The day following was ushered in by the enactment of another scene of comico-tragical character.

The Indians camped in the vicinity, being extremely solicitous to imitate the example of their illustrious predecessors, commenced their demands for fire-water as soon as the first tints of morning began to paint the east; and, before the sun had told an hour of his course, they were pretty well advanced in the state of How come you so? and seemed to exercise their musical powers in wonderful rivalry with their white brethren.

Men, women, and children were seen running from lodge to lodge with vessels of liquor, inviting their friends and relatives to drink; while whooping, singing, drunkenness, and trading for fresh supplies to administer to the demands of intoxication had evidently become the order of the day. Soon individuals were seen passing from one another, with mouths full of the coveted fire-water, drawing the lips of favoured friends to close contact, as if to kiss, and ejecting the contents of their own into the eager mouths of others thus affording the delighted recipients tests of fervent esteem in the heat and strength of their strange draught.

At this stage of the game the American Fur Company, as was charged, commenced to deal out to them gratuitously, strong drugged liquor for the double purpose of preventing the sale of the article by its competitor in trade, and of creating sickness, or inciting contention among the Indians while under the influence of sudden intoxication, hoping thereby to induce the latter to charge its ill effects upon an opposite source, and thus by destroying the credit of its rival to monopolize the whole trade.

It is hard to predict with certainty what would have been the result of this reckless policy, had it been continued through the day. Already its effects became apparent, and small knots of drunken Indians were seen in various directions, quarreling, preparing to fight, or fighting, while others lay stretched upon the ground in helpless impotency, or staggered from place to place with all the revolting attendants of intoxication.

The drama, however, was brought to a temporary close by an incident which made a strange contrast in its immediate results.

One of the head chiefs of the Brule village, in riding at full speed from Fort John to Fort Platte, being a little too drunk to navigate, plunged headlong from his horse, and broke his neck when within a few rods of his destination. Then was a touching display of confusion and excitement. Men and squaws commenced squalling like childrenthe whites were bad, very bad, said they, in their grief, to give Susu-Ceicha the fire-water that caused his death. But the height of their censure was directed against the American Fur Company, as its liquor had done the deed.

The corpse of the deceased chief was brought to the fort by his relatives with a request that the whites should assist at his burial; but they were in a sorry plight for such a service. There were found some sufficiently sober for the task, however, and they accordingly commenced operations.

A scaffold was erected for the reception of the body, which, in the meantime, had been fitted for its last airy tenement. The duty was performed in the following manner: It was first washed, then arrayed in the habiliments last worn by the deceased during life, and sewed in several envelopes of lodge-skin with his bows and arrows and pipe. This done, all things were ready for the proposed burial.

The corpse was borne to its final resting-place, followed by a throng of relatives and friends. While moving onward with the dead, the train of mourners filled the air with lamentations and rehearsals of the virtues and meritorious deeds of their late chief.

Arrived at the scaffold, the corpse was carefully reposed upon it facing the east, while beneath its head was placed a small sack of meat, tobacco, and vermilion, with a comb, looking-glass, and knife, and at its feet a small banner that had been carried in the procession. A covering of scarlet cloth was then spread over it, and the body firmly lashed to its place by long strips of rawhide. This done, the horse of the chieftain was produced as a sacrifice for the benefit of his master in his long journey to the celestial hunting-grounds.

Then first, encircling it at a respectful distance, were seated the old men, next the young men and the warriors, and next the squaws and children. Etespa-huska (The Long Bow), eldest son of the deceased, thereupon commenced speaking, while the weeping throng ceased its tumult to listen to his words.

O Susu-Ceicha! thy son bemourns thee, even as were wont the fledglings of the war-eagle to cry for the one that nourished them, when thy swift arrow had laid him in the dust. Sorrow fills the heart of Etespa-huska; sadness crushes it to the ground and sinks it beneath the sod upon which he treads.

Thou hast gone, O Susu-Ceicha! Death hath conquered thee, whom none but death could conquer; and who shall now teach thy son to be brave as thou wast brave; to be good as thou wast good; to fight the foe of thy people and acquaint thy chosen ones with the war-song of triumph; to deck his lodge with the scalps of the slain, and bid the feet of the young move swiftly in the dance? And who shall teach Etespa-huska to follow the chase and plunge his arrows into the yielding sides of the tired bull?

Thus for half an hour did the young man tell of the virtues and great deeds of his father, and the moment he had finished, a tremendous howl of grief burst from the whole assemblage, men, women, and children alike. When the wailing ceased they all returned to their respective lodges.

The sad event of the day put a stop to the dissipation of the savages, and not long afterward they commenced to pull down their respective lodges, and removed to the neighbourhood of the buffalo, for the purpose of selecting their winter quarters.

Two weeks later a band of Brules arrived in the vicinity of the fort and opened a brisk trade in liquor by indulging in a drunken spree.

The savages crowded the fort houses seeking articles, and soon became a terrible nuisance. One room in particular was constantly thronged to the exclusion of its regular occupants, when the latter, losing all patience with the savages, adopted the following plan to get rid of them.

After closely covering the chimney, by the aid of some half-rotten chips a dense smoke was raised, the doors and windows being closed at the same time to prevent its escape, and in an instant the apartment became filled to the point of suffocationtoo much so for the Indians, who gladly made a precipitate retreat.

They were told it was the Long-Knife Medicine.[15] During the visit of the savages at the fort, a warrior called Big Eagle was struck over the head by a half-drunken trader, an incident which came very near terminating seriously, but fortunately did not. It might have ended in the massacre of all the whites had not some of the more level-headed promptly interfered and with much effort succeeded in pacifying the enraged chief by presenting him with a horse.

At first the savage would admit of no compromise short of the offender's blood. He had been struck by the white man, and blood alone must atone for the aggression. Unless that should wipe out the disgrace he could never again hold up his head among his peoplethey would call him a coward, and say a white man struck the Big Eagle and he dared not resent it.

An Indian considers it the greatest indignity to receive a blow from any one, even from his own brother; and unless the affair is settled by the bestowal of a trespass offering on the part of the aggressor, he is almost sure to seek revenge, either through blood or the destruction of property. This is more an especial characteristic of the Sioux than of any other of the savage tribes.

The liquor-traffic was a most infamous one, as an abundance of facts could prove.

In November, 1855, the American Fur Company, from Fort John, sent a quantity of their drugged liquor to an Indian village on the Chugwater, as a gift, for the purpose of preventing the sale of that article by their competitors in trade. The consequence was that the poor creatures all got beastly drunk, and a fight ensued, in which two chiefs, Bull Bear and Yellow Lodge, and six of their personal friends were murdered. Fourteen others who took part in the fracas were badly wounded. Soon afterward another affair of the same character occurred, and resulted in the death of three of the savages. Many were killed in like quarrels in the several Indian villages.

The liquor used in this nefarious trade was generally third or fourth proof whiskey, which, after being diluted by a mixture of three parts water, was sold to the savages at the exorbitant rate of three cups for a single buffalo-robe, each cup holding about three gills. That was not all: sometimes the cup was not more than half filled; then again the act of measuring was also a rascally transaction, for when the poor savage became so drunk that he could not see, he was cheatedmore water was added, the unlucky purchaser not receiving more than one-fourth of what he paid for. There were still other modes of cheating poor Lo.

To further show how demoralizing the traffic was I will relate an instance: Old Bull Tail, a chief of the Sioux, had an only daughter, who was named Chint-zille. She was very handsome as savage beauty goes, and the old chief really loved her, for the North American Indian is possessed of as much devotion to his family as is to be found in the most cultivated of the white race; but the old fellow was inordinately fond of getting drunk, and at one time, not having the wherewithal to procure the necessary liquor, made up his mind that he would trade his daughter for a sufficient quantity.

One morning he entered the store of a trader, accompanied by Chint-zille. The following dialogue took place:

Bull Tail is welcome to the lodge of the Long-Knife; but why is his daughter, the pride of his heart, bathed in tears? It pains me that one so beautiful should weep.

The old chief answered: Chint-zille is a foolish girl. Her father loves her, and therefore she cries.

There should be greater cause for grief than that.

