Old Missoula

The Sentinel Pine (on Mt. Jumbo) by A. L. Stone – 1925

 

Sentinel Pine Sees 350 Years of Hell Gate History

Tree That Overlooks the Canyon Takes Us From Reds’ Warwhoops To Cheers of University Students

From Jumbo’s Slope Veteran Has Seen Remarkable Procession of Events.

By A. L. Stone.

If your home burns it’s hard luck, but you can rebuild. If a tree is burned, God, Himself, can’t replace it right away. – Forest Anthology.

High on the hip of Mount Jumbo stands Sentinel Pine. Remote from its kind, this yellow pine overlooks Hell Gate and the Missoula valley with view unobstructed. Lonely it keeps its vigil, exposed to sun and storm. Dean Spaulding of the school of forestry at the State University has measured the life of this guardian of the pass; the pine’s own story, told in the succession of year-lines which constitute its autobiography, tells of a growth of more than 350 years.

Lightly, these days, we speak of centuries and millions, epochs and billions, without comprehending the significance of the terms we employ. Three hundred and fifty years – that does not mean much, perhaps, as we say it. But reckon back.

Three hundred and fifty years ago – three centuries and a half – that takes us to 1575. Elizabeth was England’s queen and the struggle for religious freedom had but just begun, which was to culminate in the emigration of the settlers of New England. In France the bitter strife over religious questions was at its height. Europe rocked with the agitation which peopled America.

It must have been a bird in flight which dropped upon the bare slope of Jumbo the seed which gave birth to Sentinel Pine. Or was it a gopher, traveling far for food that brought this seed? Whatever the agent which the Creator employed, this pine started its growth in that remote past.

When the Pilgrims landed at Plymouth, this tree was 45 years old. When New England farmers fired “the shot heard round the world,” the pine was just 200 years in age. Last week as we listened to the echo of that musketry fire, 1775 seemed a long way in the past; yet the tree on Jumbo had been growing there two centuries before that. Does this comparison add to appreciation of the long growing process which has made up the life of this yellow pine? If it does not, perhaps realization of what a span this really is – three hundred and fifty years – may come if we turn back the clock and, standing beside this tree on the wind-swept hillside, review the panorama of life which it has witnessed.

Untenanted by humans was the Missoula valley when Sentinel Pine thrust its head through the inhospitable soil of Jumbo’s slope, save for the casual visits of the Selish. The five tribes of this nation journeyed below the little tree as it kept its early vigil, on their way through the pass to the buffalo country on their hunting trips. Over this trail, too, they made their way on their forays into the country of the Blackfeet and the Crows – sometimes on the warpath and again in quest of material for their paints. This valley was their rendezvous for council; the grove where they met was set almost in the center of the valley over which this lone sentinel kept its watch. There was game in abundance; in the streams which coursed the valley there were fish in quantity. It was a peaceful scene.

Sometimes the Selish bands returned from their eastward jaunts chanting loud songs of victory; sometimes they came back with the death song on their lips. Many times the Sentinel heard the yells of battling warriors and the other sounds of strife – for there were fierce conflicts in the little basin on the other side of Jumbo, when foemen waylaid the Selish. Then the peace of the valley was jarred and the tree wondered. Again strange Indians, whom the tree did not know, crept stealthily along the trail below, moving westward. They were the eastern foes of the Selish, bent on war or horse-stealing – for the horses of the Selish were of rare quality. And, just as the tree had seen its friends come back exultant or depressed, so it beheld the return of their foes – sometimes victorious, sometimes vanquished. Exultant or despondent, they passed in review before the Sentinel Pine into the shadows of Hell Gate and out of its vision. Save for these interruptions, there was little change in the scene which stretched before the pine as it waxed sturdier and taller. Each morning the sunrise glittered upon Lolo peak, away to the westward; each evening the light waned as the sun sank behind the rugged skyline of the Bitter Roots. Season followed season and year succeeded year until 230 years had passed, and the tree knew only its Indian friends and the animals whose home was in the valley.

It was in 1805 that the change in the valley began. In that year the Sentinel Pine beheld a strange caravan turn out of the valley into the Lolo pass. What manner of men they were the tree knew not, but they were different from the Selish. Nor were they like the foes of the Selish. But the caravan moved on and was lost to view. Another year and the caravan came back came back down the Lolo trail; this time it divided and a part of it moved across the valley and came along the trail of the Selish. Close below, beside the Rattlesnake, these strange men camped at noon and when they had rested they came on along the eastward way. Into Hell Gate’s shadows they moved and the tree saw that they were white of skin. Lewis and Clark had come and gone. The valley of the Sentinel Pine had been discovered by the white man.

Came then, stragglers, from time to time, more of the white men but they did not tarry. Fur-hunters were they or adventurers, seeking whatever they might find. A band of strange Indians came too, and remained. That was in 1820. The Indians were from the far east – Iroquois harking westward before the press of the invading whites. And they became one with the Selish people. In 1835 and again in in 1839, the Sentinel Pine beheld, the one time four and the other time two Selish padding along the trail eastward bound. They were the messengers of the Indians to the Black Robes, asking that priests be sent to teach these people the Truth.

