Old Missoula

“Tall, blond, with blue eyes twinkling, he was always cheerful,” wrote Emma Magee when she furnished us a first-hand account of the crippled Missoula pioneer Charles Schafft. Emma attended a small school with her mixed blood siblings at what later became Missoula’s Hellgate Elementary in Grass Valley. At one time she was employed as an au pair for the remarkable C. P. Higgins family, comprised of nine children. Higgins was a founder of Missoula and the acknowledged leader of the community. Among Emma’s many recorded memories from those days was a rare glimpse of one of her first teachers, Charles Schafft, which she revealed as below:

“Another tutor who gave us his time was Charles Schafft. A native of Berlin, Germany, he came to Montana from Walla Walla, Washington, in the fall of 1861, as clerk on Captain John Mullan’s United States military road expedition. During the winter at a road camp near Missoula, he had a disagreement with a subordinate clerk and walked to another camp. On the way both feet were frozen. Dr. George Hammond, Assistant United States Army Surgeon, amputated both his legs just below the knees.

“My memories of Mr. Schafft are pleasant ones. Tall, blonde, with blue eyes twinkling, he was always cheerful. I think he loved children. On cold days, he never wearied of our thoughtless questions. ‘Charles, are your feet cold?’ If we forgot to ask, he humorously reminded us by stamping his wooden stumps and telling us his feet were frozen.”

“Montana Memories” – The Life of Emma Magee in the Rocky Mountain West – 1866 to 1950 by Ida S. Patterson

Emma Magee’s description of Charles Schafft provided the spark that resulted in my research of him. “Always cheerful!” she averred. How could anyone find cheer with the “thoughtless” remarks from young children, while simultaneously battling the dread of a severe Montana winter and the physically debilitating aftermath of his horrible injuries? Emma, in her own right, was later the source of a sparkling tale that profiled her life in early, raucous Missoula. How does one explain the convergence of these two bonafide historical fountainheads in the rustic wiles of the tiny Missoula community over 150 years ago. Had Schafft been better known, my quest to learn more about him would likely have been short lived, but the dearth of information became all the more intriguing as each minor detail about him came to light. Added to this was the discovery of the several fascinating written tracts that survived him in various community newspapers. He wrote with both humor and wit while self-aggrandizement did not seem to fascinate him. Finally, the fact that he was a contemporary of every other important Missoula pioneer made the project even more appealing. The following compilation consists of a collection of identifiable Charles Schafft articles with some commentary. Other articles which he likely wrote, but which lack the sufficient conclusive markers (dates, subjects), have not been included in this version.

Charles Schafft was one of Missoula’s earliest pioneers. While his colorful story languished in the recesses of the Montana Historical Society for decades, little research was successful in uncovering his significant history. Until recently, when access to early newspaper articles was made widely available, he was largely ignored in Missoula’s legacy. That changed when several of his literary creations came to light as a result of today’s digital access. His story includes some of Missoula’s historic firsts. As a member of John Mullan’s road building crew, he visited the area well before the Missoula valley was settled. He later became Missoula County’s first Clerk and Recorder, one of the two first County Justices of the Peace, and Missoula’s first Postmaster. He was almost hit by a shotgun blast in Missoula’s first documented homicide.  He helped capture horse thieves in what some called Montana’s first official arrest. He met and wrote about two of Montana’s first pioneer women. He was also a keen observer of his environment who could put his thoughts into vivid writing. Why he is not better known in Missoula’s history is a good question.

When Schafft first set foot in what is now Montana, the town of Missoula didn’t exist; neither did Missoula County, or Montana Territory. He arrived in 1859, long before the amorphous territorial name was conjured up by Washington D. C. officials who were far removed from the Rocky Mountains. French-Canadian voyageurs in the heyday of the fur trade had long since visited the area, giving it the memorable cognomen, La Porte de l’Enfer, anglicized to Hell Gate, and reflecting the history of violence associated with the place. Evidence of a horrible massacre at the hands of warring tribes in this portal to Missoula was well known. Even the Salish derivation of the word ‘Missoula’ was translated as both “cold and chilling waters,” and “place of ambush,” casting a pall on downstream spoon-shaped 10 mile wide valley of Hell Gate Ronde.

Steep, narrow-walled Hell Gate canyon, near the mouth of the Big Blackfoot River where Schafft and Mullan’s crew settled in for the winter of 1860-61, provided an ideal setting for concealment and deadly attacks. Missoula’s founding merchants, C. P. Higgins and Frank Worden, didn’t build their trading post in the heart Hell Gate Ronde until 1860. Missoula’s birth was five years away in 1865; five miles east, beside Mullan’s new road, flush on the banks of the “chilly waters,” a few miles downstream of the voyageurs’ infamous La Porte.

Schafft twice worked for Lieutenant John Mullan whose huge government project built the rough wagon road from Fort Walla Walla, Washington Territory to Fort Benton – from the Missouri River to the Columbia River – linking mid America to the Pacific. This 624-mile Military Road (MR) took several years to plan and build, and eventually acquired the more popular name, Mullan Road, in recognition of its leading soldier engineer, John Mullan. It became a key to the development of the Northwest providing an invitation to early day settlers to travel over a sanctioned pathway to the west, through the implacable wilderness that soon became the gold laden territory of Montana and Idaho. In a 1929 Missoulian article, University of Montana historian Paul C. Phillips stated, “This road was the first link between Montana and civilization.”  Its impact on Montana Territory was unmatched until the Northern Pacific Railroad was built twenty-two years later in 1883.

Lieutenant Mullan first met Schafft in 1858 aboard a steamship sailing north out of San Francisco, where he agreed to hire Schafft, a recent army veteran. Like thousands of other young men, Schafft was originally headed to the Fraser River diggings, lured to B. C. by wild stories and gold fever. Instead, Schafft made his way up the Columbia River to the west end of the Oregon Trail at the Dalles, here to join Mullan’s team; but the project was soon delayed as a result of the Coeur d’Alene Indian War in the summer and fall of 1858. Schafft patiently returned to Portland and spent the winter in Willamette valley teaching a class of children to write.

Still a soldier, Lieutenant Mullan took part in the Washington Territorial Indian skirmishes of 1858, commanding a group of 30 blue clad Nez Perce warriors who sided with the Col. Wright’s U. S. troops. Some of these experienced warriors no doubt later turned their weapons on U. S. soldiers in the Nez Perce Indian war of 1877, likely with great effect. In 1858 Mullan served under Colonel George Wright who is remembered for subjugating the warring Inland tribes of the Spokane plains; in the process hanging many of them and brutally slaughtering hundreds of captured Palouse horses just east of Spokane, Washington. The site, Horse Slaughter Camp, near the banks of the Spokane River, was marked with an 8-foot granite monument. Mullan made little mention of it in his journals, yet history noted that at least one of the hostiles was hung from the bed of Mullan’s wagon.

Schafft rejoined Mullan’s expedition at Vancouver the following spring in 1859, hiring on as a “commissary herder” for quartermaster, Lt. H. B. Lyon, an officer he knew from his old 3rd Regiment days. Lyon later became a confederate officer. Starting east from Fort Walla Walla, Mullan’s Road followed open prairies and gently rolling hills with plenty of water and grass, but the landscape was less inviting as they moved farther east.  When they reached the Saint Joe River and south shore of Coeur d’Alene Lake, the expedition struggled through some of the roughest country it would ever encounter. Climbing through swamps, bogs, heavy rock, and thick, downed timber, they built scores of bridges over the St. Joe and Coeur d’Alene rivers, and finally arrived at the western base of the Continental Divide with a foot of snow on the ground as winter set in.

Mullan wrote a description of this area in his final report in 1863: “Our work, consequently, from the 16th of August to the 4th of December,1859, consisted in cutting through this densely timbered section of one hundred miles, building small bridges where required, and grading in thousands of places, made necessary by the physical nature of the country. We likewise graded an ascent of one and three-fourths miles, to the summit of the Coeur d’Alene mountains . . . The standing timber was dense, and the fallen timber that had accumulated for ages formed an intricate jungle well calculated to impress one with the character of impracticability.”

One participant described Mullan’s civilian complement as a group of ninety men “who worked harder and longer than the soldiers.” Another civilian employee wrote that they had “forty-five wagons, four yoke of cattle to each wagon, fifty pack mules and a great number of beef cattle.” Mullan later abandoned this part of his road and moved it north of Coeur d’Alene Lake when he returned to refurbish his work in 1861. Schafft provided a long and graphic description of the project in his essay “Reminiscences of Mullan Expedition,” included in this book.

The expedition then entered what is now Montana at Sohon Pass (near present day Lookout Pass) in 1859.  Named for the Steven’s expedition artist, Gustavus Sohon, this pass was discovered by Mullan when he surveyed a wide area of Western Montana in 1854. Mullan’s men used this pass to reach what soon became huge Missoula County. Foregoing an attempt to reach the Bitter Root valley in the dead of a brutal winter with deep snow, they stopped at remote Cantonment Jordan on the St. Regis de Borgia River, near today’s Deborgia, Montana. They were 267 miles into their trip east. Here Mullan sent a preliminary report via a courier to Washington D. C., notifying his superiors that the road was progressing well and they had discovered traces of gold. He also confidently proposed that the Secretary of War authorize a “military experiment,” sending a complement of 300 recruits to Fort Benton in the spring of 1860, since it would be a “proper time for testing the merits of our new road.”  Mullan’s gold news prompted a renewed interest in his wagon road project which was overbudget and nearing cancellation by skeptical officials in Washington D. C. Luckily, it also resulted in a second funding appropriation from Congress to complete the road. Mullan’s success was demonstrated in the autumn of 1860 when 300 recruits under Major George A. Blake used the 1st version of the road to march from Fort Benton to Washington Territory; one party reaching Walla Walla, in 57 days.

Schafft wrote that he passed through Cantonment Jordan in 1859 while he helped herd some of the surviving animals to the Bitter Root River [today’s Clark Fork River]. He then promptly left the Cantonment, traveled west through deep snow to Colville where he spent the rest of the winter, and finally returned to Portland and the Willamette valley where he then worked at farming. Here he joked in his autobiographical sketch that he turned “cowboy” and helped herd cattle over the Cascades near Mt. Hood. He authored two lively newspaper articles about his exploits during this period which are included here. One of these stories introduced two of Montana’s first pioneer nonindigenous women.

He rejoined Mullan’s expedition again in the summer of 1861 when he was hired at Walla Walla as a clerk for a sutler, William Terry. Mullan, who had been ill, returned to Walla Walla from Washington D. C. in May, 1861, and began modifying portions of his road which suffered from flooding and exposure, requiring repairs. This time he added bridging, new cuttings and grading and reworked sidehills, as well as completely changing course in some places. He added 30 miles of difficult new road in the Coeur d’Alene Lake area arriving at the Coeur d’Alene Mission the first of August. Twenty additional heavy bridges crossing the Coeur d’Alene River occupied them until the middle of September. By November, Mullan elected to avoid the weather he had endured the previous year and sent his men ahead to camps near what is now St. Regis, Mt., and on to Hell Gate. They rendezvoused at the mouth of the Blackfoot River, near present Missoula, by late November. This site would be named Cantonment Wright. [See p 37 – 39 Report]

Mullan arrived there on November 22, after earlier assigning a complement of men to cut timber and build log huts for a winter camp. It was good plan since their party was hit with an extremely harsh winter. He divided his men into five groups; one to remain at Cantonment Wright to build a bridge across the Big Blackfoot River, while the remaining four groups were divided into ancillary work camps spread along the Hell Gate River where “sidecuts were to be made to avoid” crossings. Mullan described the Big Blackfoot River at Cantonment Wright as 235 feet across and six feet deep, with a current running four miles an hour. Using rock filled cribbing for piers, topped by 3 inch thick, 17-foot planks, his men completed a 235-foot, four span bridge across the Big Blackfoot River by the first of March.

Mullan’s final 378-page report to the Secretary of War gave a stark description of this camp, and the weather:

“Cantonment Wright, so called in honor of General Wright . . . though a cold and bleak place it nevertheless proved suitable for our purposes. The camp was situated upon the high flat in the forks of the Blackfoot and Hell’s Gate rivers, where timber was abundant and close; but exposed to the bleak winds that at times came down the valley of the Blackfoot, it was found an abode of not over much comfort.”

“The winter had proved one of unusual and marked severity; the snow had fallen as early as the last of November, and continued on the ground as late as the middle of April, with intense cold for about two weeks in January. . .  For a short period in January all travel in the mountains was suspended and from cold and want of forage many of our animals died. The Indians had never before experienced so severe a winter and the poor creatures came in for their share of suffering and loss of stock.”

Late in December Schafft participated in a curious event which he later wrote about. With some others, he was deputized by Lieutenant Mullan and participated in what he called the first official arrest in Montana Territory. These men tracked down a pair of horse thieves near Deer Lodge, and returned them to Mullan’s Cantonment Wright. The thieves were detained for a few months of hard labor, pounding rocks for bridge piers, and then were released with warnings. His account of this incident is recited in another article that is included below.

At the peak of winter in early January, a severe tragedy hit Charles Schafft. He foolishly attempted to walk alone to Deer Lodge from one of the ancillary river camps, while temperatures were nearing record lows. It was never made clear what motivated him to do it. Mention was made that he may have had a disagreement with a fellow worker. It was also speculated that he was tasked with carrying mail to Deer Lodge. After falling through ice while attempting to cross a slough near Medicine Tree Hill (close to present Nimrod), he spent a night in the open with wet clothes and moccasins. By the next morning his legs were frozen to the ankles and he was still hours away from help.

Mullan’s report gave a concise account of Schafft’s terrible trip that would forever change his life:

“I here mention with regret a sad accident that occurred to a citizen [Schafft] in passing from one to another of our camps, and which will tend to show the degree of cold we experienced during January. He had left one of the camps with the intention of going to the Deer Lodge valley. Night and severe cold overtaking him before he could reach another camp, he halted to build a fire, and being wet endeavored to slip off his moccasins, when he found them frozen to his feet. He became alarmed, and retracing his steps reached the point he had started from, late at night, but with both feet frozen, and on their being thawed in a tub of water all the flesh fell off. The poor fellow suffered intensely, and his life was only saved by his suffering the amputation of both legs above the knees; the operation performed by Dr. George Hammond, United States army. A purse of several hundred dollars was raised for him, and he was left to the kind charity of the fathers at the Pend d’Oreille mission, where he remained up to the date of our leaving the mountains.”

Mullan’s account was incorrect in one detail: Schafft’s legs were amputated by Dr. Hammond below the knees. One of the parties attending to Schafft following his misfortune was Missoula pioneer David O’Keefe, a fellow member of the expedition. Both David and his brother, Cornelius ‘The Baron,’ O’Keefe worked for John Mullan. Thus, Schafft began a new life, initially in the care of dedicated Catholic priests at the St. Ignatius, Pend d’Oreille mission. Interestingly, the history of the birth of this mission in 1854 almost coincided with Mullan’s initial arrival to the Bitter Root valley a year earlier, in 1853.

Mullan then proceeded east from Cantonment Wright and by May arrived at the Deer Lodge valley. Here he witnessed some of first serious gold mining in Montana when he encountered several notable Montana pioneers, including the Territory’s first argonaut known to sink a real shaft, Henry Thomas, aka ‘Gold Tom’ . . . “at work sluicing, and at the time they were taking out about ten dollars per day to the hand, and with fair prospects of extensive digging. Wherever parties had prospected in ravines or river bottoms they had found prospects from one to fifteen cents to the pan.”

Mullan journal

https://babel.hathitrust.org/cgi/pt?id=uc1.$b633834&view=1up&seq=22

Schafft later lived for a short time at Hell Gate and then at tiny Missoula for a good portion of his later life. He wrote a hilarious account of his short term as a Missoula judge which is also included here. He was a witness to Missoula’s first homicide, when a dubious friend, Matt Craft, was assassinated by a shotgun blast that nearly hit Schafft also. Craft was earlier his accomplice when they raided a Hell Gate gravesite. He related interesting details of these incidents and other stories in newspaper articles that are unusual today, to say least. Probably an autodidact, he acquired a writing talent that on occasion provided him opportunities to work as a journalist. Thankfully, some of his writing survives to this day, allowing us to see glimpses of him where little else is available. The most complete document that survived him is his autobiographical ‘Sketch’ that he wrote not long before he died. This and other items are included here.

Schafft was born in Berlin, Prussia in 1838 and lived there until 1849 when he was sent to the U. S. to live with his father in N.Y. City. His father left his family when Charles was two years old to become a merchant in New York, marketing fancy groceries and liquor. Little is known about his life in Prussia or his family background. His formal education ended at age 11 but he apparently read and studied a great deal on his own. He later acknowledged that he abandoned the German language when he came to America. He had earlier studied drawing at school and later made numerous sketches of scenes in early Montana. One of his best-known creations is a frequently reproduced drawing of the original Missoulian newspaper building in the 1870’s. Some of his later work was created at the Catholic mission in St. Ignatius, Montana where he assisted the Government agents and the priests at times. He was noted for copying a document for Father Urban Grassi that was described as a dictionary of the Salish language to English, drawing much praise for his beautiful Spencerian script.

He joined the U. S. Army at age 14 and was assigned to the 3rd Artillery as a musician/drummer. Initially stationed in N. Y., he encountered life-threatening incidents not long after he enlisted. His regiment was assigned to duty in the Pacific in Oregon country, but their journey quickly ran into trouble enroute. They were twice the victims of shipwrecks, the first time aboard the new steamship ‘San Francisco’, bound for California via Cape Horn. This ship ran into hurricane weather 200 miles off the coast of Charleston, S. C., in December, 1853, killing approximately 150 soldiers out of over 600 passengers. After several horrible days three passing ships were able to rescue the remainder of his ship’s passengers. His second steam ship, ‘Falcon’, suffered mechanical problems off the coast of Virginia in 1854, again disabling their vessel at sea, requiring them to land at Fort Monroe. A month later they resumed their journey to the Pacific, crossing the Isthmus.

After arriving in San Diego, Schafft’s unit served with the noted surveyor, Lieutenant John G. Parke, who was assigned to the Army Corps of Topographical Engineers. Initially, Parke surveyed possible rail routes from San Francisco Bay to San Diego. Schafft later recounted his experience with this survey team as it reached Tejon (Badger) Pass in the Tehachapi Mountains. Another of Parke’s assignments involved locating a route for the Southern Pacific Railroad across southern Arizona, one of four potential routes for a transcontinental railroad. Parke is credited with making the first accurate maps of Arizona. He was breveted a Lieutenant General during the Civil War and later was Superintendent of West Point Military Academy.  Before returning to California, Schafft’s unit traveled east to Dona Ana, a few miles north of El Paso, Texas. While serving at Fort Yuma, Schafft likely became acquainted with the famous Olive Oatman case, but makes no mention of it in his writings. Olive Oatman, a white, had been a hostage of Mohave Indians and may have been repatriated during Schafft’s Fort Yuma assignment in 1856.

Elements of the 3rd Artillery in the 1850’s became involved in actions throughout an incredibly wide area. “From 1854 to 1861 the Third was actively employed in marching and scouting over the Pacific Coast throughout its length and breadth. There was not an Indian tribe from the Rockies to the Pacific Ocean whom they did not visit. They became veritable foot-cavalry, in this school some of the best soldiers of the War of the Rebellion were developed,” [U.S. Army Center of Military History – By Third Regiment of Artillery].

Charles Schafft’s army experience with the engineer, John Parke, may have prompted him to seek employment with another engineer, Lieutenant John Mullan. Beginning in 1853 Mullan served under the new Governor of Washington Territory, Isaac Stevens, in his exploration of a northern route for the transcontinental railroad.  Mullan’s assignment began with a steamboat journey up the Missouri River to Fort Union at the junction of the Yellowstone and Missouri Rivers. After exploring parts of the Yellowstone and Musselshell Rivers his complement moved west and spent the winter at Cantonment Stevens in the Bitterroot Valley, namesake of Stevensville, Mt. Mullan’s survey of what is now Montana, crossed the Continental Divide numerous times and settled on a route beginning at Fort Benton, and then followed the course of several Montana rivers to the crest of what is now the Idaho border at Sohon Pass, near present day Lookout Pass. Upon its completion in 1862, Mullan’s military wagon road spanned a distance of 624 wagon wheel measured miles from Fort Benton, Mt., to Walla Walla, Washington.

Actual construction of the road began in 1858 but was halted while Colonel George Wright engaged in a bloody conflict with the Palouse Indians and other Plateau tribes near what is now Spokane, Washington. A large force of these Indians had recently thrashed a group of U.S. army soldiers, commanded by Lt. Colonel Edward Steptoe, near Rosalia, Washington. These Indians paid dearly when Colonel Wright returned with over 600 men and slaughtered an estimated 800 Palouse horses near the banks of the Spokane River, and then followed it up by the hanging at least 16 area Indians. Mullan saw action in Col. Wright’s campaign and was credited with surveying the site near Steptoe’s defeat.

https://history.idaho.gov/wp-content/uploads/0287.pdf

It’s clear that Schafft understood the historical importance of the government surveys that he accompanied, and the celebrated place that the expedition leaders would later occupy in accounts of the development of the west.  His writing reflected this, even though he played virtually no official role in these events. Some of these expedition leaders were heroes in their day, including Isaac Stevens, John G. Parke, E. G. Beckwith, and John W. Gunnison. Mullan’s Road was soon important regionally, if not nationally. It was estimated that 20,000 settlers used the Mullan Road to reach Montana in 1866, while 5,000 head of cattle and 6,000 mules left Walla Walla headed for Montana the same year.

Schafft eventually became a journalist who would contribute his valuable personal observations to local newspapers, sometimes using a nom de plume, or even simple initials unrelated to his name. His important article describing his winter trip to Colville where he met 2 Montana pioneer women, was originally signed with 2 X’s. Unfortunately, unlike some of Missoula’s most celebrated pioneers, Schafft was not one to trumpet himself, consequently avoiding a role in the history makers’ limelight. He lived a good deal of his life under the restrictions of his severe handicap and thus depended on the good graces of others, especially the priests of the Catholic church. Several of his Montana contemporaries, such as Frank Woody, the O’Keefe brothers, and Granville Stuart, fondly relished their notoriety, and are dutifully celebrated even today, but none of that survived Charles Schafft.

With no surviving family in Montana, Schafft died penniless in Missoula in 1891 and was buried in the Missoula City Cemetery. The cemetery registry lists his age as unknown, date of death unknown and his name was misspelled.   Locating his grave was no easy task when it was finally accomplished recently by a small group of dedicated Missoula researchers, including Michael Harsell. Schafft has never been the subject of the cemetery’s popular annual history tour, though he predates almost all of the cemetery’s other residents.

In a long article in the magazine ‘Montana The Magazine of Western History,’ written in 1976, editor/historian Vivian Paladin attempted to revive Charles Schafft’s story, using his handwritten autobiography as her primary source. That she recognized the complexity of his story was evident when she wrote the following:

“How could one relatively obscure man have known, worked for, and associated with the likes of John Mullan, Father Ravalli, Frank Woody, W. J. McCormick, Thomas Francis Meagher, and a whole procession of Flathead Indian Agents, to say nothing of General Phil Sheridan, Interior Secretary Carl Schurz and others prominent on the national scene?”

While her article couldn’t answer that question fully, it did bring to light some of Charles Schafft’s story. Hopefully the following pages will broaden Charles Schafft’s history.

Charles Schafft Autobiography

Below is the autobiographical account of Charles Schafft’s life currently maintained by the Montana Historical Society. Following the document is some commentary by Montana historian Vivian A. Paladin regarding the manuscript’s provenance, along with details surrounding the manuscript’s journey. Paladin’s article is available at the following site:

https://www.jstor.org/stable/4518045?seq=12#metadata_info_tab_contents

I was born in Berlin, Prussia, on the 25th day of June 1838. My father, a merchant, left for the U. S. when I was but two years old, and my early training was under the care of a mother only. I commenced going to school at the age of five, and my first real experience was the breaking out of the revolution on Wednesday, March 18, 1848.  Berlin was then a walled town, with gates at intervals, and we resided outside the city limits. On this day an elder brother and myself were returning from drawing school, and as we approached the gate, a barricade was being raised in front of it; the mob, merely out of a joke, made us pack a few paving stones before we were permitted to pass out.

After peace was restored I attended school until the fall of 1849, when I was sent to join my father, who was now an importer of liquors and fancy groceries in William Street, New York. I remained with him for several years, but not liking the business, I was permitted to select a trade and apprenticed myself to a jeweler’s firm.

The concern soon went bankrupt, and I skipped out and managed to get enlisted in the U. S. Army as a learning musician. This was on the 9th of April, 1853, and I was fitted for duty at Fort Columbus, Governor’s Island, N. Y. Harbor. In December the same year a lot of us boys were assigned to join the 4th Infantry in Oregon, and we were to travel with the 3rd Regt. of Artillery then already embarked on the Steamship “San Francisco” for California. The voyage was to be made around Cape Horn, but during the holidays we were completely wrecked off Cape Hatteras and there was much loss of life.  Several vessels coming to our rescue, I with others was taken off on board an English ship, the “Three Bells,” and returned in January 1854, to New York.

Headquarters of the 3rd Artillery were established on Bedloe’s Island, and I was assigned to Maj. Robt. Anderson’s Co. “G” of this regiment in place of one of the two musicians drowned. When the regiment was recruited up again, four companies, mine included, were embarked on the steamer “Falcon” in April bound for California via the Isthmus. The ship foundered off the Virginia Coast and we were taken off in lighters and landed at Fort Monroe. We remained there till the latter part of May when we were taken aboard the Steamship “Illinois” and safely conveyed to Aspinvall. The Isthmus was crossed on mule back and on the other side the Steamship “Sonora” took us up and we reached San Diego, California in June. There we were quartered at the old Mission till the Spring of 1855, when my company was ordered on escort duty on the preliminary Southern Pacific Railroad survey in charge of Lieut. (now General) John G. Parke.

We traveled up the coast to the Tejon Pass, thence back to San Diego, thence East through Arizona to Donna Anna [Dona Ana] in New Mexico where the escort was dismissed and we returned to San Diego in December. Early in 1856, owing to Indian troubles among the Colorado River Indians, we were ordered to Fort Yuma,  where I served the balance of my time and was honorably discharged in April, 1858.

I came to San Francisco while the Frazer River excitement was running high and determined to go to the new mines. On board the Steamer “Columbia” I met Lieut. John Mullan and he promising to give me employment on his Military Road Expedition, I stopped at Portland, Oregon.

The expedition organized at the Dalles, but only advanced as far as the mouth of Two-Cannon on Snake River, when the uprising of the Palouse Indians and defeat of Col. Steptoe put a stop to it,  and I returned to Oregon, spending the winter in teaching a writing school in the Willamette Valley. Lieut. Mullan organized again in 1859 and I attached myself to his military escort at Fort Vancouver in May.

Part of the escort was my own old company, and being well acquainted with the officers, Lieut. Lyon, the quartermaster, employed me as a commissary herder to drive and herd the beef cattle going with the expedition. I served in this capacity until winter quarters were established in December at Cantonment Jordan on the Regis Borgia in Missoula County.

