The Indian War of 1864 - Appendix A-C



APPENDIX A.
THE DAUGHTER OF SHAN-TAG-A-LISK.--A PIECE OF WESTERN HISTORY. 

[The following as a piece of truthful history was published several years 
ago in a magazine. That portion of it is omitted which has appeared in the 
preceding pages.]  

   When, like the red-man of Plato, the American Indian shall have become 
a myth, some future anthropologist will wonder what manner of man he was.

   Those who have been thrown in contact with him do not love him. His 
treachery, his cruelty, his basest kind of ingratitude, his wild, half-
maniac superstitions, make those who knew him wonder where all of the 
sentimentality about the "noble redman" came from.

   A true description of the aboriginal Indian dare not be put into print. 
The novelist and the dramatist of future times will give a character to 
the Indian which be never possessed, and he will be, like the Spanish 
Aldoran, knighted and put on horseback after he is dead. Yet, as Buddha 
says, "Amid the brambles and rubbish thrown over into the road, a lily may 
grow."

   It is the object of this brief article to tell the true story of an 
Indian girl, and what happened to her. But in order that a comprehension 
may be had, by the reader, of the girl and her situation, it is necessary 
to go into some detail as to Sioux Indian life and history. It is also 
necessary to give some details of the Sioux nation as to its customs and 
geographical location, past and present; for without these facts the life 
and character of the Indian girl referred to cannot be understood.

Her name was Ah-ho-ap'pa, the Sioux name for wheaten flour. It was the 
whitest thing they knew. She had other names, as Indian women often have, 
but when the writer first saw her she was called Ah-ho-ap'pa. How she got 
the name is forgotten.

   Her father's name, Shan-tag-a-lisk, meant "Spotted Tail"; some of the 
Indians pronounced it "Than-tag-a-liska." He was one of the greatest 
chiefs the Sioux nation ever had. In order to explain him and what 
follows, it is best to give a brief description of the Indian question as 
relates to the Sioux nation at the time of the Civil War. The great 
Rebellion broke out in 1861, after having been planned for years, and not 
only were the Northern arsenals emptied, the South armed, and the navy 
scattered, but the entire Indian population, consisting of several 
powerful Indian nations, were precipitated upon the frontiers of the North 
and West. The "civilized nations" of the Indian Territory formally joined 
the Confederacy, and helped to raise armies. The other Indians raided and 
ravished the borders from southern Kansas to the British Possessions, so 
that it was necessary to station troops in a long cordon, and build forts 
and transport military supplies in enormous quantities, often at great 
distances, in some cases a thousand miles from a railroad, and store and 
guard the supplies. This greatly hampered the General Government. At the 
time the war closed there were in the Department of "Kansas and the 
Territories" nearly 60,000 troops. And long afterwards, when the clouds of 
the civil war had passed away, I find from a return in my possession that 
there were stationed along the line to protect Kansas, Nebraska and the 
overland line to Utah, 10,000 men and twenty-six pieces of artillery. This 
is exclusive of northern Iowa, Minnesota and the Dakotas, that required 
another army. The time to which my narrative refers is between the summer 
of 1864 and the spring of 1866. After a long, hot march to reinforce Fort 
Laramie, which was then described as being in "Idaho Territory," we, a 
detachment of Iowa cavalry, arrived at the so-called fort in July, 1864. A 
regiment of Ohio cavalry had preceded us, and were building additional 
forts and were holding the passes in the mountains. Fort Laramie seemed, 
at that time, to the outside world, to be an echo from a vast, unknown, 
perilous interior. Soon after arrival the writer was detailed as adjutant 
of the post. Let us now turn to a view of the Sioux nation of that day. 
The Sioux nation occupied a vast territory, and was subdivided into 
subordinate tribes which had been so remotely sundered that their 
languages differed and had run into dialects. Their traditions said that 
they had come from the salt water, but they could not tell when, for the 
time was so great. They had traditions of the East but not of the West. 
They claimed kinship with the Iowas, Missouris, Kansas, and Quapaws or 
Arkansas Indians. I will repeat here that the tribes of the Sioux nation 
with which we had to deal were the Brule, the Oga-llall'ahs, and the Minne-
con'-jous, pronounced Minne-kau-zhous. The name of the first is the French 
interpretation of the Indian name, "The Burnt-thighs." The second, "Oga-
llall'-ah," is a Sioux expression meaning "The Split-off Band," i. e., 
"The Secessionists." The third, "Minne-con'-jous," means the "Shallow-
water people," they being residents of the country where the streams were 
all shallow and choked with sand. It was a vast territory, and was called 
"The shallow-water-land."

   Shan-tag-a-lisk was one of the greatest of the Brule leaders, with a 
commanding influence over the Minneconjous; which bands roamed through the 
vast country north, northeast, and east of Fort Laramie, but mostly north 
of the Platte.

   Owa-see'-cha ("Bad-wound") was the chief of the Oga-llall-ahs, which 
roamed mostly south of the Platte, at the beginning of the time of which I 
speak. I have stated that Owa-see'-cha had suffered much at the hands of a 
Pawnee chief in a battle, hence the name.

Shan-tag'-a-lisk and Owa-see'-cha claimed to be able to bring into the 
field 26,000 Ar-ke'-chetas, or public soldiers. The Sioux nation then had 
what might be called a regular army. Not all of the men were soldiers; 
some were mere hunters or food-providers, but most of the strong and able-
bodied were enrolled in a sort of military guild called Ar-ke-chetas, and 
were either out stealing horses, fighting and plundering, or else acting 
as policemen at home, and taking care of one another while drunk.

