to go farther. On refusing, Colonel Canby, who was in command, instructed his adjutant to tell me that the good of the service required me to go on as guide, and that it would be impossible for them to fill the orders from Washington without my services; that if I went willingly I should be well treated and respected and that my brother-in-law would be employed as assistant guide; that they needed our wagon and team and that the quartermaster would pay us for it.
I still refused, telling them I would run too much risk in getting back to Utah. Colonel Canby then promised me protection and mileage home, and informed me that I could accept the terms willingly or otherwise, they would have to keep a guard over me to see that I did not leave; neither would they settle with me for services up to date. I have several affidavits proving these facts. We found that nothing would do but to consent.
The main command under Canby intended to follow what was known as Lorin's trail up the Grand river, cross over and go down to Fort Garland, while a company under Lieutenant Stith was to explore the Dolores river. I was wanted for both, but as this could not be I was sent on the Lorin trail, accompanied by a sergeant and an Indian, to the junction of the Grand and Gunnison rivers, to find the road and see how the crossing was.
My hopes were that after this trip and finding the road all right to this point that I could get off and return home, but not so. It was decided that we had to go on and guide the exploring expedition through on the Dolores. I told Canby I did not know the country. No difference. My natural ability, with my general knowledge of the country, was all sufficient, so at length I gave up and went willingly. The most of the officers treated me with great kindness and respect. They knew I was a member of the "Mormon" church and often asked me questions about our religion. Many evenings were spent in chatting about Utah affairs in a very pleasant and agreeable manner.
After crossing Green river there is a desert of fifty-five miles to Grand river. The troops suffered considerable on this desert. Some few leaving the road to hunt water got lost, and one or two never were found; they either perished or fell into the hands of some hostile Indians. One little circumstance showing the need of understanding something of their language or signs in dealing with Indians happened at Green river. There were quite a number of Utes camped below the crossing. These Indians came into camp quite often.
One day I noticed a crowd of soldiers making some curious and exciting moves. I approached to see what was the matter. I saw an Indian standing, holding something in his hand and looking rather confused. The soldiers were getting a rope ready to hang him; all was excitement and I am satisfied that if I had not happened along the poor Indian would have been swinging by the neck in less than five minutes.
I could see from the Indian's manner that he realized something was wrong but could not understand why he was surrounded by soldiers.
I asked them what they were doing. They said that the Indian had brought one of their horses that he had stolen into camp and sold it for thirty dollars; that the owner of the horse was there and they were intending to hang the "d——d thief." I told them to hold on a minute, that I did not think an Indian would steal a horse and bring it into the camp where it belonged to sell. Some one answered, "Yes, he has; there is the money now in his hand that he got for the horse."
The Indian was still standing there, holding the money in his open hand and looking about as foolish as ever I saw one of his race look. I asked him what was up. He said he did not know what was the matter.
"What about the horse and money?"
He answered, "I found a horse down at our camp. I knew it belonged to the soldiers so I brought it up, thinking they would give me something for bringing it. This man," pointing to one, "came and took hold of the horse and put some money in my hand. It was yellow money and I did not want it. He then put some silver in my hand. There it all is. I don't understand what they are mad about."
I soon got the trouble explained. The man thought he was buying the horse, the Indian thought he was rewarding him for bringing the animal to camp; the owner happened along just as the trade was being made. Here ignorance and prejudice came near causing a great crime. As soon as this was explained I took the money and gave it back to the owner. No one had thought of taking the money. All were bent on hanging the honest fellow. Soon there was a reverse of feeling; most of the soldiers in the crowd being Irish, they let their impulses run as far the other way, loading the Indian with shirts and blouses. Some gave him money, so that he went away feeling pretty well, but he remarked that the soldiers werekots-tu-shu-a(big fools).
I have often thought there were many like these soldiers, "heap kots-tu-shu-a," in dealing with Indians.
On arriving at Grand river Stith's outfit was prepared and we were set across the river in a place entirely unknown to me. I did not even know whether the Dolores river was above or below me, and so told the officer. There was a point known as the bend of Dolores where I had been, but from where we were to that point the country was new to me. I had no definite idea of the distance but knew it must be several days' journey. This country, as the name of the river implies, was about the worst country I ever traveled through. While we were prospecting to see if we could get any sight of the river, I found a lone Indian. He had been out all alone on a stealing expedition to the Navajo Indians, had got a few horses and was on his way home to Uintah. After much persuasion and some pay, I induced him to go a day's travel and show me the river and put me on the trail if there was any.
We were about thirty miles above the Dolores where it empties into Grand river. On arriving at the river, we found a trail leading up it for only a short distance. My Indian friend described the country and trails to me so that I felt pretty sure of getting to a place with which I was acquainted.
We were ten days reaching the bend of the Dolores where the old Spanish trail strikes it, but does not cross. We only struck the river twice the whole distance. It runs through box canyons most of the way, and is unapproachable; so the wagon-road ordered explored I do not think will be made yet awhile.
By this time we had learned the character of our commanding officer. He was simply a ruffian of the worst type. I had to watch him daily, as he was suspicious of being led into ambush.
