During the Black Hawk war a great many from Utah and Salt Lake counties were sent out to repel the Indians and assist in protecting the settlements of Sanpete and Sevier counties. I never was called to go. My feelings were different from the most. Although the Indians were cruel and unjust, I could not help but remember their personal kindness and friendship for me and dreaded the idea of being called upon to fight them.
The regiment (Colonel Sharp's) to which I belonged, had already been called upon for a detail, Captain Crow and company having spent sometime in Sanpete. About the next call would have been for my company, as we belonged to the same regiment. My mind and feelings were much exercised over these matters for I could not refuse to go in my turn, as no possible explanation could be given to relieve me from the suspicion of cowardice.
Many times, in reflecting upon the subject, my feelings were to go and see the Indians personally. Although they were at war, and had been for some six or eight years and killed numbers of our people, breaking up whole districts, still I felt as though I would rather approach them as a peacemaker than as a fighter. Luckily, one day in the summer of 1871, I met an Indian that I recognized at once as an old acquaintance, Ancatowats.
To the reader, who is not acquainted with those days, it will be necessary to say that there were friendly Indians in and around the settlements who took no part in this war, but would not inform on the hostiles when they came in, in a peaceable manner, to visit them. I had often heard of this Indian—Ancatowats—being one of Black Hawk's most active raiders. When I called him by name he said he did not know me. I told him how I felt towards the Indians. Soon I got his confidence and we had a long talk. He told me all about the hostiles and others of the Uintahs who were not actively at war. He said the Indians wished they could get some of my saddles. (I had sold them a great many in former years.) Said their saddles were all gone or broken up, so that their horses all had bruised backs. He bought three saddles of me at the time. He also told me that there was a new agent in town from Washington whom he thought was a good man; that he talked good and that he also wanted a saddle.
This Indian said to me that he thought maybe I could go out with the agent and make saddles for the Indians if I wanted to, and that, as I was an old friend and had never been out to fight them, he did not think they would want to kill me. I went and talked with George A. Smith, giving him a full understanding of my feelings, also telling of the proposition of the Indian. Brother Smith agreed with me that if someone could get among the Indians and talk to them in a proper spirit it would do more good than fighting them, and said, "If you have faith to try it you shall have my faith and blessing in the effort."
I laid before him some of my plans, which he approved of, advising me to say nothing to anyone else about the business, but to use prudence and the best judgment possible. He warned me that I would have a hard job and hoped that I would not get discouraged.
I managed to see the agent and mentioned to him my desire to visit the agency, telling him that I was an interpreter. He said if I could bring a testimonial from some responsible party he would employ me, as he wished someone, who really understood the Indians and was friendly with them, to act as interpreter. I furnished the necessary paper and asked the privilege of taking my tools and some material under an agreeable arrangement. This was allowed. I closed up my business and went, in company with the agent, to Uintah.
On arriving at that place I was notified by the Indians to leave within three days or they would kill me. This I was prepared to expect, for my Indian friend in Salt Lake did not speak very positively in regard to my safety in going, but thought maybe it would be all right. This word came from Tabby, my old friend. He would not come to see me, but sent word, saying, "You are an old friend, but the Mormons have killed many of my people; you are a Mormon, and if you stay here you will be killed. Some are mad because I do not want you killed at once. Now hurry and get ready for I do not want to see you die."
I went to work, feeling first rate, and made me a saddle within the time. Some of the Indians would come where I was at work and watch me, but would not speak. I treated them with perfect indifference.
When the saddle was done an Indian wanted to buy it. I told him I could not sell it; that I had to leave or the Indians would kill me. He said he would go and see if they would not wait three days more, so that I could let him have the one on hand. I agreed. He returned in a few hours and said it was all right. Some might ask, "Could you believe him?" I answer, most certainly.
I sold the saddle starting on another, which had the same history, thus continuing for some time until I began to feel quite at home, making saddles and selling them for a good price, with the prospect of being killed every three days. There is an old saying that one can get used to almost anything except getting killed more than once.
Tabby often passed by where I could see him, but would never look towards me. I believed that in his heart he was my friend, for I was his. This looked a little strange, but, understanding Indian character so well, I knew it would not do for me to speak first.
One day Tabby stepped into my shop accompanied by his young squaw. I had my work-bench across the room so that I faced the door, all my stuff behind and protected by the bench. I kept very busy, scarcely speaking to anyone coming in. Simply selling saddles under the rule mentioned. He came up to the bench in haughty Indian style, never offering to speak. I felt almost like laughing for I knew he was playing a part, and I determined to beat him if possible, so I never even looked up from my work. Soon he laid a new butcher knife down on the bench without speaking a word. I took the knife and made a nice scabbard for it, and laid it on the bench before him. He then took a pair of stirrups from his squaw and laid them on the bench. I had a pair of stirrup-leathers made and hanging up. I took them and put them on the stirrups and laid them down as I had the knife, then went on with my work without taking any further notice.
Tabby stood straight and silent, hardly moving during this. He then took from his squaw some buckskin, and without a word laid them on my bench. I commenced cleaning up, giving my bench a general straightening. When I came to the buckskins I handled them as though they were trash in my way, and asked the squaw if she would not take care of them. At this Tabby laughed, holding out his hand in a friendly way, saying, "All right, we are friends, and it is foolish for us to not talk and be as we used to be."
He then told me that most of the Indians liked me and thought I was a friend, but that "Yank" and his crowd thought I was a spy and wanted to kill me; but that if I could win him I would be all right. After this I hadn't much fear, for I did not believe Yank would kill me for he needed a saddle very badly.
I soon learned the general condition of affairs, getting information both from the Indians themselves and some of the whites at the agency. Tabby, and quite a number of the better disposed Utes, claimed that they never had been at war with the Mormons, but acknowledged that they had a very bad feeling about the killing of some of their friends under circumstances that did not justify, telling about Tabby's half-brother, who Tabby claims, was a friend and not an enemy.
I myself knew of several instances where Indians were killed, that to me looked a little crooked, and when their friends talked about these cases, I could not help but admit sometimes that they had a right to get mad. One Indian, known as Big-Mouth-Jim, took quite a liking to me and became quite communicative. He was very faithful, never deceiving me. He would tell me how the Indians talked about me; what their plans were for raiding, and gave me advice how to control their actions, by a little stratagem.
The season was getting late. Coalville was selected as the place to raid. Yank had everything arranged but could not go without a saddle as his was about used up. Jim advised me to put him off, saying that if I could do so until snow fell that he would not go and perhaps by spring I could "make him good."