   To rise among the Ar-ke-chetas the aspirant must "count coo," as it was 
called. The term "coo" was the French translation "coup" of the Sioux word 
strike, and the French term was the one always used by the interpreters, 
who were mostly French, and the various Indians came to adopt the word 
themselves. The relative importance of an Indian in his own estimation was 
the number of times be could count "coo," and the Indian never failed to 
advise his white listener as to the number. The Indian is a great deal of 
an Ananias. His native character is that of a vain-glorious braggart. He 
always claims to be a "heap-big-warchief." He could fool the white man who 
knew nothing about it, but the Indians could not fool one another. They 
knew each other's methods and manners, and they had a way of regulating 
those things.

   A "coo" meant the blow first given to an enemy by a Sioux with his hand 
or something in his hand.

   The Indian idea was that anybody might shoot an enemy, but it was the 
man who touched him first that was entitled to the glory. It was not the 
man who killed an enemy, or who scalped an enemy, that took the glory, but 
the man who touched the enemy first. One Indian might shoot and instantly 
kill a foe, another Indian might rush and strike the fallen foe with a 
riding-whip, and a third might secure the scalp, but the glory went to the 
Indian who made the "strike."

   There was much reason in it, for a wounded Indian, like a little 
learning, was a dangerous thing; and the really brave Indian was he who 
first struck an enemy with something held in the hand. Sometimes blows 
were so close together that disputes arose as to who was entitled to the 
"coo," but these matters were settled by evidence in council. No Indian 
could claim and take a "coo" that be could not prove. The warriors held 
their "coos" by a sort of judicial determination of the tribe, or public 
concession of known facts.

   An Indian who made two or three "coos' was a hero. When he could claim 
half a dozen he was a war chief. He was generally killed before he got any 
more. Shan-tag-a-lisk was the greatest of the warriors of the Sioux 
nation, at that time, and counted more "coos" than any other one in the 
nation. He said, "I count twenty-six coos." He was a quick, nervy, 
feminine-looking Indian of only medium size and height, and about forty 
years of age.

   The writer had met both Shan-tag-a-lisk and Owa-see-cha before making 
the said trip to Fort Laramie. It was at Cottonwood Springs where two 
peace conventions were had, ten miles below the forks of the Platte. The 
object was to pacify the Sioux nation so that our Government might draw 
off some of the troops on the frontier and send them to the front at 
Atlanta, Georgia, where Sherman, at that time, was busily engaged and 
needed all the troops he could get. But nothing came of our peace 
conventions. It was also desired that a free opening might be had to the 
west for the scattering, disorganized soldiers and citizens of the 
Confederacy, who were fleeing from the theatre of war and from places 
where the Rebel conscription was, in the language of Grant, "robbing the 
cradle and the grave." These travelers to the west, although they might 
not be loyal to the Government, could ably protect themselves from the 
savage; they formed an army of extermination, and were exceedingly 
valuable to the General Government for the services they could render in 
exploring and building up the country and getting the Indians upon 
reservations.

   At Laramie half-breed runners were sent out to bring in the Sioux and 
have an adjustment of pending difficulties, but the raid upon the line 
west of Laramie and the warlike feeling of the young men of the Sioux made 
it a failure. Nevertheless, some of the Indians came in, and Shan-tag-a-
lisk was said to be within a hundred miles of the Post with many lodges of 
his band. On consultation at the sutler's store it was considered best to 
issue provisions to all the Indians who came in, especially as Shan-tag-a-
lisk was keeping his band and his young Indians out of the war. It was 
thought best to make some presents to the Indian women who came in, and 
the Post commander was instructed to do so from the post fund. The Indian 
women were presented with red blankets, bright calicoes, looking-glasses, 
etc., etc. The writer, as adjutant of the post, superintended by order of 
the post commander a distribution of provisions. All of the Indian women 
and children sat down in a circle on the parade-ground, into the middle of 
which were rolled barrels and boxes of flour, crackers, bacon, and coffee. 
Then from the few Indian men, two or three were selected who entered the 
ring and made the division with great solemnity; going around the ring 
repeatedly with small quantities of the several articles that were being 
divided. My instructions were to see that everything was fairly done and 
all the supplies equally divided.

   As I came up to the ring, on the day of the first division, an Indian 
girl was standing outside of the ring, looking on. She was tall and well 
dressed, and about eighteen years of age, or perhaps twenty. As the 
distribution was about to begin I went to her and told her to get into the 
ring, and motioned to her where to go. She gave no sign of heed, looked at 
me as impassively as if she were a statue, and never moved a muscle. A few 
teamsters, soldiers and idlers were standing around and looking on from a 
respectful distance. I shouted to Smith, the interpreter, to come. He 
came, and I said to him, "Tell this squaw to get into the ring or she will 
lose her share." Smith addressed her, and she replied. Smith looked 
puzzled, sort of smiled, and spoke to her again; again she replied as 
before. "What does she say?" I asked of Smith. Smith replied, "Oh, she 
says she is the daughter of Shan-tag-a-lisk." "I don't care," said I, 
"whose daughter she is; tell her to get into the ring and get in quick." 
Again Smith talked to her, and impatiently gestured. She made a reply. 
"What did she say?" I asked. "Oh, she says that she don't go into the
ring," said Smith. "Then tell her," I said, "that if she doesn't go into 
the ring she won't get anything to eat." Back from her, through Smith, 
came the answer: "I have plenty to eat; I am the daughter of Shan-tag-a-
lisk." So I left her alone, and she stood and saw the division, and then 
went off to the Indian camp. Several times rations were distributed during 
the week, and she always came and stood outside of the ring alone. During 
the daytime she came to the sutler's store and sat on a bench outside, 
near the door, watching as if she were living on the sights she saw. She 
was particularly fond of witnessing guard-mount in the morning and dress-
parade in the evening. Whoever officiated principally on these occasions 
put on a few extra touches for her special benefit, at the suggestion of 
Major Wood, the Post Commander. The Officer-of-the-guard always appeared 
in an eighteen-dollar red silk sash, ostrich plume, shoulder-straps, and 
about two hundred dollars' worth of astonishing raiment, such as, in the 
field, we boys used to look upon with loathing and contempt. We all knew 
her by sight, but she never spoke to any of us. Among ourselves we called 
her "the princess." She was looking, always looking, as if she were 
feeding upon what she saw. It was a week or ten days that Ah-ho-appa was 
around Fort Laramie. At last she went away with her band up to Powder 
River. Her manner of action was known to all, and she was frequently 
referred to as an Indian girl of great dignity. Some thought she was 
acting vain, and some thought that she did not know or comprehend her own 
manner. There was no silly curiosity in her demeanor. She saw everything, 
but asked no questions. She expressed no surprise, and exhibited not a 
particle of emotion. She only gazed intently.