We had met one party of Indians, an old man and family. My brother-in-law was acquainted with him, he having been one of the Grand valley company that was driven away by the Indians. This old man was of the peace party, and told Mr. Moore all about what had happened, after they were driven away. Seeing Moore friendly and talking with the old Indian made Stith more suspicious of us. He often hinted that it would be dangerous for us if we ever came across Indians in any number. This was not very pleasant, for we were in a country where a great many Indians roamed and we were liable to run across a lot at any time, but as good luck would have it, we never did. We always believed that if we had run into an Indian camp that Stith would have attempted to take our lives.
The soldiers did not like him, neither did they think as he did, but they all feared him as he had shot down some of his company. This same officer had shot and killed one man, who had given out and could not travel. This occurred on a Texas desert.
My intention was to take care of myself, and if we had met any Indians to see that I was not harmed if a good rifle could protect me. Moore and myself watched him all the time.
We arrived at the Dolores bend at eleven o'clock a. m. I recommended camping. Stith said he had not made a day's march and would not camp. I said, "Then let's noon."
"No, it lacks an hour of noon; we must travel an hour yet."
I told him I wanted time to get my reckoning, as I had not been here for some time and had come in a different direction from what I had done before and that there were many trails leading from this point further north. It was twenty miles to the next water. All this would not induce him even to noon, but he ordered the march to continue.
After going a few miles he asked me where the water was for noon. I told him that all the water we would get would take till after night to reach. He then notified Moore and myself that we were discharged, and that there was a Mexican along who knew the road better than we did. I told him allright, to pay us and we would turn back. This he refused to do, saying that he intended to keep us along in case the Mexican did not know the country; that we would be better than no guides.
We had guided this company 210 miles, through a country entirely unknown to us, in ten days' time, and the infantry with packs had never been lost or failed to get good camps. Now, after getting, for the first time, on a good trail, we were discharged for not finding water for noon on a dry desert and, as before stated, leaving water at about half-past eleven. So much for West Point discipline.
After discharging us, as he supposed, Stith put his Mexican guide to lead, Moore and myself following along and taking it easy. We were in no way concerned about our discharge, for the quartermaster had told me to get along the best we could with Stith, but if we wanted, when we got into Santa Fe, to come back and meet Canby's command, and that we need not take a discharge from Stith unless we so desired.
They now left the trail, at night taking to the left over a dry mesa; but no water was found. There was considerable suffering among the soldiers, as there was no water for coffee or cooking and but little to drink. Here the company planned to kill Stith, nearly all the company agreeing. They sent their committee to Moore and myself with the proposition that Stith and the Mexican guide be killed together with all that would not sustain the move, and that we were to guide them out of the country. This was fully determined upon and we had much trouble in persuading them out of the notion, but finally succeeded.
Next day we continued our journey, arriving at the Mancos river much later than we would have done had we kept the trail. Stith soon learned that the Mexican knew but little about the country. After crossing the river we struck a big trail where it ascended a hill. On getting on this trail Stith made some very insulting remarks, saying that now we had a guide who knew something.
On reaching the top of the hill they found that the trail scattered, being a hunting trail and not a route. This puzzled the guide, who was the one that had taken the wrong direction. I here got my ideas clear, and for the soldiers' sake, they having treated us kindly, I told Stith's lieutenant where the trail was. He informed Stith, who was now willing to listen, having lost faith in his Mexican. We soon struck the old trail. We could now have regained our positions had we wished to, but we agreed with Lieut. Bristol, who was a real good fellow, to tell him every morning, when necessary, about the trail and distance; but not to speak to Stith about anything, and go along as though we cared nothing about the road.
After this Moore and I had a pretty good time, riding along without any responsibility; hunting when we liked and taking it easy. We had many a good laugh at Stith's expense, for if we started out of a morning ahead he was afraid to lose sight of us for fear his guide would get lost.
One morning, while traveling on a nice, plain trail, up a wide, smooth flat, Moore and I started up a steep mountain side, intending to follow along the mountain ridge and kill some game. We had gone but a short distance, without any trail whatever, when, on looking back, we saw the Mexican guide and Stith had left the trail and started to follow us. Bristol was in the rear with the pack train.
At first we felt like letting them follow, but it seemed too hard on the poor foot soldiers to play them such a trick, so Steve Moore turned round and called out, "What in the h—— are you following us for?" Stith wanted to know if we were not on the trail. Moore told him his guide ought to know where the trail was—that it was down on the flat; to go back and not be following us up the mountain.
We traveled along the mountain ridge in sight of the trail most of the day watching the company. They often seemed lost and would stop and look to see if they could see us. We finally came into the trail and traveled along with the command.
On arriving at the first settlement Stith got drunk and gambled off a lot of money that he expected to cover by the vouchers I would sign before drawing any pay from him.
We were seventy miles from Santa Fe, the headquarters where we were to report to Colonel Fontleroy, the commander.
Stith continued his spree several days, so Moore and I saddled up and went on to Santa Fe alone. On reaching that place I found many old friends, among the rest, Manuel Woods, keeping hotel. He was an old hotel keeper for whom I had kept bar during my first stay in Santa Fe. I explained our situation to him, stating that we intended to wait till the main command came in. He told us to make his house our home as long as we desired, and we could have all the money we wanted besides.
My old friends, John Phillips, H. Stephens, F. Redmond, and many others, expressed themselves ready to assist us in any way possible.
We turned our mules into the government corral and went to stop at the hotel.
