Old Missoula

Canvasing for A Rocky Mountain Railroad.

St. Louis Journal of Agriculture, April

During the winter of ’72 and ’73 the citizens of Montana were very much exercised (and somewhat divided) upon the subject of a “North and South Railroad” – a road which was to unite Helena with some point near the eastern terminus of the Central Pacific R. R., a distance of five hundred miles, and now traversed only by means of the slow stage coach, the slower mule team, or the slowest of all, bull-train. For a long time they had hoped in, and bet on, the Northern Pacific road, but at last they had come to the conclusion that if that road ever reached them at all, it would be at some indefinite period in the far off future, and that if they desired to have a connection by rail with “the States” in time to attend the Centennial Exhibition at Philadelphia, they would have to drop Jay Cooke & Co., go to work nearer home, and, to a large extent, assist in building it up. The energetic and wide-awake Mormons were constructing a road northward towards Soda Springs, one of the narrow-gauge kind, and it was believed that by an expenditure of $5,000,000 or $6,000,000 Montana could connect with that route, and in the course of one and a half, or two, years, have thereby continuous railroad communication with “the States” on the east, or the Pacific slope on the west. It was proposed that the counties most immediately interested in the road vote a subsidy to bonds to be devoted to its construction, in the way of bonds to the amount of some $4,5000,000 or $5,000,000, the further amount necessary to be obtained by individual effort. In order that the counties might issue the bonds it was necessary for the Territorial Legislature to give them authority to do so. But the Organic Act of the Territory permitted the Legislature to assemble only once in two years, save when specially convened by the Governor. It had met the winter before and it would be more than a year before its next time of regular session. Like most Territorial officers Governor Potts was * * *. [not happy]

But (unlike most of these same officials) he was thoroughly honest, and his only policy as Governor seemed to be to economize the Territorial expenditures, bringing them down to the lowest limit, and to reduce $40,000, or $60,000, debt of the Territory just as quickly as it could be done by such economy. When approached upon the subject the Governor positively refused to convene the Legislature; but at last he agreed to do so, provided a majority of the people of the Territory would petition him to that effect.

The interests and management of the contemplated road were in the hands of a certain few in Helena, who, I will say in justice to them, were about as well suited to “put the thing through” (and make all the money in it), as the same number of men to be found in any country. There were some 18,000 persons in the Territory, Indians excepted, but had these gentlemen been required by the Governor to show to their petition the names of at least 50,000 bona fide residents, the number would have been furnished without difficulty. They knew just how the thing ought to be done, and they were just the men to do it. Immediately they commenced operations and thorough and efficient canvassers were sent into every county to obtain signatures to the petition requesting the convening of the Legislature. The writer was then at Missoula, in the north-western part of the Territory, trying amid difficulties of an indescribable nature, to edit a little, small-fry weekly newspaper.[1] One day, or night, rather, a single passenger uncoiled himself from the bottom of the Deer Lodge sleigh, and as he passed into the office and barroom combined of the hotel, I recognized my good-hearted and jovial friend, “Bishop” Burdock, of Helena. Every one in the Territory knew the “Bishop.” No better company ever traveled in the mountains, no cleverer fellow ever swallowed a whisky straight, no shrewder hand at electioneering ever solicited a vote. Tireless in accomplishing his ends, affable and persuasive in his association with all, able to run from the beginning to the end of a week without sleep or rest, ever ready to drink at the expense of another or stand treat himself, always in for a dance * * * * perfectly at home wherever he was, for the time being, and with a facility for making acquaintances which made him the envy of all; never at a loss for a retort a joke or a yarn, he was, take him for all in all, a fellow of “infinite jest,” and admirably calculated to succeed in just such an effort as he was then engaged, viz. [namely], to obtain a majority of the people of Missoula county as signers to the petition. At the time of his arrival, nearly all who had heard of it, looked on the scheme as a swindle and fraud, and though I then was far from believing this to be true, I have since had reason to conclude that if not altogether right the opinion was not altogether an erroneous one.

