Musselshell City - Conclusion

Cont. from last week

(By Dan R. Conway)

Originally published in the Hysham Echo May 19, 1927)

“Indians!”

Just about a half an hour after his departure, the alarm, “Indians!” went forth and every man seized his rifle and ammunition, prepared for another battle. The Sioux were plainly visible on their galloping ponies rounding the top of a rise not far from the settlement - a rise over which the Fort Benton trail passed, and to the crest of which the Frenchman was climbing totally unconscious of the peril which confronted him. He was in full view of the whites below; and these sought by shouting to warn him of the impending danger. However, unhearing and unheeding he plodded on his way. Unsuccessful in their attempts to warn the man, and discerning the deliberate preparations of the Sioux to kill him, the white men stood a few minutes in doubt. Then, as though by common impulse, they leveled their guns and opened fire upon the Frenchman. The believed that his destruction was inevitable, and it was thought better that a friendly hand should speed the bolt and thus deprive the Sioux of their expected triumph.

A Miraculous Escape

The bullets rattled around the Frenchman like hail, but he seemed to bear a charmed life, and he continued steadily on up the hill. Presently he came face to face with the waiting reds. They dashed upon him and a Sioux warrior struck the man across the face with the flat side of a sabre. This seemed to rouse the Frenchman from his stupor. With a tremendous bound he cleared the throng and leaped down the steep hillside. The Indians, surprised, rode after him, but he seemed unusually fleet of foot and they could not overtake him on the slope. By this time, the whites took advantage of the situation which had lured many of the Sioux close to the settlement, and they opened up a hot fire upon the reds. This checked the Sioux and the frantic, breathless Frenchman was enabled to reach the town in safety.

Hopes Fade

During the summer of 1870, the Montana Hide & Fur company closed its doors and one by one the other traders and the woodhawks left the scene of vanished hopes. In August, Colonel Clendennin found himself alone with a few employees and his establishment. Musselshell City, as a town, had ceased to exist, and Fort Benton proceeded to prosper just the same as though no effort had been made to deter her progress. However, Colonel Clendennin was a man of great determination. He proposed to remain at his fort at the mouth of the Musselshell and he here rebuilt a strong fortified post. For four years he remained resolutely in this dangerous region with a garrison from five to eight men. He traded with the Indians and conducted a woodyard.

Fort Sheridan

Volumes could be written about the narrow escapes and experiences at Fort Sheridan as Colonel Clendennin called his post. There were some further tragedies, as well. During the winter of 1870-71 Colonel Clendennin went to Fort Ellis as post trader and during his absence he left Tom Bogy in charge of the post at the mouth of the Musselshell. About the first of January, Bogy sent an old mountainman named John Ross across the river to procure an ash pole to be used as a wagon reach. The man was accompanied by Charles McKnight. Young McKnight had just come up the river from the east. Night came and the men failed to return to the post. Early the following morning a search party proceeded to the river bank where they found both men had been killed. Ross had been shot while he was sitting down while McKnight had made a run for the brush and was shot down.

The following season a man by the name of Hunter, who, with three Assiniboine squaws, was looking over the battlefield of 1869 was attacked by the Sioux. The squaws were all killed but Hunter escaped with severe wounds.
When the townsite of Carroll was platted out at a point between the mouth of the Judith and the mouth of the Musselshell in May, 1874, Colonel Clendennin dismantled Fort Sheridan and moved his business to the new town.

Sioux Militant to Last

Even then tragedy stalked boldly at the mouth of the Musselshell; for, when Colonel Clendennin had sent two men, Chris Gates and Pat Vaughn down to dismantle the remaining buildings, the pair were surprised and killed by the lurking Sioux. Indication were that Gates had been killed in the open while Vaughn, who had sought shelter in one of the buildings, was burned to death.

Pioneer “War Correspondence”

In the files of an old Montana newspaper, the Weekly Herald, published in Helena in 1869, there appear several letters from a correspondent located at the mouth of the Musselshell. These articles have to do mainly with the Indian warfare herein referred to. They were headed: “Down the River,” and are here reprinted in the vernacular:
“Muscleshell, April 27, 1869 - All the sufferers from the late Indian raid, so far as bodily injury is concerned, have nearly recovered, excepting the woman who was scalped. She is doomed to wear a wig the rest of the days while Mr. Lo (the noble red man who the government arms and feeds) dances and shouts his war songs around that portion of her physical economy that once adorned her upper works. But such is life and such will be the condition of things just as long as the Northwest Fur company are allowed to conduct Indian affairs and control Indian agents along the river. When it comes to protection against the ruthless savages we have only our own nerves and trusty rifiles.”
“May 1st, 1869 - To the Editor: I wrote you a communication on the 23rd of April and which I sent out by our private mail, but the friendly Assiniboines, that recently scalped Jordan, Long and Foster, and wounded “Big Dan” at Joe Bushaway’s woodyard, took possession of the letters and papers destined for Helena and I fear they must have neglected to forward them in the right direction.

