Old Missoula

SKY-PILOT TALES

Related by Joyce Donaldson.

The Rev. John Hoskins[1].

Rev. John Hoskins came to Montana in 1884 the seventeenth Methodist minister to enter the state. He is making his home in Missoula at present, where he is ever ready to tell the tales of the early days.

In 1885 I had a charge at Townsend, Montana. One day as I was walking down the main street I was stopped by a man whose appearance told me that he was a miner. “Say, Parson,” he began abruptly, “are you too proud to come up to Diamond City and preach to us placer miners?” I answered, “I’ll come any time arrangements can be made.” The next Saturday I saddled my horse and started out for Diamond City, which lies by the way of Confederate Gulch. The road I followed was the stage line, which at that time ran from Helena down through the Missouri river bottom at Winston, through Diamond City, and on to White Sulphur Springs.

When I arrived at the mining camp Mr. Allan, who owned the hotel, took charge of my horse, while his wife and daughter took charge of me and my saddle bags, which contained my Bible, discipline and several hymn books. That evening I strolled down to the cabins of the placer miners. Some of the miners were working, and others were in their cabins. Those dwellings were the cleanest cabins I had ever seen in a mining camp. The tables and stools were homemade and had been scrubbed white—real white.

I announced that services would be held in the hotel Sunday morning from eleven to twelve and in the afternoon from three to four. Sunday morning between ten and eleven the miners could be seen wending their way toward the hotel, each carrying a homemade stool or chair, as it was necessary to improvise pews. At eleven o’clock the bar in the hotel was closed, and the services commenced. At the close of the service the bar was opened for refreshments, but I was given refreshments of a different character in the other room. At three in the afternoon the miners again appeared for services and the bar was duly closed. At the close of the service the miners expressed the desire to have a social time with the dominie[2]. The bar was opened again but none, however, invited the parson to take refreshments! One grizzled old miner stepped up to me and said, “Dominie, don’t we take a collection?” I said, “That’s if you please” So he asked Mr. Allan for a sack, which proved to be made of chamois leather about one inch wide and about four inches long. “Could you also loan me a spoon?” queried the miner of Mr. Allan. Rising to his full height the instigator of the collection said in a dignified tone, “We will now take up the collection.” Turning to Mr. Allan he said, “Will you use the spoon first.” The hotel proprietor stooped down behind the counter and dipped his spoon into a bag. When he withdrew the spoon it was full of gold dust. The spoon was then passed to each man, who in turn scooped a little of the precious dust from his bag into the chamois leather sack. After the bag, which took the place of the more conventional hat, had been passed all around the room, it was handed to me with this pointed question, “Do you know what to do with it?” I answered, “Well, I think so.” I was then warned to “be sure and tell the man at the Assay office in Helena where you got this, for he’s apt to arrest you for robbing sluice boxes.”

Upon arriving at the Assay office in Helena I was greeted by a smile, which indicated that someone had already told the assayor about my collection. He took my dust, weighed it in a sack and dumped the contents out onto a marble-topped table. Then after mixing it thoroughly, he shoveled up a little and weighed it again. The next step was to put the dust into a crucible, where it was soon boiling over a hot flame. The assayer skimmed off the dirt and poured it out into two little molds, where it was allowed to cool and harden. After the gold had hardened he weighed it and turned to me and said, “Well, how much do you think your collection amounts to?” After I had made several futile guesses he said, “Well, Parson, you earned forty-five dollars by preaching to those miners.”

When I lived in the Deer Lodge Valley, around ’84, the Indians were just getting their first taste of civilization. The Montana Union was an independent Montana railroad which ran from Butte to Garrison, where it connected with the Northern Pacific. Along this line at any point where the train stopped there was certain to be several Indians who would climb on just before the train started. Having no comprehension of a ticket they would coolly ignore both the ticket agent and the conductor. They never got any farther than the steps of the train, and there they would ride until some whim beckoned them off at one of the numerous stations along the route.