There were a great many wanting saddles. More than I could possibly supply, so that it was easy to put Yank off. I allowed the idea to still prevail that I had to leave and would not sell any Indian a saddle without the understanding that I could remain long enough to make another. I was not in the least afraid, but this suited me for I had not yet made terms with the raiders. Finally snow fell in the mountains. Jim said. "Now you can let Yank have a saddle; he will go with the rest on a hunt, and not go to Coalville." About this time the greater number of the Utes were starting on their fall hunt. Yank came in offering me some buckskins for a saddle. I told him I was going home; that I was afraid when Tabby and the good Indians went away that he would kill me. He said I was a fool to think so; that I was a good man and all the Indians liked me and none of them would kill me. I then sold him a saddle I had ready.
The Indians explained many things to me about the management at the agency. Saying that the former agents stole most that the government sent them. They did not know how the new agent would be, but agreed if I would be their friend and tell "Washington" the truth, just how things were done it would be different. They believed "Washington" was honest, had a kind heart, and when hungry men came to him crying for something to eat, that he made Indian agents of them and sent them out here to the Indians. They did not think this was right for they needed all that the government gave them and there was nothing to spare for the agents to steal without leaving the Indians hungry.
Tabby said that some of "Brigham's Bishops" helped the agents to steal and this made the Indians mad, causing them to raid upon the Mormons and to excuse themselves by saying that if the Mormons did not help to steal their provisions they would have enough; but as it was, they had to steal Mormon cattle, and when the Mormons followed them, sometimes they had to fight; but would just as soon get the beef without killing anyone as to have to kill them.
The question may be asked was there any truth or reason in this? I thought at one time of writing up some facts that can be proved, giving circumstances and names which would clearly show that the Indians had reason to talk as they did. If blood was shed and the cause originated through the speculative act of some man who ought to have known better, the day of reckoning will come without my calling them to account in this little history.
After becoming acquainted with the condition of affairs at the Uintah and the White River agency, I made up my mind to act as a friend to the Indians in trying to get something done to better their condition. That there had been a great deal of neglect and crookedness going on for years, no one could doubt. Reports were circulated that some of the government officials, prior to this time, had encouraged the Indians in stealing cattle from the Mormons, thinking that if the Indians supplied themselves with beef they could better appropriate what government furnished, than when the Utes were peaceable and not stealing. The new agent was very emphatic in his denunciations of former agents. He seemed disposed to change the management, and work for the good of the natives. He asked me to find how the Indians felt and to assist him in every way possible to get things in good order and work to make the Indians happy and contented. I felt much pleasure in the prospective work before me.
After I had been in the agency a few weeks, the agent started to Salt Lake City to buy winter supplies. He instructed me to come in and bring his team and light wagon. In a few days after his leaving, I got ready to start in. According to previous arrangements, I was to have the right to take in with the agent's team the buckskins and furs that I had received for saddles. As far as I knew good feeling existed between the agent and myself. But when I was ready to start in, the clerk then in charge told me that the agent had instructed him not to allow me to haul any of my stuff in his wagon; that I was to take the wagon in empty. George Basor, the post trader, and a Mr. Morgan, blacksmith, were going in with me. They told me that for some cause the agent had "gone back" on me. But I concluded not to "go back" on myself so I got my skins and furs ready. The clerk at first forbade me to load them in, but soon took another notion and assisted me to load the stuff into the wagon.
After the agent had left the clerk in charge, business was carried on in a very bad manner. Quite a crop of potatoes had been raised; the weather commenced to grow cold, potatoes freezing. Instead of digging and taking care each day of the potatoes dug, he would have all hands dig all they could and then try to get all hands—mechanics, cooks, and all, to gather them in after night. While working in this manner the Indians were not allowed to help, but at the same time the most of these potatoes were expected to be eaten by the Indians. Many other things as foolish were being done daily. I kept a memorandum, intending to report to the agent according to my agreement with him.
About the time Mr. Basor, Mr. Morgan and myself were ready to start in, the first severe snow storm of the season commenced. We had quite a hard trip getting into the valley.
On arriving in Salt Lake, in company with Mr. Morgan, the agency blacksmith, who had been discharged by the clerk because he refused to put long, sharp corks on the agent's team, which would have cut them while floundering through deep snow-drifts—such as we would encounter on the road—which any experienced man knows is correct. But the clerk, like many others, felt that a little authority must of necessity make him wise, thought differently. On reporting the clerk to the agent, we were considerably surprised at his answer to us. He told us that the clerk suited him, and if we did not like him we could stay away from the agency. I told him that Tom Layton was a fraud on honesty and good sense, and if he felt to uphold him, he was a different man from what I supposed him to be. I wanted to know why he instructed me to notice how the affairs were conducted and report facts, which I had done and could prove all I said, and then treat my information in the way he did. The agent told me he did not want me any more and would discharge me from his service and forbade me going to the agency. I answered that whether he discharged me or not, I had business at the agency, and calculated to visit there whether he wanted me to do so or not. He replied that it was now late in the season and that he expected much trouble in getting his supply-train through that was now about starting from Heber City with flour and other provisions, and that he forbade my going with them. He then rather derisively remarked that he did not think that I would be able to make the trip, that he thought it would be about as much as he could do with the government to back him up, to get back to Uintah; and hardly thought any one else would try the trip so late in the season.
I told him there was not enough snow for me yet. But after a while when traveling was good, I would call over and see him. I had already studied out my campaign for the winter.
Before leaving the Uintah agency, I had promised the Indians that I would return and do all I could for them. They wanted me to try and get the place of trader. There were many things they wanted that they could not get. Among the rest children's woolen shirts and dresses of various sizes. My wife went to work, with the assistance of some of our neighbors, (particularly that of the Sisters Brower of the 11th Ward) and made a lot of such as were needed.
The agent left sometime in November. The trip had never been made in the winter by anyone, as the snow often fell from fifteen to twenty feet on the mountains that had to be crossed. So when I spoke of going many of my friends considered me a little crazy.
I knew the work before me, that I had so much interest in, and that was making permanent peace with the Indians, could only be accomplished by keeping my word with them, and gaining their entire confidence; so I determined to go or perish in the attempt. I knew that I was engaged in a good work and fully believed that I would be preserved and strengthened according to the undertaking. I knew the country I had to travel was rough in the extreme, with high mountains and deep rough canyons. Following the road would be of no use, as it would be entirely covered with snow several feet deep. So I made up my mind to wait until mid winter when the snow was deepest and take as direct a route as possible.
With the assistance of Calvin Ensign, I constructed a sled of peculiar and original pattern. One thing was certain; unless good sleeping arrangements could be provided, we would perish at night. The sled was long enough and of size and shape so that two could sleep in it by lapping our feet and legs to the knees, each one taking his end. We took in provisions goods and bedding to nearly four hundred pounds weight.
My wife assisted me in every way possible in getting ready, with a kind cheerful spirit, manifesting no uneasiness whatever. As I have before mentioned whenever my labors were among the Indians, she sympathized with me fully. Eight days before I started, a son was born to me. My wife was confined to her bed when I started. I waited as long a time as possible, but there was now plenty of snow.