   One evening in the sutler store the officers of parts of three 
regiments were lounging, when Elston was asked if he knew Ah-ho-appa. 
"Very well indeed," he said; and then he proceeded to say:

   "I knew her when she was a baby. She was here in the squaw-camp eight 
or nine years ago, and must have stayed with her relatives here two or 
three years. She is very much stuck up, especially in the last four or 
five years. She won't marry an Indian; she always said that. Her father 
has been offered two hundred ponies for her, but won't sell her. She says 
she won't marry anybody but a 'capitan',' and that idea sort of pleases 
her father for more reasons than one. Among the Indians every officer, big 
or little, with shoulder-straps on, is a 'capitan'.' That's a Spanish word 
the Indians have adopted, Every white man that wears shoulder-straps is a 
capitan. With her it's a capitan or nobody. She always carries a knife, 
and is as strong as a mule. One day a Blackfoot soldier running with her 
father's band tried to carry her off, but she fought and cut him almost to 
pieces -- like to have killed him; tickled her father nearly to death. The 
young bucks seem to think a good deal of her, but are all afraid to tackle 
her. The squaws all know about her idea of marrying a capitan; they think 
her head is level, but don't believe she will ever make it. She tried to 
learn to read and speak English once of a captured boy, but the boy 
escaped before she got it. She carries around with her a little bit of a 
red book, with a gold cross printed on it, that General Harney gave her 
mother many years ago. She's got it wrapped up in a parfleche [piece of 
dressed rawhide]. You ought to hear her talk when she is mad. She is a 
holy terror. She tells the Indians they are all fools for not living in 
houses, and making peace with the whites. One time she and her father went 
in to Jack Morrow's ranch and made a visit. She was treated in fine style, 
and ate a bushel of candy and sardines, but her father was insulted by 
some drunken fellow and went away boiling mad. When he got home to his 
tepee he said he never would go around any more where there were white 
men, except to kill them. She and her father got into a regular quarrel 
over it, and she pulled out her knife and began cutting herself across the 
arms and ribs, and in a minute she was bleeding in about forty places, and 
said that if he didn't say different she was going to kill herself. He 
knocked her down as cold as a wedge, and had her cuts fixed up by the 
squaws with pine pitch; and when she came to he promised her that she 
could go, whenever he did, to see the whites. And she went; you bet she 
went. She would dress just like a buck and carry a gun. White men would 
not know the difference. They can't get her to tan buckskin, or gather 
buffalo cherries. No, sir. There was a teamster down at Bardeaux ranch 
that wanted to talk marry to her, but his moustache was too white." (In 
the old folk-lore of the plains a man's liver was supposed to be of the 
color of his moustache. So the speaker meant that the teamster was white-
livered, hence cowardly.)

   Here ended Elston's story, and all of the officers listened, and some 
asked questions, until all knew Ah-ho-appa, who did not know her before; 
and when Mr. Bullock, the post sutler, brought in a gallon of his fine new 
whisky-toddy the subject changed to Petersburg and Richmond, and whether 
Sherman's artillery could carry shells over Hood's lines into Atlanta. All 
efforts for peace at Laramie were failures and hostilities raged along the 
line, but Shan-tag-a-lisk stayed out of it.

   Here for a time we leave the daughter of Shan-tag-a-lisk. She has gone 
north to Powder River with her father's band. The writer was adjutant for 
only thirty days, and then was ordered east down the Platte. The 
Government was making every effort to end the war. Richmond was invested. 
Atlanta fell into our bands. Rebellion and disunion was being pressed to 
the wall. The blows were now redoubled and terrific. Fighting day and 
night, the Confederacy was doomed. Every man was called upon to do his 
best. Every man did his best, and then came Appomattox; and there was 
written into our national constitution, with the sword, an amendment that 
States could not secede from the Union. Then the disbanding armies poured 
out into the Western States and Territories to begin the making of homes 
and the building of railroads and cities. Then peace was proffered to the 
Indian tribes. A commission was sent from Washington and a convention of 
the "Civilized Tribes" held at Fort Smith, Arkansas. Judge Cooley, of 
Dubuque, on behalf of the United States, was spokesman. I was there, but 
still in the United States' service. Ross and Boudinot made speeches, and 
peace was established there ere frost fell in the autumn of 1865. 
Commissioners were selected to make treaties with the Western tribes. They 
were no longer stirred up by emissaries from the Indian Territory and the 
Confederacy.