Colonel Fontleroy, on hearing that some one had arrived from Utah, sent for us to come to his office the next day. There had been some uneasiness felt about the company we had traveled with, and a party had been sent out to meet them. The party had gone as far as the Dolores and returned.
We had seen their tracks; I wanted to follow their trail, knowing it to be white men's tracks. Stith took them for Indians' and refused to follow me.
On meeting the colonel, he, in a very pompous manner, asked me who I was.
I replied, "Daniel W. Jones."
"Where are you from?"
"Salt Lake City, Utah."
"How did you come here?"
"On a mule."
"What is your business—in what capacity have you come?" He was now much excited and asked a series of questions before stopping.
I then told him I was a guide in government employ.
He asked, "Where are the troops; where is the command you are guiding?"
"The last I saw of them they were about seventy miles back. The commander and most of the company drunk."
"Why are you not with them?"
"I don't like whisky," was my answer.
I felt insulted by his manner in first speaking so abruptly to me, and was determined not to give him any satisfaction until he spoke to me in a respectable manner. This he seemed to see and commenced asking his questions more politely. I gave him all the information I could about the moves of the troops on the road. He now approved of my coming ahead.
When Stith arrived he made out my account and asked me to sign the vouchers. I thanked him, telling him that I did not need any money and did not wish my discharge just then. He flew into a terrible passion, saying that he could not settle his accounts unless I signed the vouchers. I replied that I had nothing to do with settling his accounts, all I wanted was my transfer back to the command. This he refused me, so we went and bought two mules on credit and went back to the command.
We met them at Taos. The quartermaster was glad to see us, as he needed our services. I took the position of both guide and interpreter, Moore continuing as assistant.
We got into the farming district about harvest time. There was no forage to be had except fields of grain. These were bought at high prices when animals were turned in over night and a guard placed around them. Often the animals would get into other fields doing some damage. The Mexicans made great complaint, often asking several hundred dollars for damages.
The pasturage generally cost from $150 to $200 per night. The quartermaster would generally hand me $500 and tell me to settle. Sometimes I would be two or three hours settling, as the damage sometimes was on various patches.
The people were at times unreasonable in their demands. When I could not get a reasonable settlement would refer to the authority. I made the people understand that they could not get anything only what was just and reasonable. When they found that I understood them they became much easier to deal with.
In that country what you do today always gets to the next camping place before you do.
When all my accounts were settled for the day I would hand what money was left to the quartermaster, sometimes it would be over $100.
One day on handing him the money he said, "Jones, you're a d——d fool"
"Why?" I asked.
"That money is already accounted for."
I did not take the hint as he expected I would, but continued to return the overplus.
This remark to me was made in kindness, as the quartermaster was a great friend of mine and wanted me to keep the money for myself, but I did not think it right. It would never have done me any good.
When we arrived in Santa Fe, we were paid off in full up to date, and mileage allowed; but no protection was furnished for our return home. The Navajoes had just broken out and the troops had been ordered to chastise them. The good of the service now required that we get home the best we could. Aside from this we were treated in the best manner possible; provisions being given us by the quartermaster and some valuable presents by other officers.
We knew that our chances were slim forgetting back safely. To make things as safe as possible, however, we bought a good wagon and four first class mules; loaded up with Mexican and Navajo blankets and other goods believing that we would be less liable to get robbed of these goods than if we carried our money with us. We were also informed by some friends, who had lately come in from Denver that blankets of this kind were in good demand at that place. There was a great rush for Pike's Peak and miners and prospectors wanted these blankets.
We left Santa Fe about the loth of September, 1860. Two young men that came through from Utah, whose homes were in the States, accompanied us on horseback. They were well mounted and we were all well armed. We took every precaution to make ourselves secure against thieves stealing our stock, or taking advantage of us in any way.
We took the open road by way of Las Vegas, Fort Union, passing along the Raton mountains and continuing on without molestation of any kind until the evening of the 23rd, when we were attacked and robbed, the particulars of which I shall give together with our trip home to the best of my ability and recollection. Late in the afternoon we arrived at a creek where we intended to camp, but found no water. We had traveled about thirty miles, and the next chance for camping was several miles further on. Some of my reflections would not be amiss here. There was some game in sight. We killed some wild turkeys. My companions were out after antelope and I was alone awaiting their return. We were now quite out of the dangerous country to all appearances, having traveled over three hundred miles without disturbance. We were now where it was considered safe for any one to travel. Still I felt uneasy. I remembered the words of President Young and I never had felt entirely safe on the road. In my reflections I felt as though I would rather lose what I had made than be tempted to disobey counsel again, by being successful. Still I was in hopes we could keep our property, and would try and do right in the future. I asked the Lord to direct me for the best, but to spare our lives on our road home.
I had a positive feeling that we were in danger. Shortly before sundown we started on intending to make a night drive to the next watering place. After traveling a short distance we came to a hollow where a rain-storm, just passing over, had deposited some good fresh water, and where grass and fuel were plentiful. On approaching camp we descended from a ridge some three hundred yards to a flat. There was an open space some one hundred yards wide to the right of the road. We drove to near the center of this opening. The brush around was about waist high and not very thick. I commenced gathering up fuel, the others unhitching and taking care of the animals.