The Long-Knife speaks well.

How then can she sorrow? Tell her to speak to me, that I may whisper words of comfort in her ear.

I will tell you, Long-Knife: Bull Tail loves his daughter very much; he loves Long-Knife very much! he loves them both very much. The Great Spirit has put the thought into his mind that both alike might be his children; then would his heart leap for joy at the twice-spoken name of father!

I do not understand the meaning of Bull Tail's words.

Sure, Long-Knife, you are slow to understand! Bull Tail would give his daughter to the Long-Knife. Does not Long-Knife love Chint-zille?

If I should say no, my tongue would lie; Long-Knife has no wife, and who, like the lovely Chint-zille, is so worthy that he should take her to his bosom? How can I show my gratitude to her noble father?

The gift is free, and Bull Tail will be too glad in its acceptance, his friends will all be glad with him. But that they may bless the Long-Knife, let him fill up the hollow-wood[16] with fire-water, and Bull Tail will take it to his lodge; then Chint-zille will be yours.

But Chint-zille grieves, she does not love the Long-Knife.

Chint-zille is foolish. Let the Long-Knife measure the fire-water, and she shall be yours.

No, Long-Knife will not do this; Chint-zille should never be the wife of the man she does not love.

The old chief pleaded for a long time with the trader to take the girl and give him the liquid, but the trader was inexorable; he would not form any such tangling alliance, so the old chief failed to get the liquor, and he left the house with mortification and shame depicted on his withered face.



CHAPTER VI. THE MORMONS.



Utah was settled in 1847 by a religious community of people generally known by the name of Mormons, but they style themselves, The Latter-day Saints of the Church of Jesus Christ.

In the great valley of a vast inland sea, the existence of which was unknown to the world seventy-five years ago, whose surroundings were a desert in the most rigid definition of the term, a great commonwealth has been established unparalleled in the history of its origin by that of any of the civilized countries of the world.

Out of the most desolate of our vast arid interior areas, in less than half a century has been evolved not only a magnificent garden spot, but a great city with all the adjuncts of our most modern civilization. Rich in its architecture, progressive in its art, with a literature that is marvellous when the conditions from which it has sprung are seriously considered, the Mormon community meets all the demands of our ever advancing civilization.

Neither the love of gold, nor the cupidity of conquest, those characteristics which have subordinated other portions of the New World to the restless ambition of man, were the causes that have revolutionized both the physical character and the social conditions of the now wealthy and prosperous state of Utah. As Bancroft very forcibly states: Utah was settled upon an entirely new idea of God's revelation to the world. Old faiths have been worked over and over; colonies have been built upon those tenets, but never before have any results comparable to those which characterize that of the Mormon faith been attained, in founding a community, based as it is upon an entirely new religion.

Originating east of the Mississippi, perhaps no sect in modern times has been so persecuted as was that of the Mormons in their early days. So great and unbearable had this persecution become that it was determined by their leaders to seek some remote spot where they could worship according to their own ideas, without fear of molestation.

The Mormon emigration to Utah was seriously considered by Brigham Young years before 1847, the date of their exodus. It is claimed that he was but carrying out the plans of Joseph Smith, who early in 1842 said that his people would yet be driven to the Rocky Mountains, where they would be able to build a city of their own free from all interference.

In confirmation of this the following extract from Heber C. Kimball's diary shows that a migration to some point west of the Rocky Mountains was contemplated: Nauvoo Temple, December 31, 1845President Young and myself are superintending the operations of the day, examining maps with reference to selecting a location for the Saints west of the Rocky Mountains, and reading the various works which have been written and published by travellers in those regions.

When it had been determined to leave for the Great Basin, winter quarters were established on the Elk Horn River; and on the morning of the 9th of April, 1847, the migration began, but was not fairly inaugurated until the 14th. The party were allowed a wagon, two oxen, two milch cows, and a tent, to every ten of their number. For each wagon there was supplied a thousand pounds of flour, fifty pounds of rice, sugar, and bacon, thirty of beans, twenty of dried apples or peaches, twenty-five of salt, five of tea, a gallon of vinegar, and ten bars of soap. Every able-bodied man was compelled to carry a rifle or musket. His wagon served for bed and kitchen, and was occasionally used as a boat in crossing the streams. A day's journey averaged about thirteen miles, with a rest at noon to dine and to allow the cattle to graze.

For the benefit of those who were following them, the first party of Mormons adopted some curious devices to inform their friends among the latter how they were progressing. For post-offices, they used the bleached buffalo-skulls found on the prairie, which, after the letters were placed inside, they suspended from the limbs of trees along the route. For guide-posts and to indicate their camping-places, they painted on the bald fronts of other buffalo-skulls the date and number of miles they had made.

After over three months of hardship and suffering, this party of pioneers reached the portals of their destination. On the 19th of July, 1847, two of the number started from the advance camp soon after sunrise to make a reconnoissance of the road, which left Cañon Creek and ran along through a ravine to the west. The ascent was gradual for about four miles, when the dividing ridge was reached. Here the two pioneers tied their horses, and on foot ascended a near-by mountain, Big Mountain by name, to obtain a glimpse of the country. Previously, from the peaks of that neighbourhood, the pathfinder of the pioneer band had been met by a series of towering, snow-capped mountains, piled seemingly one upon the other, ever greeting his tired vision as he gazed eagerly westward, looking for the Promised Land. But this time a different view was exposed. To the southwest, through a vista of gradually-sloping mountains, through an opening in the cañons, the light blue and the fleecy white clouds above seemed to be sinking into a plain of gold. Two small portions of a level prairie were visible, and beyond rose a series of blue mountains, their peaks tipped with snow. It was the Valley of the Great Salt Lake!

From the summit of the Big Mountain, they gazed long and earnestly on the glorious view. First they looked upon the high walls surrounding their position at the time, but ever would their eyes turn longingly to that little panorama of life and colour which appeared through a gap in the mountains, the yellow and green of the valley, the blue and white of the sky, with a foreground of dark mountains clothed in darker shrubbery. The Oquirrhs rose majestically in the centre of the picture, and far beyond them a dim, shadowy outline of the Onaqui range, which completed the glorious landscape.

Previous to their arrival in the valley, on the 23d of June, the Mormons met Jim Bridger and two of his employees en route to Fort Laramie. Bridger was told that he was the man of all men whom they had been looking for, upon which he advised them to camp right where they were, and he would tell them all he knew about the country and the region around the Great Basin. Camp was accordingly made, Bridger took supper with Brigham Young, and the information he had to impart was given in the old trapper's usual irregular way. Learning that the destination of the Mormons was in the Desert of the Salt Lake Valley, Bridger offered to give one thousand dollars for the first ear of corn raised there. Wait a little, said the president of the Mormons, and we will show you. In describing to Brigham Young the Great Salt Lake, which he called Sevier Lake, he said that some of his men had spent three months going around it in canoes hunting beaver, and that the distance was five hundred and fifty miles.

In 1856 thousands of European converts to the new religion emigrated to Utah. On their arrival in this country, however, they had very little spare cash. It was therefore decided by those in authority that they should cross the plains with hand-carts, in which was to be hauled their baggage. Wagons were provided for tents, provisions, and those who were not able to walk.

In a circular published in Liverpool by the Presidency of the British Isles, among other things it recited that The Lord, through his Prophet, says of the poor, let them gird up their loins, and walk through, and nothing shall hinder them.

Iowa City was the point where the poor emigrants were outfitted and received their hand-carts. These were somewhat primitive in construction: The shafts being about five feet long, and of hickory or oak, with crosspieces, one of them serving for a handle, forming the bed of the cart, under the centre of which was a wooden axletree, the wheels being also made of wood, with a light iron band, and the entire weight of the vehicle about sixty pounds. Better carts were provided in subsequent years.

To each one hundred persons were furnished twenty hand-carts, five tents, three or four milch cows, and a wagon with three yoke of oxen to convey the provisions and camp equipage. The quantity of clothing and bedding was limited to seventeen pounds per capita, and the freight of each cart, including cooking utensils, was about one hundred pounds.