I started Jan. 12th, 1872. I hired N. Murdock of Provo valley, to take my sled to Heber City. I had not yet found any person to go with me, expecting to procure some one in Provo valley, as there were a number of hardy, venturesome persons living there who were in the habit of going out for days on snow-shoes, hunting elk and trapping beaver. On arriving there I found Bradley Sessions, a Mormon Battalion boy, willing to undertake the trip. I told him all I wanted him to agree was, that if we perished on the trip he would agree with me that we would not grumble, but die uncomplainingly; that under no circumstances were we to give up or turn back.
He said, "All right, I will stay with you." And he did.
Brother Sessions furnished me with a pair of snowshoes. I had prepared almost everything else needed for two before leaving the city, so that we were soon ready to start.
On leaving Heber City we took the most direct road over the pass leading down into the west fork of the Duchesne, then down to the main stream intersecting the government road, not far from where it crosses this stream. The divide is too steep for a wagon road, but part of the way up had been used for carting timber down to a mill near the foot hills. There was a sled road some few miles out from Heber City to this mill. Brother John Duke hauled our sled that far with his team; here we made our first camp, in an old house. I had taken from the city a large, strong dog with the idea of having a camp guard, as wolves and other wild animals were in the mountains.
We had a few light tools along with us for repairing our sled in case of accident, and Brother Sessions wished to take along a few beaver traps. Our load already being heavy, and the traps awkward to load among our bedding, as our whole load of goods were arranged in convenient shape for a bed, we concluded to make a sled and harness our dog to it to pull the traps. We got some choke-cherry sticks with crooked ends and spent the evening making a rig for the dog. When harnessed up next morning, he acted rather unruly.
We found the snow lighter than we expected. The winter had been continually cold, the snows deep and not yet settled or packed. But we had started out to stay with it and did not intend to give up. We found it impossible to move our sled on the snow until a road was packed. Accordingly we would take a few handy articles on our backs, and with our snow-shoes, five feet long and some fifteen inches wide, go forward tramping a trail wide enough for our sled, the dog following with his load. After tramping a mile or two we would return and bring up our sled.
The main trouble we had was with our dog chasing the little pine squirrels, running after them sled and all, and getting overturned, or hung among the trees. We would have to straighten him out. We did not like to thrash him for fear he would run off, as he seemed a little disposed to get away from us.
This tramping road and having to double on our tracks was very laborious. Many times even after tramping the road the way was so steep that it took all our strength to move the sled a few rods at a time, but when an easy grade was reached, we walked along quite easily with our four hundred pound load.
We were five days in reaching the summit. When there we could look back and see Heber City, some twenty miles distant. This looked a little trying to us as our provisions were wasting away very fast.
Our dog seemed to understand the situation and rebelled. I had hard work to conquer him. Heretofore we had coaxed him along, but it now became necessary to make him mind as bolognes were getting too scarce to feed him more than his share. We crossed the divide at the head of the West Fork of the Duchesne. The weather was so cold that we were afraid to halt for dinner until we had descended quite a distance from the summit. Once we halted among some dry trees intending to get dinner, but the wind blew so cold that we were forced to swallow a few bits of frozen meat and go on. We naturally expected that the descent would be much easier and more rapid than pulling up the mountain. In this we were mistaken, owing to the wind blowing the light snow from the mountain tops which settled down into the canyon. Much of the time we had to tramp and make road before we could move along. Sometimes the whole bottom was covered with willows, the tops sticking out and holding the snow up so light that we had to cut and tramp them into the snow before we could move our sled along. While passing the narrows, we had to make a dug way for quite a distance, still we pressed forward. Neither could we abandon our sled or goods, for the sled was our salvation to sleep in. Almost any night we would have perished with cold without our bed-room.
The goods we were taking were promised, and the influence I desired to gain with the Indians would greatly depend upon successfully reaching them with the outfit. When I made them the promise I expected to go out with the agent and take these things with me; but when he forbade me going it only raised my ire and I was determined to go.
By the time we reached the main fork of the Duchesne, our provisions were about gone. Game cannot exist in the high mountains during the coldest part of the winter. Nothing had been met. We hoped to find something on reaching the river. We camped near some springs that ran into the stream, finding places where the river was open. We hoped to catch some fish for supper. We cast our hooks, but had no bites. We continued to fish until near dusk. We had traveled eight days without rest, but agreed if we could get something for supper, to lay over and call it Sabbath. We finally gave up fishing.
Brother Sessions got to camp a little ahead of me. I followed, feeling very much discouraged, I thought of course we would have to go to bed supperless. It was becoming quite dark, and suddenly I heard a shot that made me feel happy. Directly another was fired. As I came up Bradley was reloading his shot gun and remarked, "We've got supper and breakfast. Here are two pine hens."
At that the third one came flying along, knocked Sessions' cap off his head and lit on the ground just in front of him. He shot, saying, "There's dinner." We had a few crumbs of crackers and a small piece of bacon. We soon had a fine stew of one of the chickens giving the dog his share. The dog had by this time become quite well trained, and a great favorite also, pulling his sled with nearly one hundred pounds load on it.
We laid over next day, catching several fine trout. We had not yet suffered for food, so we ate heartily, knowing that as long as we kept our strength we were all right, that it would be time to starve when forced to it.
When we left camp, we had a few fish; enough for one meal, and one small meal of crumbs and a few bits of bacon. We agreed to try and make a good drive down the river that day and not stop for dinner; and if possible reach the road where we hoped to find the snow hard. The snow was now harder than in the mountains. We could move along slowly without tramping a road and were making very good time.
About noon I became very hungry and remarked to Sessions that the man who works has a right to eat. He replied, "That's what I think."
We halted, took out our little stock of food, and ate it all except the fish.
About the time we had fairly started on, we discovered a mountain sheep on a high point of the mountain. Sessions grabbed his rifle, telling me to try and keep the sled in motion so as to attract its attention and he would have some meat for supper.
I continued tugging at the sled, moving a few rods at a time. Bradley climbed the mountain at a rate of speed that could not well have been done by a hungry man. Still it took quite a while as it was a long way up. I could see the sheep, but Sessions kept out of its sight. He had now got well up the mountain, I heard the rifle crack and saw the sheep fall. I felt happy again and moved up to some dry cedars at the foot of the mountain and had a fire ready for a roast by the time Sessions got down the mountain with the meat.
After roasting and eating what we wanted we moved on down to old Fort Duchesne, now abandoned. We cut up our meat, which was very poor, being mostly skin and bone; jerked the flesh which was but little, boiled the bones and ate very heartily.
Next morning we were both sick. I took the dog and his sled and went down to the government road, a few miles distant. The traveling was tolerably good. We fed the most of the meat to the dog as it seemed to weaken us to eat it.