Having driven the few cattle that had not perished to the Bitter Root River, four of us determined to return to Walla Walla. Crossing the summit of the mountains over seven feet of snow, we wended our way down the Coeur d’Alene River, where the road from N – – – Prairie (then called Long Prairie) to Mud Prairie was strewn with the carcasses of a hundred pack mules and the packs which the perished animals had carried, all of the property belonging to the unfortunate sutlers to the expedition (Friedman & McClinchy) who had started too late in the season and too heavily loaded.

We arrived at the Coeur d’Alene Mission during the holidays, and it being impossible to travel back over our own road on account of ice in the St. Joe Valley, we shaped our course for the Spokane, which we reached in a few days. One of the party, Henry Williams (better known as “Handsome Harry” killed in the fall of 1863 on Rattlesnake Creek, near Missoula) remained here and we other three continued down the river with the hope of being able to cross it on the Colville road. Two days hard work failed to get the boat through the ice and we were compelled to spend the winter partly on Walker’s Prairie and partly near Fort Colville.

It was while rambling around this country that I met the first white women that came through this Territory, Mrs. Miller and Mrs. Tom Brown (a sketch of which written by me for the Benton Record in 1880 over the signature of X, and a correct copy of which will be found in the History of Montana).

Early in March, 1860, I traveled alone and afoot to Walla Walla, thence down the Columbia River trail to the Dalles, and thence per steamer to Portland and remained employed at farm work in the Willamette Valley until July, 1861, then I turned cowboy and helped to drive a band of cattle across the Cascade Range over the old Barlow Road near the foot of Mt. Hood. Arriving at Walla Walla, I was employed by Wm. J. Terry, sutler to the Mullan expedition (then again at work in the Coeur d’Alenes) to go out and join the expedition as one of his clerks. Serving in that capacity, I remained until winter quarters had been built at Cantonment “Jordan” [Cantonment Wright] on the bluff near the junction of the Big Blackfoot with the Hell Gate River, and sometime afterwards.

Late in December some horses were stolen and the thieves had passed up the river to Deer Lodge Valley. It was desirable to arrest them, and three of us, Wm. Roland (since gone mad), J. Grandmaison (murdered in the Bitter Root Valley a few years ago) and myself (since crippled) volunteered to go after and received authority from Lt. Mullan to capture them. We caught the first one (Butler) on Johnny Grant’s ranch, near the mouth of the Little Blackfoot and the other one (Williams) on Cottonwood Creek near the present site of Deer Lodge City; this was on Christmas eve. On the following day we took dinner on our return with the Stuart boys on Gold Creek, and finally delivered our prisoners to Lt. Mullan, who caused them to be chained together and put to work on the Blackfoot bridge the balance of the winter. This was probably the first arrest within the Territory and hence I mention it.

On the 8th day of January 1862 I started, for a permanent stay, to Deer Lodge – alone and afoot. A few official letters had been entrusted to me but I was not in Government employ. About 20 miles up the Canyon at the “Rocky Grade” I was snowbound in a soldier’s working camp until the 15th. On the morning of that day I proceeded onwards through light feathery snow nearly three feet deep and too light to bear snow-shoes.

Crossing the Hell Gate on the ice near the site of McCarty’s bridge, I took a direct course over Medicine Tree Hill, and having descended again to the bottom I broke through the ice into a slough. After this I had hard work (owing to snow sticking to the wet clothes) to reach the river bank where I could obtain wood to make a fire. It was now evening and I had only made twelve miles since daylight.

The cold was becoming intense (the thermometer registered 40 below zero this night) and the prospect of the timberless Flint Creek hills on ahead discouraged me. So having dried my clothes and it being useless to remain in camp without bedding, I concluded to return and arrived again on the bank of the Hell Gate crossing about midnight. Water had weakened the ice where I crossed in the morning, and I had to walk up and down before a small fire to keep from freezing and until the ice should be strong enough to bear me.

After two or three hours I crossed over and hoped to reach the soldier camp without accident. Slowly I plodded through the snow, really feeling warm, yet not knowing that my feet were freezing all the time. The intense cold acting on the trees made them give reports like pistol shots in all directions. The timber wolves were howling dismally and altogether it was not a very pleasant situation.

At daylight I discovered that both my feet were frozen solidly up to the ankle joint where the moccasin strings were tied and I had yet four miles to make and partly along the side of a steep hill, but got into the camp at 8 o’clock in the morning. The usual cold water and salt remedy was at once applied and the feet thawed out but here our medical knowledge ceased, or else they could easily have been saved. Before a messenger returned from headquarters with medicines and advice, mortification had already set in. Upon learning this fact, Lt. Mullan sent several citizen volunteers and a detail of soldiers to bring me in a sled to the hospital (David O’Keefe was one of the volunteers). It took three days to make the journey of twenty miles, sometimes all hands taking hold of the ropes.

Arrived in camp, Dr. Geo. Hammond was snowed in up the Bitter Root at Fort Owen, and more than a week was lost before he could be brought in, and when he came my case was hopeless. Being too weak to be performed upon at once, the inevitable operation was delayed until the 7th and 8th of March, when both of my legs were successfully amputated within six inches of the knee joints and I was henceforth a cripple.

On the 21st of May the expedition broke camp, some to go to the States via Benton and the Missouri River and others to return to Walla Walla. I was in no condition to be carried in any kind of wheeled vehicle and was about to be left in camp with a guard of soldiers until I should be able to move or die (the latter was expected by the Doctor and the men) when Father Joseph Menetery came to the rescue and offered to take care of me if I could be transported to St. Ignatius Mission. Both he and Lt., now Captain, Mullan, stood by my bedside and we talked over the plans.

Captain Mullan had done everything possible for me as also had the other officers and members of the expedition. It was decided to convey me to the Mission. A litter was constructed and six soldiers accompanied by a hospital steward carried me over there under many difficulties, and it was a severe three days journey. (I wish here to remark, against general opinion, that I had not tasted a drop of liquor from the 8th of January until the 7th of March, when it was necessary to stimulate me. I was as sober in the night when I froze my feet as ever I was in my life).

Under the constant and kind attention of the Jesuit Fathers (especially my physician Father Urbanus Grassi) I recovered and left the bed for the first time in October. It did not take very long to learn how to get around on my knees so that I could render some slight service and amuse myself by painting pictures in oils of the Virgin Mary and some of the Saints.

In October, 1863, I was quite lively again and was requested by Agent Copeland Townsend to remain at the Flathead Agency over winter and take care of the Government property there, and there I stayed accompanied only by a small half-breed boy. It was the winter of the Road Agents and Vigilantes. I had some unpleasant but harmless visits from some of the former and felt relieved when early in 1864 Father Ravalli arrived in the depth of night and informed me that they had all been hung a few hours ago at Hell Gate and neighborhood.

In July 1864 I was relieved of my charge by the arrival of Agent Charles Hutchins with a full force of employes, but remained in his service as clerk until Sept. 1865.

In February 1865 Governor Sidney Edgerton appointed me County Clerk and Justice of the Peace for Missoula County. I was elected to both offices at the first general election. This necessitated my removal to the County seat at Hell Gate, and the Clerk’s office was established at the back office of a butcher shop amongst grease and tallow. The town of Missoula was just beginning to show signs of life this fall. A store and several other buildings had been put up and the removal of most of the houses from Hell Gate to that point made it an established fact before winter. By a petition of about 20 citizens and the vote of the Commissioners, the County seat was removed there also, and I in partnership with a now prominent lawyer built a house there (yet standing adjoining Plummer & Hayes stable). In December this year Mat Craft was shot by Tom Hagerty  within six feet of me.

My office did not pay. There were no taxes collected, but very few records to be made, a justice of the peace had but little business, and difficulties were settled by arbitration or otherwise. Expenses of living were high. No one wanted to be Deputy Recorder and I returned to Hell Gate with a mere handful of books to await a chance to resign. In February, 1866, my resignation was accepted and Frank Woody became my successor.

While in the act of turning the records over to him at the Hell Gate Hotel, a man named J. P. Shockley committed suicide in the adjoining room from some unknown cause.

This winter of 1865 – 1866 was nearly as hard a one as that of 1861 – 1862, and when I left for the Agency on the 22nd of February, it took three days to get there on account of snow and ice. In 1866 I acted as clerk to Agent Augustus Chapman, successor to Hutchins, and in October made a personal acquaintance of General Meagher, who was then taking his “Rides through Montana.”

The winter of 1866 – 1867, and also part of the following summer, I passed with Father Ravalli in the old Hell Gate Mission. The father was not so well cared for in those days as he was in later years. Most of the fresh meat that graced our table were muskrats which the Father dressed himself and which were shot almost daily in the adjoining sloughs by one of his patients (Alexander Lecompte) and the Father was often faint for want of suitable food, although he was as zealous, kind and obliging, even mending old, dirty tin kettles, pans, etc., that were brought to him to repair.

This year I was clerically employed by Agent Wells, successor to Chapman, and obtained my first pair of artificial limbs from Philadelphia at a cost of $300.00.

During 1868 and part of 1869 I was in service of Woodward, Clements & Co. (Hell Gate merchants) as their bookkeeper, and also done the clerical work of Major W. J. McCormick, who had succeeded John W. Wells as Indian Agent. In 1869 W. C. & Co. closed up business and in July I started for Portland to accept a position there with one of the partners (L. H. Wakefield) who had been appointed Postmaster in that city . . . Business of every kind was dull. The Union Pacific R.R., just about completed, had taken most of the mountain trade, and I was required to wait three or four weeks until the new officer was better initiated in the business.

Becoming lonesome I concluded to leave and took passage per stage and partly by railroad overland to Sacramento, California, a journey of 8 days and nights. Getting out of the cars there I found the fare to New York reduced to $50.00 second class, and after three or four days meditation I concluded to go to New York, a trip which lasted 9 days. Thence I took passage per steamer to Germany and arrived in Berlin after an absence of 20 years to find my mother and only brother alive and well. (My father had died in San Francisco in 1855). Soon becoming tired of doing nothing, I sought and found employment, as assistant draughtsman, in the machine and engine works of Schwarzkopff & Co. in Berlin. Remained with them until March, 1870 – and having seen about enough of German life by this time, I desired to return to the “Wild West.”

Laying my wishes before U.S. Consul Kreisman (now Consul General) and to whom I had letters of introduction from friends in Washington, he at once procured me a cabin passage on board the steamer Ocean Queen, and I left Berlin on April 1st and sailed from Stettin, on the Baltic, via Copenhagen and Christiansland, to the U.S. arriving in New York on the 1st of May. Being about out of funds I had some hard times here, being even reduced to the extremity to work for a quack doctor for a few days. (My folks refused to furnish me with funds for the purpose of returning to America.)

In July I went to Philadelphia, saw there the father of my legs, Dr. B. F. Palmer, and a few days afterwards was in Washington City, meeting here Major L. L. Blake, Cavanaugh, Captain McCauley and others I felt at home. Not desiring to remain in the capital, for I was tired of civilization by this time, Major Blake’s influence caused General Myers and Barnes to furnish me transportation to Helena, Montana from where I soon reached Missoula and was heartily welcomed by old friends after an absence of just a year.

The remainder of this year and during the winter I was employed in a house on the Cedar Creek Road. During part of 1871 I done some loafing among friends but in the summer was employed at my old position at the Agency under Major Chas. L. Jones, and remained with him during all his troubles (he had been indicted by a Deer Lodge Grand Jury for counterfeiting and forgery) until January 1873. (It was during his administration in August, 1872, that General Garfield visited the agency and made the treaty for the removal of the Flathead Indians from the Bitter Root Valley.)

Agent Daniel Shanahan relieved Jones in January 1873, and I became partly guest and partly employe of Wm. Kennedy at his hotel in town. In November, Agent Shanahan requested me to take charge of the Agency during a six months absence in Washington, he having been granted a furlough, and I went back to the old place and superintended the building of a new agency, the old one having been given up to removing Flatheads.

It was in this year that the “Indian Ring” received such a terrible shock through the investigations of U.S. District Attorney Meredith C. Page and his associate, Wm. H. Claggett. Indian Inspectors had come into existence and I had to keep my eyes open day and night to keep from being surprised, and my plans were so well laid that when the Indian Inspector Dr. Daniels did come, he found everything O.K.

Shanahan returned in March of 1874, having previously handed in his resignation at the request of the Commissioner for Catholic Indian Missions, General Charles Erving. His successor, Peter Whaley, arrived in July, and I returned to Billy Kennedy at Missoula to stay only a few days because proceedings against the Indian Ring were in full blast., and as I would likely be wanted for a witness, I skipped the country and went across the “Line” to “Whoop Up” supposed to be then a resort of the most desperate characters escaped from the United States. I saw some dead bodies there, but the place was not so bad as represented.

I was there partly in charge of the principal Fort, when Col. McLeod and his 300 Mounted Police arrived from Fort Garry to subdue the outlaws and drive out the illicit traders. He came with siege guns to reduce our Fort, which had been reported in Canada to be bristling with cannon and needle guns, and he came, and found, open gates, a cripple as second in command, and six or seven peaceable looking citizens. Our only armament were (sic) two old steamboat cannon, and any amount of trade rifles, and our whiskey was cached on the bottom of the Belly River.

I did not like the country much and was glad to learn that Indian difficulties had ceased across the line, so late in November I started back for the U. S. in company of Johnny Manning, Sandy Lane and four others. On Milk River we were caught in a terrible blizzard, and further advance with wagons had to be abandoned. Three of the party started back and three of us concluded to come ahead.

A conveyance was rigged up for me, and after a most perilous journey over the trackless prairie. . . we arrived on the Marias and reached the settlement on Sun River, from where I returned to Missoula by stage to be employed as clerk again, by agent Peter Whaley. His administration did not last long, he was too honest, and his successor Charles S. Medary took charge of the agency in July, 1875.

I continued in service under the latter, who ran things completely “in the ground.” He was indicted for stealing shingles, at a December term of Deer Lodge Court, tried and acquitted. The Indians hated him so cordially that by my advice he sent a request to General Gibbon for soldiers for protection. The soldiers came and one of the officers (Lt. Fuller) seeing the state of affairs, reported the Agent and caused his removal which took place in July, 1876. His successor was Peter Ronan. From this time on my career at the agency was closed.

A quarrel with Father Van Gorp, on account of my taking the part of an obnoxious Indian Agent, had made me an unwelcome servant on the reservation ever since that agent (Daniel Shanahan) had left. In the new agent, Ronan, the Fathers found a man in perfect sympathy with themselves and affairs took a general change.

Returning to the Kennedy House, I enjoyed the Nez Perce war excitement from my standpoint as one of the clerks of that House in 1877. In 1878 I revisited my old haunts at Frenchtown and Hell Gate and remained among friends until the Spring of 1879 when I was called up by the Kleinschmidt Bros. of Helena to attend to their books.

After three months service I left for Benton and spent the balance of the season with Johnny Kennedy (brother of Wm. Kennedy) traveling over the Northern Prairies, between Benton, Fort Walsh and Woody Mountain. While on a trip to the latter place three of us had to pass through and camp in the village of Sitting Bull and his 7,000 Sioux. The village was a fine sight. It was situated on a creek called the White Muddy, and Sitting Bull had but recently been whipped and driven here by Gen. Miles, who was then encamped just across the line. We were not much molested by the renowned warriors.

Returning to Fort Benton late in December, I was at once employed on the “Benton Record” to attend the books and do the locals, and also furnish much original matter (over different initials) for the inside of the “Blanket Sheet,” and I also kept the meteorological records for the Signal Sergeant overhead.

This work lasted till June 1880 when late one night, with only 50 cents in my pocket, I stepped on board the steamer Peninah (through courtesy of the pilot) and next morning was many miles down the Missouri, bound for, I knew not where. Landing at Bismarck, I made up my mind to visit Washington, although I did not possess a nickel. A railroad official furnished me a ride to Fargo, where I was delayed 8 hours and had to make a necessary collection from two newspapers and two land offices of $4.70, half fare to St. Paul, where I arrived on the 25th of June.

After a short visit to Fort Snelling, I called upon General Terry, and that kind gentleman not only supplied me generously with means, but also got the quartermaster to procure me a pass to Chicago. There I visited headquarters of General Sheridan (whom I had known at Fort Yamhill in Oregon) and through influence of his Aid de camp, Gen. Forsythe, obtained a quick passage to Washington, arriving there on the 4th of July, 1880.

Here I met among other old friends, Col. A. B. Meacham of Modoc fame, made the acquaintance of the Dr. Bland, and in a few days T. A. Bland, President National Press Association, introduced me to Secretary Carl Schurz and after ½ hour conversation with the Secretary, held in the language from across the sea, to which I was almost a stranger, I was appointed in August to a clerical position on the 10th Census of the U.S. under the superintendence of General Francis A. Walker.

In this Bureau I worked for the first three months in the Finance Division (on the night shift) until the thousands of enumerators or census takers had been settled with and paid off. I was then transferred to the “Division On Population” and here I worked, a mere machine for the next 15 months, counting and tallying day after day until the work of the division was finished, which occurred on the 4th of February 1882, when the entire force “on population” was dismissed with but few exceptions. In this work I had the satisfaction to be promoted twice and receive a month’s extra pay upon final settlement.

While I was in Washington some great events took place. Garfield was elected President in November 1880. I saw him on the morning of the cold and drizzly 4th of March, 1881, ride triumphantly to the capital by the side of President Hayes, and I saw him ride to the capital again a few months later, but this last time he was in his coffin. Those were anxious days in the Departments, from the 2nd of July until the 19th of September.

When free, in February 1882, my situation was critical. Under the young and new administration every Government employe felt shaky. There were thousands of applications filed for places, mine among the number, but it required more than common influence to get in, and not possessing the friendship of our Delegate, Martin Maginnis, it was not much use to try, although my application was backed by Col. Sanders, Fisk of the Herald, Ed Ballow, Meacham, and other prominent men.

I concluded to go West again and left for St. Louis, in which muddy city I remained throughout March, during the high floods on the Mississippi. Then I left for Omaha when just then a great railroad strike was in progress, which fact was lucky for me, because the Railroad Co. needed the Military, and after I had a talk with Captain Roberts, Aide de camp to General George Crook, the general used his influence in my behalf, and the manager of the Union Pacific (Clarke) granted me a pass to the end of the line at Butte City. Arrived there I was among generous friends.

A few days later I was in Deer Lodge, and came there in the ambulance with General Penrose and his lady to Missoula. Having been away from this place for nearly three years, I still found the old familiar faces and received the same warm shake of the hand, but times had changed and I was way behind. Suitable employment did not offer, and for the last five years my life has been uninteresting and precarious. Sometimes glad to take shelter among old Hell Gate friends, at others employed in responsible positions where first class work was expected, and done, and in such places a liberal salary was paid me to keep me “steady”, a salary ranging from $10.00 to $20.00 per month – a liberality so disgusting that it soon brought on rupture and dissipation.

A Jesuit father once told me that every man has his fault or failing. I have mine – a habit of drinking fire water. A habit adopted in early youth and nourished by frontier life and usage. It has led me into a great many comical adventures and some serious ones. It has also made me some enemies, but none greater than myself. I have made and found friends wherever I have been, and newspaper men and old Army officers, under whom I had served when young, have been especially kind to me.

Such is the outline of my life to the present point. The end may come now at any time; but should I discover some strange country, in a possible hereafter, and come there a stranger, flat broke and without recommendation, I will undoubtedly soon meet a friendly spirit who will ask me – to take a drink. Bass Mill on the Bitter Root. April 24, 1887.

Charles Schafft.

A Postscript to Vivian Paladin’s 1976 article about Charles Schafft stated the following about his manuscript:

Folded and placed in an ordinary business-size envelope, Charles Schafft’s manuscript was found a few years ago on the inside of a 1913 first edition copy of “Following Old Trails,” a compilation of historical sketches written and published by the late Arthur L. Stone when he was editor of The Missoulian. Stone, who became the first dean of the University of Montana’s School of Journalism in 1914, apparently felt the manuscript was worthy of publication, for in his own hand, he wrote at the top of the first page: “Preserve this clean and uncut.”

How did Dean Stone come by the document? Some supposition is necessary, but there are some clues: Shafft addressed his manuscript to John Armstrong of Missoula, and a check of Historical Society holdings quickly showed that in 1887 John Armstrong was working on The Missoulian, which his brother, Duane J. Armstrong, owned and edited. In 1889, John started publishing The Bitterroot Bugle in the town of Grantsdale, near present-day Hamilton, and at his death in 1911, had moved to Wisdom and was publishing The Big Hole Breezes.

Since Schafft was obviously depressed and down on his luck in 1887, he may have hoped that the Armstrongs would publish his manuscript and pay him for it. A search in The Missoulian and other papers published by John Armstrong has so far failed to show that it was ever printed. It seems likely that Dean Stone, one of Montana’s great journalists and history enthusiasts, found the document in the files of The Missoulian, and kept it in his private collection until his death in 1945.

Through how many hands the words of Charles Schafft have passed during the last thirty years cannot be determined, but it is quite clear that this is its first publication. It was acquired for the Historical Society last October through the efforts of E. E. (Boo) MacGilvra of Butte, a member of our Board of Trustees, from Mrs. Everett Shuey, who for a number of years operated a used and rare book store in Helena.

While the copy of Dean Stone’s book was not part of a greater collection of Stone material, it was inside its front cover that Mrs. Shuey found the Schafft manuscript. When her book store gave way to Helena’s Urban Renewal program, she moved her inventory to her home in Butte and eventually shared the manuscript of Charles Schafft with MacGilvra and the Historical Society. Then began the detective work and the present publication.

Aside from acknowledging the obvious contributions of Boo MacGilvra and Mrs. Shuey in placing the manuscript in our hands, thanks extend to Rex Myers of the Historical Society Library; Dale Johnson, University of Montana Archivist; Mrs. Norris Nichols of Helena, for Bitter Root Valley resident; Mrs. Bessie Monroe of Hamilton, able historian of the area, and Mrs. L. G. Browman of Missoula, whose searches in Missoula libraries and court records brought forth much documentation to strengthen the words of Charles Schafft.

Charles Schafft wrote an account of his experiences with the original Mullan construction crew (1859 – 1861) which appeared in the pioneer newspaper, The Benton Weekly Record on January 2, 1880. The article is quoted below:

Commencing at Walla Walla, in Washington Territory, and terminating at Fort Benton, in Montana, is located one of the oldest public roads in the Territory. Its construction was commenced and consummated nearly a quarter of a century ago, and although much of it is as yet a public convenience, and was to within a year or two, the only wagon-road connecting at least one county with its neighbors and the outside world, much abuse has been heaped upon the superintendent of its original location, when instead, he should have some credit with honor upon the pages of our history. From time [to] time short, but erroneous articles relating to the “Mullan Road” have appeared in the local papers, intended as “Bits of history,” and many inquiries have been made by private parties in regard to the road and its builder, with no satisfactory answer. As most every early event in our history is of some interest, the writer was induced to prepare an article from personal experience and memory on the subject in hand.

It should be remembered that twenty-five years ago very little was generally known of what was eastern Washington Territory, and of what is now Montana, except and mainly from the official and necessarily brief reports of Lewis & Clarke, and the vague accounts given verbally by unlettered employees of the fur companies. The whole country was looked upon as a primeval wilderness, fit only for the Indian, the trapper, the hunter, and not least of all, the zealous missionary. The section called Montana was then deemed far more remote from civilization than Alaska is now.

Under the administration of Jeff. Davis as Secretary of War, several expeditions were organized [in] 1854-55, to explore the various Territories, make topographical surveys, and report upon the feasibility of constructing railroads. Col. Williamson, of the Engineer Corps, had charge of the central part. Lieut. John G. Parke, also of the Engineers, surveyed and explored the southern portion between San Diego, California, and El Paso, Texas, while Gov. I. I. Stevens, of Washington Territory, was placed in charge of the northern reconnaissances and surveys. Among the officers assigned to duty under the latter, were Lieut. Donelson and Lieut. John Mullan, of the 4th Artillery. Governor Stevens, who was Ex-Officio Superintendent of Federal Affairs for his Territory, was advised by his instructions to make treaties with Indian tribes, and report upon the general resources of the country visited, with the view of inducing the formation of settlements. The country was thoroughly explored, and scarcely any Indian tribe was left without a treaty of some kind. During the winter 1854-55 the expedition cantoned in the Bitter Root Valley, near the present site of Stevensville, and in July the following year a treaty was made with the Flatheads, Pend d‘Oreilles and Kootenays, who confederated as one nation, with the Flathead, Victor, as head Chief. The year terminated the work, and the Governor made a detailed report to the Departments, which was duly printed and published. Among the recommendations made, was the construction of a military wagon-road from the Columbia to the Missouri, which was to serve not only for the cheaper transportation of troops and military supplies to far western posts, but also for the benefit of enterprising emigrants who might select homesteads in some of the beautiful valleys on the line of the road. This recommendation was approved of, and an appropriation for the purpose was made by Congress 1857-58. Lieut. John Mullan, who ranked Lieut. in the army, as an engineer of ability, was selected to open up the road.

The writer hereof, who was in San Francisco in April, 1858, with Frazer river as his objective point, reading one day in the papers the arrival of Lieut. Mullan and a corps of assistants en route to Walla Walla, felt induced to approach the Lieutenant when already on the Oregon steamer, and seek for employment on the expedition. Mullan’s arrival and his departure for Oregon to open up a wagon-road to the Missouri river, created some excitement in San Francisco at the time, and the expedition was looked upon much the same as a trip to the North Pole is looked upon now.

The Dalles, in Oregon, being the last place connected then with steamboat transportation, was selected as the rendezvous, and the expedition started from thence and reached its real point of departure without mishap. Work was then commenced and proceeded with from Walla Walla for a distance of about fifty miles to the mouth of Tricanyon creek, at which point operations were suspended on account of the retreat of Col. Steptoe, who had been up the Palouse on a military reconnaissance, with a force of troops lightly armed and mounted on horses unbroken to stand fire. The Indians were unwilling for the whites to penetrate their country, and had advised Steptoe to return; but upon his insisting to go on, fire was opened by the Reds, more as a defiance and a warning, than to kill. In trying to return fire, some of the recruits were thrown from their horses. A panic was created which resulted in a hasty retreat. Of course the road expedition could not go forward in the face of defeat, nor was it proposed to fight its way through unknown numbers of apparently hostile Indians, and consequently had to await further events.

General Harney, who was then at Vancouver trying to settle the San Juan question, took prompt measures to punish the Indians, and Col. Wright, with all available forces that could be collected, was dispatched against them. The campaign resulted in the utter defeat of the Indians, who had congregated quite an army out of nearly all the tribes between the Rocky mountains and the Columbia, and it also resulted in opening the Walla Walla country, which had heretofore been Indian territory, to settlement.

As the war consumed the whole summer, the road expedition had been disbanded, to be reorganized in the year following, and a small extra appropriation was made by Congress in 1858-59, to cover and make good losses sustained in stock and supplies.