After getting some dry brush ready, I was about striking a fire when we heard a noise of horsemen back on the road. The full moon was shining and on looking up we saw some eight or ten horsemen just disappearing over the ridge, going from us. As we were near the road and had neither seen nor heard any one passing, this surprised us not being able to account for the move.
Moore and myself took our guns and went up to where we had seen them, to reconnoiter. On getting to the summit of the ridge we could see the tracks plainly where they had come following after us, and on seeing us had turned suddenly and run back. They, no doubt, had expected us to continue on some eight miles farther to the creek before camping, and had run on us unexpectedly. While examining these tracks and trying to solve the mystery, we heard the noise of horses about two hundred yards from the road, and discovered a small clump of cedars in the direction, being on the same side of the road as our camp and just back from the summit of the ridge.
We decided at once that they were robbers following us; that they were tying up and hiding, intending to creep upon us afoot, being too cowardly to make an open attack. We hurried back to camp, intending to try and get to the timber on the creek. I gave orders to hitch up as quickly as possible. The two horsemen were to take the lead and run where the road was good, holding back where rough. I was to drive while Moore did the fighting from the wagon, if we were followed.
Our team was full of life, so much so that we had to change the bits on the leaders, putting on heavy curbbits, taking off the common ones with checks. This left the driving reins alone in the bits. The saddle horses were soon ready, one man holding them just in front of the team, three of us hitching as fast as possible. The mules commenced looking in the direction of the clump of cedars, now and then looking along the edge of the brush around us. I remarked that I believed they were surrounding us. Just as I was about taking the lines in hand, the team being all hitched except the wheel mules' traces, a shot was fired. I thought it came from one of our own party, so near by it seemed. I asked, "Who was that shooting?"
Moore answered, "You know as much about it as I do"
Suddenly several shots were fired. At this the mules started on the full run. I grabbed the nigh leader. The two men with horses now had hold of them, but were not mounted. All ran together, making a half circle back to the road about where we turned out, Moore holding to the off wheeler.
As we ran the shots came thick and fast from the brush, clear along the half-circle up to the road. Just as we struck the road, crossing it to the west—our direction of travel being to the north—shots commenced coming from the left side, one striking and killing the nigh wheel mule. This stopped the team, as the leaders alone could not pull the wagon and drag the dead mule.
The shots were now coming thick and fast from all sides. The lead mules were trying to get away. I called to Moore to cut the breast strap of the dead mule so that the leaders could continue toward open ground. He made a strike or two with his knife, but while doing so the off wheeler fell dead. An instant after the off leader fell. I now had hold of the only mule left standing.
The two horsemen were just in front of the team, and when it stopped they halted also. One of them, Daniel Dafney, I shall always remember for his coolness and courage. I felt like giving the word to run and abandon the team, but knowing that we were some eight hundred miles from home, did not much like the prospect of footing it through.
Moore raised his gun to shoot. I told him not to do so, as they, no doubt, would make a rush for us if we fired. In those days muzzle-loaders were all we had. One of the horsemen had a rope knocked from his hand with a bullet. On this he said to Dafney, "It is getting too hot, let's run."
Dafney replied, "I will not leave till all leave."
Just at this the off leader sprang up, not having been injured much, only grazed across the loins. I spoke to Moore, telling him to cut the mule out of the harness, and I would do the same with the nigh one, and we would try to get away.
Dafney came and assisted each of us in getting our mules out of the harness. The most of the shots being directed toward the team, Dafney ran ten times more risk in coming to our assistance than if he had remained in front.
The lead mules were fine large animals and full of life. They were terribly frightened at the shooting, which continued almost without ceasing. Once I called to them to stop shooting; that there was no need of killing us, as they were strong enough to come and take what they wanted. This I spoke in Spanish. No reply, except a stronger volley of shots.
The mule I had hold of had never been ridden, but there was no time for "swapping horses." Each of us had heavy, old-fashioned rifles. I got a little the start of Moore, as Dafney assisted me first. My mule had a long rope tied to his neck, and when I mounted and started with the rope dragging it tangled in the harness, bringing my mule to a sudden halt. I managed to untie the rope from his neck. While doing this Dafney succeeded in helping Moore with his mule, which was almost unmanageable. We finally all got about an even start. The balls were still coming thick and fast, the robbers having advanced up as near as possible without coming into open ground. Some of them being within thirty yards of us.
Our road led to the north, but was blocked, the firing coming from every direction but the west, where there was no brush. Our animals needed no guiding. As soon as they were free to run they broke with full speed to get away from the shots. It would be hard to tell which was the most frightened, we or the mules. Most of the shooting was done with revolvers. The mules soon took the lead of the horses.
The prairie had many badger holes and broken spots and my mule came near throwing me several times in dodging them. I had not removed the mule's collar, and when I could scarcely stick on for these side plunges I ran my arm under it, taking my gun in my hand and clinching it tight. This steadied me so that I felt safe.
After running some distance my mule commenced to act as though he was wounded and about to fall. This continued for several minutes, giving us much uneasiness, but he soon recovered himself. He must have been in pain from excitement, as he was not wounded.
Moore and I were now neck and neck on the lead, going at full speed. I asked him to turn to the north and get our right direction of travel. He paid no attention to my words, so I repeated them rather sharply, when he answered, "D——n it, turn to the north yourself, I cannot turn my mule any more than a saw-log." We found we were much like the old parson who yoked himself to the calf, we were running away in spite of ourselves.