After resting one day we moved down to the road, camping near an old house. We had hopes of finding something stored here that we could eat, but nothing whatever was found. The house was open and no wood very near, so we camped where there was plenty of dry timber standing.
We were very weak, our stomachs being out of condition and nothing to eat except the jerked meat, which only made us sicker to eat it. It was an intensely cold evening. We became chilled and hadn't strength to cut down trees to make a good fire. There were a few dry willows but they would only make a temporary blaze. Each of us tried to use the ax but we were as weak as little children. I never felt so used up before. I felt as though we would perish, I knew if we went to bed in our exhausted, chilled condition we would be in danger of freezing; for no amount of clothing will warm a person under such circumstances, but, like the ice, the more blankets you wrap around the colder it keeps. Some may doubt this, but when far enough chilled there is danger in going to bed. I have had to get up and make a fire more than once to get thawed out.
Our condition seemed almost hopeless; so much so that I found the tears running down my cheeks before I thought what to do. This weakness made me a little angry with myself At last I told Bradley to gather as many willows as possible. The wind was blowing almost a blizzard, but we were in the timber and tolerably well protected.
I got our coffee pot ready and made a lot of strong coffee. We drank of it and ate a few bites of the meat. The coffee seemed to almost intoxicate us, giving us strength. We pitched in like strong men and cut down trees and made up a roaring fire, got well warmed up and went to bed and slept soundly.
Next morning we were quite feeble, but felt safe as the traveling was now of a different kind from this point, for forty-five miles to the agency. The road was open for teams; in fact, in many places, the snow was clear from the road which was now muddy and heavy; so we stored our sled in the old house, left our snow-shoes, strapped a pair of blankets on the dog and started on. We had nothing for breakfast, and a march of two days was before us. We were so determined to keep our pledge not to complain, that we never spoke a word regarding our situation, simply doing what we had to and moving on just as though all was right.
We had our guns but no game came in our way, and we were too weak to risk a step out of our direction on an uncertain hunt. We never spoke of the thought until afterwards, but our last hope was to kill our dog, which would have seemed almost like killing a human being, for he carried a heavy pair of blankets on his back when we were too weak to carry them ourselves. Again, our condition would not be materially helped by unpalatable dog meat. We were more sick from bad food than starved. Our condition grew worse and worse. Each of us was attacked with flux in a most violent manner.
I remember well of looking ahead several times a few rods and picking out some object by the side of the road and thinking it looked a more comfortable place to die in than where I was. Sessions told me afterwards his thoughts were the same. First one and then the other would pass on a little way and stop; not a word was spoken. My feelings were to move ahead as long as a mite of strength lasted.
We continued on in this way until about the middle of the afternoon. Our progress was slow. We had fell in together and were moving along at a snail's pace, when Sessions stooped down, picked up something, and in a joyous tone exclaimed, "Here's life." And breaking in two an ear of corn handed me half of it. We commenced eating. I ate mine cob and all, chewing it a long time before swallowing. Never before or since have I tasted anything so sweet and strengthening. It seemed to penetrate to the end of my toes. We were strengthened immediately and commenced to walk at a regular, even pace, in good traveling time.
About the time we had finished eating this, I discovered another ear, picked it up and divided it, saying, "Here is more life." Our sickness ceased entirely and we continued traveling until near midnight. We arrived at a good dry camp, gave the last scrap of meat to the faithful dog, feeling that we were good for next day's tramp, food or no food.
It was a good long day's travel. The next morning we left our blankets hung up in a tree, measured our gait, and agreed to keep it up, setting our time to arrive at the station about sundown. At times I was tempted to cry "enough, halt," but it seemed as though we dared not stop for fear we could not get up steam for another start. So we kept up our gait all day and till nine o'clock at night.
When we arrived at the trader's quarters, owned by George Basor, whom I was well acquainted with, and who still lives in that region. George started back and in a serious manner asked, "Is this Dan Jones' ghost, or Dan himself?"
I answered, "I am Dan, and d——d hungry."
He grasped my hand, laughing, and said he saw it was all right, for Dan always came into camp hungry.
While we were at supper, some of the boys went over to the agent's office and told of our arrival. They came back and said that the agent and clerk declared they intended to kill me on sight.
I do not wish to be considered a boaster, in truth I leave many things untold that I might tell, only I despise a braggart and do not wish to appear as one. I was too hungry to let this report stop my eating. When I got through, I picked up my shot gun, putting a few extra navy balls into it and told the boys I was going over to the office. Some of them wanted to go with me, but I preferred going alone.
Men often get the name of being brave and fearless from such occurrences, but in this case I will tell just how I felt and what my reasons were, and I think many others feel the same under similar circumstances.
I consider suspense or uncertainty the most disagreeable condition in the world. I did not wish to be annoyed by fear or dread of being killed and I deemed it best to get that off my mind at once, as I was tired and wished to rest. Again, I wanted freedom to be at the agency unmolested. Then I did not much believe that the intention was to kill me, for men who really intend to kill scarcely ever send word of their intentions. All this passed in my mind, so it was not any great bravery on my part.
On reaching the office I knocked, and was told to come in. I had my shot gun ready. Their pistols lay in front of them. I was asked what I wanted. I replied that I wanted to know whether it was to be war or peace.
The agent answered, "I guess it had better be peace."
"Peace it is then," I put my gun down and shook hands with both.
I was kindly treated and accommodated in many ways by the agent, after this, while at the agency I got a team from him to bring in the sled and goods.
The Indians were greatly pleased to see me. It is well understood by all who are acquainted with Indian character, that they are undemonstrative as a rule, except when angry, especially the warriors. Many of them said I was a strong man and had good legs. They admired my companion, saying they knew him and knew he was a good hunter.
The most that I desired for a few days was to rest and eat. Sessions soon got filled up, but it seemed to me that I never would be able to satisfy my stomach for having punished it so with the sickly mountain sheep. There was plenty to eat at the trader's quarters. The agent was kind, giving us all the potatoes and milk we wanted; these being about the only articles the trader was lacking. The dog was in about the same fix as myself, he tried to eat everything on the reservation, but finally got satisfied by getting at a barrel of tallow, one day, and eating, as we all estimated, about ten pounds. Reader, remember this was a large dog.
Basor, the trader, would not cook for me. He said a man that ate as much as I did would have to do his own cooking. So one day while alone, I made up my mind to conquer my hunger. I cooked a good square meal for three of us, waited a little while for the others then sat down and ate the whole of it. I did not feel hungry again for several days. After getting this difficulty over, I told the Indians I would visit their camp and have a talk with them. A time was appointed, and Tabby, the chief, sent a man and horse for me. The camp was some eight miles from the station. When I reached their camp, there were about fifty of the principal men of the tribe present. "Captain Joe," of Thistle valley, was there also. I always considered him like some of our political white men, not very reliable.