In the spring of 1859 the expedition had its rendezvous again at the Dalles, where Captain Jordan, Post Quartermaster, furnished the necessary supplies and transportation for its escort of fifty men drawn from the 3rd Artillery at Fort Vancouver. Lieut. Mullan hired about one hundred men, who were bound to serve by certain conditions, the ordinary wages paid being $50 per month, and the old army ration. To break his men a little to the labor required, some work was done improving the old emigrant road between the Dalles and Walla Walla, the latter place being reached in June. And now the expedition fully equipped and organized, was really ready to commence operations in earnest. We left Fort Walla Walla in June, 1859, (a few days after the departure of Major Lugenbeel, who had gone with two companies of the 9th Infantry to establish Fort Colville),  and proceeded to the mouth of the Tricanyon, where a rock breastwork called Fort Taylor, had been built during the Indian war. At this point we crossed Snake river, and the conditions of service were once more read to the men, while the settlements were easy of access.

A day of twenty miles travel, early in the hot month of July, took us from Snake river to the left bank of the Palouse, immediately above the picturesque falls; thence the road was located up the Palouse and over to the St. Joe valley. Little hard work had so far been required, except the occasional grading of a side hill or a crossing, but the descent to the St. Joe needed the construction of a heavy grade and some corduroy work. In this beautiful valley (now a reservation for the Coeur d’Alene) we made a time camp. Two ferry boats had to be built, one for the St. Joe and the other to be taken around by the lake to the Coeur D’Alene river. Swampy bottoms had to be corduroyed, and a road had to be cut through the timber over the Coeur D’Alene range, which divides the two valleys. When we reached the Coeur D’Alene river, it was at a point twenty miles below the Mission, and the expedition crossed in the boat built on the St. Joe. To follow up this river required time and work, on account of timber, swamps and grading, and it being already in September continuous rains made it disagreeable for the men. Arriving at the Mission, we had the Bitter Root mountains in our immediate front, and the difficulties to be encountered through them, a distance of 75 miles to the Missoula river, were painted so formidably, even by the missionaries, that winter quarters began to look a long ways off. Had the object of the expedition been solely to construct a road for the accommodation of travel, and had not official instructions prevented, it is probable that Mullan would have diverged here and built the road around Pend d’Oreille Lake, which would have avoided the mountains, but lengthened the distance over eighty miles. There had been a difference of opinion between Stevens and Mullan in regard to the feasibility of railroad construction through the mountains, and the facts in the case were to be determined definitely by a party of engineers taking a line of levels from old Fort Walla Walla as the starting point.

Mud Prairie, eleven miles above the Mission, was fixed upon as a depot camp. This prairie, naturally a swamp, was made more so by the previous heavy rains, and had to be partly bridged to get the wagons to its upper end. An examination of the surrounding hills found them full of springs and impracticable for grading. We were now at the main barrier of the entire road, and it was a serious one. The pass on both sides was obstructed by an almost impenetrable, heavy growth of pine, cedar, tamarack and fir, long since thinned out by frequent fires, occurring almost annually for the past twenty years. The mountains hugged the streams so closely that numerous crossings or time-consuming or laborious grades, were unavoidable. The timber of the line of the road had been set on fire, probably by the Indians, and everything looked smoky, dismal and discouraging; but gloves had to be laid aside now, and working parties provided with eight or ten days’ rations, were pushed ahead to cut out, inch by inch as it were, the timber marked by engineers, who were crawling through the undergrowth, unable to see more than a few feet before them. The road followed the bottom of the canyon, because it would have taken nearly a whole summer’s work to grade the hills, even if that were practicable; as it was it took nearly the whole month of October to open a merely passable way for the wagons from Mud Prairie to the summit, a distance of only twenty-five miles, and the men were working hard from the earliest dawn till dusk. Mullan, who did not hesitate to put his shoulder to the wheel, was ever among them, to instill courage and hurry up the work. A fall or two of snow began to warn us of the approaching winter. While at Mud Prairie a Quartermaster’s train brought out the winter supplies for the military escorts, which necessitated double tripping on part of our teams to the next depot at the foot of the mountain.

Early in November the next depot was established on the east side of the mountains, at what is now called Packer’s Ranche, on the Regis Borgia river. The work down this stream was somewhat lighter, because the timber was more open, but headway was made slowly on account of the numerous crossings. Winter having now set in for good, made it still harder on the men, and the indispensable work cattle began to suffer for want of feed. It had been thought all along, that we could find winter quarters in the valley of the Missoula, but it was impossible to get there, and reluctantly the order was given for the building of a winter camp at the leaving of the Regis Borgia, about thirty miles above its mouth. The camp was called “Cantonment Jordan.”

Mullan, who had his winter supplies shipped to Benton, with the expectation of having easy access to them from the Missoula valley, found himself disappointed, and had to begin making drafts on the Quartermaster for stores. The citizens of the expedition having exhausted and worn out their supplies of clothing and other necessaries, began to suffer for want of shoes and bedding, and anxiously began to look for the arrival of Messrs. Friedman and McClinchy, suttlers to the outfit, who were on the road from Walla Walla with a pack train of one hundred animals loaded with merchandise. The merchants had started for the camp rather late in the season, and with overloaded animals, and after they passed the Coeur D’Alene Mission and began to enter the mountains, their animals gave out and perished for want of feed, or owing to the effects of the cold. Their merchandise had to be abandoned, and was promiscuously scattered all along the road from Mud prairie to the foot of the mountains. Friedman reached the camp with only two or three packs, and a few loose animals. The loss of the train was felt severely by all concerned, and the owners of it were at a clear loss of $10,000. Mullan, it was said, was interested in the loss. Some few of the abandoned goods were got to camp by soldiers, who hauled them over the mountain in hand sleds.

Winter quarters being established, and it being likely that the supplies would run short, some of the men were released from their engagement and allowed to proceed to the valley. The others were kept steady at work.

During the winter a dispatch arrived from Washington that the War Department would send four or five hundred recruits up the Missouri the following spring, for Forts Walla Walla, Colville, etc., and that Mullan was expected to be at Benton in time with his wagons to furnish transportation for those troops. This order necessitated the prosecution of the work more vigorously than ever, and the soldiers who had heretofore performed no labor, were called into requisition, and sent ahead to aid in road building. It was necessary to have the way open for travel as far as Hell Gate Ronde, with the earliest spring, and most of the grades up the Missoula river were dug out of the deep snows of mid winter. Most of the work animals perished. And a new supply had to be sent for to Camp Floyd, in Utah. There was not much enjoyment in this winter camp. As early as possible in the spring of 1860, the expedition moved over the laboriously made road to Hell Gate; thence as rapidly as the wagons could be got over obstacles up the Hell Gate canyon to Deer Lodge, and thence over a comparatively open country to Fort Benton, and arrived there in due time to furnish the desired transportation to Major Blake and the recruits. On the return to Walla Walla some important work was done by the soldiers, and the road had been opened and the wagons had rolled over it both ways; but it was like all new roads, a hard one to travel.

Upon recommendations made by Major Blake, who was authorized to inspect and report upon the work done, and who reported very favorably, Mullan was sent again into the field early in 1861 with a new expedition, to do more necessary work and improvements. This expedition had with it only about fifty hired laborers, and an escort of one hundred men from the 9th Infantry. The road this time crossed Snake river at the mouth of the Palouse, and thence followed the Colville road twenty miles to Cow creek, and thence over an open prairie to Antoine Plants, on the Spokane river; thence up the Spokane, around Coeur d’Alene Lake to the Mission, abandoning entirely the road made the previous year from Snake river via the Palouse and St. Joe valleys. There was no difference in distance on the new route taken, but it was entirely a prairie road, with the exception of thirty-five miles between the Lake and the Mission, where considerable work had to be done over spurs of mountains. The main part of the labor to be performed lay in the Bitter Root mountains, and between the Missoula river and Deer Lodge, (the only portion of country where the Mullan road is yet distinctly marked, and where it will always be known by its proper name.) A careful examination of the pass revealed the fact that either a continuous grade would have to be made for a distance of nearly fifty miles, or that the road would have to remain along the bottoms of the canyons. Grading was found impracticable for the want of means and time, therefore the old road had to be retained. Much work was required and done to clear it of fallen timber, and to level standing stumps with its bed. The many crossings of the stream was a serious draw-back, and Mullan tried the experiment of bridging. Timber being plenty, rough bridges were easily and quickly constructed, but in most instances, the embankments were very low, and it was not expected that the bridges would withstand any high freshet, as at most they were only intended for temporary structures. Leaving the mountains proper, many repairs and improvements were made along the Missoula river, and to save crossing it, and the establishment of ferries, it was decided to retain the road made before. The Hell Gate canyon, where but little work had been done the previous year, had yet to be attended to, and winter quarters were built on the left bank of the Big Blackfoot, near its mouth.

The camp was called “Cantonment Wright.” Most of the soldiers were distributed in small parties along the canyon, and the grades on the Hell Gate were broken from the ground during the winter 1861-1862, one of the severest known in the history of this country, and the work went along very slowly. A fine bridge, covered with whip-sawed lumber, was thrown over the Big Blackfoot, but being severely damaged by the unusually high freshet of 1862, it was soon after replaced by a private toll bridge. Late in December two horse thieves (Butler and Williams), were followed and arrested in Deer Lodge Valley, by authority of Lieut. Mullan. They received no jury trial, but were both fastened together by the legs, and rendered efficient service in digging out rocks for the filling of the piers of the Blackfoot bridge. In the spring they were set at liberty with some good advice for their future guidance.

In January, 1862, a citizen connected with the suttler store, while en route to Deer Lodge, had his feet frozen, and medical assistance being unable to reach him in proper time, the amputation of both legs became a necessity.

Near the ending of May, 1862, Mullan, (who had just been promoted to a Captaincy), having fulfilled his instructions, disbanded the expedition; many of the citizens going East via Benton, and the soldiers returning West. Captain Mullan, on account of private affairs, found it necessary to resign his commission in the army.

It was customary while constructing the road to set up posts or brand trees, at convenient points, with the letters “M. R.,” (military road), and the number of miles from each terminus. Those brands were intended as guides and also to keep off trespassers. Notwithstanding some of the best portions of the road were “taken up,” and toll was collected, while the most sections requiring much labor for improvement were severely left alone for free public use. So outrageous became the trespassers at last, that the Legislature of Montana found it necessary to enact a law declaring the Mullan road to be a “free public highway.”

That the portion of road between Walla Walla and Deer Lodge, (upon which much money and time had been expended), fell into disuse, was the result of various apparent causes. Owing to the Eastern war no troops or military supplies were sent over it; the discovery of gold in Montana and Idaho diverted emigration from it, and in western Montana there were no markets to tempt freighters to try it. Mullan expected the road would be used, and by uses improved. In many of the swamps, and where grass was scarce near camping places in the mountains, he had caused grass seed to be scattered to provide good feed in the future, and fine timothy patches can now be found as the result. It was one of his projects to have a mail route established between St. Paul, via Benton and Portland, Oregon, with a branch coming in from Leavenworth and connecting in the Missoula valley. It being claimed that by this route Oregon would receive its mails quicker than by the old routes. A part of the road he built will probably long remain in public use, notwithstanding the fault-finders who never saw the principal part of the work, and whole imagination can’t picture the hardships endured by those who toiled upon it. General Sherman, who traveled over it, did not condemn it, nor did he advocate the building of a new one, but he found the old location good and important enough to cause it to be reopened, if only as a military necessity. It is not reported that the troops who worked on it last summer had more efficient engineers than Mullan, but they had to obey orders likewise, and could not deviate from the assigned track, which is yet and long will be a subject for much improvement.

Mullan was one of the pioneers of this country. His name became permanent by a public work of peculiar difficulties, and those that are acquainted with the circumstances well know that he rather lost than made a fortune during the time he was employed upon it. There certainly is some credit due him.

C.S.

The First White Women of Montana

Charles Schafft wrote about meeting two women in 1859 who were possibly the first nonindigenous women in Montana. The topic is still not settled even today, but he definitely encountered two women who qualified as candidates for that honor. He met them at Antoine Plant’s settlement on the Spokane River, while on his way from Deborgia, Montana (Cantonment Jordan) to Walla Walla, Washington.

“It was while rambling around this country that I met the first white women that came through this Territory, Mrs. Miller and Mrs. Tom Brown (a sketch of which written by me for the Benton Record in 1880 over the signature of X, and a correct copy of which will be found in the History of Montana.”

Schafft’s 1880 article from the Benton Record is quoted below:

The First White Women of Montana [1859]

On a cold evening, in the month of December, of the year 1859, I, a solitary and tired traveler, arrived at the house of Antoine Plant, on the Spokane river, in Washington Territory, and begged the proprietor of the half-breed establishment for a much needed night’s accommodation. The lord of the mansion was a sour-looking breed from the Red river settlements of the North, and I just happened to strike him in one of the moods when it is impossible for those people to comprehend the English language. I could not elicit the slightest intimation from him to make myself at home. In fact he would not speak at all, but stoically sat there, drawing tobacco smoke from his calumet. Finally, he gave a sort of angry growl, pointed to the door with his dirty index finger, and indicated an easterly direction with his head.

I knew that to the East of the ranch was situated the house of “Spokane Garry,” at present a chief of the tribe, but in those days looked upon as an unmitigated scoundrel. However, there was no alternative for me except to camp out in the dark or seek the hospitality of a full-blooded and suspicious Indian.

It was only a short mile from one house to the other, and I made the journey in a few minutes. A knock at the door was responded to by its being opened, but instead of meeting the swarthy visage of Garry, I was partially stunned by being confronted with the pleasing countenance of a young white woman, who no sooner perceiving that I was a pale-face traveler, cordially invited me inside and calling her husband from an adjoining room, my immediate wants were soon supplied and I was requested to remain for a week, or longer, if I choose.

This family, whom I found here in the wilderness, consisting only of the man and his wife, (but of course accompanied by several servitors,) were named Miller. Their conversation showed that they had enjoyed the advantages of good education and society, and on the two days I remained with them I learned that they were Mormons, and had made a journey in the preceding summer from Salt Lake via Deer Lodge valley, and Missoula to Walla Walla, to visit some relatives, and that now they were upon the home trip; but dreading to cross the Bitter Root mountains so late in the season, more on account of their animals than themselves, fearing that not sufficient pasturage would be found on a route that had been occupied by a large military expedition all summer, – they had come to the conclusion to spend the winter on the Spokane. Garry had cheerfully agreed to rent them his substantially built log house for a mere nominal consideration, and they had fixed up things as comfortably as circumstances would permit. Mrs. Miller was a very young woman, a mere girl, and to my eyes she appeared as the handsomest creature I had ever met. This Mormon lady has been credited once or twice, in local prints, as being the first white woman who traveled over the soil of Montana; but she was not the first one. The first one turned out to be the second one I met in this winter’s travels, as will be hereafter shown.

Private affairs did not allow me to tarry long with the Millers, and one bright morning I bid them a reluctant adieu to prosecute my lonely journey. By urging my steed I succeeded in reaching Fool’s Prairie for the next camp. The sovereign of this part of the country, who appeared to be “lord of all he surveyed,” was an octogenarian Canadian, named Francois. He was full of genuine hospitality, and under his direction his juvenile [Indian wife] of thirteen, soon had both myself and horse provided with all we needed. On the following day it was my intention to reach the American garrison at Fort Colville, but when upon the point of departing, Francois said in his broken English, “Your cheval is much ‘cave in’; you go to a leetle riviere, (the Little Pen d’Orille) and you shall see some maison where you mange, and your cheval eat too, you know!” I determined to follow his advice, but the road was heavy on account of snow, and I made but slow progress, and it was nearly sun down when I reached a cluster of houses. They were occupied by a party of white men employed by the “Boundary Commission,” and who were in charge of the Government animals belonging to the “Survey.” An application for oats was refused. The article was scarce, and they had special instructions not to furnish forage to any one except upon order of Lieutenant Parke. The packmaster in charge of the outfit, said that he would accommodate me with lodging and grub, but “I’ll be d- -d,” he said, “if I’ll feed your horse.” I felt disappointed, for just then I cared more for the animal than myself. My face probably portrayed my feelings, when a good-looking, fair-haired man, with blue eyes, and dressed in a Hudson Bay coat, stepped up and said:

“Stranger, I feel for you; you go to my house and you will find accommodations for both yourself and animal; tell them I sent you and they will be glad to see you there.”

“Where in the h–l is your place?” I inquired rather angrily.

“Oh, just follow up the creek for a mile,” he replied, “and after you cross the bridge, take the first house to the right.”

I went, and finding the bridge, lead my horse across it, into what appeared to be quite a settlement. A white woman approached, and without any preliminary ceremony, ordered a young half-breed girl to put my horse in the stable, and invited me in the house. Astonished at meeting this other white woman, I tried to stammer forth an apology. “Probably I am mistaken,” said I, in regard to the place I wanted to go.

“Oh, no,” she answered, “indeed you ain’t, this is the place. Did you see anything of my old man?”

“I asked her what kind of a man is he?”

“Why he is a half-breed,” she exclaimed, “You must have met him, for no one else would have sent you here.”

“The man who sent me here,” said I, “was no half-breed; he was a blue-eyed fellow with light hair.”

“That’s him,” she cried, “that’s my old man, and he is a half-breed sure enough, of course he is.”

I could dispute no further, but while eating a nicely-prepared supper, the lady of the house made the following explanation:

“You deem it strange,” she remarked, “to find me way out here, and married to a breed, but for my part I feel contented and happy. I was a young lassie in Scotland, when a Lord, taking his lady out to the Selkirk settlements, wished to engage a girl to go out with them as servant, maid. I was the only one in the place bold enough to go. We went to Red river; it was a very lonesome place, as we had to stay inside of the stockade most of the time, but I found means to get acquainted with my old man, Tom Brown, and many were the stolen meetings we held in the dark hours of the night. He wanted to marry me, but the lady was opposed to the match, and it was not till after she was dead, that I felt independent to do as I pleased, and we were married. I accompanied him here to Colville, and those two girls are my daughters.”

The girls referred to showed Indian blood very plainly, although no one would have suspected a drop in the veins of either of the parents.

The family emigrated from Red river in 1857, to go to the Colville settlement, and their road took them through the Northwestern part of what is now called Montana, and I believe they spent one winter at the Hudson Bay Post on the Pruin river of the Jocko reservation. Mrs. Tom Brown was undoubtedly the first white woman who passed over any portion of this Territory. She is yet living in Colville valley, and I learned not long since that her oldest daughter Mary was married to a half-breed.

Another white woman I became acquainted with during the season, was a Mrs. Mary Lowry. Herself and husband attached themselves to the Mullan expedition as cook and servant for the engineers. She spent a portion of the winter of 1859-60 in the cantonment of Regis Borgia river in Missoula county. Afterwards she became well known in Western Montana. Having parted with her husband at Florence, in Idaho, she associated herself with a noted character named Matt Craft, and returned to this Territory in 1863. In December of 1865, Matt Craft, having made himself obnoxious by desperate bearing, was assassinated in the town of Missoula by a man named Thomas Hagerty. After this Mary, who was rated a good cook and house-keeper, lived in widowhood until 1867, when she was lawfully married to a Mr. Collins; but finally becoming separated from him through incompatibility of temper, she drifted to California, where she is living now. She was born in Scotland, and is now probably fifty years of age.

Missoula county has within its limits perhaps the only white women who first came to this Territory for permanent residence. I did not become acquainted with them until several years after their arrival, and cannot just now remember the exact time when they did come, but they must have come to Montana previous to 1860, and have lived here ever since. The parties referred to are Mrs. Pelletier, afterwards known as Mrs. La France, and her daughter Josephine, known in the early days as Mrs. Meininger, she having become widowed in crossing the plains by the accidental drowning of her husband.  Mrs. P. is now a very old woman; she must be past eighty, but she is yet active and proud of being able to do considerable work. Her daughter, at present known as Mrs. Dukes, is highly respected, and lives in comfortable circumstances in Missoula valley. The last named two ladies are of French descent, and were born in Missouri.

X. X.

The above article appeared in the Fort Benton Record on 2/6/1880.

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Charles Schafft wrote in his autobiography that he was author of the above article. He was employed by The Benton Weekly Record newspaper for a short period during this time. Some of his articles were signed Charles Schafft, some were initialed C. S., and some were unattributed.

First Official Arrest In Montana 1861

Charles Schafft exhibited some of Forrest Gump’s qualities as he witnessed several of Montana history’s dramatic episodes. One example of this occurred when he was involved in the first official arrest in Montana Territory. At the time he was camped at the Wright Cantonment, located near the junction of the Big Blackfoot and Clark Fork Rivers. Lieutenant Mullan instructed him and two others to apprehend two horse thieves and bring them to justice. He wrote about it in The Benton Weekly Record in 1880. His tale elicited the names of some of his contemporaries who are famous Montana pioneers, including Johnny Grant, Granville and James Stuart, Fred Burr and Robert Dempsey. The article is quoted below:

The First Arrest in Montana

The first arrest within the limits of this Territory, made under shadow of legal authority, seems to have been made in December, 1861. The subject was slightly alluded to in the New Year’s number of the Benton Record under the head of “Reminiscences of the Mullan Expedition.”  Upon invitation the writer of that article sends in the following particulars:

In the winter of 1861-62 I was a clerk in the store of Wm. J. Terry, sutler to the celebrated “War Expedition” then cantoning near the mouth of the Big Blackfoot river in Missoula county. One day, about the middle of December, I was called upon by two strangers who stated that they had just arrived from Colville and were en route to Salt Lake City. They gave their names as Butler and Williams, and requested two or three days’ accommodation with board and lodging. As they threw some money in sight, I readily agreed to let them have a share in the use of the frying-pan and a lay out upon the floor. In the course of time their purses became exhausted and I had a stationery whisky bill against them amounting to fourteen dollars and twenty-five cents. Said Williams to me one night: “You are a pretty good fellow and we don’t want to bilk you. We have got two horses and need but one to pack our bedding. It is a hard matter to take care of animals with the prevailing depth of snow. We will make you a present of one of them if you will call the bill square.” I readily agreed to the proposition and a cayuse was duly transferred to me and branded with the mark of the firm I represented. On the following morning my two travelers were missing as also were my horse and several other things.

Investigation revealed the fact that the strangers were two horse thieves and had departed for Deer Lodge. There was no Sheriff on hand to send in quest of the fellows, because Western Montana in those days was as yet but an unorganized portion of Washington Territory. I applied to Lieut. Mullan for relief and that gentleman authorized me to go after the offenders, arrest them and bring them to him for punishment. Three of us – Louis Grandmaison, (since killed) William Rowland, (since hung) and myself (destiny not yet accomplished) started out to make the arrest. We left the Big Blackfoot at the hour of midnight and preceding December 21st, 1861, and our departure was thus made within the shadows of night to assure success to the enterprise. We deemed it necessary to overtake and get ahead of a party of traders (Wm. Kiplinger and C. F. Eaton) that had started out the previous day on a “whoop up” trip to supply the early settlers of Deer Lodge valley with some “encouragement” for the approaching holidays. It wouldn’t do to allow rumor to get ahead of our intentions. The young dawn of December 22nd revealed the presence of the traders at the foot of the “Big Grade,” on the banks of Hell Gate, and we slid down to their camp for breakfast. Of course they “opened out,” and we agreed to travel in company. It was a very cold day, this 22nd one of December, and we stopped frequently to “warm up.” After we had crossed the “Medicine Hill” the wind commenced blowing furiously and Bill Rowland and myself concluded to light ahead and if possible reach Dempsey’s on Flint creek for the night. It being deemed impossible for the whole crowd to advance that far we took our pack horse along with us. (At that point it may be necessary to state that the sketch would not be drawn out to its length were it not for the fact that most of the characters concerned are old residents of Montana, and that the sketch may be credited with some interest on account of “old times.”)

Bill Rowland was a desperate fellow who had gained notoriety on the overland route. Whisky and the cold air worked upon his temper, and when in Flint creek hills the pack became loosened on the lead horse, he dismounted and, drawing a Bowie knife, ripped open the horses’ belly. The poor animal staggered and fell down dead, and we hurried on, leaving the traps to be taken care of by the fellow behind. It was almost a ride for life that night. It was intensely cold, and when finally, by mere accident, we reached the shelter of Dempsey’s hay-stacks our horse dropped from exhaustion.

On December 23rd we reached the residence of Johnny Grant, on the Little Blackfoot, and having stated our business to him he readily replaced our caved-in animals with two fresh ones. One of the horse thieves (Butler) was found and arrested here and placed in charge of Grandmaison who had caught up. The other fellow, Williams, was said to be encamped with Bill Hambleton, on Cottonwood creek, and we were also informed that it would be no easy matter to take him because there were several desperadoes residing in that neighborhood. A Spaniard named Manucle (sic) volunteered to accompany us, and we arrived at “Wild Cat Bill’s” lodge about 10 p.m. Bill having been made acquainted with our errand, said “of course, take that fellow inside. The d – d scoundrel sold me one of those stolen horses for a winter’s grub and accommodation.”

The night of the 24th to the 25th we encamped at Johnny Grant’s with the two prisoners in custody. I was on watch at midnight when the door suddenly opened and Bill Hambleton appeared with a Bowie knife in one hand and a revolver in the other. He said: “I shan’t allow none of Mullan’s d—d men to take any white men out of Deer Lodge valley without the parties choose to go voluntarily.” It was all he said, for an evident necessity for rest just about that time caused him to slide down on the floor where we left him sleeping next morning. We took our Christmas dinner and supper on Gold creek with the Stuart boys, Fred Burr and other old-timers. They wished us to remain for the night, and some of them advised the hanging of the prisoners to leave us at liberty for a good time.

To cut a long story short, we succeeded in bringing the prisoners into the presence of Lieut. Mullan, who, having elicited an acknowledgment of their guilt, sentenced them to the care of Lieut. Marsh. They were chained together and did considerable hard work during that winter. In the spring of 1862 they were released and went to Idaho.

I believe this was the first arrest ever made within this Territory. A. A.

The above article appeared in The Benton Weekly Record on February 13, 1880.

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Justice of Peace – Missoula County

Charles Schafft was appointed the first Justice of the Peace in Missoula County in 1865. Without any formal training in the law he attempted to fulfil his duties using his wits and guile. Not always successfully. He wrote about it in The Benton Weekly Record, quoted below:

Administering Justice Under Difficulties.

Strange as it may seem, but I was once a justice of the peace. In my younger days I was wont to imagine that I was destined to become a great man, and living on the far Western frontier, in a country that was just beginning to sprout, I had every chance of growing up with it. The few scattered settlements were but sparsely populated, and the person who could merely read and write a common letter in those days, was looked up as quite a scholar. It was probably owing to the fact of my possessing a limited amount of picked up education that I was selected and recommended for the position of justice of the peace for our part of the country. A commission duly signed by the first Governor, arrived one day and authorized me to act in the capacity of judge. It was a great honor, but I really felt a little uncomfortable to assume the responsibilities of the position. The title of “Squire,” which was immediately adopted for my designation, seemed too old and heavy for my young shoulders, and I had never read a law-book or been present at any kind of civil trial in my life. The freshly-hatched laws of the young Territory had not been published for general circulation, and no legal forms were accessible. Deeming myself under the circumstances wholly unqualified, I dreaded the coming of a possibility to be forced into business.