On looking back we saw that the horsemen were about twenty yards in the rear. I called and asked them if their horses were under control. They answered, "Yes."
"Then ride up and take the lead."
They answered that our mules were too fast for them, so we managed to check their speed a little. The horsemen, whipping up, at length got the lead, when they turned to the north in the direction we wished to travel. Shortly after turning to the north we came to a clump of cedars. Here Moore and I tried hard to persuade our companions to stop, tie up and go back with us and creep on to the robbers, believing we could surprise and whip them. This we could not prevail on them to do. We continued on some few miles, coming to the creek bank where it was so steep that we could not cross. This forced us to go down toward the road, which we finally struck.
I now became for the first time thoroughly frightened. During the whole scene that I have been describing, I had never felt much fear. While I was untying the rope the balls came so thick that the flesh on my ribs twitched a little. Moore says he could not help dodging when the bullets flew so thick and close. Dafney laughed and asked if he thought he could dodge them.
It would have been an easy matter for the robbers to have come on and got to the crossing ahead of us, and ambushed us, as the brush was thick on each side of the road. This I fully realized and insisted that we should not take the road, but to no purpose. The others felt that we had got clear and that it would be best to keep on to the next ranch, some forty miles distant. This we reached about sunrise.
Moore and I rode all night bareback, most of the time on a hard trot.
We arrived at Zan Hicklin's on the Green Horn river early in the morning. Hicklin was an old acquaintance and treated us kindly, furnishing us with saddles and blankets, and such provisions as we could take. We stayed with him three days before we were able to travel on, being so sore from our bareback feat.
The night after our arrival Hicklin sent back a man to where we were robbed. The man reported finding the wagon all right, with a sack of bacon and some horse feed; also the dead mules and some parts of the harness, all the light straps being taken. From all the signs we judged the robbers to be Mexicans. Hicklin offered to get the wagon for us, but we felt like getting home the quickest and best way, and thought best to take it muleback. So we told Hicklin to get the wagon and keep it.
When we started on we had but little money and very poor clothes, as we were saving our good ones that we had bought in Santa Fe until we got home; but we had two first class mules, about as fine ones as are often seen, and we made up our minds to make as quick a trip home as possible. Our friends Dafney and companion were well mounted; they were going the same road as far as Denver. They got away with several hundred dollars, carried on their persons.
Moore and I had expended our cash all but a few dollars. Our friends were liberal while we traveled together paying most of the expenses.
The country was just being settled. There was but one house where Pueblo now is, besides the old shanties where the Mormon Company wintered in 1846-47. From Pueblo to Denver there were a few new farms just started. There were several cities by name but no one living in them. These were started to boom some mining camps, but the prospect failing the city also was abandoned. Some of these places are only remembered by a few of the old prospectors, never having been put upon record.
We stopped one night with quite a pleasant, thrifty settler, on the Fountain Creek. During the evening he told us that he had lost quite a number of horses, some thirty or forty head, mostly good American mares and young stock; he had spent much time hunting them and finally given them up, supposing that they had been stolen, and taken entirely out of the country.
The road from this place continued on up Fountain creek for some thirty miles then crossed over and down to Cherry creek; estimated eighty-five miles from this place to the next station, where we could find a stopping place. This looked like having to camp out. Something we were not prepared to do. Again, we still were timid not having recovered from our stampede. We felt much better when in a safe place.
Our landlord told us of a more direct route, that he had recommended to different ones and tried to get opened through, that would shorten the distance about half from his place to Cherry City. There was no trail through, but the country looked open and favorable, and as our host had been kind to us and manifested quite a desire to have us go through, after receiving his directions and locating the points where the country showed best, we started out.
After traveling about forty miles we saw quite a bunch of horses. On approaching them, we discovered, from the brands and descriptions given us, that they were the lost stock of our kind entertainer.
Not long after seeing the horses we struck the main road, having saved many miles of travel as our route was almost direct, while the old road was very crooked. Soon after striking the road we met a train, by which we sent a note to the owner where his horses were.
After getting home we received a letter acknowledging our act and saying the animals were his. I have forgotten the name of the owner of the stock, but have often thought of the circumstance, for I will admit that we were tempted at first to try to make something out of the find.
Notwithstanding our loss and sore feelings we found much on the trip to amuse and entertain us. Two of us were Missourians—Dafney and I, the other two were Yankees. The settlers along the route were mixed, some Missourians, others eastern people. The question generally was, shall we stop with a dirty Missourian or a stingy Yankee? We finally agreed to take it time about as much as possible. Various signs were put up along the road to attract the attention of the traveler, one I remember read something like this: "Bran, coal, pies, hay, whisky, eggs and other fruit."
We expected to get some assistance from a man by the name of William Martin, whom we were acquainted with. He had been at Provo merchandising, but had moved to Denver.
On arriving in Denver and meeting Martin, we told him our situation. He very readily said we could have what we wanted, and asked how much we would need. I told him twenty-five dollars would answer. It was about noon and he said, "Wait and have some dinner, then you can go on."
He stepped out but returned in a few minutes, asking, "Whose fine mules are those under the shed?"
I replied, "They are ours."