It was not long before the Bishop had placed himself out of a good, warm supper, and with a cigar apiece we were seated near the stove and were in confidential intercourse. He told me the object of his visit, and said, further, that he was anxious to get my earnest and hearty cooperation. As I was then earnestly anxious for the success of the enterprise, I willingly promised him all the assistance in my power, and that night we commenced to work. A large number of our miners and ranchmen were in the place, and our plan of operations was a simple one. Nearly every one in that country “takes his tea,” and we knew that by far the most effective means of obtaining favor was by taking advantage of this general weakness. The writer was no “drinker,” – a single glass being sufficient to muddle his head and unfit him for business – besides that single drink was liable to lead to other and repeated ones. But I was a fair talker and had also a good acquaintance with the community. The Bishop, though, was like a Montana wheat field – the more liquid you put in him, the more he seemed capable of receiving and holding. He was, I believe, the only man I ever met in that country upon whom “mountain dew” seemed positively to make no impression whatever. From “early morn till dewy eve,” and vice versa he could stand in front of the counter and take “whisky straight” – his only drink – every time the beverages were ordered; and yet his face was never flushed, his nose retained its innocent freshness of color, his eyes were always natural, his brain clear, and his legs as firm and void of wabble as those of a British grenadier upon duty. So far as the flowing bowl was concerned, he was a regular phenomenon. He explained his peculiar faculty for drink by the statement that he had been in the mountains so long and drinking their strongly impregnated miner waters so much that his insides had become nickel-coated, and impervious to benzine, mountain dew, or any other kind of poison. And I, in common with others of his acquaintances, received his explanations – for no other was ever given.

There were three bar-rooms in Missoula; the Bishop had plenty of money furnished by the Ring at Helena, and for two or three days, to all who wished it, whisky was as plentiful and as free as snow. The usual style was to get a small gang of men at the bar, treat them until they were gloriously tight and in a good humor, then get their names to the petition – and also persuade them to sign those of their friends and acquaintances. By thus doing, though we did not perhaps see over a hundred men, yet we must have obtained fully five hundred signatures. (I may here state that I knew one packer to sign his own name and that of every “monkey,” or pack mule, in his train.) There was no danger that the names would be discovered through the similarity in the writing, for no drunken man can write twice in the same hand; besides this no one ever reads the signatures to a petition.

Finishing Missoula, we concluded that our line of duty next lay in the vicinity of Frenchtown, a little village in the Bitter Root valley, some fifteen miles south of Missoula. The snow was very deep, and the weather bitterly cold; but we got a sleigh and a fast team of horses from the accommodating Dick Mayer, and with plenty of blankets and robes, and a half a gallon of aqua fortis for the Bishop’s use and a pocket full of cigars each, we managed to make a very comfortable trip. Notice of our intended visit had been previously sent, and we found a large number of people awaiting our arrival. Frenchtown has a lovely situation, in the midst of one of the most beautiful valleys, and on the banks of one of the loveliest rivers to be found even in Montana. The settlement was made more than a quarter of a century ago by French Canadians, hunters and trappers, in the employ of the Northwestern Fur Company. It consists of only a few straggling log or adobe houses, a store or two, a “hotel,” blacksmith shop, and some three or four bar-rooms, where the villainous, poisonous, fiery compound called “mountain dew” is served ad libitum (as to quantity) at twenty-five cents (the usual price in Montana) a drink. The buildings, save a single two-storied “hotel,” are very primitive in appearance, and were built for the double purpose of protection and defense.

Though we “put up” at the hotel, the headquarters of the Bishop and myself were soon transferred to more popular places of resort – his to one of the bar-rooms, where he was soon making himself a general favorite by standing treat all around every five minutes; mine to the store and post-office, where I discoursed to an incredulous few the extraordinary and untold advantages to accrue to the Missoula Valley by an extra session to the Territorial Legislature, and the consequent building of a railroad whose nearest possible location was more than one hundred and fifty miles distant. Before long our united efforts, inclusive of that of the whisky, had produced such a furore in favor of the proposed improvement, that it was decided forthwith to hold a mass meeting. This came off, the writer being par excellence the orator of the occasion, though I am not certain but the few pointed and practical remarks of the Bishop, at the close of which he invited the entire crowd to a wholesale treat, did more to convince the audience of the excellence of the proposed measure than all the facts (ideal) and figures (manufactured) with which I had adorned and enforced my hour’s oration. We had with us some resolutions specially fixed up for this vicinity, and these were introduced by a half-breed (who couldn’t read them.) These resolutions were of the regular “hi-u-skukem” (Chinook for O. K.) stripe, and sounded very grandiloquent and patriotic. They committed the people of Missoula county in general, and Frenchtown in particular, heart and hand, body and soul, sinking and swimming, to the great North and South Railroad.