One of the companies reached the old winter quarters near the middle of August, and there held a meeting to decide whether they should continue the journey or encamp for the winter. They had yet more than a thousand miles to travel, and with their utmost efforts could not expect to arrive in the valley until late in November. The matter was left with the elders, all of whom, excepting one named Levi Savage, counselled them to go forward and trust in the Lord, who would surely protect them. Savage declared that they should trust, also, to such common sense as the Lord had given them. From his certain knowledge, the company, containing as it did so large a number of the aged and infirm, of women and children, could not cross the mountains thus late in the season without much suffering, sickness, and death. He was overruled and rebuked for want of faith. Brethren and sisters, he replied, what I have said I know to be true; but seeing you are going forward, I will go with you. May God in his mercy preserve us. The company set forth from their camp on the 18th, and on each hand-cart was now placed a ninety-eight pound sack of flour, as the wagons could not carry the entire load. At first they travelled about fifteen miles a day, although delays were caused by the breaking of wheels and axles. The heat and aridity of the plains and mountains speedily made many of the cart-wheels rickety and unable to sustain their burdens without frequent repairs. Some shod the axles of their carts with old leather, others with tin from the plates and kettles of their mess outfit; and for grease they used their allowance of bacon, and even their soap, of which they had but little. On reaching Wood River the cattle stampeded, and thirty head were lost, the remainder being only sufficient to allow one yoke to each wagon. The beef cattle, milch cows, and heifers were used as draft animals, but were of little service, and it was found necessary to place another sack of flour on each hand-cart. The issue of beef was then stopped, the cows gave no milk, and the daily ration was reduced to a pound of flour, with a little rice, sugar, coffee, and bacon, an allowance which only furnished breakfast for some of the men, who fasted for the remainder of the day.

While encamped on the North Fork of the Platte the emigrants were overtaken by another party of elders, returning from foreign missions, who gave them what encouragement they could. Though it might storm on their right and on their left the Lord would keep open their way before them, and they would reach Zion in safety. After camping with them for one night, the elders went on their way, promising to leave provisions for them at Fort Laramie if possible, and to send them aid from Salt Lake City. On reaching Laramie no provisions were found, and rations were again reduced, men able to work receiving twelve ounces of flour daily, women and old men nine ounces, and children from four to eight ounces.

As the emigrants travelled along the banks of the Sweetwater, the nights became severe, and their bed-covering was now insufficient. Before them were the mountains clad almost to the base with snow, where already the storms of winter were gathering. Gradually the old and infirm began to droop, and soon deaths became frequent, the companies seldom leaving their camping-ground without burying one or more of the party. Then able-bodied men began to succumb, a few of them continuing to pull their carts before they died, and one or two even on the day of their deaths. On the morning when the first snow-storm occurred, the last ration of flour was issued, and a march of sixteen miles was before them to the nearest camping-ground on the Sweetwater. The task seemed hopeless, but at noon a wagon drove up, containing Joseph A. Young and Stephen Taylor, from Salt Lake City, who told them that a train of supplies would reach them in a day or two. Thus encouraged, the emigrants pushed forward. By doubling their teams, and by the strongest of the party helping the weak to drag their carts, all reached the camping-ground, though some of the cattle perished, and during the night five persons died of cold and exhaustion.

In the morning the snow was a foot deep, and there remained only two barrels of biscuits, a few pounds of sugar and dried apples, and a quarter of a sack of rice. Two of the disabled cattle were killed, their carcasses issued for beef, and on this and a small dole of biscuits the emigrants were told that they must subsist until supplies reached them. The small remnant of provisions was reserved for the young children and the sick. It was now decided to remain in camp, while the captain with one of the elders went in search of the supply-trains. The small allowance of beef and biscuit was consumed the first day, and on the second day more cattle were killed and eaten without biscuit. On the next day there was nothing to eat, for no more cattle could be spared. Still the supplies came not, being delayed by the same storm which the emigrants had encountered. During these three days many died and numbers sickened. Some expired in the arms of those who were themselves almost at the point of death. Mothers wrapped with their dying hands the remnant of their tattered clothing around the wan forms of their perishing infants. The most pitiful sight of all was to see strong men begging for the morsel of food that had been set apart for the sick and helpless.

It was now the evening of the third day, and the sun was sinking behind the snow-clad ranges which could be traced far to the west amid the clear, frosty atmosphere of the desert. There were many who, while they gazed on this scene, did not expect to see the light of another day, and there were many who cared for life no longer, having lost all that makes life precious. They retired to their tents and commanded themselves to their Maker, lay down to rest, perchance to die. But presently a shout of joy was raised. From an eminence near the western portion of the camp covered wagons were seen approaching, with the captain at their head. Immediately about half of the provisions, together with a quantity of warm clothing, blankets, and buffalo-robes were distributed to the companies. The remainder was sent forward under charge of Grant for the use of another company.

But the troubles of the hand-cart emigrants were not yet at an end. Some were already beyond all human aid, some had lost their reason, and around others the blackness of despair had settled, all efforts to rouse them from their stupor being unavailing. Each day the weather grew colder, and many were frost-bitten, losing fingers, toes, or ears, one sick man who held on to the wagon bars to avoid jolting having all his fingers frozen. At a camping-ground at Willow Creek, a tributary of the Sweetwater, fifteen people were buried, thirteen of them having been frozen to death. Near South Pass another company of the brethren met them, with supplies from Salt Lake City, and from the trees near their camp several quarters of fat beef were suspendeda picture, says Chislett, who had charge of one of the companies, that far surpassed the paintings of the ancient masters. From this point warm weather prevailed, and fresh teams from the valley constantly met them, distributing provisions sufficient for their needs, and then travelling eastward to meet the other company.

On reaching Salt Lake City on the 9th of November, it was found that sixty-seven out of a total of four hundred and twenty had died on the journey. Of the six hundred emigrants included in Martin's detachment, which arrived there three weeks later, a smaller percentage perished. The storm which overtook the party on the Sweetwater reached them on the North Platte. There they encamped and waited about ten days for the weather to moderate. Their rations were reduced to four ounces of flour per head a day, for a few days, until relief came. On arriving at Salt Lake City the survivors were received with the utmost kindness.

On their arrival at Devil's Gate on the Sweetwater, twenty men belonging to the other company were left in charge of stock, merchandise, and baggage, with orders to follow in the spring. The snow fell deep, and many of the cattle were devoured by the wolves, while others perished from cold. The rest were slaughtered, and on their frozen carcasses the men subsisted, their small stock of flour and salt now being exhausted. Game was scarce in the neighbourhood, and with their utmost care the supply of food could not hold out until spring. Two of the men, with the only horses that remained, were sent to Platte Bridge to obtain supplies; but the animals were lost, and they returned empty-handed. Presently the meat was all consumed, and then their only resource was the hides, which were cut into small pieces and soaked in hot water, after the hair had been removed. When the last hide had been eaten, nothing remained but their boot-tops and the scraps of leather from their wagon. Even the neck-piece of a buffalo-skin which had served as a door-mat was used for food. Thus they kept themselves alive until spring, when they subsisted on thistle-roots and wild garlic, until at length relief came from Salt Lake City.[17]

On the 5th of December, 1857, John B. Floyd, then Secretary of War, in his report to James Buchanan, President of the United States, states that the people of Utah implicitly obeyed their prophet, and that from the first day of their settlement in the territory it had been their aim to secede from the Union. He says that for years they had not even pretended obedience to Federal authority, and that they encouraged roaming bands of Indians to rob and massacre the emigrants bound for the Pacific coast.

Previous to the assembling of any troops for duty in Utah to enforce obedience to the laws of the government, an opinion was asked of General Winfield Scott, then commanding the army, as to the feasibility of sending an armed expedition into the territory. Scott's decision was most emphatically against the proposition to send troops there so late in the season. The general's advice was not heeded, however, and in May orders were promulgated that the Fifth and Tenth Infantry, the Second Dragoons, and a battery of the Fourth Artillery should assemble at Fort Leavenworth, Kansas, with the Valley of the Salt Lake as their objective point.

In June, 1858, more than six thousand troops were mobilized for Utah, and the command was given to Brigadier-General W. S. Harney.