One morning, when I had already placed the elephantine commission in an envelope and was awaiting a chance to transmit it back to the Governor, I was called upon by the appointed Sheriff, who desired to be sworn in immediately to enable him to commence operations. I tried every argument in my power to be excused, but they were of no avail. The would-be Sheriff was accompanied by two old [black men] that had once been sued in the States for an unpaid bar-bill. They apparently knew everything concerning the laws of any country, and forced me into the belief that it was my bounden (sic) duty to serve in a judicial capacity; that in fact the keeping of the commission for so long a time, was a tacit acceptance of the affair.

The trouble was, I had not been sworn in myself, and there was no authorized person within two hundred miles that could legally act in the premises. In our dilemma we applied to an old Indian agent, and having explained the difficulty, he agreed at once to swear as to anything and in any shape we pleased, and he would certify on honor that everything was correct.

In this irregular way I was qualified, and proceeded at once to administer the oath of office to the Sheriff expectant, who, however, no sooner felt himself invested with power, commanded me to hold court at an early day in the only town of the county, and which was quite a distance from my dwelling place. I innocently asked permission to hold court at my residence, but was shut off at once with the intimation that “a fellow couldn’t get anything to drink there for a crowd,” I was furthermore ordered to make out a summons for a party who was getting away from his creditors, and already en route for the British possessions. This document I worded as politely as possible, and the officer started off on a hundred mile trip to serve it. After a few days he returned with a very large flea in his ear. He brought a letter in answer to the summons in which the party very pleasantly hinted that having business elsewhere, he was very sorry to decline the invitation to appear before me. He had also temptingly shown the Sheriff a purse of gold dust, with the remark that he could not spare any money just now for the liquidation of debts, because he needed it for other purposes.

“Never mind,” said the Sheriff, “that fellow has got a partner who owns a train. He is about to leave the country, and I want you to give me a writ of attachment for his person and property.”

Here it struck me for the first time that in a law suit it was necessary to have a regular plaintiff. As yet no such person had appeared, and I deemed it my duty to request the Sheriff to find out and arrest the plaintiff in this matter, and bring him forthwith before me.

“That’s business,” he said, “50 cents a mile, even if greenbacks are down to 40.”

The complainant was duly found, arrested and brought before me. I asked him what all this fuss was about.

“Here is the complaint,” he said; “I am merely acting as agent,” and he laid down a joint promissory note for $500 calling for interest at the rate of ten per cent per month.

“Do you solemnly swear,” said I, “that the proceeding will be all right, if we go on with the matter?”

He said “yes,” and I wrote out an original warrant for the arrest of that other fellow and his train. The trial to take place the following day in the Capital of the county.

I did not know the jurisdiction of a justice of the peace, but in my desperation was ready to render judgement in any case, even if there had been millions in it. A sleepless night was spent by both the Sheriff and myself. He having first arrested the defendant and corralled the teams and wagons, summoned every man, woman and child in the community to be present at the forthcoming trial.

I was on hand very early, and the Sheriff meeting me, said that he had fixed things comfortably in an adjoining farm house, and that court would open at nine o’clock. It cost me about eight times twenty-five cents to keep down nervousness; but at the appointed time I was able to sit down quite steadily on an unsteady three-legged stool in the temporized halls of justice. Wishing to avoid as much responsibility as possible, I requested the Sheriff to fix up a jury and let them determine the merits of the case. The jurymen were found and empaneled, and having been fixed comfortably with a bottle and tumblers, they went to discussing the progress of the Eastern rebellion, and the trial was opened by two mountaineers who had allowed themselves to be appointed as attorneys for the fun of the thing.

The defendant being kept in close custody, plead guilty to signing the note, but said he had merely affixed his name for accommodation, and that really the other fellow, who had sloped for the British possessions should be made to pay it. He was strongly defended and equally well condemned by the opposite attorneys, and as the heat of the excitement caused the bottle to be passed around rather frequently, I deemed it my duty to call the attention of the jury to the fact that the trial was about concluded, and said:

“Gentlemen, you seem to be sufficiently charged already, I therefore dispense with any further charges, and you will please retire to the smoke-house and arrive at a satisfactory conclusion to settle the matter.”

The balance of the day was spent quite pleasantly by all except the jury, who were rather clamorous at times to get out, but not having reached any conclusion, I ordered them to be kept close till near the supper hour, at which time they were brought into court; but instead of bringing with them a verdict, they desired to know what all the fuss was about, and said it was a long time between drinks. Fortunately, at this stage, the parties most concerned, having held a private meeting, came forward and said that they had arranged matters satisfactorily between themselves, and desired the case dismissed. The Sheriff collected the costs, and I was glad to be able to adjourn court without the manifestation of ill feeling on the part of any one.

This ended my first experience as an officer. Several other cases conducted on the same principles improved my knowledge somewhat, but the performance of marriage ceremony and a closely following murder case, determined me to resign and enjoy the experience of the offices, as a disinterested spectator. However, I did not grow up with the country.

J. P.

The above article appeared in The Benton Weekly Record on February 6, 1880.

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1865 -Missoula County’s 1st Officers,1st election, 1st tax collection

Charles Schafft provided a short glimpse of the beginning of civilized life in Missoula County in the following article which was printed in The Weekly Missoulian in 1884:
Reminiscence
For the Missoulian
The first election held in this county under the laws of Montana had its peculiarities; and the efforts at organization before the election were rather exceptional.
In February 1865, while the legislature at Bannack was yet in session, Gov. Sidney Edgerton appointed also for Missoula county a full set of officers. No immediate organization, however, was effected. The recipients of the unsolicited commissions felt highly flattered, but they lived far apart, and the want of legal knowledge and a leader caused a hesitancy to act, which the honor of the occasion could not overcome; besides, there was not an officer authorized to administer an oath within a hundred miles of the Missoulians.
The person who received the appointment of County Clerk and Justice of the Peace [Charles Schafft], resided at the Agency, at which place he was one day called upon by A. J. Campbell, who was commissioned sheriff, and one J. P. Shockley (suicided at Hell Gate in February 1866). The latter desired the issue of a summons to try for the recovery of a small debt; and the former demanded to be immediately qualified to act legally as sheriff, and called upon the embryo justice to administer the oath of office. However, the J. P. was unable to act for the same reason as the sheriff, and in this emergency the U. S. Indian agent (Charles Hutchins) was requested to swear in the county clerk and justice of the peace. He reluctantly did so, but stated at the time that although he was a U. S. officer he had no legal authority to administer a civil oath, and that the parties concerned had better write to the Governor and obtain his approval to the consummated act.
The oath was then swallowed by the sheriff and law had taken a slight root. The Probate Judge, Geo. P. White (died in 1871), was qualified in the same manner, and these three were the only ones who professed to be officers under the laws of Montana in Missoula County. Governor Edgerton approved of the swearing in process, with the remark that, although the matter was irregular, he saw no other way of fixing things without great inconvenience to the parties concerned.
Under these appointments nothing very remarkable occurred except that in one instance the Justice was called upon to issue a summons and writ of attachment against one Warren for the recovery of $500, due on a promissory note, bearing interest at the rate of 5 percent per month. The sheriff overtook his man near Flathead lake and with no other property then the horse under him. The reading of the summons was replied to by a brief note to the justice, which stated in very polite terms that the party was very sorry to be unable to obey the summons, as he had more important business on the other side of the line [Canada]; then showing a large bag of gold dust, he bid the exasperated sheriff a cheerful goodbye. The absconder, however, had a partner, one C. F. Eaton, who was camped near the Rattlesnake with an outfit of teams, and these were attached. The J. P. was then summoned to hold court at Hell Gate on a certain day and try the suit. The amount involved was of course beyond the limits of such a court, but no one knew any better, and had millions been concerned, the case would have been handled. It was a memorable jury trial, which lasted all day, between drinks, and the jurymen had to be so frequently moistened while in their retirement that they were dismissed without agreement. A new venire was issued, but the case was happily settled by mutual agreement the following morning. This was the only legal affair of any consequence before the first election, which was to come off in the fall of 1865. As the time approached the county clerk found himself in a dilemma. There were no commissioners to establish the precincts and appoint judges. In this emergency a consultation was had with several citizens of Hell Gate, the consequence of which was that the clerk acted upon his own responsibility by establishing Willow Creek, Hell Gate, and Jocko precincts and appointing judges of election for the same. A list of officers to be elected was also published, but the county seat was unwittingly skipped.
The election came off at the appointed time. How it was conducted in the other two precincts the writer did not know, but on the Jocko the whole affair was managed by the Indian agent. There was, at this time, considerable travel to and from the Kootenai mines, and a team with men and whisky was stationed at each of the two points on the main road whence diverged the road to the agency. It was their business to bring in every one whom they could induce, by spiritual inducement or otherwise, to vote. No Indian or Half-breed was admitted to the polls, but nevertheless Jocko precinct gave a very large return (such as it was) for that time.
The returns were duly canvassed at Hell Gate by a committee of citizens (there being, as stated before, no county commissioners). An abstract was then made by the clerk which was also attested by citizens, and sent to the Governor by private messenger (the Indian agent). The clerk and justice elect then took the oath of office before the old probate judge and qualified all the other officers, except the treasurer who was absent – and law was now permanently, though feebly, established. Some singular cases occurred that fall before some of the justices’ courts, one of whom went so far as to sentence a man “banished out of the county,” but progress was slow on account of the absence of published laws. The proceedings and acts of the Legislature had been printed in the Montana Post and a few clippings had been saved. The Governor had written down that for want of copies of Montana laws, the officials might either use the Idaho or Washington Territory statutes, and this gave rise to slight conflicts. There were no taxes levied or licenses demanded in this early beginning, except in one instance. A Jewish peddler was disposing of a remnant of goods in the neighborhood of the town late in the fall of 1865, when the new sheriff took it into his head to “go for him” and he did. Commanding the itinerant merchant to show a permit, which the Jew did not have, he prepared to attach the team, and a parley took place, after which the unfortunate peddler was glad to be let off with a payment of $20. This was the first license collected in Missoula county, and the money lay loose, around the barber shop, in which the county seat was kept, for a long time, because it was against the law for any one, except the treasurer, to keep pubic funds in custody, and the treasurer had not qualified.
The first election here was Republican so far as the majority for delegate to Congress was concerned, and when in 1866 acting Governor T. F. Meagher convened his extraordinary “bogus Legislature” he recommended by special message to that body that the election returns of Missoula and Beaverhead counties be thrown out “because they showed fraud on the face of them;” which recommendation was however, not acted upon, and the county organization grew stronger as time went by, until it reached its present perfection.
C. S.
The above article appeared in The Weekly Missoulian on November 7, 1884

Grave Digging For Road Agents At Hell Gate

The following Charles Schafft article was printed in 1880:

My Experience as a Resurrectionist

It was not the expected stipend from a medical student, or a reward to be offered by some sorrowing relative for a missing corpse, that caused me to become a desecrator of the grave.

A phrenological society in New York had repeatedly applied to me to furnish them, if possible, with the head or rather skull, of one of the notorious road agents that had been hung by the “Vigilantes of Montana,” at Hell Gate during the winter of 1863-64, and I finally concluded to furnish them the article they so much desired, if it was within the scope of my power to do so. To aid me in carrying out my resolution, I called upon a noted desperado, Matt Craft, a Pennsylvanian, who kept a saloon at the time in Hell Gate, and who was assassinated by Thomas Hagerty in Missoula, December 1865. He was a particular friend to me and I knew that I could command his services for any occasion that required to be covered with the mantle of darkness.

Having stated my wishes to him, he readily agreed to aid me in carrying them into effect, and appointed the midnight hour succeeding the dreary November day of 1865 for the execution of the purpose.

The bodies of the road agents that were hung at Hell Gate had been buried without much ceremony in the immediate vicinity of the village and it was only a short walk from the saloon of my friend to the resting place of the dead malefactors.

At the appointed hour, when no longer any lights were visible, I was on hand, and arming ourselves with the necessary implements required for the undertaking, we started out to obtain the “subject.” It was a very dark night, and the moaning Autumn wind was favorable to our prospect in drowning any noise that might occur in the prosecution of the work on hand. We arrived at the “diggings” without mishap, and Matt, who was tolerably well acquainted with the ground, started out on his hands and knees to prospect for a grave. He left me standing, leaning upon the spade, and my chief protection against the chill night air was the gunny sack, in which I expected to bring away my prize.

The beating of my heart registered twenty minutes before Matt called, “Here is one of them, come along with your spade and let’s dig him up.” With alacrity I responded to his call, but when I arrived at the spot he seemed perplexed and said: “It is a mistake. These stakes indicate the graves of Cooper and Skinner, they were buried in coffins, and we may have some trouble in getting at their heads. Just sit down a minute while I prospect for some other fellow that was buried with his boots on.” After a little while he discovered another stake, and having obeyed the call to his side, I soon found him diligently employed taking off the cover of earth that sheltered the corpse mouldering underneath. In a few minutes Matt had dug himself out of sight. “I’ve got him,” sounded his voice coming up from the sepulchre, “but his head isn’t loose yet.” “Twist it off,” said I, “and throw it up, for I am getting cold.” I heard a snap and immediately afterwards caught in my arms a slimy-feeling thing, which, with a short shudder, I consigned to the sack.

The grave was filled up again and hurriedly smoothed over to (illegible) lit a lamp. I was anxious to see my “head” and having rolled it out upon the floor and shed a flood of light upon it, I at once discovered that the hair adorning it was rather long, and that prominent bumps indicating “white intelligence,”  were entirely missing.

My “head” turned out to be that of an Indian (a son of the present Pend Oreille Chief Michelle) who was hung by the citizens of Missoula County in the spring of 1864, for the murder of a white man named Ward.

It was consigned back to its body at an expense of $2.50 on the following morning, and this ended my experience as a resurrectionist. – Y

The above article appeared in The Benton Weekly Record on February 20, 1880.

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Clearly, Charles Schafft wrote this article, as no other local writer could fit the profile he has sketched here, much less put it in writing for a newspaper. He produced many other articles for The Benton Weekly Record during this period. Schafft was present at the assassination of his friend, Matt Craft, that occurred in Missoula not long after this grave digging episode (see story in the next segment).

Schafft was not just fulfilling a medical request for a skull when exhuming the skeleton. The “phrenological society” back east had expressed their interest in the Hell Gate skull – specifically one from a member of the Plummer road agent gang if possible. Think of notorious Clubfoot George and the robber’s clubfoot on display in a glass case in a Virginia City Museum. The site of the Road Agent graves in Hell Gate is not known today. Allegedly the hanging of 4 men who were members of Henry Plummer’s gang occurred on the scaffolding at C. P. Higgins corral at Hell Gate. The men hanged there were Alec (Alex) Carter, Johnny Cooper, Bob Zachary, and Cyrus Skinner. A fifth man was hanged nearby at the Van Dorn ranch. The legitimacy of these hangings was rarely questioned by Montana citizens, until recent times.

Several years following Alec Carter’s death a friend of his wrote about him in an historical article published in a Washington Journal. Earlier the friend came to Missoula and tried unsuccessfully to locate Carter’s grave. (See account below)

A. L. Stone, the renowned Missoula journalist, mentioned the Indian hanging at Hell Gate in an article he wrote which addressed the many violent deaths that occurred there (Missoulian 10/29/1911). While much has been written regarding the Vigilante hangings at Hell Gate, very little was ever recorded in regard to the execution of Pend d’Oreille Chief Michelle’s son by Hell Gate citizens.

An article in the Missoulian on March 13, 1924, written by local historian Frank Woody, said the following about it:

In April, 1864, the citizens of Hell’s Gate suppressed in a summary way what threatened to be a serious Indian outbreak. In the fall of 1863, a young Pend d’Oreille Indian killed a man named Ward in the Hell’s Gate canyon, near the place where Baker’s station [Clinton] is now located. In the spring of 1864, this same Indian having been joined by a number of young bucks bid defiance to, and threatened the lives of several of the white settlers and even fired at a Frenchman. The citizens sent a courier to Deer Lodge and Alder gulch for assistance. John Powell and one or two others came from Deer Lodge and a few men from Alder gulch, but before the latter arrived, the Indians became alarmed, delivered up the guilty Indian when the citizens very deliberately hung him upon the same pole upon which the road agents were hung a few months before and this ended the trouble. This was the kind of peace policy believed in by our early settlers.

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Alex Carter

One of Hell Gate’s earliest casualties was the alleged road agent Alex (Alec) Carter who was hanged by Vigilantes in January of 1864. – following a short ‘trial’. He was one of five men who were found in or near Hell Gate and executed during the same period. An intriguing reference to Alex Carter appeared in an article by James W. Watt, published in The Washington Historical Quarterly in January 1929. Watt’s extensive article examines his experiences as a packer in the Northwest during the time of the rich gold discoveries in Idaho and Montana. He references Florence, Idaho which was the center of a very rich gold strike near the Salmon River in central Idaho. Many future Montanans were present at the Florence diggings (including this writer’s great grandfather). It preceded Montana’s Bannack gold strike by nearly a year, occurring in 1861.

Excerpt from James Watt article (Washington Historical Quarterly in January 1929):

I knew Alex Carter well. He was one of the cargadores of Bledsoe and Creighton’s pack trains, running into Florence in 1861, and I went into Florence with him on that first trip in 1861. He was a tall, powerful, fine appearing man, and was not afraid of anything. He always bore a fine reputation among us packers. He packed on the Boise road until late in the fall of 1863. Then he came into Umatilla, collected his wages and procuring a couple of mules, started out for Montana. A few weeks later, on January 16, 1864, way up at Hell Gate, Montana, some 15 or 20 miles from Missoula, he was seized and after a hearing at Higging’s (sic) store he was taken out to the corral and hanged by the Montana vigilantes. They claimed Alec to be a member of the notorious band of road agents headed by Henry Plummer, who was sheriff at Bannock and Virginia City, Montana in 1863.

We, who knew Carter, couldn’t believe that he was guilty. He was a man from a good family back in the east, and was a trusted employee of Bledsoe and Creighton, often having thousands of dollars of their money and property in his hands. He was always recognized among us as a law-abiding man. I remember an occasion at Florence in 1861 when Mat Bledsoe, a nephew of his employer, and a worthless gambler, got on a drunken tear in his uncle’s store at Florence. In those days, stores kept an open whiskey barrel in the back of the store with a tin dipper, and customers buying a considerable bill in cash, or settling up old accounts were customarily invited back and asked to “have a drink.” Mat was a mean drunk, and he got out his gun and began ‘shooting up’ the store. His uncle wanted him to get out, but he refused to go. Alex Carter, who had been standing over by the fireplace, finally got up and says in a clear commanding voice, “Mat, put up your gun and get out of here,” and when Mat hesitated he went right up to Mat, grabbed him by the coat collar, and kicked him out of the store.

I don’t think Alex Carter deserved hanging. Later I went by the place where he was hanged and tried to locate his grave, but couldn’t. All the accounts I’ve heard or read state that Alex Carter continued to assert his innocence, even as he was being strung up. He’s written up in the Vigilantes of Montana.

Along with Alex the vigilantes hanged Johnnie Cooper. Cooper was from down in the Willamette Valley, Oregon, and had also borne a good reputation until he got mixed up with bad associates in Montana. His folks lived in the East. The old California and Oregon gold miners were as a whole a very steady, law-abiding lot of men who were steadily working for their “stake.” Most of the trouble and lawlessness of those times was caused by the shiftless, moneyless adventurers about camp who were too lazy and shiftless to do hard work. So much gold dust was carried about that it was a great temptation to road agents.

Missoula’s 1st Homicide

“In December this year Matt Craft was shot by Tom Hagerty within six feet of me.”

So wrote Charles Schafft in his chronological account of the year 1865. He gave that murder only one sentence and then moved on to explain the circumstances of his resignation from his jobs as the unpaid Missoula County Clerk and Recorder and County Justice of Peace. Since he did not dwell on the significance of Craft’s killing, a reader might easily overlook it as a perfunctory incident of little importance. The reality is that this was the first documented homicide in Missoula’s history. In its short existence Hell Gate village, 5 miles west, had already been the site of numerous hangings and that may have accounted for Schafft’s reluctance to treat this incident with a more fulsome explanation. It may also have reflected Schafft’s reluctance to incriminate Tom Haggerty, the man who shot Matt Craft in front of him.

As recounted in the previous chapter, Charles Schafft was appointed Justice of Peace for Missoula County by Governor Edgerton in February 1865 and was subsequently elected to that position. Matt Craft was murdered in December, 1865; this while Shafft was likely the responsible local judicial authority when Craft’s killer, Tom Haggerty, was detained; yet Schafft makes no mention of this in his autobiographical essay. As Judge Frank Woody points out 37 years later in the article below, Tom Haggerty was viewed more as a vigilante than a criminal by his fellow citizens after the killing. Craft was a widely hated figure. Tom Haggerty was never tried for the Craft murder, much less convicted. Haggerty was the subject of some type of judicial hearing where he was issued a writ of habeas corpus and then released. He immediately fled the area and was never brought to justice despite returning to the city several years later. In his article Judge Woody, without naming him, noted that the probate judge lacked the authority to release Haggerty but nevertheless praised the result. Frank Woody succeeded Schafft as the County Justice of Peace.

Matt Craft’s murder

Judge Frank Woody gave an entertaining account of the Craft murder that appeared in The Missoulian on January 11, 1903. The article is quoted below:

Judge Woody Tells of First Killing in Missoula County

Thirty-seven Years Ago Tom Haggerty Killed Matt Craft, a Desperado, and Was Never Tried for the Offense – Haggerty Lived to a Good Old Age and Died About 18 Months Ago in Missoula – Was Known to but Few.

It was during the Southern club dinner given here a couple of weeks ago, when Judge Frank H. Woody was called upon to talk of the early days of Montana, that he made a brief mention of the first murder that occurred in Missoula. Yesterday, the pioneer lawyer was in a reminiscent mood and was asked to tell the story in detail.

“That was 37 years ago,” commenced the judge thoughtfully. “It was during the last week of December, 1865 – between Christmas and New Years – but I don’t remember the exact date. Matt Craft was the name of the man killed, and he was a tough customer, too. He was a thoroughbred desperado and was known to have killed two or three men, but in some manner he escaped punishment. Nearly everyone in the place was afraid of him and no one wanted to have anything to do with him. He would go into a saloon or to a dance when drunk and as a rule everyone in the place wanted to get out about that time, because he would commence shooting and raising Cain generally, just through pure cussedness. No one was sorry to see he was killed.

“Tom Haggerty, an Irishman, who did odd jobs about town, was the man who did the killing. He used to do some work for a man named Pelkey, who had a saloon on Front street and used to hang around there a good deal. Craft, when drunk used to abuse Tom quite frequently, and would do so without any cause whatever, but just because he thought he could. He had knocked Tom down and kicked him the day of the killing. Along in the afternoon Tom came into Worden’s store, where I was clerking, and asked for some shot. I had been told to give him ammunition whenever he wanted it, because he used to hunt ducks quite often, and got the shot for him. He said he wanted pretty big shot and I showed him some. He took a pound of it and then asked for some caps. He was particularly careful about the caps and asked me a couple of times if they ever failed to explode. I thought he appeared rather anxious, but never thought Tom Haggerty would kill anyone, and assured him the caps were perfectly reliable. He took a box of them and left.

“Later in the evening just about dark, Phil Sheenon, a carpenter, came into the store, pale faced and looking thoroughly frightened. He told us he came near being killed a minute before. He was walking toward the store, when ‘Black Tom raised up out of a big snow drift that was in the street and [said]: ‘Now I’ve got you!’ and was just going to shoot when he said: ‘What’s the matter, Tom?’ Tom answered: ‘Is that you, Phil?’ and when assured that it was, lowered the gun and walked away. Soon after this another man came rushing into the store and told us that Matt Craft had been killed. Well, sir every man in that store just drew a great, big breath of relief and looked at the others. They all knew Matt Craft and not one was sorry to hear the news of his death.

“We went out to look into the matter and found Craft’s body. He was in a log building where the Union block is now. There was a small window in the end of the building and Haggerty had shot through the window, blowing the whole top of Craft’s head off. He had just deliberately murdered him in cold blood, but no one wanted to see him hung for the murder. We were all too well satisfied to be rid of Craft. Tom had to be arrested, though, so he was locked up in another log building, used as a jail. There was no chance to give him a trial, just then, because this county was attached to Deer Lodge county for judicial purposes at that time and he would have to be taken to Deer Lodge. But there was a probate judge here and proceedings were commenced before him for Tom’s release. He issued a writ of habeas corpus and Tom was released. He had no authority to do so, but he didn’t know that and nobody cared to inform him of his lack of authority. After getting out of jail, Haggerty lost no time getting out of state. He went to Idaho. About twelve years later he returned to Missoula, but the killing of Craft had been almost forgotten by that time and, though he was recognized by some of us who were here at the time of the killing, no one took the trouble to refer to the past and he was not molested. Some years ago he settled on a small piece of land over near the foothills southeast of town and lived there as a prospector and gardener. He used to sell vegetables around town for years and finally died about eighteen months ago, at the age of 86 years.

“There is something else in connection with my mention of that killing, at the Southern club dinner. I mentioned Phil Sheenon as the man who was mistaken by Haggerty for Craft, and who came near being shot. A couple of days later I read in one of the daily papers of Sheenon’s death. He died about the day I told the story. Phil went from here to Salmon City, Idaho and some years ago he sold a mine there and became wealthy. He went to London not long ago and that was the last I heard of him till I read of his death.”

Missoula historian Will Cave also presented more background for the Craft killing in one of his articles for the Missoulian.  Below is Cave’s story from the Sunday Missoulian in 1924:

The First Homicide.

The first homicide in Missoula was committed in December, 1865, almost in the very beginning of the town. A big, red-bearded native of the north of Ireland, named Matt Craft had drifted into the country, had become a genuine “bad man,” had killed a man named Crowe, near Hell Gate and had otherwise conducted himself in such a manner that the few pioneers here, though by no means lacking in hardihood, were all very considerably inclined to avoid trouble with Craft. Craft had bought the Hamilton “first house”  and in it conducted a saloon. Thomas Haggerty, known as “Black Tom” was another son of Erin’s Isle, of the type directly opposite to that of Craft. He was small, dark, quiet, ordinarily inoffensive man. I have never learned what brought about the difficulty, but Haggerty was the victim of an unmerciful beating at the hands of Craft. The lots upon which is now located the Union block were owned by Thomas M. Pomeroy, who had built a small house on the back of the lots. One evening Charles Schafft and Matt Craft were in this house; Craft sitting in a chair opposite the window, while Schafft was sitting on the table, patching his trousers by candle light. Black Tom slipped up to the window, waited until Schafft had his arm raised with needle and thread, fired under Schafft’s arm across the table, killing Craft instantly. The killing was done in cold blood, but everyone in the community breathed more freely now that a dangerous man had been removed, and no attempt was ever made to bring Haggerty to account for the act.