I was informed by Joe that I could talk. I spoke to them about half an hour, telling them that, notwithstanding all the trouble and war, the good Mormons were still their friends; that Brigham had always desired peace and was sorry that any of his people wanted to fight the Indians. After saying what I thought was safe, for I knew the delicacy of the subject, as some of the Indians had been killed by such as professed to be Mormons, and I was careful not to push the subject too far in my first attempt, I desired to hear Tabby talk.
I knew he was much respected by his people, also that he was not inclined to war, but had accepted the situation and let things run, neither taking an active part in killing and stealing, nor making any great effort to stop the war. He was very sore about the killing of his half brother while a prisoner. I, myself, considered this somewhat treacherous on the part of those who did it.
Capt. Joe seemed to think he must do all the talking for the Indians. No one else spoke. Joe urged me to say more. I told him I wanted to hear Tabby. The old fellow laid down, as much as to say, "I will not take part in this." The act nettled me considerably, and I told Joe I would not talk unless Tabby did. Tabby grunted out that he was an old man, and chief; that Joe was a little captain and young, and was good enough to talk to me. This made me mad. I got up and told Tabby that I was more of a man than he or any of his men ever were; that they had been born and raised in Uintah, and none of them had ever been brave or strong enough to cross the snow mountains, but had laid there shut up winter after winter like women; that I had done what none of them could do, and had done it to keep my word with them; that they had agreed if I would be their friend and tell "Washington" their grievances that they would listen to me and make peace.
When I got through, Tabby got up and said, "You talk big for a boy. I know you have strong legs and a good belly, for I have seen you eat. But I want to know where your grey hairs are, that give wisdom. You had better wait a few years before you talk." I really felt small under this sarcasm. He further said, "You have spoke about the Indians stealing from the Mormons. I can answer that by saying some of the Mormon Bishops helped the agents to steal what 'Washington' sends us. While some of Brigham's Bishops steal, I do not. Neither does Tom and many others; but we have staid at home and worked and hunted. It is the bad Indians that will not listen to me, that steal." He then named some twelve or fourteen present whom he said stole from the Mormons and made the trouble.
He continued, "I have told them it is wrong; now you may talk to them and make them good if you can. I am not bad and do not steal, so you do not need to talk to me."
I held several meetings and cultivated on every opportunity the personal friendship of the Indians, especially the raiders, talking kindly to them and gaining their confidence and good-will. At length, one night, the bad Indians were induced to talk. They related many things about their raids; each in turn told something of his experience, entering into details. How they felt, and giving the causes of their ill-feelings. Each taking his turn in talking, said that hunger often caused them to go on raids to get cattle to eat, always making the statement that the agents stole what "Washington" sent them; that Mormons helped the agents to steal; that the Sanpete Mormons had stolen their country and fenced it up. The lands that their fathers had given them had been taken for wheat fields. When they asked the Mormons for some of the bread raised on their lands, and beef fed on their grass, the Mormons insulted them, calling them dogs and other bad names. They said when the Mormons stole big fields and got rich, other Mormons, who were poor, had to buy the land from them, they were not allowed to steal it from the first owners, the same as the first Mormons stole it from the Indians.
I have often wondered how these statements will be answered. They are still open. I never could answer them like many other propositions I have had to meet while laboring among the Indians. I have had to give it up acknowledging that they had been wronged. All I could do was to get their hearts set right and then teach them magnanimity.
Some may jeer at this idea, but I have found more nobility of character among the Indians than what is common among many whites, even Mormons included.
In explanation of their accusing some of the Mormon Bishops of helping to rob them, it had been told to them how the agents managed to get certain ones to sign false vouchers for flour and beef Whether this was true or not the Indians fully believed that it was. I found evidences afterwards that at least looked like their accusations were well founded. All who are acquainted with Indian character know that a trader who deals liberally with the natives can hold a great influence over them. The Utes were great traders at that time, having a great many skins and furs to barter. They urged me to come and trade with them. This could only be done by buying out the trader and getting the appointment. So I bought out the trader, conditionally, with the hopes of getting the post tradership. In this I failed.
The friendship of the agent was only politic for the time being. His endeavors to keep me out of the situation were successful. Mine to bring about a permanent peace and get the Indians better provided for were also successful, probably much more so than if I had been allowed the trader's position.
After visiting with the Indians and gaining considerable influence over them, getting them to promise peace, provided the Mormons would be friendly again, I commenced preparing for my return home. The Indians wanted me to go back and talk to the Mormons and see positively what they said and how they felt, especially in Sanpete valley, where the war had been the worst. They wanted to be assured that the Mormons would not kill them, provided they came in to visit and trade as in former times. I agreed to find out and return again and see them, and bring a few more things they wanted.
There were two men, John Sessions and David Boyce, at the agency that wished to come in with me. We brought in five hundred pounds of buckskins. This, with our provisions and bedding, made about seven hundred pounds. On this trip the snow had settled and we moved along all right. The dog hauled most of the time two hundred pounds. We thought this a big load, but I afterwards learned what a load was for a large dog.
In justice to my Indian friends, and one in particular, I will relate one incident. Just before leaving, an Indian, Toquana, came to me and asked me if I did not want a horse. I told him that I had finished trading and had nothing to buy a horse with, and that I did not particularly need one as we would run the sled out on wheels until we struck snow, then we could haul it very well.
His reply was, "I do not want to sell you a horse. You are a friend, and are doing hard work for our good. I want you to live and keep strong; I do not want you to wear out. I know your legs are good, and I want you to keep them good to go over the deep snow where a horse cannot go. I have got a good, gentle horse that knows how to work; he is strong, can go through snow up to his breast. You take him, let him pull your sled just as long as he possibly can, then maybe you can find some place on the hill side where the snow is not deep; turn him out and if he lives I will get him, and it will be all right; if he dies, he will die mine, and I will know he died to help my friend, and that will be all right. I do not want anything at all, no presents or anything. I want to do this because I feel like doing it."
I took his horse, worked him about eighty miles and then turned him on good grass where there was but little snow.
On my arrival in Salt Lake City and after disposing of my furs and skins, I made arrangements for the money to pay the trader, George Basor, for his stock of buckskins, amounting to some two thousand dollars. The arrangement was to close the bargain by a certain date, provided the purchase was made.
I found the dog so useful in pulling a sled that I determined to get hold of some more large dogs and train them. To do this I would be delayed a few days; so I got David Boyce, who had just come in with me, to take Ring, the old dog, with a sled load of one hundred and fifty pounds, and a $2000.00 check and make the trip alone. Boyce, traveling on Norwegian snow-runners, made the trip through in good time. This trip of Boyce's I consider one of the most heroic of any, as he traveled alone one hundred and fifty miles, passing over twenty feet of snow, with no one but the faithful dog for company.