The Sentinel Pine did not witness the first coming of Peter DeSmet, the Black Robe who came to Montana in response to the persistent and insistent plea of the Selish, but in 1842 when the young priest, who was to become so important a factor in preparing the valley for civilization, came back to Montana prepared to establish permanently the mission, he came down the Hell Gate trail and the pine beheld this staunch crusader. Another epoch had dawned in the history of the valley. Of all the figures which have passed before the gaze of the sentinel, none is more striking than this.

Another decade – the narrow trail below the sentry post, worn deep by padding feet in moccasins, has become wider. The travois has been succeeded by the pack train. The fur-traders have located west of the mountains; their parties move back and forth across the valley; their posts have become fixtures among the Selish. “The Man with the Beard” (Angus McDonald) has taken his place amongst those who won the trust of the Selish and became their friend.

It is 1853. There is a great conclave at Council Grove. General Stevens, now governor of Washington, camps with the Selish; there is much talk.[1] When it is ended, the Selish have made treaty with the white man. They have signed something which will lead them to the irksome restrictions of a reservation, but not all of them realize that the day of their great freedom is passing. And Stevens leaves John Mullan to spend the winter in the valley and to find a way for a road through the mountains. In five years the pine sees strange performances. The widened ribbon which marked the route of the old trail is further broadened and, under the direction of this Mullan man, becomes a road. As the travois yielded to the pack train, the long line of horses gives way to the wagon. The rude traffic of the Selish has become the commerce of the white man.

In 1861 the Sentinel Pine beholds yet another innovation. In the midst of its valley a village appears, different from the tan tepees of the Selish. This village is of logs – a cluster of rude cabins. The white man lives now in the valley. The town of Hell Gate is born – a town whose permanent population was never more than 14, but in whose burial ground there were later 19 mounds. Closer to the lookout of the pine a lone cabin springs up, near the mouth of the Rattlesnake – Bill Hamilton has erected the first structure on Missoula’s site.

The next year is important. In 1858 the pine had watched the Stuarts and their companions on the start of their journey up the canyon – a journey whose end was to be the discovery of gold in Montana gravel. Travel has increased since then. Hell Gate has become a stopping place for freighters. The O’Keffe has built his castle at the west end of the valley. There is excitement in the little town. The valley’s first trial by jury is being held. Formal dispensation of justice by recognized code has begun. A fist fight is incidental to the trial, it is true, but it is a “real” court just the same. And in this year, too, the pine witnesses the first marriage of white people upon what is now Montana soil. There is a new home built along the trail. Also in this year, from a cabin farther down the valley, the pine hears the lusty wail of the first white child born in this region. Truly a great year!

Another year has just begun – it is the first month in 1863 – when through the darkness of a winter night the Sentinel Pine hears the stamping of horses’ hoofs in the mouth of the pass, the murmurs of men’s voices, low-toned, and then at midnight sees dimly the forms of riders galloping at top speed down upon the town below. By noon the next day four bodies swing from a corral gate and the last vigilante court has executed its sentence. Skinner, Carter, Johnny Cooper and Bob Zachery have paid the penalty for their outrages. Graves and Shears are added to the list before night. The end of an important chapter has been written in Montana history.

Two years pass; it is 1865. Montana has become an organized territory. The little town of Hell Gate is abandoned. Directly below the vantage post of the pine a mill sends forth the strange rumble of grinding grain and the startling buzz of sawing timber. The flow of the Rattlesnake has been harnessed for the service of man and a city has begun its existence; so Missoula is born.

Out where the Bitter Root swings toward its confluence with the Missoula another group of buildings appears. Its builders wear clothing different from any other that the tree has seen; they are the men of the Great Father and they wear the uniform of their country; before they have completed the erection of their little fort they are sent in pursuit of the Nez Perce cousins of the Selish who have declared war against the whites. The Selish protect their friends in the valley, but not all of the soldiers return. Afterward the fort becomes larger; many men in the blue clothes are there. The fort is a busy place until, years later, a call to arms for a far-off war summons its men again and the pine sees them march away to the sound of trumpets and the cheers of friends in the city.

Through years there have been strange goings and comings along the trail below. The stage coach has joined the freight wagon and the road is busier than ever. Then men come with machines. There is a stir which the pine can not realize. Shining bands extend along the way and in 1883 the picket on the hill beholds it knows not what. The first railway train steams into Missoula. The wilderness is a wilderness no more.

Ten years later, 1893, the Sentinel Pine hears something about a university. In 1895, it sees the start. In 1898, across the river from the point where the vigil of centuries has been kept, there rise buildings which house a stranger lot of people than any pine had ever beheld in the days of Selish occupation; cries are heard which put to shame the fiercest war-whoops of Selish or Blackfoot; the pine has heard a college yell.