“Black Tom” was the only man who ever did any consistent placer mining in the Hell’s Gate Ronde. For a number of years he mined steadily in a small way in a ravine in the foothills three miles south of town, eventually homesteading the land through which runs the ravine. On several occasions he told me that he averaged about $1.50 per day in placer gold.

Haggerty died in Missoula in 1901 and was given an intriguing obituary in The Missoulian:

“Black Tom” Haggerty, Pioneer, Dead

Thomas Haggerty, one of the first pioneers who came to and made their home in what is now the prosperous Missoula valley, is dead. Death resulted at an advanced age yesterday at the home of Howard Harbert, a colored man in Dead Man’s canyon, where the deceased had made his home much of the time during the past few years.

Haggerty was a man with a history with which but a few of the many who knew him well were familiar. For many years he has lived alone, the general opinion being that he had no family. His wife and several children survive his death, however, having for many years made their home near Walla Walla, Washington. Coming to Missoula with the commencement of emigration westward to take up farming in place of mining that was then the prevailing industry of the state, the deceased entered on a claim south of the city where is now Cold Springs. Soon after he figured in an affair where a man was killed in one of the encounters not uncommon at the time. Leaving the country immediately after he was absent twenty years, but returned and has since resided near the city, where he has been known to many by the name “Black Tom.”

Until a few years ago Haggerty still possessed the homestead ranch he had taken in the early 60’s. He then deeded it to J. Francis, but differences of opinion arising concerning their affairs he left the place where he was to remain during life, and has gained a precarious existence. Within the past few months the deceased commenced suit to recover the land deeded to Francis, claiming it had been secured by fraud.

No details of the death or fatal illness were contained in the brief order for burial arrangements that were brought to Hayes & Marsh’s undertaking establishment last night. It was known the deceased had not been in good health for several months, but the news of death came, nevertheless, as a great surprise.

John Hayes will leave for the Harbert cabin this morning to bring the remains to the city, when funeral arrangement will be made.

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Two travelogue articles that were written in the characteristic Charles Schafft humorous style appeared in The Missoulian in 1873 and are included in chapter 9. Schafft notes in his autobiographical sketch that he returned to Missoula from the Flathead reservation earlier that year. These articles appeared in The Missoulian during the period that his friend Frank Woody was editor of the paper.
The first article recounts his trip to the Bitter Root community in June of 1873. This story starts in Missoula and ends at Fort Owen where he acknowledges the historical importance of the place and its connection with pioneer John Owen. Along the way he tells of visiting several noted Bitter Root residents.
The second Schafft travelogue article appeared in The Missoulian not long after the first one. This article follows his trip to the mining community of Cedar Creek Montana near Superior. His humor underlies the first part of this article as he battles the ever-present Montana mosquitoes. He then reprises the Cedar mining situation with commentary about various mines, miners, and their success.
A TRIP UP THE BITTER ROOT VALLEY – Part One – The Weekly Missoulian June 27, 1873
Editor Missoulian –
I had long anticipated visiting the far-famed Bitter Root Valley, but circumstances “over which I had no control” have heretofore barred me of that pleasure, and upon an opportunity presenting itself I was not tardy in taking advantage of it. Boarding the U. S. mail coach, behind four as “fiery, untamed steeds” as ever bore Nez Perces or Flathead Chief in battle, we dashed out from main street, Missoula, clearing the 1,000-foot bridge of the Hellgate, apparently at a bound, and entered upon the five-mile stretch to Cold Springs ranch. I have ridden on Ben Holliday’s Overland coaches and on Lightning railroad trains, but the drive from Missoula bridge to the Cold Springs ranch, on the memorable morning of June 19, 1873, will never be erased from the tablets of your humble servant’s memory, and establishes our generous and popular townsman, Billy Edwards, as Prince Imperial of stage men. On arriving at Cold Springs Ranch we found the waters of the Bitter Root had spread over the low hay bottoms, thus, by natural irrigation, making one of the finest hay ranches in the Hellgate Valley. Proceeding about half a mile, by a somewhat circuitous route, on account of the overflow, we came to the Bitter Root bridge, which we found to be in a very dilapidated condition and dangerous for even pedestrians to cross on, however, we made a virtue of necessity and proceeded, gaining the opposite shore in safety. That, probably, was the last service the old bridge ever did; time and the force of the flood snapped the ties that had bound her for so many years, and her timbers are gently floating toward the Mother of Waters. Being now on the west side of the river, we proceeded up the bottom at a somewhat slower gait than previously, on account of the waters which had spread over the bottoms, and for a considerable portion of the way the water came up to the seats of the coach, causing sad havoc with divers and sundry bundles of groceries, etc. Passing Lo Lo Fork we proceeded some four miles to the point of crossing, which we effected by means of a skiff – leaving our team and coach to be replaced by one of lighter dimensions on the east bank, which we soon mounted, and the little team, with more pluck than muscle, soon brought us in sight of
STEVENSVILLE,
Which is pleasantly situated on Burnt Fork some two miles above its mouth, upon a gently sloping plane, and boasts of about 20 houses, most of them new, neatly painted, and many of them displaying much more taste than is usually seen in our small villages. The hotel, kept by Mr. Kennedy, is conveniently arranged and every attention is paid to patrons that the most fastidious could wish. There are two tastily arranged stores, two saloons, a blacksmith shop, carpenter shop, etc. But you will please excuse us for the present, as the supper bell is ringing and we have tasted nothing (I mean the solids) since leaving Missoula. More anon. Q

A TRIP UP THE BITTER ROOT VALLEY – Part Two – The Weekly Missoulian July 11, 1873
To resume my narrative, I would state that, according to previous arrangements, my intention was to tarry a few days in the vicinity of Stevensville before prosecuting my trip further up the valley, and accordingly, by invitation, I accompanied Judge D. S. Herren to his home on
BURNT FORK,
two miles east from Stevensville, where from the kindness shown me by himself and his estimable lady, I passed the greater portion of the week, and only realized the full extent of my happy visit when the time came for my return to Missoula, there to resume my regal authority in scattering boots, shirts, towels, pipes and tobacco in promiscuous confusion over the floor of my lonely 10×12 bachelor quarters, with no cherubic faces to greet and amuse me with their loving smiles and innocent playful tricks. But we will not dwell upon that darksome picture, but return to Burnt Fork, where the atmosphere is pregnant with the aroma of the rose, jasmine, and other wild flowers, which are in full bloom at this season of the year, giving a real tropical appearance to the valley. Burnt Fork appears to have been one of the oldest settled parts of the Bitter Root valley and where now quite a number of Indian families, who have become semi-civilized, remain with their large herds of horses and cattle. The valley is about nine miles in length, having an average width of about one mile, and, I think, more particularly adapted to grasses than to cereals, although as fine an article of wheat is raised as in any other portion of the Bitter Root valley, and last year the crop amounted to about 16,000 bushels. The popular opinion of the adaptiveness of the soil for raising grain is substantiated by there having been erected at the head of the valley one of the best flouring mills in the Territory, known as the “Windes Mill,” and owned at this time by Mssrs. Lafontaine & Edwards. There are about thirty farms in the valley, being supplied with an abundance of water the year round.
During my stay I accompanied my host to
THREE-MILE CREEK,
Which heads in the same range as Burnt Fork, and some six or eight miles to the north, running parallel with it to the west. Here we visited the farm of Mr. T. W. Harris, a gentleman of culture and refined taste, which is displayed in the high state of cultivation of one of the most picturesque and pleasantly located farms I have ever seen in the mountains, where we met and made the acquaintance of several ladies and gentlemen, who were also on a visit from different parts of the country, and after partaking of a sumptuous dinner and a pleasant hour spent in conversation, we took our departure, though with a lingering desire to remain longer in such a lovely and romantic retreat.
We also visited the farm of Mr. B. N. Harris, which adjoins that of his brother, T. W. Harris, and with the exception of the former, the best farm in that section of the Bitter Root valley. He has quite an extensive orchard, consisting of apples, peaches, pears, plums, etc., all bearing fruit with the exception of a few trees that were killed by the past unusually rigorous winter. I think the Bitter Root valley is fully as well adapted to fruit growing, as the State of Iowa, with the chances in favor of the former, on account of there being less wind. The valley is almost entirely free from the winds which are so prevalent in the Deer Lodge and other valleys of Montana.
On returning from Three-Mile, by the way of Stevensville we passed
FORT OWEN
and the Fort Owen Mill. The Fort having been built some twenty years ago, by Maj. John Owens, for protection from the Indians. The fortifications being neglected for a number of years, show marked signs of decay; and, I understand, that at one time the Major collected at the Fort, at an enormous cost, one of the finest libraries on the Pacific slope, but which fell into the temporary possession of parties who were incapable of appreciating those rare and valuable volumes, allowed them to be destroyed and scattered, and now nothing remains but a conglomerate mass of torn books and rubbish only fitting for the paper-mill.
The premises upon which the Fort and mill have been erected, and which I believe, the Government has donated to the Major, was once in the possession of the Jesuit Fathers, upon which they established St. Mary’s Mission, about the year 1846, and in 1850 sold out to Maj. Owen, when they established the Coeur d’Alene, and afterwards returning and re-establishing St. Mary’s on their present site near Stevensville; and the peaceable disposition of the Flathead Indians testify to the good works of those faithful servants.
Yours, truly, Q

IN THE SADDLE – Part 1 – July 18, 1873
Incidents By The Way.
Editor Missoulian –
At about 10 a. m., on the morning of the 9th, I elevated myself to the back of a cayuse in front of the Haydon stables in Missoula, and in company with my genial friend, J. W Winslette, of Stevensville, journeyed towards the mining camps of Cedar creek and vicinity. The day was intensely warm, which, in connection with the dust that arose in clouds about us, rendered our ride somewhat unpleasant; but by frequently halting at the little streams of pure water that abound on the road, and partaking of the health giving fluid, and applying a portion to that part of us nearest to the sun, or, in other words, “putting our heads to soak,” we managed to get along without a case of sunstroke, and at one o’clock drew up at Frenchtown for repairs. We were not long in making our way to the establishment kept by Mose Drouillard, who dished up some lemonade and “the like,” in a style peculiar to himself, and which was very refreshing to us. After partaking of a square meal at the hotel, we passed an hour in social chat with the boys, and resumed our journey. The crops in the neighborhood of Frenchtown are somewhat in advance of those in the Bitter Root valley, and there is a good prospect of a fair yield of grain. Towards the close of the day, we reached the popular stopping place, known as
PATTEE’S STATION,
Kept by Mrs. McCabe, where we concluded to tarry for the night. The landlady knows how to keep hotel, and fills the position of hostess to the satisfaction of her numerous customers. Notwithstanding her efforts to make us comfortable, we were destined to pass the night in wretchedness, O, the mosquitoes! The air literally swarmed with them, and they were as annoying and persistent in thrusting their “bills” at you as a canvassing agent for an eastside newspaper. Kerosene, Benzine, smudges, pipes and tobacco, and all the modern devices for putting them to flight were resorted to; but it was of no use. They seemed rather to enjoy the sport and exult in our misery. It was a continuous slap, slap, slap, through the tedious hours of the night, and thousands of the little tormentors, who thought to satiate their thirst for blood upon us, were killed outright or totally disabled from committing further depredations, for which we think we are entitled to the thanks of those who may come after us.
Morning came at last and with it a good breakfast, to which all hands did ample justice; after which we mounted our horses and were again on the way. Our road became more difficult and rugged, running over rocky projections and approaching nearer the river as we descended the canyon. A feeling of sadness came over me as my companion pointed out the place where the lamented Ross found a watery grave, in the unfortunate attempt made by himself and party to descend the river in a frail boat last summer, which feeling was intensified by the uncertainty as to where the seething, surging billows finally deposited his body. However intense our anxiety may be on this point, the sullen river seems to have no sympathy with us, and steadily refuses to reveal the secret as to his final resting place.
Passing by these solemn reflections, we will continue our journey down the river. At Moose creek ferry we found Ed. Warren with a mosquito bar wrapped about his head, engaged in honest pursuit of agriculture. Ed. Has a very nice garden and will raise plenty of “spuds.” I think he is also butchering some and supplying the Quartz creek camp with choice steaks. In the afternoon we reached the mouth of Cedar, and crossed the well regulated ferry owned by Billy Berry and under the management of Mr. George Comford. There are two ferries here, the one above mentioned and the one owned by our jolly friend, J. S. Booth. Joe is also keeping a restaurant and assisted by his estimable lady, he endeavors to make all who stop with him happy while they remain under his roof. And, as I am weary from my long ride, I will here rest myself, and in a subsequent letter will ascend the gulch and do the mining camps. T.
18 Jul 1873

[Two of the gentlemen mentioned in this Schafft article became important people in Missoula. Bill Berry, who was an uncle of Jennette Rankin, became a sheriff of Missoula County. Joe S.Booth, who was an early Montana prospector, became a Missoula Postmaster.]

IN THE SADDLE – Part 2 – July 25, 1877
Incidents By The Way.
Editor Missoulian –
On Friday morning, the 11th inst., still in company with my friend Winslette, I ascended as far as Maysville, where I breathed freely for the first time after leaving the Mouth, and congratulated myself that I had accomplished the feat of ascending the gulch by the tortuous trail without having my neck broken or being precipitated down some steep declivity into the surging billows below.
During my stay I made my headquarters at the “Bitter Root House,” kept by my old-time friend, John Goff, who with the assistance of his excellent lady, dishes up “grub” to the entire satisfaction of the boys who are boarding with him. Here I met John Wright, John Phillips, W. A. Davis, the Buck boys, and a number of others, and during my stay made many pleasant acquaintances. The camp at this time presents rather a dull appearance, from the fact that several companies have for sometime been only prospecting and opening ground, and there is not a great deal of money being taken out. A good deal of prospecting is a-doing on the bar, shafts being sunk, flumes put in, etc., in the hope of finding good pay.
Snow Shoe.
This gulch is being worked by two companies, Messrs. Johnson & Co., and Merrill & Co., both claims being worked by hydraulics. They have been piping up to this time, but as the supply of water is running short they expect soon to commence cleaning bed rock, with prospects of good pay. There are about 18 men employed in the camp.
Some prospecting has been done about the mouth of California gulch and below; nothing has yet been struck, but the boys are hopeful. We next come to the claim being worked by
Jenkins & Co.,
who are working about nine men, and are beginning to take out some money.
John Beal & Co. have been prospecting on the bar sometime, and are now taking out some money.
The French Company
are employing seven men, and the claim is paying very well.
No. 76
is running a drain to their ground, and are taking out some pay.
Slowey & Co., 72,
are working seven men, and the claim is paying very well.
No. 67
employs about 22 men and is running three strings of sluices. The claim is paying better than any other in the gulch. I think they are taking out about $15 per day to the hand. The owners of the claim are all “old miners,” and are going after the yellow boys while the season lasts. Johnny Wright with four others are working ground for this Company on the shares, and are doing very well.
The Forest Flume Company, which suffered considerable damage from the freshet, have repaired their flume and are expecting to realize fair pay the remainder of the season.
Keyuse.
At this camp there are two companies at work. The Keyuse Flume Co. have in near 5,000 feet of flume, and expect to get it upon bed rock and get through with their heavy work the present season. They have done an immense amount of work, which so far has been poorly rewarded, but they have great faith in their ground and expect after the present season to realize good pay. Messrs. McCay & Co. have a large piece of ground hydrauliced and will commence cleaning up soon, as their flume is about completed.
There is one company at work in
Oregon Gulch,
but I do not know how the claim is paying.
Miss Laura Agnes Stevens was entertaining the boys with her musical talent and having quite a successful run. A diversion of any character from the dull monotony of everyday life in the camp is gladly received by the boys and Miss Steven’s appearance was quite a treat for them.
Winslette & Co. are supplying the camps with an excellent quality of beef at reasonable prices, while Caplice & Smith, Buck & Cave, Clark & Co. and Buckley & Williams supply the groceries, clothing, shoes, boots etc., the latter firm receiving a new stock of goods by pack-train while I was there.
Upon the whole my trip to Cedar has been a very pleasant one, and I hope at a future time to renew the many pleasant acquaintances made there.
Truly, &c.
T.https://www.newspapers.com/image/957284285/

A Leaf From Early Montana History – Establishing Missions – Traditions and Reminiscences of the Indians

Charles Schafft, writing as a local historian, wrote a two-part article for The New Northwest newspaper of Deer Lodge, Mt., describing a basic history of the first settlements of Western Montana. It focused mainly on the famous Belgian priest, Pierre De Smet, and several of his followers as they settled in the Bitter Root valley and parts of Idaho. He mentioned Indian tales, including the mysterious lake located somewhere in the Mission Mountains that no one could find, and the large beaver that has lived there since time immemorial. The history of Corriakan’s Defile was also explained.

A Leaf From Early Montana History

Part 1

Establishing Missions – Traditions and Reminiscences of the Indians

By Charles Schafft

(The following paper was written in 1867, but has remained unpublished until the present time.) [1874]

In the year 1740 (sic) [1840] Father De Smet, a missionary of the Society of Jesus, made his first appearance in the Rocky Mountains to convert to the faith of the Cross the Red men who heretofore had only seen small rays from the great lights of Christianity reflected from a few Canadian voyageurs or Iroquois Indians that frequented the country for the purpose of trapping and trading for furs.

The First Missionary, Father De Smet.

The Flatheads, inhabiting the Bitter Root valley, were anxious to try the new trail, which promised immortality to all who followed its windings, and repeated messages were sent by them to St. Louis for a priest, or, as they term it, a “Blackgown.” One of these envoys, consisting of five or six Indians and a Protestant clergyman, (who accompanied them to go on some distant mission of his own) were all murdered (except the clergyman) on their return from St. Louis by a party of Sioux, who mistook their nationality and believed them to be enemies.

Catholic priests were not very plenty in those days, and it was only upon a final effort on the part of the Flatheads, that the Superior of the Jesuits in St. Louis felt himself called upon to send them a teacher.

Father De Smet was chosen for the perilous task of carrying the cross to an unknown wilderness and teaching its symbolical meanings and efficacy to the nations of red men dwelling in the mountains. With the true spirit of the Jesuits of old, who enriched the soil of Canada with their blood, the young father started to his new field alone. The principal part of his journey lay along the great Missouri, but the Flatheads knew of his coming and at a considerable distance from their village he was received by a delegation of the tribe, who escorted him in triumph to the Bitter Root valley.

Preaching The Faith.

The father found here in the elevated regions of the mountains a fine country, with a soil sufficiently rich to produce all that a husbandman need require; timber, grass and water were abundant, and could not be excelled anywhere. The people whom he came to instruct looked as yet kindly upon the faces of white men, with whose vices they were unacquainted. He found them ready and willing to be taught, and after the principal features of the Catholic religion had, by means of an interpreter, been impressed upon their minds, the chiefs and head men came forward to be baptized. These Indians as well as the neighboring tribes had always practiced polygamy, and the sincerity of their conversion was proven by their readily resigning all extra wives and becoming united to only one, in accordance with the articles of their adopted faith.

Exemplifying The Trinity – A Beautiful Illustration.

However it happened at times that a doubt would spring up in the Catechumen’s mind which it was not always easy to dispel. For instance, in after years there was an Indian who could not see into the mystery of the Holy Trinity. It was impossible to make him understand how three could be one. At last a chief (probably instructed how to act) told the skeptic to provide himself with a shovel and an axe, and follow him to the river. It was winter: the river was frozen and covered with snow. The doubting Indian was asked what is this snow and he answered, “water”; the snow was then removed and the same question repeated in regard to the ice, with the same reply; a hole then being cut through the ice, flowing water was discovered, and the skeptic felt convinced that three could be one and subsequently applied to be admitted to the church.

Making “Medicine.”

Like all other Indians they had heretofore believed in the Happy Hunting Grounds, and in a Great Spirit, who, assisted by a lesser one, governed and ruled the universe, and from whom came all that was good. They also believed in the existence of bad spirits, who ruled over disease and destruction, and in order to propitiate these latter in cases of sickness or impending evil, the usual “Medicine” ceremonies were resorted to. “Medicine” grounds abounded throughout the country and propitiatory offerings, consisting of beads, tobacco, etc., were hung on peculiar trees or laid on certain rocks, to incline the spirit (who, it was supposed, held in such places their residence), to give them success on the war-path, hunting excursions, or any other important undertaking.

A Curious Lake.

Even at this day, some of the most prominent Indians, among whom is Victor, head chief of the Flathead nation, believe in the existence of a Lake, said to be located somewhere in the mountains between the country of the Upper Pen d’Oreilles and Kootenais, which Lake they maintain is inhabited by all kinds of animals, such as buffalo, elk, deer, etc., that live and thrive under the waters of the Lake, and a very large beaver is the presiding genius over this submarine assemblage. Victor, the above mentioned chief, says that he has seen this Lake with his own eyes, and offered last fall to take one of our distinguished officials to the spot. However, the season was too far advanced, and the project of visiting this Barnumian spot was deferred till next spring. A tradition is current among these Indians of a great flood that at one time covered all the earth; but that a very large beaver was saved from the general destruction. The beaver was always looked upon by them as an intelligent and superior animal. They used to say, “We are like the beaver, but a little above him; for he builds houses as we do, but unlike us he cannot pull them down again.”

The Mission Established.

Father De Smet on his first visit tarried only long enough in the mountains to see that the seeds sown by him were not cast upon a barren soil, and then returned to St. Louis to report progress and obtain assistance. He returned in 1842, accompanied by Fathers Point and Mengarini, together with several lay brothers, and a regular missionary establishment was begun in Bitter Root valley, under the name and title of St. Mary’s Mission, (after which Father De Smet left for Europe).

Agriculture.

At this time was yet unknown in the Rocky Mountains. The Indians, indeed, were accustomed to rip open the soil, but it was in search of camas and other esculent roots. The missionaries, provided with an assortment of seeds and the most indispensable agricultural implements, opened now the “first farm in Montana,” and began to test (sic) to Indians and half-breeds the benefits to be derived from the culture of the soil. That their time and labor were not lost, is well proven by the fine farms which the Flathead possess in the Bitter Root valley at the present day.

Upon examination it was found that at least ten different tribes used radically the same language, viz:

The Kallispells (sic) (Lower Pen d’Oreilles).

The Sttaketikomelshis (Upper Pen ‘dOreilles).

The Spokanes, which are divided into the Snyomenei.

Snpoilsshi (Sz-ka-eszilni).

St. Aizui (Coeur d’Alenes).

Sqoielpi (Kettle Fall Indians or Colvilles).

Oakanagon; divided into the Okinakein and Sitakanas.

Very little difference exists in the dialects of these tribes, but the Coeur d’Alenes have some primitive expressions of their own.

(See Father Mengarini’s grammar, part III.)

Multiplying The Missions.

Steps were now taken to multiply the missions in order to facilitate the spreading of the faith among the neighboring tribes. That of the Coeur d’Alenes was established under Fathers Point and Hoeken in 1844. (This year brought also a reinforcement with the return of Father De Smet of several other Fathers and lay brothers; among the number were the well-known Father Louis Vercruyssen and that noted physician, Father Ravalli.) The same year, under the care and superintendence of Father Ravalli, a chapel was built at Colville; (afterwards, in 1853, a regular mission was established at this point, with Fathers De Woss and Vercruyssen as successive resident superiors.)

The old St. Ignatius Mission, among the Kallispels, about thirty miles from Colville, was established with Fathers Hoeken and Ravalli in 1845, and was transferred in 1859, by Father Hoeken, to the Sonielem valley (now a part of the general Flathead Reserve) among the Upper Pen d’Oreilles, and a site was here chosen which cannot be excelled either in a practical view or for scenic beauty in Montana.

Scenic Features.

The mountains show here really their characteristics, rising in perpendicular masses precipitately out of a fine valley, and showing their granite crests far above the line of vegetation. They seem to invite some mortal like Bierstadt to court them with the pencil and canvas. Near this Mission, in a wild gorge, are three magnificent cascades that carry the waters of a mountain lake to the Sonielem river. The principal one of these is named the “Elizabeth Cascade,” in honor of the wife of our acting Governor, she being the first lady (who in company with several Sisters of Charity) had the courage to explore this Alpine wilderness in search of the wild and comparable pictures of nature. The two lesser cascades were named the Two Sisters. This Mission, called after the founder, St. Ignatius, is now the headquarters of the missionaries in the Rocky Mountains, and the Rev. Father U. Grassi, the able and gentlemanly General Superior of the Mountain Missions, holds here for the present his residence. The fine Church adorning this place, (and it may be said the first architectural frame building in Montana), was built by Father Menetrey, now Superior at Colville, in ’59, ’60, ’61 and ’62.

Part 2

But to return to the early Fathers. The field upon which they had entered was not, indeed, an easy one.

Hardships of the Ministry.

Being far away from the haunts of civilization, with no means of obtaining information or supplies, they were often thrown into the most embarrassing circumstances. Their necessities compelled them to turn their attention to the mechanical arts and all kinds of hard labor. Many times they were reduced to live upon such food as they could procure from the Indians; their clothing was occasionally reduced to mere rags; and, as an instance in regard to the latter, the following illustration is here given: Father Zerbenati, the only one of the Fathers who thus far found his grave in the mountains, (at St. Mary’s Mission, ’46 – ’46), was, after bathing in the river, taken with sickness and died. He was a small man, and accordingly wore a small cassock; but clothes were so scarce and the particular gown so indispensable, that a rather large Father (A Ravalli) took it for his inheritance. However, it being too small for him, a piece of Indian manufacture was inserted to enlarge it.

“In Perils Oft.”

Much difficulty was also experienced in those early times on account of the unremitting hostilities existing between the “Blackfeet,” inhabiting the eastern slope of the mountains, and the tribes inhabiting the western slope. A predatory warfare was kept up continually between them, and no man’s life was safe. Away from shelter the rifle or bow of the Blackfeet could be expected to send forth its deadly messenger from behind any bush or lurking-place. One foggy morning in the fall of ’49, while Father Ravalli was at the St. Mary’s Mission, accompanied only by a lay brother, an Indian called General Slocum, another called Baptiste, and a number of sick and aged [Indian women] and little children, (the Flatheads being absent at the time on the buffalo hunt), the Mission was suddenly surrounded by a band of about fifty Blackfeet warriors, who had come over to avenge the death of one of their tribe who had fallen at the hands of  the Blackfeet [likely Flathead]. They were preparing for extremes and the attack would most probably have ended in a massacre, had not, opportunely, two bands of horses, (belonging to the Mission and the Flatheads), made their appearance. The appearance of the “almighty horse” diverted the enemy from his intention, and they retired from the place content with the equine booty. A small Indian boy, employed about the kitchen of the establishment, fell, the only victim, by unconsciously venturing outside the stockade.

