Old Missoula

 

The First White Women of Montana

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.

https://www.newspapers.com/image/143748948

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. Some of his articles during this time were signed Charles Schafft, some were initialed C. S., and some were unattributed.