Every mile-post event in the development of Montana, the Sentinel Pine has witnessed in these later days of its watch. It has looked out across the valley to a sullen glow of ugly red in the west, a glow which has sent a pall of smoke to enshroud the valley and to cut off its sunshine, a glow which has signified the destruction by fire of the sentinel’s brothers on remote slopes. It has looked to the north and seen flames sweep through gulches and over hillsides carrying destruction to forest and leaving bare and brown mountain slopes that had been sweetly wooded for centuries. It has seen men come and it has seen men go. It is vastly a different valley which it looks upon now than was that which it beheld in 1575.

Fire has spared the Sentinel Pine. Spared it, perhaps, that the tree might serve this week as a lesson – as an illustration of what tree life is and as an example of what is destroyed when carelessness or malice sets fire to such a tree as this. If this lesson is learned, then the long life of the Sentinel Pine has served a good purpose.

 

The above article (with a photograph of the Sentinel Pine) appeared in the Sunday Missoulian on April 26, 1925.

https://www.newspapers.com/image/348660641/

 

Sadly, the Sentinel Pine was felled by an act of vandalism in 1949. It was reported in The Daily Missoulian on November 5, 1949:

 

Historic Sentinel Pine Is Felled by Youths

By Warren N. Reichman

A natural landmark which has reigned benevolently over Missoula valley since before the coming of the white man and stood guard over Hell Gate canyon for generations of red men before the coming of Lewis and Clark, is no more. Heedless youth Friday felled the Sentinel pine on Mount Jumbo.

Many Missoula residents who live here because they love the mountains and trees and wide open spaces felt the loss of the old Sentinel pine gravely Friday afternoon and telephoned or called personally at the sheriff’s office, at the home of J. P. Smith, owning the 280 acres which are the west side of Mount Jumbo, or at the news room of The Daily Missoulian.

Mr. Smith, who reported the cutting of the tree to the sheriff’s office and asked for redress against those responsible, said high school students cut the tree down early Friday. His children had observed two boys climbing the hill some time before he received the first message that the tree was cut.

Believing the vandals to be students who were making preparations for a big bonfire on the hill near the MHS symbol in anticipation of a Missoula victory in Friday night’s game. Mr. Smith asked that they be apprehended and brought to justice.

“I want the kids to have their MHS and their bonfire, as we used to when I went to school,” he said. “But thousands of boys and girls have gone through Missoula high school and had their rallies without destroying that old pine tree,” he declared.

Mr. Smith said the tree had been felled by experts. It was dropped with its foliage toward the MHS and those who cut it had felled trees before, he said after examining the work of the vandals. He tracked the two youths up the mountain to the tree, from there to the symbol and over the brow of the hill to where the sun had dried out the tracks, he said.

Twenty-five years ago, the Sentinel pine was estimated to be more than 350 years old by T. C. Spaulding, then dean of the school of forestry at the State University. He sponsored a boring of the tree and counted the rings from the bore. He estimated the sprouting of the seedling to have been about 1575.

A lonesome tree stood vigil there when the first white men came and for the years since men have admired the quiet dignity of that tree. Will Cave, who has resided in Missoula longer than any other living person, was among the first to call at The Missoulian to report its demise.

Even children admired the tree. A troop of Boy Scouts recently sought and gained permission from Mr. Smith to build a base of rocks around the tree to hold soil around its roots and keep it alive for wind and rain had washed the roots bare. The project was to be accomplished next spring.

Tourists seldom failed to note Sentinel pine and often wondered how it got there. Newcomers made special efforts to become acquainted with the tree before they learned to know Higgins avenue. E. W. Ziesemer, justice of the peace for Hell Gate township, visited the pine on the second day after his arrival in Missoula in 1902, he said, carving his initials on the bark.

And the tree must have held special meaning for the Indians. Mr. Smith said he had often picked up arrow heads around the base of the tree and some were even embedded in the wood. He believed the tree was a lookout post for the Blackfeet who sometimes exacted tax from other tribes who used the Hell Gate pass.

The late A. L. Stone, who founded the school of journalism at the University, once wrote an article about Sentinel pine. He said:

“Fire has spared the Sentinel Pine. Spared it perhaps that the tree might serve as a lesson – as an illustration of what tree life is and as an example of what is gone when carelessness or malice destroys such a tree as this. If this lesson is learned then the long life of the Sentinel pine has served a good purpose.”

That life is ended.

https://www.newspapers.com/image/349327793

 

A group of Missoulians sought to replace the Sentinel Pine in April of 1950, when they planted a dozen seedlings on the spot where the Sentinel Pine was felled. A ceremony on Cherry Street, behind Prescott School, took place in conjunction with the planting. It was to feature “speeches, poem readings, band and other music and community singing.”[2] Cuts which were made from the remains of the old tree were to be presented to parties at the ceremony. Local people speaking and presenting at the ceremony included talks by A. C. Cogswell, L. A. Mueller, Elers Koch, a reading by Edyth Jocelyn, a solo by Anne Stone, granddaughter of Dean Stone, and other songs led by Emerson Stone, Dean Stone’s son.