Early in 1866 the Department of "The United States forces in Kansas and 
the Territories" was commanded by Major-General Grenville M. Dodge, who 
had commanded an army corps under Sherman. The writer had seen General 
Dodge being hauled off in an army wagon, badly wounded, at Pea Ridge, at 
which place was first invented the American battle theory of fighting 
three days without stopping, contrary to the traditions of the "Fifteen 
Decisive Battles of the World" which had theretofore happened, and which 
were generally fought in a few hours each.

   General Dodge had placed Colonel H. E. Maynadier in charge of the sub-
district at Laramie. The Indian troubles had slackened up, but there were 
at the post about six hundred men, including everybody there. A year and a 
half had elapsed, and the writer was still in the military volunteer 
service.

   Let us now visit Powder River, far north of Laramie. It was a cold and 
dismal day in February, about the 23d, 1866. Ah-ho-appa was stricken with 
consumption, and was living in a chilly and lonesome tepee among the pines 
on the west bank of the river. She had not seen a white person since her 
visit to Laramie in August, 1864. During this time there had been a 
continuous state of war along the routes. Most of the Indians were 
involved in hostilities that seemed unlikely to ever end, except with the 
extermination of one party or the other. But Shan-tag-a-lisk kept out of 
it as much as he could. His camp had been moved backwards and forwards all 
over the Big Horn, Rose Bud, and Tongue River country, and was again on 
the Powder River not far from where the three hundred horses of the 
Seventh Iowa cavalry perished in a September snow-storm. Ah-ho-appa's 
heart was broken. She could not stand up against her surroundings. In vain 
her father had urged her to accept the conditions as they were, to be 
happy and contented and not worry about things out of her reach. But she 
could not. The object of her life was beyond her reach. She had an 
ambition, -- a vague one; but her hopes were gone. Shortly before her 
death a runner from Laramie announced to the Indians on Powder River that 
commissioners would come with the grass, who would bring the words of the 
Great Father to his Indian children. Shan-tag-a-lisk was urged to send 
runners to all the bands south and west of the Missouri River, and to meet 
at Laramie as soon as their ponies could live on the grass. Ah-ho-appa 
heard the news, but it came too late. It did not revive her. She told her 
father that she wanted to go, but she would be dead; that it was her wish 
to be buried in the cemetery at Fort Laramie, where the soldiers were 
buried, up on the hill, near the grave of "Old Smoke," a distant relative 
and a great chief among the Sioux in former years. This her relatives 
promised her.

   When her death took place, after great lamentations among the band, the 
skin of a deer freshly killed was held over the fire and thoroughly 
permeated and creosoted with smoke. Ah-ho-appa was wrapped in it and it 
was tightly bound around her with thongs so that she was temporarily 
embalmed. Shan-tag-a-lisk sent a runner to announce that he was coming, in 
advance of the commissioners, to bury his daughter at Laramie. It was a 
distance of two hundred and sixty miles.

   The landscape was bleak and frozenly arid, the streams were covered 
with ice, and the hills speckled with snow. The trail was rough and 
mountainous. The two white ponies of Ah-ho-appa were tied together, side 
by side, and the body placed upon them. Shan-tag-a-lisk, with a party of 
his principal warriors and a number of the women, started off on the sad 
journey. When they camped at night the cottonwood and willow trees were 
cut down and the ponies browsed on the tops of the trees and gnawed the 
wood and bark. For nearly a week of the trip there was a continual sleet. 
The journey lasted for fifteen days, and was monotonous with lamentation.

   When within fifteen miles of Fort Laramie at camp, a runner announced 
to Col. Maynadier the approach of the procession. Col. Maynadier was a 
natural prince, a good soldier, and a judge of Indian character. He was 
Colonel of the First U. S. Volunteers. The post commander was Major Geo. 
M. O'Brien, a graduate of Dublin University, afterwards brevetted to the 
rank of General. His honored grave is now in the beautiful cemetery at 
Omaha.

   A consultation was held among the officers, and an ambulance 
dispatched, guarded by a company of cavalry in full uniform, followed by 
two twelve-pound mountain howitzers, with postilions in red chevrons. The 
body was placed in the ambulance, and behind it were led the girl's two 
white ponies.