On getting my dogs, four in number, trained with sleds for each, I took my son Wiley, thirteen years of of age, and started again for Uintah, taking about four hundred pounds of goods for the Indians. I was careful to take a good supply of provisions on this trip. I hired a young man from Heber City, by the name of Hickins, to go with us. We made good time over the mountains. Our dogs behaved tolerably well, as I had trained them before starting.
Boyce, who went through with the express, found the horse, loaned by Toquana, all right. He packed the goods on him, after getting to hard ground, went on to the agency, transacted the business, got a yoke of cattle and a light wagon, and came out and met us at the snow line. So everything went off smoothly on this trip. On my arrival at the agency, I found it would be impossible for me to get the trader's position and be true to the Indians. What I had started to do for them would make the agent my enemy, so I concluded to stick to the peace-making, let it cost what it might.
On getting the Indians together and talking to them, we came to a full understanding and agreement. By this time they had come to believe in and trust me implicitly. I agreed to procure all the evidence I could in regard to irregularities on the part of the agents. Such evidence I had been gathering up for some time, to make a report to Washington in their behalf, and do all I could to get them their rights. There was not much provisions at the agency at this time for the Indians. Only a few sacks of flour. I assured them that if they would come in and visit the Mormons, that they would be glad and would not fight them, but would treat them as friends, as was the custom before the war.
This finally was agreed upon. I knew that some move of importance, sufficient to cause the government to take notice, had to be made. So it was arranged that all the Indians should leave the reservation and refuse to return until they were furnished with supplies, and a better system of provisioning them devised. They hated the agent as he had acted very insultingly to some of them. They urged hard that I would send in evidence of his wrong-doing, and get him removed. I told them maybe they would get a worse one, but they insisted that there was no danger.
I did not agree with the idea of the Indians. The present agent had not been long in position, and from what I knew and had heard about former agents, he was not nearly so bad as some of his predecessors. In fact I believed him capable of making a very good agent when once posted on the duties of his office.
My interests were entirely centered on doing the best for the Indians I possibly could, also that the people would be relieved from their depredations.
The furs and skins that I had bought from the old trader amounted to some twenty odd hundred pounds. The ground was now bare for some seventy-five miles; the snow being still deep for about the same distance. I bought a wagon and team from the trader, loaded all up and pulled up to the snow region, where we turned the team out, loaded up our dog sleds and, by making an average of three return trips, moved our whole load six miles each day. Our dogs were fed mostly on beaver meat, caught by trapping in the streams along the route.
On nearing Provo valley I went ahead to get teams to come out and meet the dog train a few miles from Heber City. It took two light wagons to contain our load. We made the trip down Provo canyon and camped one night near American Fork. I had been from home longer than was expected; there were no means of communication and I felt very anxious to get home as I believed my family would be uneasy about me.
At that time the terminus of the Utah Central was at Draperville. I started out early in the morning on foot to make to the train by 8 o'clock, some eight miles distant. I had been working on snow shoes for most of the winter; I was now on good dry road and was wearing Indian moccasins. I was feeling well and in good trim, so I had but little fears of making the distance in time.
After traveling a short distance I heard a wagon approaching. On looking around I recognized a gentleman who had always professed great friendship and interest in my labors among the Indians. It occurred to me that I would see if he would ask me to ride without my making the request. He drove by without turning his head. I made up my mind that although he was driving a nice fine traveling team, to beat him into the station. This I did. He drove quite fast, but I kept in sight of him all the way, passing the team about a mile before reaching the station.
As I went by he spoke to me, saying he had not recognized me before. I replied that I was in a hurry and could not stop. One of his horses suddenly failed, causing them to halt. This friend (?) probably never passed a footman afterwards without thinking of the circumstance.
The reader will now have to make a little allowance, as I am writing entirely from memory, and there was so much crowding upon me at this time, I will have to go ahead and write as it comes to my mind, regardless of dates. I have heretofore been able to place incidents in regular order tolerably well; possibly I may, in writing the next few months' history, get a little mixed as to which first occurred, but not as to facts.
Soon after my arrival in Salt Lake City I called on Governor Woods and told him something about the condition of affairs at the Uintah agency, informing him that, owing to the fact that there was no flour or other provisions at the agency, it was the intention of the Indians to leave there. Mr. Woods agreed to assist me in bringing the matter before the proper department. My intention was to visit Washington to see in person the Secretary of the Interior, in behalf of the Utes; I had sufficient evidence to show cause for complaint. Advising and persuading the Indians to leave the agency was entirely my own work; I was satisfied that nothing would be done unless some move was made worth noticing.
I had, as before stated, visited the people in Sanpete county and got their consent for the Indians to come in. The Indians were now on the road and would soon be located in Thistle Valley, where they had agreed to stop. I was to meet them there as soon as they were in, get things in shape and then, if necessary, go to Washington. About the time the Indians got in Secretary Delano arrived in Salt Lake City, passing through on a visit. Seeing his name among the hotel arrivals, I called to see him and made my business known. He treated me with much respect, making many inquiries about Indians and Indian agents in general, admitting that the government had more trouble with them than any other officers in the service, and asked me what I thought was the reason of this. I said the wages were too small; that no man could support himself, especially in an expensive place such as agents generally had to occupy, on the pittance the government allowed them. This often forced them into dishonest speculations. Mr. Delano admitted that my explanations looked reasonable. After listening to what I had to say for the Indians, he said if I could bring him such testimonials from some of the government officials as would warrant him in noticing me as an honorable man he would listen to and cause action to be taken on my report. I told him about my conversation with Governor Woods and his seeming interest in the welfare of the Indians. Mr. Delano sent for Governor Woods. In the meantime I went to a prominent lawyer, Mr. R——n, whom I knew to have much influence with the officials, and payed him a liberal fee to make out the necessary testimonial and get the needed endorsers. This did not require much time. I presented my papers to Secretary Delano. He said he would have the matter investigated and advised me to see Mr. G. W. Dodge, who had lately been appointed special agent for Utah and Nevada, and report to him and inform him of the condition of affairs.
When I called on Mr. Dodge he seemed much interested and agreed to go to Sanpete Valley and visit the Utes on their arrival, promising me that he would see that they were cared for. I agreed to meet him there. Accordingly, when the Indians were encamped in Thistle Valley, not long after my arrival in Salt Lake City, I went to Fairview, where I met Mr. Dodge. A party of us accompanied him to the Indian camp, some fourteen miles distant. Several hundred Indians were there. This was quite a move. For several years most of the Indians had been at war, stealing, robbing and killing. Now they were all in to visit their old acquaintances as friends. Many of the settlers had seen their friends and kindred killed by these same Indians. If any mishap had occurred I would have borne the blame, as I had been instrumental in bringing this move about.
On arriving at the camp Mr. Dodge seemed a little lost. It was the first Indian camp he had ever visited. He professed great friendship. The Indians said to me: "He talks good, but his eyes have dirt in them."