He said, "They are fine mules; I will give you a good trade for them." And then offered us a pair of ponies and twenty-five dollars.
I told him they were all we had left of what we had earned during our trip; that we were anxious to get home as soon as possible, and that they would carry us better than the ponies would. I knew the ponies well that he offered us. He insisted on the trade. We declined as the mules were worth at least $400, while the ponies were not worth over $75. If he gave us the $25 difference he would still get at least $300 for nothing. Finally, when we would not trade, Martin said he had no money to loan.
He had a large provision store, and I said, "Then let us have a little provisions and we will go on."
He replied that he was selling on commission and could let nothing go without the money. If ever two men felt indignant we did. We had parted company with our friends, the two horsemen. They still had plenty of money. They doubtless would have given us some had we asked them, but we were sure of getting some from Martin. I also had several old acquaintances in Denver who, no doubt, would have helped us, but we felt now like asking no assistance from any person.
We had just forty cents and were four hundred miles from old Jack Robinson's camp at Bridger. We know he would not turn us away. My answer to Martin was "Bill Martin, you see these two mules; they are better animals than you ought to own. It is only four hundred miles to Jack Robinson's; they will carry us there in four days; we can starve that long and you can't have the mules. Good day."
We bought forty cents worth of cheap cakes and started out with the expectation of going hungry. As we crossed the bridge spanning the Arkansas river, the roads forked. We enquired of a lad which road to take naming our direction. He said either, but that the left hand road went out five miles to Jim Baker's ranch. Here was a chance. Jim Baker was an old friend that I had often met on the plains. I had taken care of his brother, when snow-blind, while we were at Devil's Gate, so we concluded to go there and see if Baker would be like Martin.
On arriving we were welcomed in the true, old-mountaineer style. Although grass was abundant, he turned our mules into his oat field. We told him about Martin, and he said, "Well now, I will go into town every Saturday, get drunk, and abuse Martin for this until I run him out of the country. I will never let up on him. Why he aint fit to live."
Baker had his squaw fix us up some food; all we would take. Next morning we started on feeling much better than when leaving Denver. We met with others along the road who supplied our wants.
While at Bitter creek one of our mules got poisoned with bad water. We got him as far as Jack Robinson's camp, leaving him and getting another.
On reaching Bridger, we overtook a government outfit coming into Camp Floyd—Captain Clery and escort. The Captain was on his way to relieve the then acting Quartermaster. He offered to supply us if we would travel with him as they did not know the road. We traveled with him two days receiving the best of treatment from officers and men. Our route led down Provo Canyon. I had a number of acquaintances in this valley; among the number Melvin Ross who lived at the head of the valley. He was a man of considerable means. I told Moore we would go and camp with him, telling how welcome we would be. There was a sergeant in the company who knew the road from Weber. Neither Moore nor myself had traveled the road from Weber to Provo valley. We went ahead and took the wrong road so that we lost several miles in getting back to the Provo road. In the meantime the soldiers passed on and got ahead of us. This plagued us a little but we concluded to keep it to ourselves. When we finally arrived at Ross's ranch we found the soldiers had passed and were camped a short distance down the road.
Ross was out in front of his house just laying out a big fat mutton dressed. He knew me but spoke rather coolly for an old friend, but asked us to get down. I told him we would like to stop and get something to eat and stay all night, but that we were without money. He replied that we had some good ropes and blankets. I told him we needed them, as we might go on down the canyon and camp, for we were anxious to get home to our families. He said there was good camping down the canyon. I thought he was doing this simply to joke us, but not so. We finally started on, but expecting to be Celled back and laughed at.
Moore commenced laughing at me, saying, "That's your friend, is it?"
I said, "He'll call us back; he cannot mean this only as a joke."
Moore said, "Nary a joke; that man's in earnest."
I felt just about as bad as I ever remember to have felt. We had been running the gauntlet for several hundred miles among strangers, looking forward with great expectations on reaching friends at home. We had traveled forty-five miles since eating. This we told Ross, but not a bite would he let us have unless we gave him a rope or blanket. This seemed so mean that we would rather have traveled all next day without food than to ask anyone again.
When we came up to the soldier camp they asked us to stop and have supper. Our mules were fed oats and turned out. We said nothing about the grand (?) reception we had had, as we were ashamed to mention it. We stayed till about eleven o'clock and then went on down the canyon and laid out a short distance from several old friends and acquaintances. We dared not call on anyone; so early next morning we started for our homes in Provo, joking each other often and wondering if our wives would treat us as Ross had.
We had made considerable money; every one of our acquaintances expected us back with plenty. Of course, our wives expected us to come home benefitted by the summer's trip. But all was lost and we were ragged and worn, and presented anything but a dudish appearance. I will not do our wives the injustice to say that we felt any doubt of the reception we would receive at home. They were sisters and two as good and faithful women as ever existed. We had no fears, although we made many propositions suggestive of their shutting us out.
Our reception was such as true wives always give—all the more kind because of our misfortune. I do not think I ever heard a word of regret spoken by either of them for the loss of our property, so thankful were they for our lives being spared under the great risk we ran.
I wrote on to Canby's adjutant, who, during the winter, was sent down to Washington. About the time the Civil war broke out I got a letter stating that I would get the money for our losses. But the officer attending to it was probably killed in the war, as I never heard any more from him.