   When the cavalcade had reached the river, a couple of miles from the 
post, the garrison turned out, and with Col. Maynadier at the head, met 
and escorted them into the post, and the party were assigned quarters. The 
next day a scaffold was erected near the grave of "Old Smoke." It was made 
of tent-poles twelve feet long imbedded in the ground, and fastened with 
thongs, over which a buffalo-robe was laid, and on which the coffin was to 
be placed. To the poles of the scaffold were nailed the heads and tails of 
the two white ponies, so that Ah-ho-appa could ride through the fair 
hunting-grounds of the skies. A coffin was made and lavishly decorated. 
The body was not unbound from its deerskin shroud, but was wrapped in a 
bright red blanket and placed in the coffin mounted on the wheels of an 
artillery caisson. After the coffin came a twelve-pound howitzer, and the 
whole was followed to the cemetery by the entire garrison in full uniform. 
The tempestuous and chilling weather moderated somewhat. The Rev. Mr. 
Wright, who was the post Chaplain, suggested an elaborate burial service. 
Shan-tag-a-lisk was consulted. He wanted his daughter buried Indian 
fashion, so that she would go not where the white people went, but where 
the red people went. Every request of Shan-tag-a-lisk was met by Colonel 
Maynadier with a hearty and satisfactory "Yes." Shan-tag-a-lisk was silent 
for a long while, then he gave to the Chaplain, Mr. Wright, the 
"parfleche" which contained the little book that General Harney had given 
to her mother many years before. It was a small Episcopal prayer-book, 
such as was used in the regular army. The mother could not read it, but 
considered it a talisman. Mr. Wright then deposited it in the coffin. Then 
Colonel Maynadier stepped forward and deposited a pair of white kid 
gauntlet cavalry gloves to keep her hands warm while she was making the 
journey. The soldiers formed a large hollow square, within which the 
Indians formed a large ring around the coffin. Within the Indian ring, and 
on the four sides of the coffin, stood Colonel Maynadier, Major O'Brien, 
Shan-tag-a-lisk, and the Chaplain. The Chaplain was at the foot, and read 
the burial service, while, on either side, Colonel Maynadier and Major 
O'Brien made responses. Shan-tag-a-lisk stood at the head, looking into 
the coffin, the personification of blank grief. When the reading service 
closed Major O'Brien placed in the coffin a new crisp one-dollar bill, so 
that Ah-ho-appa might buy what she wanted on the journey. Then each of the 
Indian women came up, one at a time, and talked to Ah-ho-appa: some of 
them whispered to her long and earnestly as if they were by her sending 
some hopeful message to a lost child. Each one put some little remembrance 
in the coffin; one put a little looking-glass, another a string of colored 
beads, another a pine cone with some sort of an embroidery of sinew in it. 
Then the lid was fastened on and the women took the coffin and raised it 
and placed it on the scaffold. The Indian men stood mutely and stolidly 
around looking on, and none of them moved a muscle or tendered any help. A 
fresh buffalo-skin was laid over the coffin and bound down to the sides of 
the scaffold with thongs. The scaffold was within the military square, as 
was also the twelve-pound howitzer. The sky was leaden and stormy, and it 
began to sleet and grow dark. At the word of command the soldiers faced 
outward and discharged three volleys in rapid succession. They and their 
visitors then marched back to their post. The howitzer squad remained and 
built a large fire of pine wood, and fired the gun every half-hour all 
night, through the sleet, until daybreak.

   In the morning a conference was had at post headquarters, which was 
decorated with flags; speeches were made, and the evils and misfortunes of 
the last five years were gone over. Col. Maynadier told of the expected 
coming of the commissioners, and made a speech. He said: "There is room 
enough for all of us in this broad country." Pointing to the silk flag of 
the Eleventh Ohio Cavalry, hanging from the wall, Col. Maynadier said: "My 
Indian brother, look at those stripes. Some of them are red, and some of 
them are white. They remain peacefully side by side -- the red and the 
white -- for there is room for each."

   After this there was a brief interval of peace. A full account of this 
funeral may be found in the St. Louis newspapers of March, 1866.

   With the grass came the commissioners. Then came the Union Pacific 
Railroad. Then came Indian resistance. Then war again. Then the decadence 
of the Sioux nation.

   The daughter of Shan-tag-a-lisk was an individual of a type found in 
all lands, at all times, and among all peoples: she was misplaced.

   Her story is the story of the persistent melancholy of the human race; 
of kings born in hovels, and dying there; of geniuses born where genius is 
a crime; of heroes born before their age, and dying unsung; of beauty born 
where its gift was fatal; of mercy born among wolves, and fighting for 
life; of statesmen born to find society not yet ripe for their labors to 
begin, and bidding the world adieu from the scaffold.

   We all of us know what it is to feel that at times we are out of tune 
with the world, but ever and anon we strike a node and come back into 
temporary harmony; but there are those who are never in tune. They are not 
alone the weak; they are the strong and the weak; they are the ambitious 
and as well also the loving, the tender, the true, and the merciful.

   The daughter of Shan-tag-a-lisk wanted to find somebody to love worth 
loving. Her soul bled to death. Like an epidendrum, she was feeding upon 
the air.

   When wealth and civilization shall have brought to the Rocky Mountains 
the culture and population which in time shall come, the daughter of Shan-
tag-a-lisk should not be forgotten; it may be said of her, in the words of 
Buddha:

   "Amid the brambles and rubbish thrown over into the road, a lily may 
grow."



APPENDIX B.
LIEUT. FITCH'S REPORT ON THE SMOKY HILL ROUTE.

FORT LEAVENWORTH, Sept. 25th, 1865.
MAJOR:

   Sir -- I have the honor to report that in compliance with Special Order 
No. 143, Hd. Qrs., Dept. of Missouri, dated Fort Leavenworth, June 9th, 
1865, I left Fort Leavenworth on the 13th of June to accompany the 
Butterfield Surveying Expedition on the route to Denver City, via Smoky 
Hill River.

   No assistance having been furnished me, and my instructions authorizing 
me to employ such as I might need, I employed Chas. H. Fitch as First 
assistant, and Daniel Clark as scout and Second assistant; and with my 
party fully equipped I took the old Fort Riley road, which I followed as 
far as Fort Riley.

   At this point we were joined by Major Pritchard of the Second Colorado 
Cavalry, who was in command of the escort, which at this time consisted of 
two companies of the Third Wisconsin Cavalry, under Capt. Pond. From that 
point I proceeded on the Fort Larned road as far as Fort Ellsworth, on the 
Smoky Hill River, at which point I diverged from the old road and bore 
west up the river on the north side. Having been instructed to report all 
streams that should be bridged, and their depth and width, together with 
the estimated cost of such bridges, I commenced my observations on the old 
road, as I found that the only difficult part of the route, at a point 
fifty miles west of Fort Leavenworth, on the west side of Soldier River. 
The road enters upon the Pottawatomie Reserve, and through the entire 
reserve for a distance of thirty miles will be found innumerable small 
streams, most of which should be bridged. It being Indian land, private 
enterprise is not available, and the United States is now paying toll over 
no less than four bridges in a distance of thirty miles. All of these 
streams could be bridged for a sum not exceeding that now paid for toll in 
the course of a year. At present there is no bridge across Cross Creek, it 
having washed away while I was camped on its banks.