A number of the leading citizens of Fairview and Mt. Pleasant went over. The meeting with the Indians was friendly. Each party really desired peace. Mr. Dodge appointed a meeting to take place in Fairview next day, where he desired to see all the chiefs and have a big talk with them. There were some thirty of the principal Indians came over. Douglas, of the White river Utes, who spoke English, being at the head.
Mr. Dodge had employed several interpreters to assist in the talk. He wished to be fully understood. For some cause he seemed to rather slight me as interpreter; so when the meeting was opened Mr. Dodge commenced and made quite a speech, and called on one of his interpreters to explain what he had said and invited the Indians to reply. The speech was interpreted, but the Indians said nothing. Then another speech was made and another interpreter explained with the same results.
Finally, Mr. Dodge was determined to make an impression. He began and told the Indians of his love for the red man; and of his big heart that swelled so large that all the ties of home and friends could not hold it back, but it had grown in him till it had reached clear out to the wilds of the Rocky Mountains, penetrating into the camps of the much abused natives; that he was here as their friend, sent here by "Washington" to see that all their rights were respected and grievances redressed.
Still there was no answer from the Indians. Mr. Dodge was now almost exhausted. The Indians recognized me as their representative and were intent on silence until I was noticed. Finally I said to Mr. Dodge: "With your permission I will talk a little to the chiefs present. I have been acting as their friend and I think they will talk if I request them to."
He said he would like to hear what the principal men had to say. I told the Indians to explain to Mr. Dodge why they had left the agency and what their desires were. Several then spoke in turn, recounting how they had been defrauded out of the government appropriations; that if they could have their rights they could live in peace. Douglas, being the last speaker, did not use an interpreter. He said: "The man from. 'Washington' talks good and makes good promises, and I hope it is all true, but I am afraid it will all be a lie pretty soon. 'Washington' has sent to us a heap of men, All of them talk good when they first come but in two or three moons, most of their talk proves lies. Some in two moons, some in three, some in six. One man's talk was good for one snow; then it was a lie, same as the others. This man here now, looks like the man who lasted two moons. Maybe the talk is all good, but I think in two moons may be it will be all lies. I know Washington means to be good to us. His heart is good, most too good. He has many hungry men come to him for something to eat; they have slim faces and long beards and look hungry; and they cry and tell Washington they have nothing to eat. Then Washington gets tired of their crying and makes them agents and sends them out here, and they take all Washington sends us. I don't think this is right. They ought to send men who are not so poor and starved, then they would not take our flour and we would have plenty."
This is Douglas's speech in substance. Mr. Dodge did not reply farther than to say he would see to their wants.
From Sanpete we went down to visit the Indians in Grass Valley. They had been stealing had taken quite a band of horses lately. They were not of the Uintah tribe. On visiting them, a treaty was made, the agent agreeing to make them some presents. The Indians agreed to bring back the horses.
I knew very well that no treaty would be considered by the Indians until the goods promised were delivered. I told Mr. Dodge so. He said the government had not furnished him with any goods, neither would they get any till he could send to New York for them. I told him I had goods along with me that he could have. Some $350.00 worth. He said he was not authorized to pay more than New York prices, and freight. I replied, "You can take mine now, and when you find what New York prices are, you can pay me."
He took my goods, enough to ratify the treaty. The Indians kept their contract to bring in the horses, but I do not know whether Mr. Dodge ever learned what New York prices were or not.
During the time the Indians were in Thistle valley, there were a number of persons mean enough to sell them whisky. This was a dangerous business, and I did all in my power to stop it.
After returning from Grass valley, I camped near the Indians in Thistle. I also visited the Sanpete settlements and watched the moves and did what I could to keep peace. There were quite a number opposed to the Indians being around and expressed themselves quite freely; but the greater portion of the people were desirous of peace. The whisky selling was the great evil, likely to bring on trouble at any time. Finally, through threatening the whisky sellers with prosecution, I succeeded in frightening them off, all except one man at Moroni, who still had not given up the business. Douglas and some fifteen others obtained whisky from this rascal, sufficient to get well started on a drunk, then came on to Fairview, went to where they had been in the habit of getting whisky and wanted more. Here they were told by D. S. that Jones had stopped him selling whisky and that none could be had without a written order from him.
The Indians had just enough to fire them up for more, so they struck for my camp, twelve miles distant, in full charge. No one was with me but my son Wiley, then about thirteen years of age. Soon I was charged upon by three or four drunken Indians, demanding of me that I should give them an order for whisky. I told them I would not. One Indian had a pencil and paper. He offered it to me, saying: "You must now write, or we will kill you." Still I refused. Others were now arriving. Soon the whole crowd was upon me; all were excited and just drunk enough to be mean.
I told my son to sit still; not to move or say a word. This he did, not seeming to notice what was going on. Many times it looked as though my time had come, for numerous guns were aimed at me at different times, seemingly with the full intention of pulling the trigger. When one Indian would fail to shoot, another would crowd in with his gun aimed at me, saying, "I will shoot if you don't write." Many of them took hold of my hand and tried to make me write, but I was determined that I would not.
Finally, I became so overcome and weary with the excitement and effort to resist their demand, that I almost became indifferent to life. It really looked as though I might get shot. So I begged them to be still a minute and hear me; then, if they wanted to, they could kill me. All became quiet. I told them that I had always been their friend and was now working for their good; referred to the hard trips across the snow mountains to do them good, and that I would still like to live, as I had not finished the work I was doing for them. And it was as their friend that I had forbidden anyone selling them whisky, because it made them fools and bad men—so much so that they were now abusing me, the best friend they had; that I had agreed with God to be their friend and never shed any of their blood; and that I would die before I would sign the papers, and if they killed me God would not be their friend.
I was now so exhausted and sleepy that I could scarcely keep awake, although it was mid-day. So I told the Indians I was tired and would lie down and go to sleep, and if they were determined to kill me to wait till I was asleep, then put their guns close to my head, so I would not suffer much, telling them I asked this as their friend. I spread my blankets on the ground, laid down and I am sure it was not more than two minutes till I was sound asleep. My little son still sat silent. After sleeping quite a while I felt someone pulling at my foot. On looking up I discovered that most of the Indians were lying around me asleep. My son was also sound asleep. The Indian pulling at me asked me to get up and sell him something he wanted. I told him I was too sick to get up. He insisted, but I was determined to be sick. Soon others tried to rouse me, but I knew as long as I lay in bed I was all right. Finally all the Indians left. I now wakened Wiley and asked him about how the Indians acted when I went to sleep. He said that one after another came near and looked at me without saying a word. Then they all laid down around me and went to sleep; that finally he got sleepy and also laid down.