Many of the military officers to whom I have related the circumstance of our being pressed into service tell me the claim can be collected; it certainly is due to us, for we have never as yet received any benefit for our services.
Acting on the suggestions of some of the army officers I got together sufficient affidavits to establish the facts here recorded making my claim according to facts. My papers were all returned to me with the statement that inasmuch as we were robbed by parties other than Indians, that nothing could be done for us.
Some have advised me to change my papers and say that Indians were the depredators, and make the claim accordingly. This I shall not do as there is enough laid to the Indians already. If I ever get anything it will be on the justice of the claim just as it occurred and not by charging it to the Indians.
As I do not consider an account of my home life of any particular interest to the general reader, I will give only a brief sketch of it.
On returning and settling up with Bachman and Hanks, who had furnished much of our trade supply, I found I would have to sell my home to pay them.
In 1861, I went to Provo valley and took up land on Snake creek, where I fenced a farm, built a house, and corrals and raised a crop of wheat and potatoes and while binding wheat had to wear a heavy coat and woolen mittens as the weather was so cold. After gathering in my crop, I concluded to return to Provo and work at sadlery, expecting to go back in the spring and continue farming.
During the early spring a flood come and destroyed the road through Provo Canyon, stopping all travel. In the fall of 1862, a company was organized to rebuild the road, the funds being furnished by voluntary contribution. Shadrick Holdaway, Chas. Kenedey, and I were chosen as committee; I being selected as secretary and treasurer. Having taken the work in hand it was pushed forward with considerable force. I was greatly interested as I wished to get back to my farm and could only do so by going round by Salt Lake City and through the Park to the valley, a distance of nearly one hundred miles, while the direct route was only twenty-five miles. Neither did I wish to be cut off from Provo, which I considered my real home. Many times I found funds hard to raise, so much so, that finally, in a tight-place I sold my farm to help on the road; so that by the time the road was finished and paid for, I had no individual use for it. But like many others of my labors for public good, my pay was in the satisfaction of seeing the work finished so as to be of use. To illustrate my situation and extremes in making payments I will relate one circumstance.
The whole funds contributed were left in the hands of the contributors until wanted, all donations being named. Some donated flour, others potatoes, wood, lumber, and any and everything in the shape of produce being on the list. When jobs on the road were finished and accepted by the two other committee men, they would draw an order on the treasurer, who would have to draw on the contributors. Sometimes the means would not be just ready to the day, but almost invariably donators paid honorably. In fact I have no remembrance of a single instance where agreements made were not fulfilled in good time.
There was one company of Welshmen that took a contract amounting to twelve hundred dollars. The committee docked them, their job not being up to contract. This soured them so much that they sought to make trouble with me about their pay, allowing me no time whatever to settle up in the usual manner. After paying all but some fifty dollars, I asked a little time to see who was ready to pay that amount. I was given to understand that not much time would be allowed, so I gave them an order where I supposed it would be paid, but the party not being quite ready asked them to wait a few days and he would settle. This they would not do, but three of them returned to my house to whip me. I tried to reason with them but to no purpose. A row had to be had. I ordered them out of my house. They went out, picking up rocks and stood facing my door and abusing me, and daring me out. I grabbed a pair of hames fastened at the top with a strap. Without describing all that occurred, I did not get hurt, but paid a cow and calf for damages done to the leader of the party.
When the row was over I started to the nearest alderman to complain about myself. Just as I approached, meeting the officer in his door-yard, a man came driving his team up the street on a full run, and shouting at the top of his voice not to listen to me, but have me arrested, that I had killed a man and nearly killed a lot more. This so enraged me that I gathered up some rocks and commenced war upon him, turning him back and chasing him down the street, team and all. The alderman fined me five dollars on my own complaint, but nothing for chasing Bob Caldwell and team. For a short time there were hard feelings in the community against me. I knew that I had been both hasty and severe, and gave the cow of my own free will, and settled up with good feelings to all parties.
After the road was made passable and all accounts settled, I concluded to give up the project of becoming a farmer, and stick to my trade. In those days money was a little more plentiful among business men than before the Johnston army visited Utah. Still, much of the business was done with grain as the circulating medium. This made business rather slow, as at times I would have to load up a wagon and go to Salt Lake City, taking from three to five days, sometimes going with ox teams. I would sell my grain and return with about as much material as I could carry under my arm.
While on one of my trips for leather, Brother Isaac Brockbank made me an offer to come to the city and work for him, he being in charge of William Howard's tannery, shoe and harness factory. Considering this better than the slow manner in Provo, I moved to Salt Lake in 1863, where I continued to live and work at my trade uninterruptedly most of the time. I carried on business until the summer of 1871.
During the time I lived in Salt Lake, Connor's army occupied Camp Douglas. The Civil war was still going on, also the Black Hawk war, so known in Utah from the fact that the leader of the depredating Utes, who broke up so many of the frontier settlements of Sanpete and Sevier counties, was called Black Hawk, after the old warrior of that name.
The people of Salt Lake had many duties to perform in those days. Strong police forces (unpaid) had to be kept ready, as much prejudice and ill-feeling existed at times. There were continual threats to arrest our leaders, which caused the people to be constantly on the alert.