In the whole military history of the country, before the Civil War, no expedition had ever been better equipped and rationed than that which was to be called The Army of Occupation in Utah. Thousands of cattle and immense supply-trains were started across the plains in advance. The price for the transportation was twenty-two cents a pound.

These exorbitant contracts made the lucky individuals who had secured them very wealthy. By a little political wire-pulling he who had secured the flour contract obtained permission to provide the troops with Utah flour. It cost him but seven cents a pound, but he received the twenty-two cents which it would have cost to have transported it from the States.

This large army was stationed in Utah Territory for nearly four years. It is stated on good authority that the private soldiers asked of each other, Why were we sent here? Why are we kept here? while the common people wondered whether the authorities at Washington kept them there to make the contractors rich.

At that time the people of the territory were in a starving condition in consequence of the failure of crops and the unusually severe winter of 1856-1857. There were thousands who for over a year had never realized what a full meal meant; children by the hundreds endured the gnawings of hunger until hunger had become to them a second nature; yet despite this condition of affairs the orders issued to General Harney from Washington display a lamentable ignorance, or a determination to compel the Mormons to feed the troops on the basis of the miracle of the loaves and fishes. His instructions were as follows: It is not doubted that a surplus of provisions and forage, beyond the wants of the resident population, will be found in the Valley of Utah, and that the inhabitants, if assured by energy and justice, will be ready to sell them to the troops. Hence, no instructions are given you for the extreme event of the troops being in absolute need of such supplies, and their being with-held by the inhabitants. The necessities of such an occasion would furnish a law for your guidance.

Exactly the reverse of what was intended by the authorities at Washington occurred in Utah. In another chapter it is shown how the Mormons stampeded the cattle of the supply-trains, and robbed them of their contents, so it will be perceived that the Mormons themselves subsisted on the rations intended for the troops, completely controverting what was implied in the orders to General Harney.

On the day after the departure from Salt Lake of the officers[18] sent on a special mission to investigate the condition of affairs in Utah, Brigham Young issued a proclamation declaring martial law in Utah, forbidding all armed forces to enter the territory under any pretence whatever, and ordering the Mormon militia to be in readiness to march at a moment's notice. It is probable that the Nauvoo Legion, which now included the entire military force of the territory, mustered at this date from four to five thousand men.

Though imperfectly armed and equipped, and, of course, no match for regular troops, the Mormons were not to be held in contempt. In July, 1857,[19] the Nauvoo Legion had been reorganized, the two cohorts, now termed divisions, having each a nominal strength of two thousand. The division consisted of two brigades; the brigades of two regiments; the regiments of five battalions, each of a hundred men, the battalions being divided into companies of fifty, and the companies into platoons of ten. Each platoon was in charge of a lieutenant, whose duty it was carefully to inspect the arms, ammunition, and accoutrements. All able-bodied males in the territory, excepting those exempt by law, were liable to military duty, and it is probable that the Mormons could have put in the field not less than seven thousand raw troops, half disciplined, indeed, but inured to hardship, and from the very nature of their environment splendid rifle-shots.

It was not the intention of the Mormons to encounter the army of Utah in the open field, or even behind breastworks, if it could be avoided. In order to explain their tactics a despatch sent by the lieutenant-general of the Nauvoo Legion to Major Joseph Taylor will make plain what they proposed to do.

On ascertaining the locality or route of the troops, proceed at once to annoy them in every possible way. Use every exertion to stampede their animals and set fire to their trains. Burn the whole country before them and on their flanks. Keep them from sleeping by night surprises; blockade the road by felling trees or destroying the river-fords where you can. Watch for opportunities to set fire to the grass on their windward, so as, if possible, to envelop their trains. Leave no grass before them that can be burned. Keep your men concealed as much as possible, and guard against surprises. Save life always, when it is possible; we do not wish to shed a drop of blood if it can be avoided.[20]

When General Harney had joined his command and heard of the state of affairs in Utah, he said in his characteristic bluff manner: I am ordered there, and I will winter in the valley or in hell! Before he reached the portals of the territory, however, his services again being demanded in Kansas, Colonel Albert Sidney Johnston, then at Fort Leavenworth, was appointed to the command of the army of Utah, and during the interim Colonel Alexander assumed command of the forces.

About the middle of August, General Wells, in command of twelve hundred and fifty men, supplied with thirty days' rations, established headquarters at Echo Cañon. Through this cañon, the Mormons supposed, lay the path of the invading army, the only means of avoiding the gorge being by a circuitous route northward to Soda Springs, and thence by way of Bear River Valley, or the Wind River Mountains. On the western side of the cañon dams and ditches were constructed, by means of which the road could be submerged to a depth of several feet. At the eastern side stone heaps were collected and bowlders loosened from the overhanging rocks, so that a slight leverage would hurl them on the passing troops, and parapets were built as a protection for sharp-shooters.[21]

At this juncture a letter from General Wells was delivered to Colonel Alexander, together with copies of the organic act, the law of Utah, the proclamation forbidding the entrance of armed forces into the territory, and a despatch from Brigham Young. The last was a remarkable document, and must have been somewhat of a surprise to the colonel, who had proved himself one of the most gallant soldiers of the Mexican War. He was informed that he, Brigham Young, was still governor of Utah, who ordered him to withdraw by the same route he had entered. Should he desire, however, to remain until spring in the neighbourhood of the present encampment, he must surrender his arms and ammunition to the Mormon quartermaster-general, in which case he would be supplied with provisions, and would not be molested.

Colonel Alexander replied in brief and business-like phrase. He addressed Brigham Young as governor; stated that he would submit his letter to the commanding officer immediately on his arrival; that meanwhile the troops were there by order of the President, and that their future movements and operations would depend on orders issued by competent military authority.

In writing to brother officers en route to join their commands, Colonel Alexander said: No information of the position or intentions of the commanding officer has reached me, and I am in utter ignorance of the object of the government in sending troops here, or the instructions given for their conduct after reaching here. I have decided on the following points: First, the necessity of a speedy move to winter quarters; second, the selection of a point for wintering; third, the best method of conducting the troops and supplies to the point selected.

A council of war was held, and the point selected was Fort Hall, on Beaver Head Mountain, one hundred and forty miles from Fort Bridger. So little did the colonel know about the disposition of the command, that at the time and place when he expected to be joined by Colonel Smith, in charge of supply-trains, that officer was still at the South Pass, with an escort of two hundred men.

On the 11th of October the troops commenced their march. Snow was falling heavily, and for several days they were compelled to cut a path for their wagons through the dense brush, their trains being still of such unwieldy length that the vanguard had reached its camping-ground at nightfall before the rear guard had moved from its camp of the preceding day. Meanwhile bands of Mormons, under their nimble and ubiquitous leaders, hung on their flanks, just out of rifle-shot, harassing them at every step, seven hundred oxen being captured and driven to Salt Lake City on the 13th!

There was as yet no cavalry in the force. A few infantry companies were mounted on mules and sent in pursuit of the guerillas, but the Saints merely laughed at them, terming them jackass cavalry.

The grass had been burned along the route, and the draught animals were so weak that they could travel only three miles a day. When the point was reached where Smith's detachment was expected to join the army, the commander, disappointed and sorely perplexed, called a council of war, at which many of the officers were in favour of cutting their way through the cañons at all hazard.

At this juncture a despatch was received from General Johnston, who was now at South Pass, ordering the troops to proceed to Fontenelle Creek, where pasture was abundant, and a few days later a second despatch directed them to march to a point three miles below the junction of Ham and Black Forks, the colonel stating that he would join them there. On the 3d of November they reached the place of rendezvous, where Johnston arrived the following day, with a reënforcement of cavalry and the supply-trains in charge of Smith.

Albert Sidney Johnston was a favourite officer, and had already given earnest of the qualities that he displayed a few years later in the campaigns of the Civil War, on the Confederate side. The morale of the army was at once restored, and each man put forth his utmost energy at the touch of this excellent soldier. But their troubles were not yet ended. The expedition was now ordered to Fort Bridger, and at every step difficulties increased. There were only thirty-five miles to be travelled, but excepting on the margin of a few slender streams the country through which their route lay was the barest of desert land. There was no shelter from the chill blasts of this mountain solitude, where, even in November, the thermometer sometimes sank to sixteen degrees below zero. There was no fuel but the wild sage and willow; there was little pasture for the half-frozen cattle.