   Between the Reserve and Fort Riley, a distance of thirty-five miles, 
the streams are good and need no bridges. Directly, at Riley, on its west 
side running through the Reserve and by its junction with the Smoky Hill 
forming the Kansas River, is the Republican, the largest tributary of the 
Kansas with the exception of the Smoky Hill. At the crossing of this river 
on the Military Reserve is a ferry belonging to private parties, and the 
Government is paying toll daily for crossing its own teams on its own 
reserve. This stream should be spanned by a good, substantial structure, 
though its cost will be considerable owing to the size and nature of the 
stream. I did not make an estimate of the cost of bridging, as I supposed 
it had already been done by engineers stationed at Fort Riley.

   Leaving Fort Riley, on the Fort Larned road passing through Junction 
City, at a distance of thirty-five miles, we crossed the Solomon's Ford of 
the Smoky Hill at Whittly's Ferry. The Solomon is a fine rapid stream, 
with high banks, and has a water-course eighty feet in width; will require 
a span of two hundred feet, which can be put up there at a cost of $6,000. 
Should there be stone piers erected, it would cost considerable more, as 
the country is level and affords but little building-rock. The bridge 
could be built to advantage at this particular point, as there is a high 
island right in the middle of the stream that would afford a good 
foundation for a pier or bent to the bridge.

   The country on this stream is the finest stretch of land in Kansas, 
having no bluffs, and a soil ranging from five to twenty feet in 
thickness, while all the streams in the neighborhood are very heavily 
timbered. The stream bears southeast into Smoky Hill, one mile below where 
we crossed it. After crossing we bear a little south of west, across a 
high level bottom between the Smoky Hill, the Solomon and the Saline, and 
at a distance of eight miles we cross the Saline at Woodward's Ferry; the 
upper ferry being impracticable on account of the road leading to it. The 
Saline is a fork of the Smoky Hill, similar to the Solomon, with the 
exception that the water is impregnated with salt, and it will require 
about the same bridge. Country is level and the timber fine. Two miles and 
a half west, we again touched the Smoky Hill, at Salina, the county seat 
of Dickson, on the eastern terminus of the great bend of the Smoky Hill, 
bearing south of west from Saline.

   At a distance of thirty-two miles we reached Fort Ellsworth, on the 
western terminus of the great bend of Smoky Hill. Here we were joined by 
two companies of the Thirteenth Missouri Cavalry, under command of Capts. 
McMichael and Snell.

   After resting a day and killing a few buffalo, which we now found in 
considerable numbers, and diverging from the old road, we bore a little 
north of west upon the north side of the Smoky Hill River, near our old 
trail of 1860, which had at this time become entirely obliterated. Our 
road from this point lay over a broad stretch of level bench-land, covered 
with a luxuriant growth of buffalo-grass, intersected every three or five 
miles with fine streams of water. Our party at this time consisted of Col. 
Eaton and his party of constructionists, twenty-six in number; eleven of 
our mule-wagons loaded with tools, reapers, and everything necessary for 
putting the road in fine condition; Major Pritchard; two hundred and fifty 
cavalry as escort, and the Engineer Corps. On the 14th day of July, with 
everything looking fair and all in good spirits, we started on our work. I 
was accompanied by my wife and Capt. West by his.

   Five miles west of Fort Ellsworth we were fairly in the buffalo range; 
for miles in every direction as far as the eye could see, the hills were 
black with those shaggy monsters of the prairie, grazing quietly upon the 
finest pasture in the world. Should I estimate the number of buffalo to be 
seen at one view at a million, it would be thought an exaggeration, but 
better authority than myself has estimated them at millions, or as being 
greater in number than all the domestic cattle in America.

   Truly it has been well said, that the Smoky Hill is the garden-spot and 
hunting-ground of America.

   Following along on the high level bench before spoken of, erecting 
mounds at every station, our route lay through a fine, rich and fertile 
country bountifully supplied with wood, water and grass, everything 
necessary to make a good wagon-road or railroad, finding fine springs as 
we traveled along. At thirty-four miles west of Fort Ellsworth, we found a 
coal-bed on what we named as Coal Creek.

   Parties that accompanied us on our expedition and who were capable of 
judging, pronounced it as being a fine vein, and capable of yielding in 
sufficient quantities to pay for working it.

   Twelve miles farther west we came to Big Creek, a large stream having a 
fine valley and heavy timber. Here we made a good rock ford, erected a 
large mound and stake for a home and cattle station. We camped here over 
Sunday and Monday, to rest and hunt.

   On the morning of the 18th we left camp, bearing little south of west 
over the same character of country, close to the Smoky Hill, which at this 
time, owing to the rains, would have floated a large steamboat. At a 
distance of twenty-eight miles we came to a large spring, one of the 
largest and finest in the west. Fifteen miles farther, we bore away from 
the river and kept on high level land about three miles north of the 
river, which at this point makes a southerly bend.