A wedding thirty miles away in the eighties didn’t mean a half-hour ride. Getting up about seven o’clock, I hitched my horses and started out for the place where I was supposed to make two people happy for life. Between five and six in the afternoon I saw that I had reached the end of my journey, for I saw a log house with three tents pitched around it. I was later informed that the tent at the rear was for the babies, the one on the south side of the house for the men, while the third tent was for the women. After I had performed my part of the ceremony, one of the men a little bolder than the rest suggested that I lie down. He sent me up a ladder to the second story, where I was supposed to go to sleep. After time had been allowed for me to get to sleep, the fiddle commenced and I could hear them dancing until three or four in the morning. As I hadn’t slept any I dressed and went down stairs, after they were through dancing, and asked a young man if he would feed my horses while I got a cup of coffee. It was four-thirty when I started; I arrived home about one that afternoon. I went to bed immediately and slept until five, when I was awakened by my wife’s shaking me, saying, “John, get up. There’s a man out here who wants to get married.” “Where?” I drawled out sleepily. “Up Paradise valley about five miles away,” was her reply. Seven times during my ministry I had two weddings, a funeral, preached twice, and attended Sunday school, in the same day.

In the year 1888 I was the pastor at Glendive, Montana, the seat of Dawson county. Dawson county at that time was bounded on the east by both North and South Dakota and on the north by Canada. Seven counties have since been taken out of this county. I was the only resident pastor in the county. One evening an Indian scout rode up and informed us that Sitting Bull intended to drive all the whites out of Dawson county. The five hundred people who lived in Glendive at this time began to prepare for defense. A message was immediately dispatched to Helena for ammunition as there was not over a dozen cartridges in town. At night the women and children were put in the brick school house, while the men, two by two, went on sentinel duty. Before the ammunition arrived we heard that Sitting Bull and his band of five hundred Sioux Indians had left Poplar and gone down to Sidney, where they had crossed the Yellowstone and had made their way into Dakota, from where they went down into Wyoming. When we heard this our fears were allayed, but we felt even safer when news reached us that Sitting Bull had been killed.

One of the funniest sights that I have ever seen was in the Deer Lodge valley in 1884. At the small town of Stewart the railroad had sunk a well so that the railroad might have a water tank. A hydrant had been attached to the tank in order to supply water for the depot and the community. One day about noon a group of Indians got off the train. They approached Mr. Kinney, who owned the post office, restaurant, grocery, store and rooming-house, with the usual request for food. Mr. Kinney filled a dishpan full of pieces from the table and scraps of meat and led the Indians to the hydrant, where he showed them how to get water. To see those Indians eat the meat with their fingers, meanwhile turning the faucet on and off in an effort to fathom its source was as good as any curiosity show I ever saw.

 The article above appeared in The Frontier Magazine, published at the State University of Montana in Missoula in November of 1930.

 The Reverend John Hosking and his wife, Isabella, were born in England in 1850. They were parents of two children, William and Annie. The 1900 Silverbow census (Butte, Mt.), misspelled their name as Hoskins. The misspelling also occurred in several instances, as above. The Reverend died in Deer Lodge, Mt., in 1931 and was buried in Helena. His obituary appears below:

 Rev. John Hosking Laid To Rest Here

Last rites for Rev. John Hosking, age 80, pioneer minister of the Methodist church and for several sessions chaplain of the Montana senate, were held yesterday forenoon on the arrival of the train from Deer Lodge, where services were held Friday.

Rev. David J. Donnan, pastor of the Presbyterian church, officiated at the commitment service at Forestvale, where he was laid to rest beside his wife and daughter.

Rev. Mr. Hosking, father of William Hosking, state accountant, came to the United States when a youth from Cornwall, Eng., where he was born over 80 years ago. He early entered the ministry.

Arrives in Deer Lodge

His first charge in Montana was at Deer Lodge in 1884. Later he was at Townsend, where he served several churches, making his trips winter and summer on horseback. He preached at Winston, Crow Creek and White Sulphur Springs. Some years later he served in the eastern part of the state, having a circuit which included Billings, Livingston, and Glendive.

For five years he was at Grace Methodist church and at Trinity church in Butte for another five years. He was a member of the Masonic lodge having joined the order more than 50 years ago in Connecticut.

The obituary above appeared in The Independent-Record of Helena on May 24, 1931.