The march continued on the 6th of November, and on the previous night five hundred of the strongest oxen had been stolen by the Mormons. The train extended over six miles, and all day long snow and sleet fell on the retreating column. Some of the men were frost-bitten, and the exhausted animals were goaded by their drivers until many fell dead in their traces. At sunset the troops encamped wherever they could find a particle of shelter, some under bluffs, and some in the willow copses. At daybreak the camp was surrounded by the carcasses of frozen cattle. Several hundred beasts had perished during the night. Still, as the trains arrived from the rear, each one halted for a day or more, giving time for the cattle to rest and graze on such scant herbage as they could find. To press forward rapidly was impossible, for it would have cost the lives of most of the draught animals; to find shelter was equally impossible, for there was none. There was no alternative but to proceed slowly and persistently, saving as many as possible of the horses, mules, and oxen. Fifteen days were required for this difficult operation.

Meanwhile Colonel Philip St. George Cooke, who arrived on the 19th by way of Fort Laramie, at the head of five hundred dragoons, had fared no better than the main body, having lost nearly half of his cattle.

On the 5th the command of Colonel Cooke passed the Devil's Gate. While crossing what he calls a four-mile hill, he writes as follows:

The north wind and drifting snow became severe; the air seemed turned to frozen fog; nothing could be seen; we were struggling in a freezing cloud. The lofty wall at Three Crossings was a happy relief; but the guide, who had lately passed there, was relentless in pronouncing that there was no grass. As he promised grass and shelter two miles farther, we marched on, crossing twice more the rocky stream, half choked with snow and ice; finally he led us behind a great granite rock, but all too small for the promised shelter. Only a part of the regiment could huddle up there in the deep snow; whilst the long night through the storm continued, and in fearful eddies from above, before, behind, drove the falling and drifting snow.

Meanwhile the animals were driven once more across the stream to the base of a granite ridge which faced the storm, but where there was no grass. They refused to eat, the mules huddling together and moaning piteously, while some of the horses broke away from the guard and went back to the ford. The next day better camping-ground was reached ten miles farther on. On the morning of the 8th the thermometer marked forty-four degrees below freezing point; but in this weather and through deep snow the men made eighteen miles, and the following day nineteen miles, to the next camping-grounds on Bitter Creek, and in the valley of Sweetwater. On the 10th matters were still worse. Herders left to bring up the rear with stray mules could not force them from the valley, and there three-fourths of them were left to perish. Nine horses were also abandoned. At night the thermometer marked twenty-five degrees below zero; nearly all the tent-pins were broken, and nearly forty soldiers and teamsters were on the sick list, most of them being frost-bitten. The earth, writes the colonel, has no more lifeless, treeless, grassless desert; it contains scarcely a wolf to glut itself on the hundreds of dead and frozen animals which for thirty miles nearly block the road.

At length the army arrived at Fort Bridgerto find that the buildings in and around it, together with those at Fort Supply, twelve miles distant, had been burnt to the ground by Mormons, and the grain and other provisions removed or destroyed. All that remained were two enclosures surrounded by walls of cobblestone cemented with mortar, the larger one being a hundred feet square. This was appropriated for supplies, while on the smaller one lunettes were built and mounted with cannon. A sufficient garrison was stationed at this point; the cattle were sent for the winter to Henry Fork in charge of Colonel Cooke and six companies of the Second Dragoons, and about the end of November the remainder of the troops went into winter quarters on Black Fork of the Green River, two or three miles beyond Fort Bridger, and a hundred and fifteen from Salt Lake City. The site, to which was given the name of Fort Scott, was sheltered by bluffs rising abruptly at a few hundred yards from the bed of the stream. Near by were clumps of cottonwood which the Mormons had attempted to burn; but the wood being green and damp, the fire had merely scorched the bark.

Though most of the beef cattle had been carried off by the Mormons or Indians, a sufficient number of draught animals remained to furnish meat for seven months during six days of the week, while of bacon there was enough for one day in the week, and by reducing the ration of flour, coffee, and other articles, they might also be made to last until the first of June. Parties were at once sent to Oregon and New Mexico to procure cattle and remounts for the cavalry. Meantime shambles were built, to which the starved animals at Fort Henry were driven, and butchered as soon as they had gathered a little flesh, their meat being jerked and stored for future use.

There was not an ounce of salt in the entire camp; a supply was proffered as a gift from Brigham Young, whom Johnston now termed, The great Mormon rebel, which was rejected with contempt. Salt was secretly brought into the camp, but the commander would eat none of it, and the officer's mess was soon after supplied by the Indians at the rate of five dollars a pound!

Thus did the army of Utah pass the winter of 1857-1858, amid privations no less severe than those endured at Valley Forge eighty-one years before.

But meanwhile events occurred which promised a peaceful solution of the difficulty. The spirited resistance of the Saints had called forth unfavourable comments on Buchanan's policy throughout the United States and Europe. He had virtually made war upon the territory before any declaration had been issued; he had sent forward an army before the causes of offence had been fairly investigated; and now, at this critical juncture in the nation's history when there was a possibility of the disruption of the Union, he was about to lock up in a distant and almost inaccessible region more than one-third of the nation's war material, and nearly all of its best troops. Even the soldiers themselves, though in a cheerful mood and in excellent condition, had no heart for the approaching campaign, accepting, as they did, the commonly received opinion that it was merely a move on the President's political chess-board. In a word, Buchanan and the Washington politicians and the Johnston-Harney army must confess themselves hopelessly beaten, before a blow was struck. The army was powerless before the people they had come to punish. All that remained to do was to forgive the Mormons and let them go.

Through the pressure brought to bear, the President was induced to stop the threatened war. On the 6th of April he signed a proclamation promising amnesty to all who returned to their allegiance; and on the 26th of June, 1858, the army of Utah entered the Valley of the Great Salt Lake.

Thus ended this farcical demonstration on the part of the government a war without a battle! There was, perhaps, no genuine basis of necessity upon which to organize the expensive and disastrous expedition against the Mormons. The real cause, perhaps, should be attributed to the clamour of other religious sects against what they held to be an unorthodox belief.

The City of Salt Lake, the capital of the Mormon settlement, was founded upon the arrival of that sect in the valley in 1847. It is situated in latitude 40 degrees 46 minutes north, and longitude 112 degrees 6 minutes west, (from Greenwich), at the foot of the western slope of the Wahsatch Mountains, an extensive chain of lofty hills, forming a portion of the eastern boundary of what is known in our geography as the Great Basin.

The growth of this delightful mountain city in its arid, desolate environment is a monument to the patience, industry, and devotion to a principle which has few parallels.

The corporate limits aggregate about fifty square miles; no city in the world, perhaps, possesses streets of such an extraordinary width. Through their whole vast length the magnificent trees which fringe them are irrigated by streams of pure water flowing from the several cañons in the vicinity. By this constant passage of these mountain streams, the air is deliciously cooled, and Salt Lake City made one of the most beautiful and charming places on the North American continent.

It is declared by the faithful that Brigham Young affirmed it was in a vision that the place was designated to him by an angel from heaven as the exact spot where the capital of Zion should be built.

By the requirements of an original ordinance each residence was to be located twenty feet in the rear of the lot, the intervening space forming a little park filled with flowers, trees, and shrubbery. By the same system of irrigation which flows through the streets to nourish the trees, the water runs into every garden spot, and produces a beauty of verdure in what was once the most barren of wastes.

Even in its infancy, Salt Lake City was the only charming spot between the Missouri River and the Pacific Ocean, for in the early days of the hazardous passage across the plains, the whole region with rare exceptions was conspicuous for the entire absence of trees. There was one monotonous blaze of sunshine, day after day, as the caravans and overland coaches plodded through the alkali dust of the desert. The weary traveller gazed upon nothing but seemingly interminable prairies and naked elevations, destitute of verdure, or as he entered the rock-ribbed Continental Divide, only rugged mountains relieved the eternal sameness of his surroundings. Salt Lake City, nestling in its wealth of trees and flowers, was a second Diamond of the Desert. In its welcome shade, the dusty traveller, like the solitary Sir Kenneth, reposed his jaded limbs and dreamed of the babbling brooks and waving woodlands he had left a thousand miles behind him.