   On the south of the river, opposite this point, we discovered high 
bluffs covered with cedar. Twelve and a half miles farther west, we camped 
at the head springs of a stream emptying south three miles in the Smoky 
Hill. The water and grass at this point are unusually fine; we called the 
place Downer Station. Nine miles west we came to a basin of springs 
covering an area of one mile square, one of the finest spots on the route. 
We called it Rushton. Nine and one-quarter miles farther west, we crossed 
Rock Castle Creek, and camped two days to rest. The scenery here is really 
grand; one mile south is a lofty Calcasieu limestone bluff having the 
appearance of an old English castle, with pillars, and castellated towers, 
in every direction. We named it Castle Rock.

   Leaving Rock Castle Creek we once more bore a little south of west into 
the divide between the Smoky Hill and the creek; keeping along the bench 
of Smoky, crossing streams at convenient distances for stations.

   At a distance of about fifty miles we found the largest spring on the 
route, situated on Ogallallah Creek, in a valley one-half mile south of 
Smoky Hill. Eight miles farther on, we crossed the north fork and kept up 
the south fork. The great difficulty on what was known as the old P.P. 
road lay in the fact that emigration kept up the north fork and then bore 
across a divide eighty-five miles without water to the Sandy, lengthening 
their route. We followed the south fork, finding wood, water and grass all 
the way. Twenty-eight miles from the forks we came to a bottom extending 
to within two and a half miles of Big Cottonwood Grove, covered with grass 
six feet high, and containing some splendid springs. This we called the 
Meadows, and left a reaper in the grass.

   Two and a half miles west of the Meadows, we camped at Big Cottonwood 
Grove. This is a grove of large cottonwood trees, and used to be a 
celebrated camping-ground for Indians. Sixteen and a half miles west, we 
reached the Cheyenne Well, at the head of Smoky Hill. This well was built 
by our party in 1860, and is one of the finest of wells, yielding 
sufficient water to supply a heavy emigration. At this point we left the 
Smoky Hill, bearing south 57 degrees west, across the divide between Smoky 
Hill and the Sand branch of the Arkansas. At eleven miles erected a mound 
for a well to be dug, and at twenty-one miles came to Eureka Creek, at the 
junction with Sandy. Here we found a large living stream of water and good 
grass; we bore from this point north of west up the Sandy seventy miles, 
to its most northern bend, finding an abundance of water, grass, and some 
timber, though the latter is scarce. Fourteen miles east of this point we 
had our first view of the mountains, which we had been prevented from 
seeing on account of clouds. This morning the snow-capped mountains burst 
upon our view, looming far above the clouds. The long-expected view 
cheered our men and we pushed on with renewed vigor, now that our work 
seemed almost done and our goal appeared within our reach.

   Leaving the Sandy at the bend before mentioned, we bore northwest 
across the divide, crossing Beaver at nine miles, then the Bijou and 
Kroway, also other well-watered streams, and struck the old Taos road at 
Cherry Creek, nine miles from Denver. This we followed into Denver, where 
we were received with congratulations.

   Our trip lasted after leaving the old road twenty-four days, six of 
which we rested. We lost but one mule, and one pony that died of colic.

ADVANTAGES OF THE ROUTE.

   The advantages of the Smoky Hill route over the Platte or the Arkansas 
must be apparent to anybody. In the first place, it is one hundred and 
sixteen miles shorter to Denver, making two hundred and thirty-two miles 
on the round trip, and emigration, like a ray of light, will not go around 
unless there are unsurmountable obstacles in the way. In this case the 
obstructions are altogether on the Platte and Arkansas. Aside from the 
difference in distance in favor of the new route, you will find no sand on 
the Smoky Hill route, whilst from Julesburg to Denver, a distance of two 
hundred miles, the emigrant or freighter has a dead pull of sand without a 
stick of timber or a drop of living water, save the Platte itself, which 
is from three to five miles from the road; and when it is taken into 
consideration that a loaded ox-train makes but from twelve to fourteen 
miles a day and never exceeds sixteen, it will not pay, and will double 
the distance to drive to the Platte, the only water in the country, for 
the purpose of camping; and all will admit that the Platte waters are so 
strongly impregnated with alkali as to render it dangerous to water stock 
from it. The carcasses now lining the road along the Platte bear evidence 
to its distinctive qualities, whilst on the new route not a particle of 
this bane can be found.

   Another advantage of the new route is that on the Platte from the 
junction to Denver, a distance of eighty-five miles, hardly a spear of 
grass can be found to help hide the sandy, desert-like appearance of the 
route, whilst on the new route, an abundance of fine buffalo and grama 
grass can be found all the way. The near approach to the mountains does 
not seem to affect it, as all kinds of grass can be found from one end of 
the route to the other.

   On the new route we saw no sign of Indians, or in fact any signs later 
than last fall. This can be accounted for from the fact that the Platte 
and Arkansas routes being so heavily garrisoned, Indians, with their 
natural shrewdness, will not wedge themselves into a strip of country 
entirely surrounded by Government troops.

   In addition to the advantages above enumerated, the new route is 
located through its entire length along and directly parallel to the 
Central Pacific R.R., which is now running daily trains as far as 
Lawrence, forty miles west of the Missouri River, and I have been 
confidently informed that the cars will be as far as Topeka, the State 
capital, this fall, which will shorten a stage route over the new line 
sixty miles, making the distance to be traveled by coach but five hundred 
and twenty-four miles, or one hundred and seventy-six miles less than by 
the Platte and two hundred and seventy-six miles shorter than by the 
Arkansas, as it is seven hundred miles from Leavenworth City or Atchison 
to Denver by the Platte route and eight hundred by the Arkansas.

   Further, should emigration ever increase to such an extent as to cause 
a scarcity of timber, nature has bountifully supplied the Smoky Hill with 
an abundance of bois devache, which is always cheerfully chosen by the 
tried emigration in preference to cutting timber for a fire.