It is not my intention to write much in this work except that which the title justifies. Still, there are a few incidents that certainly would be of interest. For dates I am indebted to "Church Chronology."
Dec. 17th, 1864. A landing and site for a church warehouse, afterwards known as Callsville, was selected by Anson Call, on the Colorado river, 125 miles from St. George, and the land along the Muddy found suitable to settle on. It was then contemplated to send the emigration from Europe by way of Panama and up the Colorado river to this landing, which was the head of navigation on the river named.
I believe that I have heard about as much criticism and fault-finding against Brigham Young, for the effort made at Call's Landing to prepare for what the above refers to, as anything that was ever directed by him. Some few persons were advised to spend a few thousand dollars on the speculation. It failed, and they have been mourning about it ever since. I would ask how many of Brigham Young's enterprises have succeeded? His failures were but few.
I always felt to honor and respect Brigham Young, but I have thought, that men sometimes honor him more than he asked, or than common sense could expect. That he was a good adviser and generally clear headed on business matters, all who knew him acknowledge. But that he could never make a mistake would have been unreasonable to expect. The work previously spoken of might have been useless. Still I do not think it was, and will give some of my reasons for thinking so. I have been much in the far south; have watched and studied the interests and progress of the southern country and its developments. I know that President Young's mind for some reason, was much drawn towards Southern Utah, Arizona, and Mexico. The settling of St. George and other places considered desert wastes, the building of the temple, etc., all show this.
In carrying out this move, as far as it went, a road had to be opened up as far as the river. Soon this road was opened farther on into Arizona. Thus a thoroughfare such as the country would support, was opened up now clear through to some of the most fertile valleys of Arizona and Mexico. Some have been settled by our people, and others will be in time, as the best are not yet occupied.
The commencement of the Black Hawk war was in 1865. The immediate cause was the whipping of an Indian by a white man. This occurred April 9th. Next day three white men were killed by Indians. April 12th, in a battle, two more; July 14th two; July 26th, drove off most of the cattle from Glenwood, Sevier County; Oct. 17, eight persons were killed near Ephraim.
1866. Jan. 8, two men were killed in Kane County; April 12th, three more in the same county. April 20th, Salina was raided, two men killed, and two hundred head of stock taken. Place was now vacated. April 22nd, one killed and two wounded in Piute County. June 10th, two men killed in Millard County. June 24th, one wounded in Thistle valley. June 26th, one white man killed in fight with Indians, who raided Spanish Fork.
1867. March 21st, one man and three women were killed in Sevier County. Many southern settlements were alarmed on account of the raids during the spring of the year. June 1st, one killed and one wounded near Fountain Green. June 2nd, two killed on Twelve Mile creek. Aug. 13th, two killed at Springtown.
By this time the people of Sanpete and Sevier Counties began to get into shape to protect themselves better than they were at first; so that during the years 1869 and 1870 not many were killed, but raids were still common, the Indians often getting away with stock.
Companies of home militia were sent out to guard and assist the settlements. Records shows that General Connor and his army occupied Camp Douglas during the whole time of this bloodshed but I cannot find anything on record showing that any moves were made by Connor to assist, or in any way protect these settlements in their distress. Neither does my memory furnish an instance of help being furnished by the troops stationed at Camp Douglas to the people of Sanpete and Sevier Counties.
It may be interesting to put on record some things that I do remember. For five years, from 1866 to 1871, I lived in the eastern part of Salt Lake City, directly in the exposed portion to the depredations of numbers of Connor's army. I know of many instances where the people were insulted and abused in a violent manner, often by large parties of soldiers headed by non-commissioned officers. In some instances even commissioned officers taking the lead in lawless acts.
It was often hard to tell which were the most to be dreaded, the Indians in the south or the soldiers about the city.
While the soldiers without organization or authority annoyed us, the commander lent his influence and offered his support to our political enemies, holding his army over the Mormons as a continual menace.
The Mormons are being accused of disloyalty; possibly this is a correct and just accusation, owing to their ignorance of what loyalty means. I will not accuse any one of disloyalty, simply because I am in the same dilemma—ignorant; but will ask, is it right and legal to fit out with government supplies, tools, and animals, and take enlisted men to work prospecting for mines, for private interests, under pretence of going to protect American citizens in their legitimate business against the Mormons? Or would it be consistent to suppose that the Mormons would be able to molest these prospectors even if so inclined, when so much occupied in protecting themselves against the Indians and the more savage and unreasonable attacks of the soldiers? Again is it legal to sell to miners and freighters by the thousands, and then to allow the commissary store-houses to get fire and burn down, allowing this fire to get so extremely hot as to burn up log-chains by the hundreds.
Now the Mormons have never taken part in anything of this kind. They are called disloyal. I do decline to be sworn on the subject, but rumor says that these things were done and headed by parties who are now called intensely "loyal."
During the war with the Indians numbers of them were killed and wounded. About the year 1868 or 1869 there was some little effort made to bring about a peace. Brother D. B. Huntington had a talk with some in Thistle valley who wished peace, but many thefts and small raids were made after this, continuing from time to time. The Indians began to have a dread of some settlements as guards and patrols were out at times. One small party had stolen some stock from Provo valley. They were killing a beef, when they were surprised and all killed. The Indians acknowledged to me that they were afraid of Provo and Rhodes' valley people.