The temple and the tabernacle, of purely Mormon conception, are the most elaborate and attractive architectural structures in the city.

It is claimed by the faithful that the site of the temple was announced by Brigham Young to his people on an evening in July, 1847, a very short time after the arrival of the Mormon pioneers. The story runs that while roaming in company with some of his apostles, about the region of the camp, discussing and declaring that where they had halted was the very place on which to rear the new Zion, the prophet stuck his cane in the ground and said to those who were with him, Here is where the temple of our God shall rise.

Of course there was no appeal from his dictum, and from the moment of his declaration that spot was regarded as sacred by all the people, who firmly believed that when their leader spoke it was through inspiration from heaven.



CHAPTER VII. MOUNTAIN MEADOWS MASSACRE.



The most terrible fate that ever befell a caravan on the Old Trail was that known to history as the Mountain Meadows Massacre.

The story of this damnable, outrageous, and wholesale murder is as follows:

In the spring of 1857 a band of emigrants numbering one hundred and thirty-six, from Missouri and Arkansas, set out for Southern California. The party had about six hundred head of cattle, thirty wagons, and thirty horses and mules. At least thirty thousand dollars worth of plunder was collected by the assassins after the massacre.

Owing to the impending war between the United States and the Mormons, the Saints had been ordered not to furnish any emigrant trains with supplies. In view of this fact the leaders of the train found it difficult to get provisions for the party after reaching the territory occupied by that sect. The party reached Salt Lake and camped about the end of July, but finding the Mormons in so unfriendly a mood, decided to break camp and move on. Continuing their journey, they proceeded to Beaver City, thence to Parowan, where they obtained a scanty supply of provisions.

Arriving at Cedar City, they succeeded in purchasing about fifty bushels of wheat, which was ground at a mill belonging to John D. Lee, formerly commander of the fort at Cedar, but then Indian agent, and in charge of an Indian farm near Harmony.

About thirty miles to the southwest of Cedar are the Mountain Meadows, which form the divide between the waters of the Great Basin and those which flow into the Colorado. At the south end of the Meadows, which are four to five miles in length and one in width, but here run to a narrow point, is a large stream, the banks of which are about ten feet in height. Close to this stream the emigrants were encamped on the 5th of September, almost midway between two ranges of low hills some four hundred yards apart.

It was Saturday evening when the trains encamped at Mountain Meadows. On the Sabbath they rested, and at the usual hour one of them conducted divine service as had been their custom throughout the journey.

At dawn on the following morning while the camp-fires were being lighted, they were fired upon by Indians, or white men disguised as savages, and more than twenty were killed or wounded, their cattle having been driven off by the assailants who had crept on them under cover of darkness. The men now ran for their wagons, pushed them together so as to form a corral, and dug out the earth deep enough to sink them to the hubs; then in the centre of the enclosure they made a rifle-pit large enough to contain the entire company. Thereupon the attacking party, which numbered from three to four hundred, withdrew to the hills, on the crest of which they built parapets, whence they shot down all who showed themselves outside the intrenchment.

The emigrants were now in a state of siege, and had little hope of escape as all the outlets of the valley were guarded. Their ammunition was almost exhausted, many of their number were wounded, and their sufferings from thirst had become intolerable. Down in the ravine and within a few yards of the corral was the stream of water, but only after sundown could any of the precious liquid be obtained, and then at great risk, for this point was covered by the muskets of the Indians, who lurked all night among the ravines waiting for their victims.

On the morning of the fifth day of the siege, a wagon was seen approaching, accompanied by an escort of Mormon soldiers. When near the intrenchment the company halted, and one of them, William Bateman by name, was sent forward with a flag of truce. In answer to this signal a little girl, dressed in white, appeared in an open space between the wagons. Half-way between the Mormons and the corral, Bateman was met by one of the emigrants named Hamilton, to whom he promised protection for his party on condition that their arms were surrendered, assuring him that they would be conducted safely to Cedar City. After a brief interview each returned to his comrades.

It was arranged that John D. Lee should conclude terms with the emigrants, and he immediately went into their camp. Bidding the men pile their arms into the wagon, to avoid provoking the Indians, he placed in them the wounded, the small children, and a little clothing. While thus engaged, a man rode up with orders from Major Higbee, an officer of the Mormon army, to hasten, as the Indians threatened to renew the attack.

The emigrants were then hurried away, the men and women following the wagons, the latter in front. All were in single file, and on each side of them the militia were drawn up two deep, with twenty paces between their lines. Within two hundred yards of the camp, the men were halted until the women approached a copse of scrub-oak, about a mile distant, and near which, it appears, the Indians were in ambush.

The men now resumed their march, the militia forming in single file, each one walking by the side of an emigrant, and carrying his musket on the left arm. As soon as the women were close to the ambuscade, Higbee, who was in charge of the detachment, gave a signal, which had evidently been prearranged, by saying to his command, Do your duty; and the horrible butchery commenced. Most of the men were shot down at the first fire. Three only escaped from the valley; of these, two were quickly run down and slaughtered; the third was slain at Muddy Creek, some fifty miles distant.

The women and those of the children who were on foot ran forward some two or three hundred yards, when they were overtaken by Indians, among whom were some Mormons in disguise. The women fell on their knees, and with clasped hands sued in vain for mercy, clutching the garments of their murderers. Children pleaded for life, but the steady gaze of innocent childhood was met by the demoniac grin of the savages, who brandished over them uplifted knives and tomahawks. Their skulls were battered in, or their throats cut from ear to ear, and, while still alive, the scalp was torn from their heads. Some of the little ones met with a more merciful death, one, an infant in arms, being shot through the head by the same bullet that pierced its father's heart. Of the women none were spared, and of the children only those who were not more than seven years of age.

To two of Lee's wagoners was assigned the duty, so called, of slaughtering the sick and wounded. Obeying their instructions, they stopped their teams and despatched their unfortunate victims. Some were shot; others had their throats cut.

The massacre was now completed, and after stripping the bodies of all articles of value, Brother Lee and his associates went to breakfast, returning after a hearty meal to bury their dead.

It was a ghastly sight that met their eyes on their return, and one that caused even the assassins to shudder and turn pale. The bodies had been entirely denuded by the Indians. Some of the corpses were horribly mangled and nearly all of them scalped. The dead were piled in heaps in a ravine near by and a little earth thrown over them. This was washed off by the first rains, leaving the remains to be devoured by wolves and coyotes.

It was not until two years after the massacre that they were decently interred, by a detachment of United States troops sent for that purpose from Camp Floyd.

On arriving at Mountain Meadows, the soldiers found skulls and bones scattered for the space of a mile around the ravine, where they had been dragged by the wolves. Nearly all of the bodies had been gnawed by those ghouls of the desert, so that few could be recognized, as their dismembered skeletons were bleached by the sun. Many of the skulls had been crushed by the butts of muskets, or cloven with tomahawks; others were shattered by firearms discharged close to the head.

A few remnants of apparel, torn from the backs of women and children as they ran from their merciless pursuers, still fluttered among the bushes, and near by were masses of human hair, matted and trodden in the earth.

Over the last resting-place of the victims was erected a cone-shaped cairn, twelve feet high. Against its northern base was a slab of rough granite with the following inscription: Here 120 men, women, and children were massacred in cold blood, early in September, 1857. They were from Arkansas. Surmounting the cairn was a cross of cedar, inscribed with the words: Vengeance is mine; I will repay, saith the Lord.

The survivors of the awful slaughter were seventeen children, from two months to seven years of age, who were carried, on the evening of the massacre, by John D. Lee and others to the house of Jacob Hamblin, and afterward placed in charge of Mormon families at various points in the territory. All of them were recovered in the summer of 1858, with the exception of one, who was rescued a few months later, and though thinly clad, they bore no marks of ill-usage. In 1859 they were conveyed to Arkansas, the Congress of the United States having appropriated ten thousand dollars for their rescue and restoration to relatives.