I concluded to play them a little game for this, for I knew when sober the Indians were faithful to me, and I did not want another experience of this kind. Wiley watched, and whenever an Indian approached I would cover up—sick. We had a lot of trade, but I was too sick to do anything. When they wanted to know what ailed me I told them my heart was sick; that it felt so bad I could do nothing. This continued day after day till the Indians became really uneasy, for fear I would die. Finally, Tabby and others came and made me presents of buckskins and beavers and begged me to forgive the Indians who had threatened me, saying that if I would live and be their friend they never would say whisky to me again. And if they ever got drunk they would go away to the mountains and not come near me. I finally got well, much to their joy. To show the danger I was in, a few days after this affair two Indians were killed in a drunken row among themselves.
Soon after returning to the city Mr. Dodge seemed to change his tactics. He informed me that it was his intention to order the Indians back to the reservation at once; and that he would make me no promises whatever. I told him the Indians expected something as there was nothing at the reservation when they left except a little flour. The most of the Indians from Uintah were now camped near Nephi. Mr. Dodge went out there and preemptorily ordered them back to the agency.
Tabby told him they would not go back until there was something sent with them as they would as soon die fighting as to starve. The Indians had agreed with me that they would not fight but would hold out as long as they could, but would give up and go back if pressed. I had been forbidden to go among the Indians any more under penalty of arrest for inducing the Indians to leave the reservation. I began to feel a little uneasy when I heard now Tabby had talked, that he had forgotten his promise to me. I tried to get permission to go and see the Indians, offering to guarantee that they would go back peaceably if I could have a talk with them, but was still refused the privilege.
The condition of affairs was telegraphed to Washington. Much excitement prevailed. Many persons blamed me for getting the Indians into the settlements, and some favored their being whipped back. A good many sensational stories came from Sanpete, the Indians being accused of many things they did not do. The telegraph operator of one of the settlements was knocked in the head by some one. This was laid to the Indians. It afterwards proved to be a white man that committed the deed.
I was working continually to counteract these stories for I had faith in the Indians. The only thing I dreaded was the selling of whisky to the Indians by some of the settlers. A drunken Indian is dangerous under any circumstances. Finally a commission arrived from Washington to inquire into the affair. I had already offered some affidavits I had, to Mr. Dodge, to prove some things against the management of the agent at Uintah, but he had not taken them from me. Mr. Dodge fully expected that I would offer these in evidence before the commission, but I had become convinced that the agent was a better man than the one who had been appointed to superintend affairs; so I told Mr. Dodge that I had concluded to say nothing more about the agent.
He flew into a terrible rage, and said I would have to go ahead; that I could not back out as he had made a contract, with a Mr. Popper for several hundred beef cattle that were then being sent to the agency for the Indians; and that unless the agent was prosecuted and turned out, the government would not sustain him in what he had done, and that if I did not go ahead, I would be prosecuted for libel. I asked him what he would make out of it, and told him if I had said anything against the agent I would apologize for it, and that I did not intend to interfere in the agent's business any more.
I had learned enough to know that the Indians would get the cattle, but Charles Popper had quite a time getting his pay for them, but finally did.
The superintendent was now down on me fully and completely. So when the commission met in his office. General Morrow being present (I was watching all the moves continually), I walked in. Mr. Dodge ordered me out. I replied that I was an interested party; that I represented the Indians and did not intend to go out: that there was a sign outside the door which allowed me, as an American citizen, to walk in, and that my business was such as warranted my coming in. General Morrow said he would like to have me stay, so permission was given me to remain.
The question being considered was whether the Indians should be induced to return to the reservation by telling them they were to have plenty of provisions, or whether an order should be given the military commander to force them back with arms without any promise being made them. I made the best fight I could in behalf of the Indians, but I said nothing against the agent at the reservation. Dodge could not, as he had no evidence in his possession, so the agent was not brought into question.
Mr. Dodge was very angry and desired war, and worked until he won, getting an order issued to General Morrow to take his troops and drive the Indians back. Now, some might think I had done all I could, but I was determined not to give up. So on going out into the street I asked General Morrow if I could talk to him. He said, "No, I have no time. I have to go and whip these d——d Indians back to the reservation." Still I did not give up. I felt almost desperate, for if the Indians had resisted, it would have reflected on me for getting them away from the agency. My intention was, if necessary, to go and see them and take the consequences.
General Morrow and some other officers mounted their horses and started for camp. He was hardly in his quarters before I was there. I had been to his house before and been introduced to his wife. When I called, the General treated me pleasantly and asked what he could do for me. I told him I had called to see his wife; that I wanted to get her to help me to try and persuade him not to make war on the Indians if it could possibly be avoided. I believe General Morrow thought me a little crazy. Finally he promised me that he would not fire a gun until I had the privilege of going and talking to the Indians. I now felt satisfied for I knew that they would listen to me, as they had pledged themselves to take my advice. It was not the intention of Mr. Dodge to let the Indians know that anything would be sent immediately to the agency; but as I had learned about the beef cattle I intended informing them.
I went and talked with D. B. Huntington. He was pretty well posted on what I was doing and was in sympathy with me. He was a good interpreter and was not known by Mr. Dodge. Dimick went out and explained my situation to the Indians, that I had been forbidden by Mr. Dodge to visit them; that I did not want them to resist but to listen to General Morrow and go back to the agency peaceably. The Indians met at Springville, where General Morrow listened to them. I was not present but kept track of all the moves. The Indians were perfectly willing now to return and made no offer of resistance. Several hundred sacks of flour as well as the beef cattle mentioned, were sent out. The Indians were now happy. So far my aims were accomplished. Peace had been made and confirmed between the white people and hostile Utes. Government had taken notice of their condition, and provisions had been sent. All this had been done on the stir I had been the means of making.
The agent at Uintah was not consulted and nothing had been done in his name or by his authority; neither was he in any way implicated, as not one word of testimony stood against him. So he ignored the cattle purchased, came in and bought supplies, and went on as usual with his agency business. Mr. Dodge was censured and dismissed from office for getting up all the trouble.
There were several attempts made to get some papers I had in my possession, but I kept them for future use, if needed. I never have heard of any material trouble between the Mormons and Utes since that time. The agent took hold in good shape and the Indians afterward spoke well of him. During this whole business I worked without counsel or advice from any one, except the advice first given by G. A. Smith. I acted as a trader most of the time, but my main business was to establish peace. It cost considerable time and money, and when I got through there was a debt of some $1200.00 against me at Z. C. M. I. Brother Brigham ordered the account sent to him for settlement.
Several years after this, whilst living in Arizona, I received a letter from a former friend of the agent, asking me for the papers I had, saying that with them and what they had, they thought they could make a case against this same agent. I replied to them that if they had to go back so far for evidence it was clear to me that the agent was doing pretty well; that I had not heard of the Indians complaining of late years and that I had no papers for them. So long as the Indians were satisfied I cared nothing for disappointed speculators.