After spending some ten or twelve days in the greatest anxiety, the mind of the Father was relieved by the arrival of some friendly Indians who reported the coast clear. It was very seldom that a battle took place between the contending tribes, their warfare being confined to ambuscades and flying skirmishes. A battle (perhaps the most considerable and severe) was fought on Salmon River nearly thirty-six years ago, in which the Flatheads, Nez Perces and Pen d’Oreilles combined left some thirty or forty Blackfeet warriors on the ground.

Indian Burial-Places.

It is habit among the Indians to mark the spot wherever a warrior or relative fell, with a pile of stones; most generally a single stone is dropped each time that a relative or friend passes the spot of a catastrophe. At times the piles of stones already established are moved away, one by one, to some more notorious locality. Thus it happens that several piles of stones are sometimes found where really only one or two notorious characters have fallen. Numerous monuments of this kind may be found at this day on or near the divide between the Hell Gate and Jocko Valleys; but no regular battle was ever fought at that point.

“Karriakkan Defile.”

By consulting competent authority, the following circumstances in regard to the place are brought to light: About twenty-nine years ago a Hudson Bay Company train, in charge of Francois La Martigen, broke up camp near the site of the present Flathead Agency, to proceed toward the valley of the Hell Gate. A Kannaka , named Karriakka, who was employed as a kind of cook to the train, went in advance. In crossing the creek now called Finley creek, a volley sent by some concealed Blackfeet mortally wounded him, and he fell to awake no more. At the next crossing the main party advancing found their companion dead on the bank of the creek, and it is the opinion of the Indians that if the same train had not been so numerous many more would have fallen victims to the treachery of the Blackfeet. As it was, Karriakka fell alone, and the canyon (leading from O’Keefe’s to the Reservation), henceforth bore his name, Karriakkan Defile, to commemorate the event. The locality was always noted as a kind of ambuscade ground, and the only Indians who were killed here were killed singly and treacherously by a concealed foe.

In 1850 the Mission of St. Mary among the Flatheads was abandoned. Maj. Owen advanced now and took the place of the Priests.

The above articles appeared in The New North-West of Deer Lodge, Mt. over a two-week period:

Part 1 – 2/14/1874

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Part 2 – 2/21/1874

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Chapter Eleven

Charles Schafft worked for the Flathead Indian Agent John Wells in 1867. He later wrote the article below and had it published in The Weekly Missoulian in 1884:

Augustus H. Chapman, who was the fourth head of the Flathead Agency, from 1866 to 1867, under the superintendency of Thomas Francis Meagher, and whom the ill-fated acting governor so graphically described in his first – and last- chapter of “Rides Through Montana,” was succeeded very early in the opening of 1867 by a singular individual [John W. Wells]. But as his name graces a tombstone in a prominent cemetery at Washington, I will not place it here. He had been a faithful and trustworthy officer in the Interior Department for over fourteen years, but owing to a peculiar and annoying physical condition it was at last deemed advisable to grant him a change of climate and his fellow clerks the benefit of his absence. Being a Southron (sic), both by birth and principle, and a personal friend of Andrew Johnson, that President, in recognition of public service rendered, appointed him as Indian agent, with powers to visit; inspect and report upon the different agencies on his way to Flathead, for which he was commissioned the fifth head. Coming via the long ocean route, and being delayed by various duties in Oregon, and adjoining Territories, he was compelled to hibernate in the Spokane country. However he was an energetic character, notwithstanding his terrible disability; and he pushed forward early in the following year over the Pend d’Oreille trail and arrived at his destination on the Jocko before the frost had left the ground. His companions, among others, were a youthful son for clerk, and Major Blake as guide, chief factor and general superintendent of affairs to be. The new agent [Wells] having promptly relieved his predecessor from an unfortunate official career, at once commenced effective operations. His head-farmer was a man of wide experience, and under his direction a corps of select employes soon had matters in highly satisfactory condition. Personally, I did not become acquainted with this agent until the harvest of the year was ripening. One day he called upon me at Frenchtown and tendered me the office of clerk, and I, having nothing particular on hand, as usual, accepted the appointment and at once accompanied him. I knew nothing of his precedents and had been absent from the Jocko for quite a while. On our journey his conversation was pleasing and I discovered nothing wrong about him except the frequent taking of “medicine,” which in those times was the regular wrong thing to do for nearly everybody. At the agency Major Blake had been succeeded by a gigantic ex-Hudson Bay Company factor named Capt. Fitz Stubbs. Fine crops awaited the harvest and the general affairs looked more promising than usual. The kitchen was presided over by a well known lady of Missoula county, and after an excellent supper quarters were assigned me up stairs in the old office, and I found myself the only other occupant with the agent in the building. On the morning following my arrival I was confidentially informed that the cause of my presence was the absence of the “old man’s” son, who had skipped a few nights previously and left for Portland. It appeared that the old man suspected a liaison between his boy and the cook, and wishing to break the connection, walked into the log cabin dining room one day, where the pair were together, and requested his son to hold out his hand, and upon compliance a handcuff was slipped upon the wrist, and after refusal to hold forth the other hand, the old man drew a revolver (for which the caps upon the nipples were fortunately too large to explode upon the first “snap,” but were sure to go off upon the second trial) and five times did he pull the trigger, with the pistol leveled at the boy’s heart, for disobedience to parental orders, when the screams of the woman brought assistance. The father was deterred from further violence and the young man was given friendly aid to leave for the west. The matter did not interest me much just at that time, because the pulling of triggers and snapping of caps was nothing new in those days. But two or three nights afterwards, when soundly asleep in that isolated office building, I was suddenly awakened and upon opening my eyes, I beheld before me that Indian agent. In one hand he held a lighted candle, while with the other he aimlessly pointed a cocked revolver at me and said, “get up, my son and come down stairs;” then he waveringly walked away. I realized now for the first time the fact that I had to deal with a man who had “crazy spells,” but what was I to do? It was midnight; to jump from the window twelve feet to the ground was impractical; to call for assistance was useless, because to my certain knowledge all the employees were away for the night. There was nothing lying around that might serve as a weapon. All these matters were perceived in a moment, and rather than sustain suspense I determined to go down stairs and meet the worst. It was midnight. The agent was standing in front of the center-table, on which lay the pistol; in his hand he held a Remington rifle, into the breech of which he was tremblingly trying to insert a cartridge. As I slowly and unperceivedly edged towards the outer door my hair felt cranky and a moisture covered my skin, but I succeeded in making an exit without attracting attention and as quickly as possible sought refuge in the cabin of the boss farmer. A short time afterward the mad agent knocked at the door and requested the farmer and myself to return to the office. We went and then the agent stated (as an evasion of course) that the Indian dogs had invaded the room and scattered his supper (which he usually partook of at midnight) on the ground. We saw the plates, of which there were a dozen, all nicely placed on the floor with their contents intact, but we pretended to believe the story, and as he desired me to remain I requested the use of a carbine and ammunition and I would sleep in the main office and keep one eye open for dogs. He readily complied and after the farmer had left I suggested a hunt for dogs around the building. Assenting he told me to go out of the front door and he would leave by the back door, and we started. Moving only to the corner of the house I watched, with gun ready, for the agent’s appearance. A few minutes later his head appeared around the other corner, ready and watching for me. This performance was gone through with several times around the various buildings of the agency, till finally the old man having to go off some distance, I had the opportunity to remove the cartridge from his carbine and the caps from the pistol, and the remainder of the night was passed with a feeling of security. Next morning I early availed myself of the chance to securely spike the revolver and as the cartridges had India rubber shells I easily substituted ashes, in his supply, for powder, keeping good ones, however, for my own use. On the following night he slept in the ambulance which had been drawn close to the house, and requested me to make my bed in the doorway. I felt perfectly secure now, and when I thought he was sound asleep I tried to retaliate by firing off my carbine immediately under the wagon, but the shot did not disturb him in the least; he only gently remarked that if I was shooting at dogs I should be sure to have a carcass to show, His mental aberration became more frequent from day to day; sometimes gentlemanly, at others fiendish. His freaks became the talk of the county, and a volume of entertaining reminiscences of the “circus life” at the agency at that time could be filled. The Department furnished him with all the funds he made requisition for, and, as he was a liberal and conscientious paymaster, many of his worst errors were overlooked. One of his peculiarities was that everything he wished to have done was ordered in writing, even to the smallest job. The cook, even if present, received written instructions as to the minutest details concerning the agent’s supper. The same as to the teamster, who had his paper in regard to his own movements and team, and all such orders had to be copied and filed. The late T. M. Pomeroy he regarded as his worst enemy, and even went so far as to send him a challenge to fight a duel according to the code. (It was said that his condition was the result of an affair of honor.) In the fall of 1867 he received orders from Governor Green Clay Smith to proceed to Washington and file a new bond. While there, and after having transacted all his official business satisfactorily to the Department, and having a large appropriation placed at his disposal, ready to come out to the Flathead agency again, he, one night in a fit of despondency, while the family were quietly sleeping, got to a small pistol and ended his career by a shot in the ear. It transpired then that owing to his sad affliction and an enormous and constant use of opiates to palliate physical suffering and inconvenience, his brain had become diseased; which after an examination, eminent physicians had told him, and the consequence was depression of spirits and voluntary death. But that old man, notwithstanding his eccentricities, left many a warm friend behind him, both here and elsewhere. The above article appeared in The Weekly Missoulian on June 6, 1884.

 Chapter Twelve

A Visit to “Whoop Up” in the Days Gone By – Charles Schafft

A few years ago when a man suddenly and mysteriously disappeared from his accustomed haunts, and the inquiry was passed around, “What has become of him?” the answer and conclusion arrived at in some instances was, that he had gone across the line to “Whoop Up;” and the very mention of that place would cause the imagination to picture forth red-handed desperadoes performing bloody deeds, and defying the laws of civilization in a secluded wilderness made almost inaccessible to the ordinary mortal, owing to the dangers reported to be besetting the trails leading in that direction.

The disturbed state of Indian affairs in Montana in 1874, made me desirous of viewing the investigations then in progress, from some other standpoint, and I finally came to the conclusion to disappear for awhile across the border. Being greatly interested in the efforts, successes and failures attending the civilization of the aboriginal inhabitants, and somewhat tired of the society of mortals who, although no longer regarded as savages, were yet deemed but little above the brute, civilization having taken away what little romance attaches to the wild man. I determined to take a trip to Whoop Up, where I could see and meet the great North American in all his native glory and savage wildness. I had no apprehension in regard to the desperate whites who were supposed to be out there, and whom I might encounter, because having come to the mountains in early days, I was accustomed to the association of all sorts of characters and knew “roughing it” in all its phases. Accordingly, one fine day in the summer of “the year first above written,” I found myself at the town of Benton in search of an opportunity with which to convey myself to my destination. There was a sort of an irregular express run from Benton across the line in those days by the boys who were on the “trade,” and having the advantage of being acquainted with some of the traders, I experienced no difficulty to secure a passage on the hurricane deck of a prairie schooner at an early day. My craft was commanded by Captain “Fred,” who boasted of having one of the best prairie teams on the road, and I was told to be in readiness inside of twenty-four hours, and that we would whoop things up. Requesting one of my friends knowing in such matters, to fix up an outfit for me to take on the prairie, he judiciously selected and put up two or three gallons of whisky and an assortment of canned conveniences, advising me to be careful in regard to drinking the water to be met with. “It’s regular pizen,” said he, “to them that ain’t use to it.”

My captain and conveyance being ready to start, I was assigned a birth amidships with instructions to keep a good look out and hold on, because the fiery steeds would go like “blazes” after once being warmed up. I had some misgivings when the lash was applied and the word to go was given, on seeing the two lead horses turn around and look at the driver, while the wheelers were rubbing each other to save their hides from the whip; but after expenditure of a voluminous volley of mixed expletives and some buck-skin, our cayuses finally seemed to know what was wanted, and headed for the Teton, at a pace that might have compared favorably with the slow and measured march of a funeral. “I know,” said Fred, “what ails the horses, those confounded stable men kept them in the corral for the last four days, and they are hungry.”

The first occasion I found to hold on and let go both at the same time, was going down to the Teton, when the wagon started down one coulee and the horses another. A small sage-brush saved an upset, but Fred was obliged to unload the wagon and pack the load to the bottom on his back. He had hoped to overtake some team ahead of us going in the same direction, but as it was getting late, we encamped at the foot of the hill, Fred deploring the mishap, because he had hoped to be helped up the opposite side by the other teams. Next morning about day-light we were awakened by an unearthly war-hoop, coming down the river, and immediately began to look for a hiding place among the sage, but the rattling of wheels soon after heard, informed us that a white party was approaching. And so it was, some of the boys were going out on a trading expedition up the Teton, and having tendered us the morning cup agreed at once to help us up the next hill. Then, when nearing the Leavings we saw the last one of the wagons ahead just starting up, and Fred urged his animals with all the art in his power but no use. A small mud-hole held on to the wheels and the overhanging brush kept us from being seen, and we were left alone the second time to mourn the unloading of the wagon. Having at last reached the middle of the hill, the cayuses concluded it was dinner time, and stopped to camp. Not being able to persuade them out of the notion, we unhitched and took a lunch ourselves, and how long we would have remained at this place, it is hard to tell, had not opportunely Captain Nelse came along, who, assuming command for the time being, made the horses believe that he was a live Comanche, and they got away from him and up on the prairie with the load behind them very easily. Thanking the Captain for his courtesy, we traveled on over the smooth plain at a smart pace and overtook the outfits that night at Pend d’Oreille springs. Fred was happy now, for other animals would assist him over slight elevations, and enable him to reach the end of his journey without much further jaw-breaking and expenditure of whip material. Our new comrades were evidently on the “trade” also. In jogging along they would frequently cast anxious looks behind, and in camp the distinguished name of Dusold  was often mentioned, but we met with no accidents or adventures worth mentioning the balance of the trip. Only at one place did I have to hold on with main strength; it was going down to the Marias, when a thunder storm coming from the south lashed up our team with lightning flashes, and caused them to exhibit a marvelous agility in the descent to the bottom.

The plain 200 miles north of Benton does not show many interesting features generally, and we met with only a few small bands of bulls, some antelope, and further on the industrious badger, whose holes attracted the most attention.

When within a few miles of the St. Mary’s, at the junction of which with Belly river, Whoop Up Fort was situated, we met with the first indication of violence, by finding a dead Indian lying spread-eagle fashion in the center of the road. He could not have been exposed very long, for, exposed to the rays of the sun without any cover except a fragment of Uncle Sam’s blue attached to an army button, decomposition had not yet taken place. We reached Whoop Up. It was a large and solidly put-up trading post, the construction of which must have cost way up in the thousands. Situated as it was, in a bore flat, its inmates could easily stand off any number of hostiles contemplating an attack. A small grave-yard on the outside attested the fact that not every one who came to the country was permitted to return; but no inscription told the story of those who were here laid to rest.

My means of introduction having gained for me a temporary home at the fort, I soon became acquainted with some of the men who frequented it, and to my surprise found them to be what are generally called good and intelligent men, who could go to and return from the United States without hinderance at most times, and no reward was set upon the head of any of them. There was said to be only one man in that country who kept away from Uncle Sam’s Territory on account of having committed a crime, and there were two or three deserters from the army who probably regretted having exchanged a life of comparative ease for one of disappointment and unforeseen hardship. Trade was conducted in the legitimate business principles of that day, and liquor was kept at the independent trading posts as an auxiliary, on the same conditions that the Hudson Bay Company kept it. At times a small camp trader would come in from across the line and exchange a mixture of pure alcohol and water with the Indians for robes, and the stimulant, acting upon the passions of savages, in heart hostile to each other, would result in a fight that sometimes would end in the death of one or both combatants. At the time of my arrival an Indian had just met his fate from such a cause. Whoop Up being a central region where the various tribes generally met, fights and battles between members of different bands took place occasionally without any other stimulus than natural animosity; and as those Indians do not bury their dead, bodies, skulls and skeletons could frequently be found. One day examining a rather poor specimen of cranium, I casually remarked that I would give four bits for a good one, and Billy, the oldest inhabitant out there, said he would get me one. Several days after he came in slightly “flushed,” from another post, and emptying a gunny sack full of skulls at my feet, consolingly intimated that I would probably receive a wagon load in a few days, as he had told the boys that I had offered fifty cents apiece for them. That night the festive board was graced with a bottle adorned with an old scalp and skulls for candlesticks; but it was merely done as an illustration to show how Whoop Up was painted by those who knew nothing of its realities. An old preacher traveling through the country had met a lot of the boys just returning from a successful trading expedition, taking a slight recreation and feeling generally happy. He being evidently unused to the rough hospitality and expressions of frontier life, sent a lengthy report to the Canadian press, painting a most fearful picture of outlawry and crimes committed upon the British Indians. Whoop Up was pictured as an almost invincible stronghold, defended by hundreds of American renegades, and bristling with needle guns and cannon. This report, coming from religious sources, backed by interesting testimony of the Hudson Bay Company, gained credence, and the Canadian Government organized the Northwest Mounted Police for the purpose of driving out the American “freebooters,” and making a man and subject (sic) of the “Poor Indian.”

During my sojourn in that country there were but few white men from this side of the line in it, and only one fight occurred while I was there. It was at Kanouse’s Fort, where, through some erroneous impressions a skirmish took place between the Kootenais and the whites. The latter acted in self-defense, and after the termination of the misunderstanding, nearly blew up their whole establishment by the accidental discharge of a gun into a pan full of powder, while trying to demonstrate how the fight commenced. One or two Indians were killed on this occasion, and some of the whites, owing to the explosion, slightly powder burned. Indeed the whites did but little shooting at any time, unless it was to protect life and property.

Reports of the coming of the Police reached us now very frequently; those who had contraband in stock cached it; everything was quiet and trade nearly at a standstill, because no one knew to what extent the red-coats would interfere in business matters. At length a reliable messenger on running gear, came in and brought the intelligence that the force would be here in a few days. At last they arrived and encamped within a short distance of the Fort. On the following morning Col. Macleod, with about twenty mounted men, entered the Fort. He was met at the gate by Billy’s little boy, whom he had decked with an old red uniform coat. There were only six or seven white men all told in the place, which had been painted as formidable. The Col. entering the store implied that after a long prairie trip they were rather thirsty, and wanted to know if we couldn’t come out with something to drink, but we had nothing and had tasted nothing of the kind since early that morning. He seemed to be a little disappointed and detailed three or four parties of his men to search the place, which being done, a Sergeant Major reported that nothing contraband could be found. The Colonel, no doubt feeling very dry, and wishing besides doing his duty, probably to get hold of a good American drink to compare with Winnipeg poison, ordered another search to be made, which turned out as fruitless as the first one. While the rummaging was going on, I heard one policeman say to another, “Oh, if we only had the price set on some of the fellows’ heads by the American Government, wouldn’t we be fixed?” but then their impressions were new and based upon false reports. The Canadian authorities have long since learned that matters were not nearly so serious as painted. The police found that the men whom they had come to perhaps fight and conquer were peaceable traders, and the heavy siege guns brought along were useless; they had only effected the death of several horses dragging them over the prairie from Garry.

Since the establishment of Fort Macleod, Walsh and others, the relative positions of white persons have been slightly changed, but whether the Indian derived any benefits from the general changes accomplished, is doubtful, as they are reported to be in a starving condition today.

My time for disappearance having expired, I was glad now to take passage once more for Uncle Sam’s dominions, and the name of “Whoop Up” no longer excites my imagination with pictures of desperadoes and bloody deeds.  C. S.

The article above appeared in The Benton Weekly Record on January 16, 1880.

https://www.newspapers.com/image/143747930/?terms=c.%2Bs.

Charles Schafft became involved in what he called the “Indian Ring” investigation in 1874. He had previously “taken charge” of the Indian Agency at St. Ignatius under the aegis of agent Daniel Shanahan. In 1872 Schafft had worked for Agent Charles Jones who was indicted for forgery by a Deer Lodge grand jury. Agent Shanahan relieved Jones in 1873 and appointed Schafft to a supervisory position upon leaving for Washington D. C. for an extended stay. By 1874 Shanahan had also been fired and the agency was under further investigation. At that point Schafft, wishing to avoid having to testify in any further proceedings, opted to flee to Canada.

Charles Schafft’s friend, John J. Healy, was reputedly one of the first ‘Whoop Up’ whiskey traders. Healy had already led an incredible life on the western frontier, and he wasn’t finished yet. Healy had already made a fortune in the whiskey trade by the time Schafft followed him to Canada. Schafft never made clear his connection to Healy, but their friendship was likely cemented through their common friendship with Missoula pioneer William Kennedy, who had business interests in Fort Benton for a time. Kennedy later owned hotels in Missoula and at one point Schafft clerked for him.

Healy was one of the first discoverers of the gold in Florence, Idaho, in 1861, and he continued following that precious metal to Alaska 35 years later, when he set up a business in Klondike territory.

Life in the Northwest Territory

The Benton Weekly Record – 1/23/1880

Queer Substitutes for Whisky – Florida Water, Painkiller, Mustang Liniment and Soap Suds – Result of Mounted Police Rule – Big Snakes

The Canadian Government has for the past few years been solicitous of settling up its Northwest Territories with a civilized and healthy population. Treaties have been made with nearly all the Indian tribes on a plan somewhat similar to the American system of opening farms for them and providing an annual payment per capita, to “continue so long as the sun shall shine and the rivers flow.” The savages, in return, to keep the peace with their Grandmother across the seas, not to molest the emigrant, adapt themselves as far as possible to civilized habits, and entertain a wholesome respect for the Mounted Police, who are supposed to have complete control of the vast country which has been placed in their almost absolute charge. At home in Canada, the advantages of settling in this country are painted in the most beautiful colors, and various inducements are offered to the emigrant to turn his steps toward the Northwest; but so long as the Government enforces its present prohibitory laws, preventing the people from getting drunk in a rational manner, the march of civilization will be uncertain and slow. It is true, the Lieutenant Governor is invested with the power of granting permits to purchase and bring into the Territory limited quantities of intoxicating liquors, to any respectable party who may apply for the same; but he cannot grant authority for its sale within his jurisdiction, upon any condition. On account of the long distances separating the seat of government from the police settlements, necessarily a long time must elapse ere a permit can be obtained, and then again a great while before it can procure the coveted commodity. The boys, by dint of long continued experiments have acquired knowledge of several substitutes, which [illegible line] possesses a sufficient stimulating power, and succeeds admirably in stealing away the brain.

Receiving an invitation one evening to attend a dance in progress at the house of a half-breed in a neighboring coulee, and time hanging rather heavily on my hands just then, I joyfully brushed the dust from my best coat, straightened my hair with a currycomb, and soon after was at the appointed place.

It was a large log-cabin, containing under its roof the family living room and the indispensable “meat house.” There were no stables or other outbuildings, so I fastened my cayuse to the saddle of another, following the tuning sounds of a fiddle I entered within. The moment after entering the first peculiarity noticed was a very strong and powerful odor of perfume – seeming rather strange in an assemble where the only “ladies” present were the girls of the prairie. The place was crowded to its utmost, but with the half-breed element predominating, and as everybody appeared to be in motion and talking at the same time in mixed languages the scene presented a rather confused picture. However, by dint of crowding and pushing I found myself in the corner taken up by the white men, and a seat was assigned me on a bale of dry meat where I was soon comfortably settled.

One of the boys now asked me to “take something,” handing me at the same time a cup containing a milky, muddy fluid. Upon inquiry as to the nature of the article he said, “Oh this is a most excellent drink; it’s bay rum diluted with water and flavored with Painkiller.” A taste of the nauseating mixture was sufficient, and the cup was returned, but immediately after emptied, with apparent relish, by a Red river man. My friend seeming desirous of my comfort, said he would try and get me a drink of something really genuine. “You know,” said he, “we have yet a little of the ‘Permit article,’ but there is only a gallon in the start here, and we thought it best to keep it apart for the use of the girls.” After a short absence in an opposite corner, where an old superannuated grand dame superintended, he returned with a tumbler filled with a fluid as transparent as the other had been muddy. “This is the stuff to do your soul good,” said he, “drink hearty, old fellow.” I found it necessary now to take down a good sized dram, and I discovered it to be weakened alcohol mixed with the disguising perfume of “Florida Water.” “I thought,” said I, “that ‘Permit’ means good whisky.” “Oh yes, it does,” he replied, “but we double the game by sending (sic) slyly for alcohol, which goes a great deal farther.” Noticing after a while several freshly emptied patent medicine phials lying around loose, I inquired if any of the breeds were hurt, as they apparently used a great deal of ‘Mustang Liniment.’ “Oh no,” said my friend, “it is used by the white boys; they drink it and some of them have become so used to it that they prefer it, on account of its oily quality, to harder drinks. “The half-breeds,” he continued, “for occasions like this, make a stimulant of their own by boiling tea and tobacco together, which makes quite an intoxicating product.”

As the night advanced the effects of the different mixtures became apparent. Dancing in the small central space was kept up constantly. White men who did not understand a word of French seemed to keep up a familiar, easy conversation with girls that did not comprehend an idiom of English. Gestures and voices grew more animated and louder until midnight when many of the party were most gloriously drunk. I ventured to ask as to the effects which followed an indulgence of the kind, and was told that until the system had become accustomed to the treatment, the effects were rather bad to health; but my informant went on to say: “We out here must have something, and among the natives nothing will excite pleasure except the presence of strong drink.” “Some of our boys,” he continued, “who crave such things, will drink anything whatever that contains alcohol. We brought along to-night three dozen flavoring extracts, and they were all drank up before you came, and I have known one fellow before now,” he went on, “that got beastly drunk on castile soap suds.”

The snakes produced by the continued use of the unusual make-up, are said to be very large. But such is life in the Northwest Territories under its present system of laws.

C. S.

A Rough Trip

From The two-part story in the New North-West Nov. 28, 1884, and Dec. 12, 1884

Part 1

How We Came Down From the North Ten Years Ago.

For the New North-West, by “C. S.”

Precisely at two o’clock, Whoop-Up time, in the afternoon on Tuesday, November 17, 1874,

A Party of Six Persons

left the gates of Fort Hamilton [Fort Whoop-up], on Belly River, bound for the South and United States Territory. Some of these men had come out with winter supplies for the Post and were now returning with partly empty wagons. Two double ox teams were the property of J. J. Healy, and two light wagons, drawn by horses, together with some loose stock, were owned in partnership by one Henry and a noted wolfer and prairie man called “Big Sandy Lane,” both of whom were in the party. Besides these, there were two hardy frontiersmen, named respectively Vogle and Joe Bowers. Johnny Manning, formerly of Missoula and since sheriff at Deadwood, Dakota, was the Captain of the outfit, he having been sent out by Healy as wagon-master upon the merits of friendship. The sixth man was one designated with a “C.” [Shafft] He was physically disabled and incapable of much exertion where labor was concerned – a cripple. He had sought the land of the Great Mother to do a little studying on the Indian question, while Claggett and Page were compiling results before the U. S. Courts of the Indian investigations, which gave such a shock to the Ring in 1873; and he was now returning to the United States, a passenger in one of the horse vehicles, without fear of hindrance.