Those concerned in the massacre had pledged themselves by the most solemn oaths to stand by each other, and ever to insist that the deed was done entirely by Indians. For several months this was the accepted theory, but when it became known that some of the children had been spared, suspicion at once pointed elsewhere, for among all the murders committed by the Utes, there was not a single instance of their having shown any such mercy. Moreover, it was ascertained that an armed party of Mormons had left Cedar City, and had returned with spoil, and that the savages complained of having been unfairly treated in the division of the booty.

It is claimed that when John D. Lee discovered that the United States authorities suspected him as being the principal actor in the awful tragedy, he left the valley of the Great Salt Lake, and hid himself in one of the cañons of the Colorado,[22] where he remained for years suffering that terrible anxiety which comes to all fugitives from justice, sooner or later, and which is said by those who have experienced it to be absolutely unbearable.

In 1874, under the provisions of what is legally known as the Poland Bill, whereby the better administration of justice was subserved, the Grand Jury was instructed to investigate the Mountain Meadows Massacre, and find bills of indictment against John D. Lee, William H. Dame, Isaac C. Haight, and others. Warrants were issued for their arrest, and after a vigorous search Lee and Dame were captured, Lee having been discovered in a hog-pen at a small settlement on the Sevier River.

On the 23d of July, 1875, the trial was begun, at Beaver City, in Southern Utah. Much delay ensued, however, by the absence of witnesses, and by the fact that Lee had promised to make a full confession, and turn state's evidence. His statement was not accepted by the court, and the case was brought to trial on the 23d of July, with the expected result, that the jury, eight of whom were Mormons, failed to agree.

Lee was then tried a second time, and it was proved that the Mormon Church had nothing to do with the massacre; that Lee, in fact, had acted in direct opposition to the officers of the Church. It was shown that he was a villain and a murderer of the deepest dye; that with his own hands, after inducing the emigrants to surrender and give up their arms, he had shot two women and brained a third with the butt-end of his musket, and had cut the throat of a wounded man whom he had dragged from one of the wagons; that he had gathered the property of the emigrants and disposed of it for his own benefit. It was further proved that Lee shot two or three of the wounded, and that when two girls, who had been hiding in the brush, were brought into his presence by an Indian after the massacre, the latter asked what was to be done with them, to which Lee replied, They are too old to be spared. They are too pretty to be killed, answered the chief. Such are my orders, said Lee, whereupon the Indian shot one, and Lee, dragging the other to the ground, cut her throat.

Lee was convicted of murder in the first degree, and, having been allowed to select his own method of execution, was sentenced to be shot. The case was appealed to the supreme court of the territory, but the judgment was sustained, and it was ordered that the sentence be carried into effect on the 23d of March, 1877. The others who had been tried were discharged from custody.

A short time before his execution Lee made a confession in which he attempted to palliate his guilt by throwing the burden of the crime on his accomplices, especially on Haight and Higbee, and to show that the massacre was committed by order of Brigham Young and the High Council, all of which was absolutely false.

On the 13th of March he wrote: I feel as composed and as calm as a summer morning. I hope to meet my fate with manly courage. I declare my innocence. I have done nothing designedly wrong in that unfortunate and lamentable affair with which I have been implicated. I used my utmost endeavours to save them from their sad fate. I freely would have given worlds, were they at my command, to have averted that evil. Death to me has no terror. It is but a struggle, and all is over. I know that I have a reward in heaven, and my conscience does not accuse me.

Ten days later he was led to execution at the Mountain Meadows. Over that spot the curse of the Almighty seemed to have fallen. The luxuriant herbage that had clothed it twenty years before had disappeared; the springs were dry and wasted, and now there was neither grass nor any green thing, save here and there a copse of sage-brush or scrub-oak, that served but to make its desolation still more desolate. It is said that the phantoms of the murdered emigrants still flit around the cairn that marks their grave, and nightly reënact in ghastly pantomime the scene of this hideous tragedy.

About ten o'clock on the morning of the 23d a party of armed men, alighting from their wagons, approached the site of the massacre. Among them were the United States marshal, William Nelson, the district attorney, a military guard, and a score of private citizens. In their midst was John Doyle Lee. Blankets were placed over the wheels of one of the wagons, to serve as a screen for the firing party. Some rough boards were then nailed together in the shape of a coffin, which was placed near the edge of the cairn, and upon it Lee took his seat until the preparations were completed. The marshal now read the order of the court, and, turning to the prisoner, said, Mr. Lee, if you have anything to say before the order of the court is carried into effect you can do so now.

Rising from his coffin, he looked calmly around for a moment, and then with unfaltering voice repeated the statements already quoted from his confession. I have but little to say this morning, he added. It seems I have to be made a victim; a victim must be had, and I am the victim. I studied to make Brigham Young's will my pleasure for thirty years. See now what I have come to this day! I have been sacrificed in a cowardly, dastardly manner. I cannot help it; it is my last word; it is so. I do not fear death; I shall never go to a worse place than I am now in. I ask the Lord my God, if my labours are done, to receive my spirit.

A Methodist clergyman, who acted as his spiritual adviser, then knelt by his side and offered a brief prayer, to which he listened attentively. After shaking hands with those around him, he removed a part of his clothing, handing his hat to the marshal, who bound a handkerchief over his eyes, his hands being free at his own request. Seating himself with his face to the firing party, and with hands clasped over his head, he exclaimed: Let them shoot the balls through my heart. Don't let them mangle my body.

The word of command was given, the report of the rifles rang forth on the still morning air, and without a groan or quiver the body of the criminal fell back lifeless on his coffin.

God was more merciful to him than he had been to his victims.[23]

Once one of Russell, Majors, & Waddell's trains, upon arriving at the Little Blue River below Kearney, en route to Fort Laramie, had a little skirmish with the Sioux. One of the party, who was going to the Fort to erect a sawmill for the government,[24] tells about it as follows:

I had travelled ahead of the train a mile or more, had gotten off my mule, laid down awhile, and I believe fell asleep. On awaking I saw three Indians coming out of the brush on the creek bottom; I took a glance at them, and quietly stood where I was. After a while they approached me; I mounted my mule and held my loaded shot-gun before me across the saddle, with my finger on the trigger. Two formed themselves in front of me and one behind. I paid no special attention to them, but they immediately began to make signs in relation to swapping their horses for my mule. I merely pointed to the U.S. on the shoulder of the animal, indicating that it was not my property. They quickly saw they couldn't scare me, though I didn't know but what they were making up their minds to kill me; finally, however, without any further demonstration they rode off one at a time, and left me, where I remained until my train came up.

When we made camp that afternoon a good-sized band of Cheyennes and Arapahoes gathered around with their usual salutations of How? How? I suggested to the wagon-master to boil some old coffee-grounds after we had eaten our dinner, and with some sugar and crackers or something of that character, give them to the Indians, which was done. In the afternoon we moved out on the road toward Kearney and ahead of us was a train going unloaded to the same place. As we strung out on the trail I noticed that the chief of the band, I think he was known as Hairy Bear of the Cheyennes, and all of his warriors were riding along, one opposite nearly every driver. I told the wagon-master that he had better stop the train and tell the Indians they must take either one end of the road or the other, as it was evident they were getting ready for a row. Upon discovering that we were up to their little job, they went ahead.

At dark, after we had encamped again, the assistant wagon-master of the train in front came to us and told of a little scrap he had with these same Indians. One of them at first undertook to snatch the handkerchief off his neck; another Indian had shot two or three arrows after a teamster, then they rode off.

Our train went on five miles, where we were going to camp, when a messenger was sent by the commanding officer at the fort suggesting that the two caravans camp together, which we did. In the morning, when we started out, I rode ahead on my mule as usual, and when I had got about half-way to the fort I saw the white shoulder-blade of a buffalo setting up on end about fifty yards from the road. I rode out and picked it up; it was standing on end with a little wisp of grass wrapped around it; on the face of it were three men painted red. The broad end of the blade in the ground was marked out like a fort, with little black spots, meaning tracks of soldiers, and a man in black was there with his rifle drawn, and resting across one of the red men's necks. Another was shot below the shoulder-joint, and one had his arm broken. Painted in red, right up toward the joint, was a wolf trotting from it. This indicated that the Indians had had a fight; three of them had been wounded, one in the back, one in the neck, and one had his arm broken. There were also three spears, the points of which were stuck in the ground, indicating that three Indians were dead and had no more use for the weapons.