That night a ball was given in honor of the enterprise. It came off in a vacant store-room next to Bill Shipley’s gin-mill, and the only means of entrance to the dance was furnished through this bar-room. A stranger to the ways and customs of that country would have wondered where the women were to come from. “Stag-dances” may do well enough for ambitious and bashful freshmen and sophomores, but to the mountaineer a hop is nothing without women – and these have to be the genuine article – none of your “bucks” temporarily rigged up in a calico night-gown and hoop-skirt. There were no white women around Frenchtown, but Flathead [women] were there in abundance. The tallow candles were lit at an early hour, and soon “the gay and festive throng” were gathered. The [Indian women] were there in all their glory – – – . . . The Indian “bucks” were not allowed entrance into the room specially dedicated to the services of Terpsichore, but plenty of whisky was furnished to them in the bar-room – and getting drunk they ceased to be jealous of the honor of their [Indian women], and became unsuspicious and happy. As they lounged in, some ten or twelve in number, I noticed three of the [Indian women] who bore their papooses upon their shoulders. These papooses were stretched out and bandaged, mummy-like, upon a plank, or piece of board, the little duffers being bound tightly as a cocoon, and having no power to do anything, even squall, save now and then to give a wink and look peculiarly ugly. These were not at all in the way of their ma’s or anybody else. Upon their entrance into the ballroom, they were deposited on the side of the room and leaning against the wall, where they remained as mute and as well-behaved as a dead Indian.

It takes a great deal of fire and promiscuous fighting to make one of these Montana half-breed balls a perfect success. The fighting commenced early in the evening, and by ten o’clock it was being carried on in a manner to have pleased the most bellicose. It seemed to be mutually agreed that within doors there should be peace, but on the snow out in front of the bar and ballrooms things were lively enough. Having seen enough of the dance, the Bishop and I went out, and from a position comparatively safe observed the “shindy” that at ten o’clock was increasing every moment in interest. Neither pistols nor knives were used, the parties interested depending entirely upon the strength of their muscle – though I grieve to say before we left, the next morning, there were evidences in the faces of some we saw that all engaged in the fight had not acted entirely “on the square;” that either in the delirium of intoxication or the fury of anger, some had so far forgotten themselves as to have resorted to gouging. One super-belligerent Frenchman was so far absent-minded as to come up where the Bishop and myself were innocently chewing the cud of observation, and ask us if we “want to fight him, hey?” We mildly answered that we didn’t want to fight anybody, but that if he would go into the crowd in front, he would probably find some one who did. Accepting our suggestion he stepped off as directed, and though in the confusion he was soon lost to our sight, we were satisfied that he must have found what he was so diligently seeking.

It was after midnight when we retired to our “virtuous horse-blankets” (Montanice) but the last sounds we heard as we dozed off to sleep were the mingled noises of fiddling, dancing, yelling, fighting and cursing. After breakfast next morning we took our departure amid the adieus and good wishes of the crowd, and having to our petition the name of every white man, Indian, [Indian woman] and papoose of the Bitter Root Valley – and more, too, I guess.

This was my first experience in canvassing for a subsidy (ultimate) to a railroad ring – and I think that it will certainly be my last. I do not know what became of the “North and South Railroad” – and do not care to know – but I am pretty certain it has not yet been built, and I hardly think that it will be – at least in the next decade.

Nol.

Montanians will recognize in the above signature and relation Mr. Leonidas Boyle, for a time on the Gazette and afterwards on the Missoula Pioneer. Did the railroaders fail to come to time with Leonidas? If not, why this expose?

The above letter appeared in The New North-West (Deer Lodge) newspaper on May 2, 1874.

After 10 years of work the Utah and Northern Railway was completed from Salt Lake City to Butte, Montana in 1881.

Leonidas H. Boyle partnered with W. J. McCormick to found the Missoula Pioneer newspaper in 1871. Frank Woody and T. M. Chisholm bought the paper in 1873 and renamed it “Missoulian.” Earlier, Boyle was an editor of a paper in St. Paul, Minnesota. Boyle then moved to Helena where he was a prominent man about town, giving lectures and advice to those who would listen. The son of a preacher from Bolivar, Missouri, he was educated in Missouri, studied and practiced law there and later studied divinity. He enlisted in the Missouri State Guard in 1862 and served on the staff of Confederate General Sterling Price. He was one of several Montanans who were veterans of Prices’ command. The confederate subject was a controversial topic in the Montana’s early history. One of his lectures, Montana and Her Resources, became famous in the Montana Territory for its description of Montana’s attributes. He was also a widely known preacher and lecturer in the M. E. Church South. His career was marked by charges of public drunkenness, disorderly conduct, etc., and he was banned from more than one church. Despite that, he was recognized as an extraordinary preacher and organizer when he was sober. He always claimed that he had suffered a wound from which he couldn’t find relief, except by using alcohol and other means. He committed suicide at a hotel in Indianapolis in 1878.