The First of the Trip.

There had been already several severe snow storms, but the road was reported clear, and on this particular day the weather was so very fine that the expedition started in high spirits and made the first camp after nine miles travel. On the 18th, sixteen miles brought them to Kipp’s Coulie, where favorable reports were received from one Jack Thomas, and the south wind blew a deceitful promise. On the 19th they reached Edman’s Coulie, but the following morning was oppressively warm, the sky was clouding in the East, and the snow, which heretofore had been light, became now so heavy that advantage had to be taken of bare ridges off the road, but camp was made on Milk river in good order.

Snow Bound On Milk River.

A small skin lodge, of two men capacity, had been taken along for quarters, and in it nightly five of the party crowded closely together, while “C.” slept in the wagon. Awakening on the morning of the 21st, “C.” thought that his blankets had increased in weight, and upon investigation he found an extra spread of snow, six inches deep, that had drifted in under the wagon cover. It was daylight, and the wind was sounding an icy reveille. Hallooing to his comrades he was told to lie still and keep warm, and after a cup of hot, acceptable coffee was reached in, and also a frying pan biscuit, a sort of cross between bread and coal, but the latter, which had dropped on top of the bed, was frozen so hard in a few minutes as to prove uneatable. At last, about noon he left the wagon and joined his companions in the lodge, every crack of which had been carefully stopped, and a very small fire in the center issued such quantities of smoke that it threatened to turn the half-blinded inmates into bacon, although they had nothing of the hog about them.

Burned His Foot Off.

The storm continued, and in the next night “C.” suspecting one of his feet to be in close proximity to the fire, asked one of the boys to feel the situation. He immediately reported that the foot was not only in the fire, but that part of it had already been consumed! This was a great calamity, but fortunately it was only a wooden foot, and it had contributed a little warmth to the lodge. It was a bad night, and daylight on Sunday was welcomed by all, but it was bitterly cold, and the popular “sun dogs” warned them to keep in the tent and (sic) their cramped and uncomfortable position. Toward evening

The Blizzard Came Up Reinforced

and with such fury that it was found necessary to turn loose the tied up stock to keep the animals from perishing. This state of affairs lasted until the 24th when the “norther” veered slightly to the West, and Sandy, after a short tramp, luckily recovered all the horses but one huddled together in a deep cut. The cattle had evidently gone South with the storm, toward the Marias.

Short of Provisions.

All the provisions that these men had to subsist upon was flour and coffee, it being the custom in those days to kill game along the road, where generally buffalo and antelope were met in number; but the gale had driven them with it, and the travelers had had no meat for several days. It was therefore a great but premature joy when Manning announced that there was a big wooly thing on the ice of the river. Vogle and Sandy started immediately with their guns for the suspected buffalo calf and found, upon close inspection, a small worthless porcupine. Johnny’s smoked eyes and the extraordinary magnifying power of the iced air had caused a deception in regard to size and specie – and the sticks that had been sharpened for a roast were now distingustingly (sic) thrown away.

Concluded To Strike Out.

On Wednesday, the 25th, the boys concluded to strike out, and about noon they selected the lightest wagon for the best team, loaded on only the necessary bedding, food and “C.,” abandoned the rest of the outfit and started into the snowy waste. Horses and men worked hard till sundown, when having made only two miles they encamped in a deep drift and returned to Milk river camp on the following morning, minus one animal, which had given out. It was now determined by all except Manning and “C.” to return to Fort Hamilton. The former wished to proceed South and recover his cattle, and the latter was anxious to reach the settlements in Montana – both were unacquainted with the country, dressed in winter garb, and several offers made for some one to bring them through were rejected.

A Bargain Effected.

Sandy alone felt inclined to go if his partner would consent to furnish the best horses – and Henry was afraid to lose them. At this point “C.” made a very liberal and final proposition to cover the anticipated loss of stock, and it was accepted. He was to be taken to Sun river, and Manning to the Marias. A general objection was now raised to “C’s” going, because if anything happened on the road – loss or weakening of stock, Indians, etc. – he would necessarily have to be abandoned to perish on the prairie; but the objection was easily overcome by “C.” stating that if he had to meet the old-time strangler, Death, all alone in the snow, he was willing to do so, and he gave a verbal release from all responsibility to his companions.

Sandy’s Snow Chariot.

Sandy at once set to work to rig up a conveyance. There were no tools except some axes and a small auger, but they proved sufficient. Taking two of the lightest ex-yokes, he removed the rings and then fastened the yokes together, equidistant apart, by means of the end-rods; another rod served to hold a tongue, and the tail-gate of a wagon formed the deck. In less than an hour a clumsy and novel sled was ready to be started.

The Party Breaks Up.

On the morning of the 28th Vogel, Henry and Bowers returned afoot toward Belly River, while at the same time the other three, provided with bedding, a few pieces of bread, a little coffee, and some oats for the horses, made a start in the contrary direction. “C.” was on the sled and held the lines, and Sandy and Manning, both being mounted, the former took the lead as guide, while the latter plied the whip to keep his own and the horses’ blood in circulation. Their course was due south, the Sweet Grass hills serving as a landmark in the east, while the main chain of the Rockies answered the same purpose in the west. No trail was visible, yet  the direction taken was so true that when they reached the Little Red river that night they were in a quarter of a mile of the wagon road, and the only place, for miles, where the Coulie could be crossed. The yokes had worked quite well, only in drifts they persisted in reaching for the bottom.

[To be concluded next week.]

A Rough Trip by Charles Schafft – 1884 – Part 1 – Newspapers.com™

[Continued from Nov. 28]

Part 2

A Rough Trip

How We Came Down From the North Ten Years Ago.

For the New North-West, by “C. S.”

The Low Ground of Red River

afforded quite a contrast to the upper air, which was still cold enough to congeal mercury, but the camp was not warm, and after throwing a few oats to the tired horses, the three crowded closely together under the blankets, where they each had taken a biscuit to nibble on as the warmth of the body thawed it out. They anticipated a warm cup of coffee in the morning, but when daylight appeared it revealed that the coffee pot had been forgotten, and that the one small tin cup was unfit for cooking purposes, and they had disappointment for breakfast, with a resurrected biscuit and some alkali water on the side. The worst and really

The Most Dreaded Part of the Journey Was Now Ahead.

It was the long, gradual ascent of a high ridge that divides the waters of the Milk river from those of the Marias – a cold and windy section to travel over even in summer time. On the north side the storm had spent its greatest fury and steep drifts and treacherous hollows became of frequent occurrence. The leaders of the teams would sometimes entirely disappear, and at others the horses were so hopelessly tangled up that it took an hour to straighten them out, yet progress was made and in the evening the party was nearing the summit. They tried to keep a due course, but owing to the crystalized air, which magnified everything, the Rockies and Sweet Grass Hills, although seventy-five miles away, looked no further off than six, and this phenomena caused variation in direction. There was only one point where a descent of the steep south side could be accomplished, and that was by the wagon road. They were in anxious doubt about finding it, when all at once, far off to the left, there appeared

A Small Black Spot,

so intensely black in all the whiteness that curiosity prompted its inspection, and Sandy made for it. No sooner had he reached there than he motioned well-known Indian signs for the others to come to him. It was a bare spot of ground with well-cut wagon tracks upon it that pointed out the way, and following the direction they soon were on the grade leading quickly down to the Rocky Springs, a noted camping ground and rendezvous for numerous war parties and hostile Indians. Here they halted and disposed of their last bread and some good water. The snow rapidly became lighter as they went down, and soon changed into ice – along which the ox-yokes flew with the swiftness of a cutter. At the bottom they reached night and ‘Alkali Flat,’ with patches of bare ground; but onward they sped until the road could no longer be distinguished; then the horses were unhitched and hobbled, and the tired men hastened into the common bed.

A Night Alarm

Hardly had they stretched their weary limbs and courted a feeling of warmth, when Manning said: “Hark!” Some persons were yelling in the far distance on ahead, and the noise was approaching. Sandy at once conjectured that it must be a war party, as he could not imagine any one else to be traveling so noisily at such an hour, and he called to Manning to come quickly and select the two best horses. “C.” now thought that the hour of abandonment had come, and in a considerable state of trepidation he tried to think in what form Old Death would appear.

The Bull-Whacker Cometh.

The voices came nearer and nearer, until at last words were distinguished which are not found in an English dictionary, but which are in frequent use by the bull-driver of the plains and addressed to his team in a forcible manner. Life took a new lease and the air felt warmer. It was a train that was coming, traveling in the night to take advantage of frozen ground in the low country. They were old acquaintances from Benton, bound for the North with provisions for the Manitoba Mounted Police. Learning of the temporarily closed country on ahead, and the forlorn condition of their informants, they halted and erected a commodious lodge, in which a wood fire was soon cheerily blazing, and

Several Dusky “Prairie Wives”

busied themselves to prepare a meal from a buffalo cow killed that day. Pulls at firewater and a bountiful meal made the ox-yoke travelers forget their hardships, and a great part of that comfortable night was passed by such stories of frontier adventures as can only be told advantageously by the camp fire.

A Warmer Country.

Sandy was warned that further down the Flat they would find soft mud instead of ice, and so it proved next day, after leaving the Bentonites (who were going to make a stay-camp at Rocky Spring), but the ox-yokes had by this time become so smooth that they glided through the soft alkali mud as though it were their element. “C.” received plenty of it, both from the hoofs of the horses and the short curves of the runners. After fourteen miles swift travel they crossed the Marias on the ice, and found themselves at

Sol Abbott’s Trading Post

on the evening of November 30. They took advantage of old-time frontier hospitality and remained until the 5th of December. During the lay-over Manning found his cattle, and Sandy constructed another novel contrivance out of two wheels and a dry goods box, in which to transport “C.” to Sun river.

A Rib For A Pair of Legs.

At this Post, while “C.” was repairing his burnt foot one day, he became an object of much curiosity to a band of Blackfeet that were encamped here with their Chief, Bad Robes. The old Chief thought a man who could walk around with half of his bones gone must be a Big Medicine, and he offered the supposed medicine man the present of a little blind [Indian girl].

Struck Civilization Again.

From this point Sandy took his passenger on the two wheels, to which fresh horses had been attached – and a rough drive of forty-five miles over a roadless prairie, cut up by innumerable dog and badger holes, brought them to the bluffs of the Teton, which they could not ascend, however, on account of the darkness of the night. At daylight the old Blackfoot agency was in sight. They passed it and reached A B. Hamilton’s just as that gentleman was on the point of starting off in a buggy, and with him “C.” at once secured a pleasant passage for the last thirty-five miles and reached the stage road and civilization without further trouble, and little the worse for wear.  C. S.

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Charles Schafft – As ‘K’ – A Bold Letter

When Charles Schafft chose to flee to Canada to avoid questioning by government officials, he noted that he had supported the Indian Agent Daniel Shanahan in his controversial tenure at the Flathead Agency. Shanahan actually suspended the Indian mission boy’s school in protest of the government’s failure to properly fund it. Over the previous 15 years Shanahan was the 13th in a long line of unsuccessful Flathead Indian agents. The roadblocks for any Flathead agent included the feckless U.S. government nonsupport and the stranglehold of the mission by the Catholic church. One of Shanahan’s severest critics was the Reverend L. Van Gorp, who had a long history in Montana. Father Van Gorp was recruited by Father Pierre-Jean De Smet to work among the Indians of the west in the 1857. He first went to Colville and California and then to Virginia City, Mt. where he presided at the funeral mass for Governor Thomas Francis Meagher in 1867. From there he went to Helena in 1869 where he founded a hospital and an academy. He was transferred to the St. Ignatius mission in 1873. His final assignment was as the president of Gonzaga college in Spokane in 1893. He was a dynamic and powerful force, yet Charles Schafft didn’t hesitate to joust with him over the treatment of reservation Indians. In 1874 Schafft wrote several controversial letters to the editor of The New North-West of Deer Lodge using the initial “K”. One of his letters is cited below.

Reservation Controversy – 1874

The New North-West – May 16, 1874

Editor: We reluctantly give space today to a long communication of a personal character; reluctantly because the controversy is not of general interest and because the parties are transferring a bitter feud to the press. As “k” however repelled an assault made on Maj. Shanahan’s administration, and therefore was personally assailed in the press, we have deemed it due to give him the opportunity to reply through the same channel. But the public can judge little of the merits of the case from these letters, even if interested in it, and we do not see that any good can come of it.

The Jocko Agency Controversy. (New North-West -May 16, 1874)

Editor New North-West: –

My attention having been called to a very elaborate and studiously gotten up article in the [Helena] Independent of the 9th inst., over the signature of L. Van Gorp, I am compelled to correct a few errors that might otherwise mislead the public. V. G. will make a very good Indian Agent of the old school – if the new appointee will consent to be his clerk – because he seemingly understands how to put things on paper without ever having known anything about them.

As he draws particular attention to a communication from “K.,” in which communication “K,” simply stated the facts as they occurred, I wish to remark that “K.” never engaged as a teacher at the Mission; that however he did teach while there two Indian boys (Peter McIvoe and John Baptiste Eneas) for pastime; that he never did receive or ask a dollar from either the Government or the Mission for such services; and yet these boys are alluded to in the report of Agent Hutchins as the ones “who had, however, the advantage of a year’s private tuition.” Consequently, V. G. is greatly mistaken when he says that I was one of the teachers at the Mission during those thirteen months beginning with August, 1863. I lived at Hell Gate from May to October, 1863, at which time I was placed in charge of the Agency by Agent Copeland Townsend, and did not return to the Mission till February, 1866. I was at the Agency in 1864 when the first Sisters arrived from Walla Walla, and I call to witness any of the employees who were then at the Agency – among them Hon. J. Kennedy, of Bitter Root Valley – that the Sisters were treated with all the hospitality that the place afforded; if the Agent in charge did not then offer them a chair, it was because there were no chairs on the place – to my certain knowledge the first chairs ever at this Agency were received from Fort Benton late in November, 1864.

Whether V. G. ever relished my praises or commendations is a matter of great indifference. I never asked him for any favors, nor would receive any from him, as he well knows. Did I turn traitor, Mr. Van Gorp, to my employer, when you promised last winter to use your influence to have me appointed clerk to Mr. Garrigan, or recommend me to the position of Trader? Can you meet my employer face to face and substantiate the false accusations you made against his characters here and elsewhere? You have refused to do so at all events – and you are defied to do so.

In my communication of the 25th ult. I retracted nothing stated in former communications. I simply said what the Indian chiefs had remarked in council relative to the 5th article of the treaty, which says:

“The United States further agree to establish at suitable points within said reservation within one year after ratification hereof, an agricultural and industrial school, erecting the necessary buildings, keeping the same in repair, and providing it with books and stationery, to be located at the Agency, and to be free to the children of the said tribes, and to employ a suitable instructor or instructors.”

I also know from records in this office that Agent Shanahan was repeatedly instructed by both Superintendent Wright and the Commissioner of Indian Affairs to build a school-house at this Agency. The Flatheads positively demand it because Garfield promised it. If V. G. wants me to retract what I said in “September or October last” I will do so, and state the facts as they were in reality. I honor the Sisters and their efforts, and respect the success they have attained with the Indian girls within the enclosure at the Mission; and I also honor the gentlemen who have heretofore had charge of the Mission. I have never published anything to the contrary and my letter of the 25th contained only that which is here on public file. The Sisters when they arrived at the Mission occupied the small frame house standing opposite the residence of the Fathers and the present school-house was not completed nor occupied till the summer of 1866. For the correct information of your readers K. wishes to state that he was present in the summer of 1864, when Father Grassi, the then teacher, was made to take the “iron-clad” before he could draw his salary from the government. He did draw it. That was before the Sisters came. K. again refers any whom the subject may interest to the half-breeds and Indians for information; they are indeed unimpeachable judges; and they would be much pleased if their children could read and write letters for them. Some of the much-educated Indians who have not even the usual summer vacation ought to reply themselves; but there is not one of the boys who can do so. Duncan McDonald, who received his education outside of the reservation, is perhaps the only Indian who can write an intelligent letter. What would be the result if the Indian boys could fluently read the American newspapers and translate the contents directly to the old folks?

Having just received intelligence that the Indian Bureau is about to investigate this School business, I shall for the present keep aloof and let things take their course through the Government channels. “K.” certainly, “as he told a gentleman,” had enough of teaching Indian boys under the jurisdiction of the Mission, without pay.

16 May 1874, Page 3 – The New North-West at Newspapers.com

An Incident of Travel

Late in the month of October, 1864, two old chums and fortune hunters of the old California type, men who are always on the tramp and look-out for better prospects, came to the conclusion to emigrate to Montana and strike it “big.” Having once made up their mind, immediate preparations were begun for the undertaking of a journey of some four hundred miles travel through a country almost entirely unsettled by white men.

The season was far advanced towards winter, but thoughts of trouble in crossing the mountains did not deter them from starting, because they wished to be on hand to take advantage of the earliest waters of spring. Being bachelors, they were of course equipped with the necessary camping outfit, and the matter which gave them the most concern was horseflesh, for although each was the possessor of a whittledig,  the animals for safety, had been kept picketed within sight on the bare flat surrounding the town of Walla Walla, and had been so emaciated that it seemed rather problematical if they could make a common day’s journey even without any load whatever. But the two friends were unable to procure better stock; their purses were depleted and no Indians were just then in the neighborhood for a “whoop up trade.” So one pleasant day they divided their small stock of provisions in equal portions, tied them up in their airy blankets behind the saddles, and then afoot, leading their ponies behind them, they started out on the Mullan road for their destination.

After nearly two week’s travel they found themselves in the Bitter Root mountains which were already arrayed in the snows of winter. Here, while yet on the West side, and some twenty miles from the summit, one of their ponies paid the last tribute to nature by becoming food for magpies. The two comrades, already a little soured by the unforeseen meeting of difficulties and hardships, now began to quarrel, and the owner of the surviving equine skeleton, (Johnny McCall) mounting his beast for the first time on the journey, told his companion he might go to those warm regions which are now happily regarded as a myth, and left him to either return to the easily accessible Catholic mission, or to follow the lonely road as best he could. Johnny, in the heat of passion, urged his steed to its utmost powers, and the persuasion of a switch being deemed insufficient, he improvised a spur out of a forked stick, which he tied to his boot by means of a string. At last, when already the shadows of evening had invested the forest with a dark obscurity, he reached “N – – – – Prairie,” and began to look about for a favorable spot to camp. While riding along a narrow trail which winds along the foot of the river, and about four feet above its waters, he having raised himself in his stirrup to obtain a better view, his horse, while trying to step over a fallen tree, lost its footing on the icy path and fell over sidewise, so suddenly that its rider had not time to extricate his foot, and the make-shift spur having caught in some branches, held him fixed in the position in which he had fallen. It was a bad fix; the horse lying with its back down the bank towards the river, with its weight upon the leg of Johnny, one of whose shoulders was in contact with the water, at this point somewhat obstructed with float timber. Should the animal make any effort to alter its position, it could only be done by first rolling over upon the man, and either submerging his head into the water, or crushing some of his limbs. The position was fully realized and Johnny knew that without some providential interference he was lost. He lay there quietly for a few moments, keeping his head above water, when the horse making a slight movement, caused him to give a yell with the full strength of his lungs; but there was no answer except the echo, and the man kept still now, very still, for fear the least noise would move the animal, which by its hard breathing showed that the position was becoming tiresome and painful. And an hour passed in this agony. The darkness of the night had replaced the dusk of evening; the cold air of November was becoming intensely keen, and no hope of relief. A cracking of branches was heard and listened to with the greatest joy, an expectation only to end in disappointment and deeper despair, with the prolonged howl of a timber wolf that was prowling through the woods. Well it was, that the horse was so utterly broken down. It made another effort to regain its feet, and the movement caused Johnny to give what he calls his “death yell,” which, to his great surprise, was answered by his cast-off friend of the morning, who had followed, and was on the look-out for his late partner’s camp fire, when his hair was raised by what he supposed at first to be an Indian warhoop, but a few loud words almost unconsciously spoken by Johnny, and which seemed to imply a recollection of a long-neglected deity, guided him to the spot of the accident. Here at first he perceived only the horse laying beside the trail, and stood in momentary hesitation, from which, however, he quickly recovered upon seeing and realizing the fix of his old comrade. Eagerly he went to work, and intelligently placing a lever between the horse and the entangled leg, he succeeded to raise the animal sufficiently to permit the withdrawal of the man, who was so benumbed that it was only slowly he could extricate himself. Deprived of the living prop the animal rolled over into the river upon its back, and ere assistance could be rendered among the driftwood, it had succumbed by drowning.

The two men now became firmer friends than ever, and in spite of their former troubles, pursued their journey in a happier frame of mind than they had experienced since leaving Walla Walla. They have, however, never struck a “big thing” yet, although they have been on nearly every stampede in and out of the Territory since those days. Both of them are now working in a mining camp on the West side, and intend leaving for Arizona in the spring, with the belief that their bonanza lies somewhere down there in the Apache country.

C. S.

The above article appeared in The Benton Weekly Record on January 30, 1880.

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A VERITABLE HISTORY OF HELL GATE. [In 2 Parts]

By One Who has Stood in the Portals.

(The following history of Hell Gate relates to the now deserted village of Hell Gate, situated a few miles west of Missoula. It was the first town in Montana, and the writer, who is thoroughly conversant with its history, has interspersed historic facts through the quaint humor of his recital, as a simple melody is carried through the intricate Variations of an elaborate Musical Composition. – Ed. N. N. W.)

Having been informed by the oldest inhabitant about the existence of certain historical ruins, I, one day last fall, granted myself an “unlimited leave of absence” and repaired to the spot indicated, which is situated in Hell Gate Rondes, west from the City of Bridges.

I found the ground claimed by a worthy United States French Canadian, a descendant of the ancient family of the Vasseurs. He courteously pointed out the site of the ruins and said he had no objection to my examining them, as all supposed treasure had probably long since been carried off by the diggers.

A few steps brought me to a pile of rubbish that once had been a chimney, on the shady side of which I found reclining a melancholy chap who was intently gazing at a real silver quarter lying in his open palm. He was so lost in reverie that he scarcely noticed my approach, and I indignantly leveled at his head a mortal compound of nitro-glycerinated Jersey lightning  which brought him to his senses, and he immediately arose and surrendered his pistol hand into mine. Having shed the tear of friendship, we both settled down in an easy attitude.

The shedding of a few more tears made my new found friend communicative, and he informed me that he had found the quarter under the debris of a hog pen that had anciently been occupied as a saloon, and said it was an unmistakable relic of old times, when round metal used to be the currency. He had been “a man around town” and upon request and the inducement of several drinks, gave me the following history of what was really the first town and first commercial centre in Montana.

DRINK THE FIRST.

Once upon a time when this country was as yet an unclaimed wilderness and the lordly siwash  was absolute master of all he surveyed – never dreaming of a future vile Superintendent of Indians – when the dusky maidens of the forest gathered crops of camas and other nutritious roots from the unfenced prairies; when the virgin streams were unpolluted by the washings of the miner and alive with myriads of the finny tribe; when the wild game had not withdrawn from the exterminative rifle of the pale face and the scream of Caldwell’s steam thrasher  had not suppressed the howl of the wolf, then it was that the Great Father commissioned a two-eyed man named Stevens to survey these mountains and make treaties with the aborigines for the relinquishment of their lands. And Stevens came and kept his two eyes open. He held a council with the Flatheads and other neighboring tribes, and by a liberal distribution of gab, beguiled the innocent savages to sign over their choicest lands at the rate of a thousand acres for a blanket, which said blankets were to be paid them in annual instalments by an honest man appointed semi-occasionally by the President, and who was to reside among them and be their Agent. The Indians were also to have teachers, both mental and mechanical, who were to teach them the sighences (sic) of civilization. Alas! Poor Lo!

DRINK THE SECOND.

The two-eyed man having forwarded the bill of sale to his chief, it was submitted to the council of the nation and approved. Whereupon it was ordained that a military man named Mullen (sic) (who was a great traveler and knew all about roads) should proceed with men, money and ammunition and open up a great national highway from the salmon-bearing Columbia to the catfish-bearing Missouri so that the Webfeet and Tenderfeet could come and settle upon the new purchase.

It was in the summer of 1858 that Mullen having arrived upon his field of operations, via Panama, San Francisco and Portland, commenced work from the  two Wallas by spoiling the Indian trails leading towards the country of the Palouses; but those enlightened savages not relishing the idea of having their highways cut up in such a manner, perpetrated  “Steptoe’s Defeat” which inaugurated a bloody war, in which the Indians lost over a thousand lives (horse lives) and were eventually compelled to sue for peace.

The road expedition having been laid up during these troubles necessarily expended a great deal of money in making plans for the future, so that the great council had to make up another appropriation, with which aid and a large military escort Mullen once more entered upon his labors in the following summer, and headed his wheelbarrow brigade for the sunny land of the Bitter Roots.

He enjoined his engineers always to locate the road over the highest mountain peaks on the line, so that the future immigrants could have a good view of the country – and, wherever water-courses were convenient,  to follow up the beds of streams, which, he said, were natural highways – and the advice of the pathfinder was kept in view and practically carried out, so that in 1860 the Indian trails over the Coeur D’Alene range were completely destroyed, and Uncle Sam’s wagons rattled through this valley on their way to meet the steamboats of the Missouri, and the great military road was declared open and free  to the people of all nations.

Several members of the expedition who had viewed these delightful valleys from a high mountain grade, remained here, and it was thus that the Baron [O’Keefe] became one of the first settlers and finally a member of the Legislature. He pre-empted Karriakkan Defile where his residence at present guards the pass to the Flathead Agency.

DRINK THE THIRD.

Although the national highway had been declared open, few cared to take immediate advantage of the same and venture through semi-hostile tribes into a comparatively unknown wilderness.

There were, however, at that time, near the occidental terminus of the road, two unmarried and adventurous individuals of mercantile turn of mind [Higgins & Worden], who saw far ahead through the opened mountains a splendid opening for themselves and after due consultation and quickly matured deliberation they determined for the land of the Bitter Roots.

With their inborn characteristic energy, they at once gathered together a general assortment of merchandise, consisting of whisky, tobacco and bacon, loaded the same upon the backs of a few animals and started into the tracks of Mullen. After a long and weary journey through the mountains, where they would certainly have lost the way, had not the foresight of the engineers left large monumental stumps everywhere in the middle of the road to guide the traveler, they arrived one day at the western end of this valley. The prospect before them was, of course, truly magnificent, and, lost in silent admiration, they journeyed on till they arrived here where a solitary cottonwood stood sentinel over a sparkling spring. They encamped, and having turned their animals loose upon the magnificent pasturage of the prairie, they took off their elbowless coats, threw their dilapidated beavers upon the ground and rapidly prepared the accustomed meal of “Old Ned. ”

DRINK THE FOURTH.

After satisfying the inner man, our two travelers, one of whom was called Captain and the other Colonel, fired their red clay pipes and for awhile smoked on in silence unbroken save by an occasional yelp of the coyote, which was prevented from taking his usual evening draught out of the spring.