I took the bone to the fort and there the interpreter told what it all meant. I discovered it to be a valuable history of what was going on: the Cheyennes and Arapahoes who had been with us had separated; the Arapahoes had gone away and tried to steal some ponies; they would be along pretty soon. All this occurred after the Arapahoes had separated from the Cheyennes. The latter had placed the shoulder-blade of the buffalo on the trail, to prevent their making the mistake of going to the fort, where, after their trouble with the train, the soldiers would make it hot for them; but as I had found their message first, their plan was frustrated.

Later on the Indians came to the fort, and one of the teamsters who had been wounded happened to be there, and he picked out the very Indian who had shot him. The commanding officer directed the sergeant of the guard to arrest the savage, which he did, and proceeded to put him in irons. While fastening on a ball and chain, the Indian struck the soldier on the head who was holding him. Upon this the commanding officer told one of the guards to shoot him, which the man did very promptly. The bullet went clear through the Indian, and shot one of the interpreter's fingers off. After this little incident, there was a general free-for-all fight, in which the Indians were badly worsted. After this battle the Indians went south and were not troublesome for some time.

When the snow began to melt from the mountain peaks in the spring the little insignificant creeks swelled up and for a few weeks were transformed into raging torrents, too deep or too dangerous to ford. At such seasons the few ranchmen who were in the country built temporary bridges across them, hardly ever exceeding fifty feet in length. While the streams were high, these bridges were a veritable gold-mine from the revenue paid by the freighters as toll. In order, however, to make their toll lawful, every bridge-owner was required to possess himself of a charter from the secretary of the territory, and approved by the governor. This official document simply authorized the proprietor to charge such toll as he saw fit, which was always extravagantly highusually five dollars for each team of six yoke of cattle and wagon. These ranchmen also kept an assortment of groceries and barrels of whiskey, for the latter of which the teamsters were always liberal customers.

It very often happened, through ignorance of the law or from ignoring it, that these ranchmen took out no charter, because its possession was so rarely questioned.

At the trail-crossing of Rock Creek was one of these frontier toll-bridges. In the spring of 1866 two trains were travelling in company, one in charge of a man known as Stuttering Brown, because of an impediment in his speech. He was a man of undoubted courage, and determined. When angry, he indulged in some of the quaintest and wittiest original expressions imaginable; but if you laughed at him, he became very much offended, as he was particularly sensitive about the impediment of his speech. Still, he was a man who appreciated a joke, and enjoyed it even if it was upon himself.

Brown's train comprised twenty teams, and the other twenty-six. His train happened to be in the lead that day, and as they neared the bridge, Brown rode back to the other wagon-master and said:

B-B-Billy, wh-what are you g-g-going to do about p-p-paying t-t-toll on this b-b-bridge?

He answered that if the fellow had a charter, he would be compelled to pay; otherwise he would not, as probably the charges were exorbitant. Brown argued they might have some trouble with the ranchman if pay was refused, as they generally had a pretty tough crowd around them who were ready for any kind of a skirmish.

His friend called attention to the fact that together they had fifty-five men, well armed on account of probable Indian troubles. They were all good fighters, and they would ask for no greater fun than cleaning out the ranch, if it was discovered that the proprietor had no charter.

Brown returned to the bridge, where the ranchman stood preparing to collect his toll, which was five dollars a team in advance. This would require one hundred dollars from Brown and a hundred and thirty from the other train. Brown refused point blank to pay the bill, and the ranchman asked him upon what grounds.

Brown's reply was:

Y-Y-You h-h-haint g-g-got no ch-ch-charter. The ranchman answered him that he had, and if he would go back to the ranch with him, he would show it. The ranch was only a few hundred yards away.

Brown accompanied him, and in a short time returned to the train. His friend asked him if the charter was all right, to which Brown replied in the affirmative, saying that he had settled for his outfit, and that his friend had better do the same, which he accordingly did.

After crossing the bridge, the other wagon-master noticed that Brown was very much amused about something, occasionally indulging in loud bursts of laughter. His friend inquired the cause of his mirth, but he refused to tell.

When they arrived at the camping-ground that evening, and after corralling the trains and placing out the proper guards, Brown invited his friend to take supper with him. While eating he was asked what had so amused him during the afternoon. He said that when he went up to the ranch to see the bridge charter, he rode to the door, sat on his mule, and asked the ranchman to trot out his charter and be dd quick about it.

The man went into a black room and pretty soon returned, shouting:

You stuttering thief, here it is! What do you think about it?

Brown looked up and found that he was peering into the muzzle of a double-barrelled gun, probably loaded with buck-shot. The ranchman was pointing it directly at his head, with both triggers cocked. Brown saw he was in earnest, and asked if that was the charter. The ranchman replied that it was.

His friend then asked, What did you do, Brown?

N-N-Not much. J-J-Just t-t-told him, th-th-that's good, and settled.

Some years afterward, when Brown was part owner and superintendent of the Black Hills stage-line, he was waylaid and killed by the Indians, while on a return trip from Custer City. Thus ended the career of one of the bravest and best of the men on the frontier.

One of the most famous of temporary toll-ferries was over the trail-crossing of Green River. It was owned by Bill Hickman, a Mormon, and as the river was seldom fordable he reaped a rich harvest of gold from the emigrant trains. His prices for crossing teams depended upon the ability of their owners to pay, varying from five to twenty dollars each. The old ford may still be seen just below the station of Green River on the Union Pacific Railroad.

During the preparation for the Mormon war the supply-trains of the government were constantly harassed by that people. The genius of campaigning by destroying trains was Major Lot Smith. One evening, at the head of forty men, after riding all night, he came in sight of a westward-bound government train. On coming up to it he ordered the drivers to turn round and go back on their trail. They obeyed promptly, but as soon as Smith was out of sight, they wheeled around and travelled west again. During the day a party of Mormon troops passed them, and taking all of the freight out of the wagons, left them standing there.

Smith was afterward informed by his scouts that a caravan of twenty-six wagons was approaching. Upon this information he halted his men and, after eating, started again at dusk, approached the train while it was in camp at a place near Simpson's Hollow, and ambushed his party for several hours. Meanwhile, he learned that there were two trains, each of twenty-six wagons; but in fact as was afterward discovered there were really three of seventy-five wagons in all.

About midnight, while only a few of the teamsters were gathered around their camp-fire, some of them drinking, some smoking, they suddenly saw what seemed to be an endless procession of armed and mounted men emerge from the darkness.

Smith, quietly coming up, asked for the captain of the outfit, whose name was Dawson. As a majority of the teamsters were asleep, their guns fastened to the covers of the wagons, and any resistance almost hopeless, Dawson stepped forward, surrendered, and told his men to stack their arms and group themselves on a spot designated by Smith. Smith dealt successively with the other trains in like manner. Then, after lighting two torches, he handed one of them to a Gentile in his party, known as Big James, remarking at the same time, It is eminently proper for a Gentile to spoil a Gentile.

Riding from wagon to wagon, Smith's men set fire to the covers, which rapidly caught in the crisp mountain air, and were soon all ablaze. Dawson, meanwhile, was ordered by Smith to the rear of the trains to take out provisions for his captors, and when everything was fairly burning he and his party rode away, first informing his panic-stricken captives that he would return as soon as he had delivered the provisions to his comrades near by, and instantly shoot any one who should make any attempt to extinguish the flames.

The destruction of these supply-trains was a severe blow to the army of occupation; both troops and animals suffered severely in consequence of the loss of provisions.

The year 1865 was fruitful of Indian depredations along the Old Trail, particularly that portion which ran through the Platte Valley. The Sioux and Cheyennes allied themselves in large bands against the whites, and raided the beautiful region from one end to the other. Theirs was a trail of blood like that of Attila, The Scourge, and their fiendish acts rivalled those of that monster of the Old World.