“On the 29th of March a party of men from Thompson Gulch and Diamond City arrived here from the Black Butte where they had been wolfing and had been surprised and attacked by Major Collin’s contented, reconstructed, friendly Crows. They were compelled to fight incessantly for three days and finally creep away in a dark night after losing many valuable horses and several hundred dollars worth of valuable furs. They arrived at this place on foot, worn out and destitute as vagrants.
“Smith and Andrews were getting out timber from the Muscleshell, employing four hands in the woods and three teams in hauling. Major Brewer and Captain Andrews were driving two of the teams. A white woman and some squaws had gone to carry dinner to the men. Brewer had unloaded in town and was about 500 yards on his return; Andrews was about a half mile from town coming, and the women on the road between the two when sudden as unexpected, the dreaded warwhoop was heard, and 60 naked, yelling painted warriors came charging down the hill and in a moment were close upon their victims.
“Brewer jumped from the wagon firing as he went, and after running a fearful gauntlet through the storm of leaden hail, safely reached the stockade. The poor woman ran with the speed of a frightened deer but was soon overtaken. One of the squaws was shot through the thigh and the white woman stopped to pick her up but had only got the squaw to her feet when she herself was shot through the neck and fell and the Indians rushed upon her and tore the scalp from her head.
“Captain Andrews in the meantime, being much further out than any of the others, and having all the Indians in front of him, came slowly down the road firing at long range at the Indians in pursuit of the women. After a few shots he missed his cap box, and turning to look for it saw another large band of Indians in his rear. Then came tall running, comic dodging and fine strategy in the game of life and death.

“Andrews left the road and made for the trees along the Muscleshell, but being cut off from these he took a course more toward the village, shots and arrows at all times falling thick around him. His clothes were literally cut into ribbons and his hat shot from his head, yet he kept on his course, frequently turning and leveling his now useless gun, making the savages fall in the brush to avoid his supposed fatal shot and there by losing time in the pursuit.

“The Indian shots were finally exhausted and Andrews’ oft repeated ruse had become old, when a few Indians rushed upon him with their war clubs and soon found that an old soldier (even with an empty rifle in his hand) would not die like a dog.
“While the fight was going on, hand to hand, club to clubbed rifle, a small party headed by Colonel Clendennin and C. M. Veits, rushed to the rescue just in time to prevent old Cap from passing in his checks. Clendennin’s party pressed to the rescue of the men in the timber and found them in safety. Andrews went to camp calling for volunteers to assist in finding the woman. They soon found her scalped and shot in two places and bruised with war clubs, reveling a sight well calculated to curdle the blood in one’s veins and render his dreams horrible for days to come. They found her in a semi-conscious condition, faintly calling for help and water. She was taken to her cabin.”

From the next letter dated May 8th, 1869, an extract is taken:
“We have but few quiet days here. We have even to fight for the wood with which to cook our grub. This morning about eight o’clock, a white man and two squaws went out about 400 yards from camp to pick up wood. While thus engaged a band of Indians suddenly arose from the sage brush within a few yards of them and commenced yelling and firing. The wood party fled, as only people can who are pursed by Indians, and their clothes completely riddled with bullets, reached the city unharmed.

“The Indians now appeared in full force, swarming through the sage brush - Santee Sioux numbering between one and two hundred. But the men of the Muscleshell were not daunted nor did they falter. Immediately upon the alarm being given, the men grasped their ever-ready breech-loaders and with a yell that would shake even an Indian’s nerves, went flying across the field to attack the savage foes.

“A running fight now ensued for a distance of half a mile, when some eighty of the Indians took shelter in a deep and crooked coulee emptying into the Muscleshell. The men charged their position and were unable to dislodge them. In the charge Jacob Leader was shot through the brain, dying instantly. The men now divided themselves into several parties and took possession of every side of the coulee save that next to the river, in a vain endeavor to find a position from which to bear their rifles on the Indians. Although a heavy rain was falling and the position of the Indians seemed impregnable, the shower of shot and arrows coming like hail from the coulee, none seemed willing to turn their backs, leave the fight or draw the game.

“The fight went on for six hours with no result save the killing of one or two Indians and Mr. Greenwood, who was seriously wounded. Some of the boys now became desperate. Frank Smith, Jim Wells and Frenchy went below, waded the thick willows and continuously made their way upstream until they reached a point immediately opposite and in easy range of the coulee that concealed the Indians.
“Here was presented to their view such a hornet’s nest as seldom falls to the lot of a white man. Being in point blank range, they turned loose their Henry’s with such fatal effect as to make a good Indian at every fire. The red devils realized their position in an instant and saw nothing but certain death on every side. With a yell of rage and a howl of despair, they fled like frightened elk.

“The whites now completely surrounding them, arose from their cover, closed in and death and destruction on every side. Law! You should have been there to see Mr. Lo the poor red man pass in his checks! Thirteen fell on the spot while many more went floating down the stream, or crept wounded or in a dying condition into the thick willows along its bank. Their loss in killed and wounded could not have been less than fifty.

“The woman recently scalped at the place is alive and on her pegs. She perched herself upon a high bastion while the fight was going on and when the boys came in with 13 bleeding scalps at their belts, she felt somewhat consoled for the loss of her top knot.

“Many were the narrow escapes today. Coats, shirts and pants were shot to tatters. Squire Wearing had a close shave in the way of a bullet through the crown of his hat, slightly bruising his scalp; but the old squire took an Indians’ upper works and called it square. Captain Andrews - or Dr. Andrews - has dressed Greenwood’s wound and is now busy cleaning scalps.
“It may seem to you in cities and safe places that it is barbarous to scalp and maim dead Indians, but our every-day experience teaches us that we must, however revolting it may be to our feelings, resort to their own savage mode of warfare, in order to make our arms feared and our strength respected. It is a notorious fact that although no Indian has ever went hungry, without shelter or been abused in this camp, we are troubled more than any other.” Print this post