Suddenly, the Colonel layed aside his pipe, opened his mouth and said, “Cap!” Having thus attracted the attention of his partner, he, without any hemming or hawing, introduced an idea which had smartly struck him. He said: “As we have come a long distance without meeting any customers and as there is no likelihood of finding an open market further east, I suggest that we create a market ourselves and make customers find us, by making our present supplies the foundation of the first town in this region, to be located upon this very spot, which seems to be centrally situated for the congregation of such characters as the country affords.” The Captain expressed his delight and satisfaction at the project by shaking his partner violently by the hand and saying “you are a brick – the first brick of the town.” So it was settled and the camp declared permanent. The partners nearly quarreled about the name the new town was to bear. The Captain wished to call it “Toll-Gate” “because,” said he, “here we can collect just as much toll on our goods as we please, owing to the absence of any and all opposition;” but the Colonel scoffed at the bare idea and replied “Toll Gate be darned; might just as well call it Hell Gate and be done with it.” Not wishing to argue any longer, the Captain growled, “well, let it be Hell Gate then” – and Hell Gate thenceforth it was. Donning a nightcap each and rolling themselves up in a couple of gunny bags, they pillowed their tired heads upon a saddle and consigned themselves to the care of Morpheus, and thus was the first night at Hell Gate.

DRINK THE FIFTH.

The town once determined upon was not long suffered to remain in the embryo state; but soon a smoke which greasefully (sic) curled out of a solitary chimney, advertised to the surrounding country the place of exchange and the characters from far and near came around to barter their commodities for bacon and tobacco and also invested largely in old rye – which made the place flourish and survive the winter of 1860. The merchants were enabled to cast away their worn out suits of threadbare and don instead well smoked rigs of buckskin. The honest man who had been appointed to reside among the Indians as their agent, invited himself to try the fire water, and finding it entirely to his taste recommended the establishment to the mental and mechanical geniuses attached to his agency; prominent among whom was “Big Nick,” who was employed to teach the Indians how to dance “Yuba” and fix their instruments of war. The agent further promised to subsidize the place with “certificates of honor,” which was a big thing.

Agriculture was chiefly in the hands of a few Indianized Canadians, whose primitive mode of entering the seed caused the soil to yield but a scanty return. One successful cabbage garden was cultivated (after the method of the old masters) by the Italian missionaries at St. Ignatius Mission, and a sufficiency of potatoes and onions was produced to glut the small market at Hell Gate and prevent the scurvy.

(SEVERAL MORE DRINKS NEXT WEEK.)

Part 2

A Veritable History Of Hell Gate

By One Who has Stood in the Portals.

(The following history of Hell Gate relates to the now deserted village of Hell Gate, situated a few miles west of Missoula. It was the first town in Montana, and the writer, who is thoroughly conversant with its history, has interspersed historic facts through the quaint humor of his recital, as a simple melody is carried through the intricate Variations of an elaborate Musical Composition. – Ed. N. N. W.)

DRINK THE SIXTH.

In 1861 the Great Father hearing of the commercial center upon the new purchase, once more called into the field Mr. Mullen (sic) to repair the road that had been considerably worn by fire, water and the first emigrants. The path-finder therefore fitted out another large expedition at the two Wallas and started out to review the engineering and work of the past two years. The first important change made by him was turning the road away from the delightful and inviting; through rather swampy, valleys of the St. Joe and Coeur d’Alene, and coming around the dry and gravely country of the horse-stealing Spokanes. He made rapid progress until coming to the mountains. Here he found the natural highways no longer practicable, and much labor was found necessary to bridge the numerous crossings of the Coeur d’Alene and St. Regis Borgia, but the bridges were built chiefly by the soldiers at the point of the bayonet, and the expedition moved on regardless of the fact that the bridges might not tarry its return.

After a long summer’s work we had the boys again in the valley. They made their cantonment 10 miles from here on the left bank of the Big Blackfoot. Of course, the town was greatly benefitted by the presence of so large a government outfit, and could not help but expand. New buildings sprang up. The founders of the town exchanged the old round-log cabin store for yon large hewed log building, which looked pretty much as it does now, only more imposing and grand, for, it was the store. They no longer wore buckskin, but dressed in store clothes and even indulged in the extravagant luxury of cigars. The whisky business had become divided, it being exclusively in the hands of other parties, but everybody smiled and was happy. The town was a success and would find its place upon the maps of the nation.

A DRINK BETWEEN DRINKS.

The Legislature holding its regular session, way down in the shades of Olympia, had learned of the far away settlement in the Rocky Mountains and the fathers of the people took an interest in it. They made Hell Gate the capital of a county extensive enough for a Territory, and the county was called Missoula.

Officers of the law had been appointed, among them Frank Woody. Wild-cat Bill  was Sheriff and the first regular court in Montana was called to order by asking all hands to take a drink, in the winter of 1861-62. However, the court was a failure, owing to a dispute that arose as to who was plaintiff and who was defendant.  Old Brooks, the Judge, was declared a nuisance, Wild-cat Bill made a cavalry charge and dispersed the jury, the witnesses and spectators resolved themselves into a mass-meeting, declared law to be a dead letter, no kind of amusement for the people, and voted courts to be humbug. Thereafter the county was free for many years, people paid no tax and no rascally Treasurer could get away with public funds. The store keepers acted as arbitrator generals and settled all disputes between themselves and their customers in a highly satisfactory manner to themselves.

SEVENTH REGULAR DRINK.

The winter of ’61-62 was one of the severest that had ever been known, even by the oldest aboriginal inhabitant – and he was a very old man. It was a snow-enveloped, tree-splitting, regular whisky-freezing winter. The cattle and horses died in front of their master’s doors, and the masters froze to the fire-place. One poor fellow went out prospecting for the Mullen (sic) road in order to reach a warmer climate which he expected to find in Deer Lodge; but he lost his footing and never found it since  – –

While half of his bones lie moldering in the grave

The other half goes marching on.

The expedition was not idle; they inch by inch combatted the frozen mountains, and by spring had succeeded in reaching the highest points practicable for the Mullen (sic) road. They built, also, a bridge over the Blackfoot, which was intended to belong to Uncle Sam, because his money and his men had constructed it, but eventually it fell into the hands of some other uncle, who saw it was good and made out of it a big thing. In the latter part of May the cantonment and expedition were broken up simultaneously. Some of the boys went East to fight for their country, others went West to fight for themselves; some few, charmed with the romantic name of Hell Gate, the safe distance from cannon balls and the country generally, remained and became some of the “old settlers,” which was again a benefit to the town, for these men had money and there was no other place to invest it. Their available means were in the shape of Treasury notes, and although there was no bank in those days, they were readily discounted. After the leaving of the soldiers nothing remarkable occurred. The new made farmers attended to breaking themselves into their chosen vocation, and the townspeople attended to breaking one another, the merchants picking up the fragments. Some time this year occurred also the first tragedy, performed by the Yuba dancer, “Big Nick,”  and a celebrated dramatic actor named Overlanding. No monument was placed over the remains of the latter.

EIGHTH DRINK.

’63 was the dawning of a new era. One of the partners had received a Grant [Julia Grant Higgins] and the town was no longer solely composed of bachelors. Gold had been discovered in paying quantities on the Eastern slope and soon people of all nations wended their way to the mountains to prospect for their fortune. The preliminary farmers of our valley found a ready market for their little produce, in the mines, thus bringing in use two new commodities at Hell Gate – buckskin purses and gold scales – and dust was plenty. More ranches were taken up, more houses were built in town, and to see calico perambulating the main thoroughfare was no longer a rarity.

Near the approach of winter many characters, some good, some bad, came over here to hibernate, to play poker, drink whisky and eat sour kraut. This poker was an interesting game, and was played with gold dust, cards, pistols and cocktails; some of the players lost deeply thereat, in fact they lost themselves, and for safe keeping were placed under six feet of ground. The house wherein the playing was done was called “the butcher shop;” it was run by a Cook  who subsequently emigrated home after having discovered a lead mine in his belly.

There was no church; the only sermons preached were taken from the texts contained in the doctrines of that old gentleman, the devil, who, it seemed, abided in close proximity. The preachings were promptly enforced, in the old orthodox way, with powder and ball. There were no dissenters, and the ministers of his Satanic Majesty, who had come over from the East Side, had things pretty much their own way till early in ’64, when certain reformers across the mountains came over and stopped their wind very ingeniously by hoisting them up in the air. This proceeding put a suspension for awhile to Road Agents – but not to the collection of tolls on the great national highway. However the people breathed freer and were happy. In this year happened also the memorable Indian war, in which the town was turned into a garrison. The red men who were assembled in large numbers at St. Ignatius Mission, prayerfully preparing themselves for the approaching feast of Easter and begging the Great Spirit to save them from the wrath of the pale faces, were deemed hostile; and all the settlers of the valley, with their valuables, were congregated at Hell Gate for mutual protection. They had Captains and Corporals, but the farmers were the common soldiers and did the sentineling. The store and saloons were besieged continually by a thirsty multitude – thirsting for the contents of sundry kegs; a debt was thus created that is known as “the Hell Gate war claim of 1864.” Finding out at last that each party was afraid of the other a treaty of peace was concluded and the Indians gave a hostage which was suspended at the old corral.  No blood had been spilled, but those of the garrison who did not belong to the town had been bled freely.

NINTH DRINK.

The Kootenai diggings were now a great attraction and this valley was made a regular thoroughfare for those who wished to travel in any direction. Farms increased rapidly and the farmers made the dust fly in the very faces of the merchants – good old times, those – and the two partners had the monopoly of all Missoula, till suddenly there came from the West a lean, lank Yankee named Longback, who was also a trader. He whittled his stake and set it immediately opposite the pioneer establishment. Having been born with a wooden nutmeg  in his mouth it came natural to him to make bargains. He was popular, too, because he could hoodwink, and, as people like to be hoodwinked, he soon had all the customers he wanted and on his books were inscribed the names of many peons. The other concern across the street suddenly discovered that it would not pay them to remain in the ancient burgh of Hell Gate any longer; so they packed up their houses, their goods and their other things and started that new town at the mouth of the canon in the fall of ’65. Progress was made so rapidly that a human sacrifice, in the person of Matt Craft, was slain before Christmas.

The old place deprived of half its population and buildings, struggled bravely on and was still a kind of a centre, but it was no longer the town. Early in ’66 one of its citizens tried to revive its old glory by shooting, but finding no other victim he fell, a martyr, by his own hand. Nothing notable thereafter occurred, except that Longback made his peons work the soil for him until he grew fat upon the products of the mine and farm. Uncle Sam still kept the post office; but when in ’69 the last calico fluttered away, Longback could not remain longer, for the rustle of a woman’s garment was music to his ear, and he departed. A White man next took the helm, only to sicken and die. After him the town fell into irresponsible hands and busted up entirely.

At this point my melancholy friend took

THE LAST NIP

And observed: Here where there once was love and murder, wars and rumors of wars, executions, seductions and suicide, is now nothing left but these broken down old chimneys, and the two partners that first came here with their loads of tobacco, whisky and bacon, are now the merchant princes of a future great city. Hell Gate is no more.

Thanking my ruined friend for the information imparted to me, I picked up my legs and artistically arranging them underneath me, walked sadly away.

THE BOTTLE IS EMPTY.

The above articles appeared in the Deer Lodge, Mt. newspaper The New North-West beginning on March 7 of 1874. The author of these 2 articles was unidentified. Although he never achieved the notoriety some others did, the style and substance of these articles leads one to believe the author could only have been one person, Charles Schafft.

https://www.newspapers.com/image/171615134

https://www.newspapers.com/image/171615333/?terms=hell%2Bgate

A Legend

It has been often claimed by local inhabitants, and certified to as a fact by the tourist and general traveler, that the most beautiful and varied scenery to be found in Montana, is on the west side of the Rocky mountains, and particularly in the valleys drained by the Clarke’s Fork of the Columbia and the Missoula rivers. Following the road down the Hell Gate, the panorama is ever changing. While heavy timbered mountains narrow in the valley the finest scenes present themselves to the eye while journeying through the miles and miles of the majestic pine forests of the bottom, until all at once we find spread before our vision the great and almost incomparable valley of the Missoula.

But we cannot tarry; the location of our legend is not yet reached. Hurrying into a dark and lonely, but picturesque canyon, we are led over the chiaro-oscuro [artistic] divide and through a country whose sparkling streams and shady groves delight the eye in every direction, until we reach a high hill overlooking the valleys of the Sonielem and Pruin rivers, and here is the place where the old Iroquois related the story. The view from this standpoint is truly magnificent. The Rocky mountains, tall and majestic, rise up abruptly before us, and numerous cascades are seen rippling down their sides and forming themselves into streamlets at the bottom, where the waters serve for irrigation of the fertile lands in the large valley belonging to the Indians. The mountains here are very steep, and the back-bones or ridges running down their sides, seem difficult of access by a human being, so narrow and sharp are they.

“Do you see yon very sharp ridge?” said Eneas , “difficult as it may appear, it was once ascended by an Indian youth. He was the son of a chief, and had long but vainly courted a beautiful Indian maiden of his tribe. Nightly he wandered to and fro before the lodge containing his sweetheart, and with the reed flute, sound forth simple but plaintive notes to convey his undying love to the obdurate maiden within. Not being an accepted lover, he dared not enter, and would disconsolately move about until the chills of night, or a regard for the slumbers of the inmates caused him to seek his lonely couch of buffalo robes. With the rising of the sun he was up, and after having made an elaborate toilet with vermillion, he would anxiously await the appearance of the maiden, and whenever she showed herself he tried to attract a glance from her by all the maneuvres in his power. But for a long while all his love, art, and attentions seemed to be thrown away. The powerful influence of his relatives was brought into requisition, but it was of no avail. At last, however, he succeeded in his wishes, and his happiness was full to overflowing, when, one bright, moon-light night, after he had called forth the sweetest notes from the flute, the door of the lodge was suddenly thrown open, and he was motioned to enter within. He was accepted. It did not take long after that to make the preliminary arrangements and tie the nuptial knot in the romantic Indian fashion. They were the most loving pair of mortals imaginable, and would scarcely separate from each other even for a single hour; but their love, it seems, was too great to last long. After a short month of intense happiness, the young bride sickened and died. The unexpected and severe blow almost stunned the husband, but he managed to enable himself to attend the last sad rites of the funeral. Having seen all that was dear to him conveyed to the earth, he became a wanderer and sometimes would absent himself for days in the lonely forest to commune, as the Indians thought, with the spirits. He would speak to no one, not even his nearest relatives, and when spoken to only a sad shake of the head could be obtained in reply. Thus matters went on about two months, and his goings and comings were no longer noticed. It was believed that grief had slightly turned his head.

One day after he had been absent longer than usual, he returned and to the surprise of all was as cheerful and happy and apparently in as sound a state of mind as ever before. His wondering companions crowded around him and begged him to tell what good spirit he had met and how he had become restored to his former self. Said he: “When I left you several nights ago it was with the intention of seeking some secluded nook and there to make an end to my almost unbearable life. I traveled through the woods for days and nights, yet uncertain what to do, and one morning about sunrise I found myself at the foot of yon steep, bare, rocky ridge. I looked up, it seemed a great distance to the top of it, and all at once I thought I saw a bright spirit looking down and beckoning me to come to him. I longed to go, but it seemed an impossibility to reach him. At last I resolved to make an attempt, and throwing away my blanket I commenced the ascent. An hour’s climbing brought me to the foot of the rocks and here the difficulty commenced. Further progress could only be made by straddling the ridge like a horse and make (sic) my up little by little. It was hard work, and by noon I had only reached the middle, faint and tired. On each side of me I could see nothing but the sky, and had I lost my hold I must have perished. I started again, and when darkness had already covered the earth I stood upon the summit, but only for a moment, because I immediately lost my senses and dropped upon the ground. When I awakened it was a little while before sunrise, and I felt very sore, but managing to rise upon my feet I walked a little way and the soreness soon disappeared. I kept on traveling until I came to a place where there was a lake far down beneath me. The Spirit was nowhere to be seen and I again began to give way to despair and was upon the point of throwing myself over a precipice into the deep waters of the lake, when a sweet-sounding voice spoke behind me and said: “Despair no longer; look at me. Do you not know who I am?” I looked, and before me stood the brightest looking being I ever beheld, and I knew it was the Spirit and felt afraid. “Fear not, poor mortal,” said he, and he held out his hands in each of which appeared a deep scar. “I have suffered more than you,” he continued, “and died for all the world to save the wicked people.” I knew then that I stood before the Great Spirit of the pale faces, of whom the Iroquois had told us. “Go back to your village,” he said to me, “and tell your father, who is at the head of the tribe, to resign his place to you, and after you are chief you will live many years; but should he refuse to do so, you will not live long. White people will soon visit your country, who are my servants, and you will know them by the long black gowns they wear. After they have come you must go to them and ask to be baptized, and soon after that you will die. Look down yon Lake! On the shores are many yellow pebbles; they are of great value to the white people. Go down and take one with you as a token that I have appeared to you, but never reveal the place where you obtained it to any one, because it would result in the ruin of your tribe.

I obeyed, and the descent to and ascent from the lake seemed as though I was floating through the air; but I brought away a heavy, bright pebble, and with it stood again in the presence of the spirit.

“Go back now,” he said, “by a shorter route than the one which you came;” and then he immediately disappeared. A total darkness took place of the brightness which had surrounded him, and being unable to proceed I laid down upon the ground and fell asleep. How long I slept, I do not know, but when I awoke it was beside my blanket in the forest. At first I thought that it had all been a dream, but this pebble in my hand convinced me to the contrary.”

He now asked his father to resign his place to him, but the old man became angry and told the youth that he was a crazy liar. Shortly after the Missionaries came, and the young Indian went to them to be baptized and to die.

Upon inquiry as to what had become of the piece of gold, Eneas said that that the young Indian had given it to his mother, and she had hidden it so securely that she was unable to find it again. The old Iroquois told many more stories, but this was the most remarkable lie of them all.

The above article appeared in The Benton Weekly Record on March 5, 1880.

Charles Schafft’s story above has its origins in the history of the western tribes to obtain the assistance of the Jesuit ‘Black Robes’ from St. Louis in 1839. The influence of Iroquois leaders was important in convincing Father Pierre-Jean DeSmet to come to the Northwest.

For reference to Chief Aeneas of the Kootenai tribe see ‘The lineage of Chief Aeneas’ by Keith J. Hammer. Aeneas was believed to be one of the signers of the Hell Gate Treaty of 1855. His father was reputedly the eastern Iroquois, Young Ignace.

Lineage_of_Chief_Aeneas.pdf (swanrange.org)

05 Mar 1880, Page 2 – The Benton Weekly Record

Charles Schafft Addendum

Timeline

1838 – Born – Berlin, Germany

1849 – To N. Y. – worked for father

1853 – Joined U. S. Army – N. Y.

1854 – Crossed Panama Isthmus to Calif.

1855 – To Arizona & New Mex.

1856 – Fort Yuma

1858 – Discharged

1858 – To Portland per John Mullan Expedition

1859 – To Montana, back to Coeur d’Alene

1860 – To Walla Walla & Dalles – Willamette Valley teacher

1861 – Cowboy on Barlow Road –

1861 – Mullan Expedition again

1861 – Caught horse thieves – dinner with Stuarts at Gold Creek

1862 – January – caught in storm – froze his feet in Hell Gate River

1862 – Legs amputated – transported to St. Ignatius – Father Menetery

1863 – 64 – Stayed at St. Ignatius

1865 – Appointed County Clerk & Recorder – then elected 1st County Clerk at Hell Gate

1866 – Resigned office – back to St. Ignatius as a clerk to the agent

1867 – Back to Hell Gate – assisting Father Ravalli

1867 – Employed by Agent Wells – obtained artificial limbs

1868 – Clerk for Woodward, Clements Co.

1868 – 69 – Clerk for Major McCormick

1869 – 1870 – Returned to Germany

1870 – Returned to U. S. – Went to D. C.

1870 – Back to Missoula

1871 – Back to St. Ignatius Agency for Maj. Chas. Jones

1873 – Back to Missoula in January

1873 – Relieved Agent Shanahan temporarily

1874 – Left Agency – went to Canada ‘Whoop Up’ to avoid testifying

1874 – Partly in charge of Fort in Canada

1875 – Back to Missoula – hired by Agent Peter Whaley then Charles Medery

1876 – Medery fired – Peter Ronan comes

1876 – Returns to Missoula – Kennedy Hotel

1879 – Moved to Helena as clerk for Kleinschmidt Bros.

1879 – To Fort Benton with Johnny Kennedy – to Canada on trip – thru Sitting Bull’s camp

1880 – Worked for Fort Benton newspaper – became distraught

1880 – Took a boat to Bismarck – then St. Paul – then Wash D. C. help from Gens. Terry & Sheridan)

1880 – Hired at census bureau as clerk

1882 – Long trip back to Missoula

1883 – No suitable employment in Missoula – clerk work for Judge Stephens

1891 – Funeral in March

Buried in Obscurity in Missoula – 1891 (name is mis-spelled)

Missoula City Cemetery – Internment Registry

Schaff Charles Unk 8-1/2 13 63A Map

https://www.ci.missoula.mt.us/DocumentCenter/View/441/S-Interments-PDF?bidId=

Charles Schafft Obituary

Death of A Missoula Pioneer – 1891.

Charles Schafft, a Well – Known Missoulian Passes Away

Charles Schafft died Thursday at 5 o’clock at his rooms on Higgins avenue, of pneumonia. He had been ill for several months, but was supposed to be convalescing.

Biographical – [From Missoula Weekly Gazette 1891]

Charles Schafft came to Montana from Walla Walla in the fall of 1861 as a clerk with what was known as the Captain Mullan United States Military road expedition. During the winter of 1861-2 he was employed as a clerk at the mouth of the Blackfoot by W. J. Terry, sutler to the expedition, which was encamped that winter on the plateau just east of where the railroad bridge now stands. During the winter he had a disagreement with the clerk in charge during Terry’s absence, and left the encampment. He started up the canyon toward the camp of a party engaged in making one of the large grades, and the weather being very cold and the snow very deep, froze both of his feet, finally reaching the camp on his hands and knees. He was brought back to the camp of the expedition, where Dr. Hammond, assistant United States army surgeon, amputated both his legs below the knees. He remained there until the camp broke up in May, when he was carried in a hand litter by a detachment of soldiers to St. Ignatius mission. There he remained for a year or more. After that he was employed by Major Hutchins, the Indian agent at Flathead agency, and several of his successors, and being thoroughly familiar with the system of keeping quartermaster’s accounts as well as those of Indian agents, his services were invaluable. Subsequently he made a trip into the British possessions to a place known as Hoopuy, near where Fort Mcleod now stands. He remained there and at Fort Benton a year or more and then returned to Missoula. He was afterwards again employed by the Indian agents, and since has been in charge chiefly in the business of abstracts of title of Judge Stephens in his large land-law practice. In both these capacities he developed great aptitude.

Mr. Schafft was the first appointed as well as the first elected county clerk and recorder of Missoula county under the Montana territorial organization, having been appointed in 1864 and elected at the first election in the fall of the same year. This position he resigned in February 1865.

Mr. Schafft was a native of Berlin on the Spree, Germany, and at the time of his death was between 55 and 60 years of age. He had been a drummer boy in one of the infantry regiments of the regular army and for some time was stationed with his regiment at San Diego, California. After his discharge he came to Montana. Deceased was unmarried, very popular and leaves a lot of friends.

Mr. Schafft’s funeral will take place from the undertaking parlors of Bradley & Lucy Friday afternoon at 3 o’clock. Rev. Lamont officiating.

The above is an obituary from The Missoula Weekly Gazette on March 25, 1891.

Sources
Books
“An Illustrated History of the State of Montana.” Cincinnatur Heinie Miller. Chicago, 1894
“Following Old Trails.” Arthur L. Stone. Morton J. Elrod, University of Montana, 1913.
“Forty Years on the Frontier.” Granville Stuart. Edited by Paul C. Phillips. 2 vols. Cleveland, 1925.
“History of Montana, 1739 – 1885.” Michael A. Leeson. Chicago, 1885.
“Indian and White in the Northwest.” Lawrence B. Palladino. Baltimore, 1893. Revised ed., Penn. 1922.
“Jesuits in Montana.” Wilfred Schoenberg. The Oregon Jesuit Press, 1960.
“Miners and Travelers Guide to Oregon, Washington, Idaho, Montana, Wyoming, and Colorado.” John Mullan. New York, 1865.
“Missoula The Way It Was.” Lenora Koelbel. Gateway Printing, 1972.
“Montana Historical Society Contributions.” 9 vols. Helena, Montana, 1876-1924.
“Montana Memories: The Life of Emma Magee in the Rocky Mountain West, 1866–1950.” Ida S. Patterson. Salish Kootenai College Press, 2012.
“My Sixty Years on the Plains.” W. T. Hamilton. Edited by E. T. Sieber. New York, 1905.
“Report on the Construction of a Military Road from Fort Walla Walla to Fort Benton.” John Mullan. Washington, 1863.
“The Journals and Letters of Major John Owen 1850-1871.” Edited by Seymour Dunbar and Paul C. Phillips. 2 Vols. New York, 1927.
“The Vigilantes of Montana or Popular Justice in the Rocky Mountains, Virginia City, Montana.” Thomas J Dimsdale. Montana Post Press. D. W. Tilton & Co. 1866.
Unpublished Theses -University of Montana
“Early Administration of the Flathead Indian Reservation, 1855- 1893.” Richard Dwight Seifried. M. A. Thesis, University of Montana, 1968.
“Government Policy Toward the Principal Indian Nations of Montana.” Dexter S. Fee, M. A. Thesis, University of Montana, 1934.
“The Selish; Spartans of the West.” Albert J. Partoll. M. A. Thesis, University of Montana, 1930.
Journals “The Washington Historical Quarterly”
“A Pioneer of the Spokane Country.” John E. Smith. The Washington Historical Quarterly. Vol.7, No. 4 (Oct., 1916), pp 267-277.
“Experiences of a Packer in Washington Territory Mining Camps During the Sixties.” James W. Watt, The Washington Historical Quarterly. Vol. 20, No. 1 (Jan., 1929).
“Mullan Road.” Henry L. Talkington. The Washington Historical Quarterly. Vol. 7, No. 4 (Oct., 1916) pp 301-306.

Charles Schafft references

Newspapers

The Daily Missoulian

The Weekly Missoulian

The Missoulian

Missoula Weekly Gazette

The Benton Weekly Record

Great Falls Daily Tribune

The Helena Independent

The New North-West

The Madisonian

“Sketch of a Life: Charles Schafft” – Vivian Paladin

Montana The Magazine of Western History Vol. 26, No. 1 (Winter, 1976), pp. 26-37 (12 pages)  – Montana Historical Society

The Lineage of Chief Aeneas – Keith J. Hammer – 2005

The Mullan Road In Idaho – Idaho State Historical Society – 1964

U.S. Army Center of Military History – By Third Regiment of Artillery