   Having been instructed to suggest places suitable for Military Posts on 
the route, I would state that I deem but two necessary at present, and 
position can be found for those, -- one at a point on Smoky Hill, seventy 
miles west of Fort Ellsworth, at the mouth of Turkey Creek, and one at the 
forks of Smoky Hill; at both of those places an abundance of water, wood 
and grass can be found convenient.

   Having also been instructed to find an avenue through which the Santa 
Fe trade could be directed via the Smoky Hill, I desire to report that at 
a distance of three hundred and eighty-six miles west of Fort Leavenworth 
and one hundred and ninety miles west of Fort Ellsworth, a creek bearing 
northeast empties into Smoky Hill on the south side, which I deem 
available (from my own personal observation, and from information gained 
from the Indian tribes in that vicinity in 1860), by following it to its 
head and crossing the Big Sandy at a point northeast of Fort Lyon and 
intersecting the Arkansas road at Fort Lyon. Circumstances prevented me 
from fully testing this, though I think it could be done with advantage to 
the Government.

   Accompanying this report, you will find a copy of my notes, and also a 
correct map, which I hope will show truly the relative positions of the 
two routes, as I have tried to describe them in this my report, fairly and 
impartially; and having first returned by coach over the Platte route, I 
think I am fully qualified to decide between the two.

I am, Sir,
Very respectfully,
Your Obt. Servant,
(Signed) JULIAN R. FITCH,
Second Lt. Signal Corps.
 
To Major Geo. T. Robinson,
Chief Engineer.



APPENDIX C.
[From Kansas City Star, Feb. 24, 1911.]

JAMES BRIDGER.--PIONEER
In Mount Washington Cemetery is the Grave of the Trapper.

   In the Missouri Republican of March 20, 1822, appeared a notice 
advertising for "enterprising young men" who would engage to "ascend the 
Missouri River to its source, there to be employed for one, two or three 
years." Among the enterprising young men who responded to this 
advertisement -- which emanated from the Missouri Fur Company -- was a 
young blacksmith apprentice named James Bridger, whose unguessed destiny 
it was to become almost a legendary figure in the pioneer history of the 
new West. The bare facts of his story are thus summarized upon a monument 
to his memory in the Mount Washington Cemetery, Kansas City:


               1804--JAMES BRIDGER--1881
   Celebrated as a hunter, trapper, fur trader, and guide.
Discovered Great Salt Lake, 1824; the South Pass, 1827.
Visited Yellowstone Lake and Geysers, 1830. Founded Fort
Bridger, 1843. Opened Overland Route by Bridger's Pass to
Great Salt Lake. Was guide for United States exploring
expeditions, Albert Sidney Johnston's Army in 1857, and G.
M. Dodge in U.P. surveys and Indian campaigns, 1865-66.


   Piquant glimpses of the man himself, however, are captured for us by 
Edwin L. Sabin, writing in Recreation, New York. From Mr. Sabin we learn 
that, while still a young man, Bridger's qualities won him the honorary 
appellation, "Old Jim"; that when he discovered Great Salt Lake and tasted 
its water, he concluded that it was an arm of the Pacific Ocean; and that 
while not the discoverer of the Yellowstone National Park, he and his 
companion, Joe Meek, were the first to explore that marvelous region. For 
a long time their accounts of the wonders of the Yellowstone were received 
incredulously as trappers' tales.

   When the trade in beaver fur declined at the advent of the silk hat, 
"Old Jim" Bridger established a general trading-post known as "Bridger 
Fort," on a fork of the trails that led to Oregon and Salt Lake. Here he 
made the acquaintance of George Gore.

   It was in 1854 that Sir George Gore, real Irish nobleman and thorough 
Irish sportsman, passed up the Missouri from St. Louis on the vastly 
executed hunting expedition which has been compared to the exploits of 
Gordon Cumming in Africa, and certainly surpasses the late feat of Mr. 
Roosevelt. Gore must have been one of those royal good fellows such as the 
Britisher so often proves when tried out, for he and Bridger became fast 
friends. The nobleman's custom was to lie abed until near noon, then to 
arise, bathe, eat and set out, by himself or with Bridger, upon a hunt.

   Sir George Core delighted to read aloud to him out of Shakespeare and 
Munchausen (who "war a durned liar"), and hear his comments. Bridger 
declared that "that thar Mr. Fullstuff [Falstaff] war a leetle too fond o' 
lager beer", but Shakespeare, withal, so enthused him that he waylaid an 
emigrant train and bought a copy for a yoke of oxen. He hired a boy at 
forty dollars a month to read to him; only to quit in a rage at Richard 
III -- he "wouldn't listen to any more talk of any man who war mean enough 
to kill his mother!" He has been called "the Daniel Boone of the West." 
And it pleases me to think it was something more than a coincidence that 
he should make his "last camp" (even though he did not remain) in the very 
same house in which that other great Virginian had passed over the range 
fifty years before. It pleases me to think that at least they were drawn 
there by a common impulse.

   Quaint, honest old Bridger. Men today in their prime recall him with a 
smile and a word of praise. He lived to hear his Yellowstone yarns 
vindicated, to see a railroad using his particular pass and trail, and to 
realize that his mountain days had not been wasted. His post has crumbled 
into a shapeless mass; but over the mountain-man's dust, removed, after 
twenty years, by a friend, from the farm burial-place to the Kansas City 
cemetery, arises a noble granite monument, the deed of another friend; and 
Jim Bridger knows also, that he is not forgotten. -- Literary Digest.