by

David Hilger

1907

transcribed as written

During the months of the year 1867 in the border counties of Minnesota, a general discontent prevailed among the settlers of that section, produced by a combination of circumstances, principally by the horrors of the Sioux Massacre of 1862, and the effects of the Civil War had severely felt on the personnel of the first and second Minnesota Regiment of Volunteers, which were almost annihilated in some of the hard fought battle fields of the Civil War, and which in part was made up of the residents of section of country to which I refer, and the general discontent caused by two or three severe winters, the rigors of which were severely felt by the early settlers of Minnesota, and last but not least the glowing reports of the discovery of gold in various sections of Montana, combined to make the time ripe for immigration.

I happened to be a son of one of the pioneers of Minnesota, and when only four years of age was taken in my mother’s arms by forced marches to St. Paul, at a time considered the only place of safety from the Sioux Warriors during the massacre of 1862, when 2100 men, women and children were butchered by savages, the parallel of which has not been equaled in the history of the United States. At this time father joined a Company of Volunteers who relieved the town of New Ulm from siege and of utter annihilation.

Little wonder indeed that the spirit of immigration prevailed among the settlers of that section. In the months of June and July 1867 there gathered at a point of rendezvous about eighty miles North West of Fort Wadsworth, North Dakota, twenty-four families, between thirty and forty children, 160 single men, all prepared for the arduous journey overland, over the trackless prairie, with not a single inhabitation across all of what is now North Dakota and the greater part of North Montana.

I may state that the settlement and civilization ceased at that time at Fort Ridgley on the Minnesota River about one hundred miles South westerly from St. Paul.

The ordinary outfit of an immigrant consisted of from one to two yoke of oxen and a wagon, which contained a family, or sometimes two, three or four single men. When finally organized and ready for starting, this immigrant train consisted of nearly 300 wagons. An organization was affected and Capt. Davy was selected as Commander or Captain, and from the membership of the train an advisory board was selected. It became necessary to adopt a code of laws to regulate and decide all matters pertaining to the management of the train, and the safety of its people, and punishments for infractions of its so called criminal code, for it must be remembered that we were now like a ship on an ocean, adrift from civilization or the protection of courts and its officers, and must organize for mutual protection against the lawless bands of Indians whose territory we were about to invade.

Well do I remember a cheerful morning in July 1867, when the long line of ox teams strung out and headed westward over the trackless prairie covered with luxuriant grasses and wild flowers, and bidding adieu to the last settlers who dared to endure the trials and dangers of frontier life plunged into an unknown ocean of prairie, our objective point being Helena, Montana.

Besides our train of nearly 800 wagons we were joined by Capt. Smith of the regular Army with two companies of Infantry who were taking or driving 300 head of beef steers to Fort Buford on the Missouri River. All combined, this made an enormous gathering of men, women and children, besides government troops, and collectively, a strong outfit to resist the attacks of hostile Indians.

The routine work from now on was one composed of camp life with its attendant details, and route and distance of travel, and places of camping was left in the hands of the Captain, and his advisory board, with full power to maintain strict military discipline, and in selecting grounds for the camp, which was always done with a view to protection from any attack of Indians during the night, generally seeking high ground, and the train was always camped by making a large circle of wagons with the wagon tongues turned inside of the circle, thereby forming protection for those within the train enclosure, and also in making a corral for the work cattle.

We had a very fair brass band that enlivened the occasion by music, and dances on the open prairie by adepts who were not used to waxed floor we’re indulged in. Game was abundant; buffalo, antelope, deer and elk were seen everyday, which was a source of our principal article of diet. We had trials and tribulations. Our so-called ups and downs; When the weather was fine, travel good, water and fuel plentiful, and no sickness, and work cattle in good condition, everybody was in good humor at least during the early part of our trip. But when we reached the Milk River in Northern Montana, during the month of September, the downs had an inning; bad, if any water, country dry and hot, and alkali in abundance, no fuel, provisions running low, sore-footed cattle, sickness, and everybody in bad humor.

The first evidence of civilization that we reached after leaving Fort Ridgley in Minnesota was Fort Stevenson on the Missouri River. It was a military post same as Fort Buford, and Fort Union further up the river where supplies were readily accessible during the period of navigation on the Missouri River. This was on the extreme western line of what is now North Dakota, so that I can say from personal view that I crossed North Dakota from its eastern line at a point near Big Stone Lake, thence westward to Montana by a route that lay forty miles south of Devils Lake to Missouri River without seeing a solitary habitation or a single evidence of civilization.

From Fort Stevenson our route was northerly along general course of the Missouri River to Fort Buford and Union; thence westerly to the mouth of Milk River; thence up Milk River to a point near where Fort Assiniboine now stands; thence we turned south westerly until Fort Benton was reached, which was the head of navigation of the Missouri River, and which we reached the last days of September 1867. Strange as it may seem, modern engineering has constructed and is operating the Great Northern Railway line almost along the identical course that we traveled overland in 1867. After recuperating for a week at Fort Benton we again set out and arrived in Helena, October 1^st when our train disbanded.

OUR JOURNEY

It must be borne in mind that our course lay through a country occupied by hostile Souix Indians, as well as the Crees and Gros Ventres, the latter two tribes being met within Northern Montana, and that it required a great deal of tact and diplomacy to avoid conflicts, but strange as it may seem we did not have a single death on the entire trip, and with the exception of occasional exchange of shots fired by the pickets no damge resulted. It took three months to make the trip, and at times under trying circumstances. Our greatest source of trouble was from sore-footed work oxen when we struck the alkali sections along Milk River, and many cattle gave out, which were shot, and this required an adjustment, and an ox was confiscated from some other immigrant better supplied, for no one could be left on the prairie in a hostile indian country, which would surely mean death to those that would be left behind.

My father had crossed the plains in 1864, and had had experiences in these matters, and so when we started west from Minnesota our outfit consisted of four wagons and two yoke of oxen each wagon, besides two milch cows, and it became necessary later to yoke up these milch cows and work them the same as the oxen. My father took with him three young men who were desirous to go west, but had no means. They were engaged to drive ox teams, and assist generally in the work required in making camp and other matters, and they accompanied us to Helena, Montana, one of whom died recently and was a wealthy banker.

While this journey on a whole was not so bad, and as no deaths resulted, I might say that we had a comparatively pleasant journey, although at times trying. I remember of traveling a few years ago on the Great Northern Railway in a Pullman Sleeper along almost the identical course we had come over with the ox teams, forty years ago, when I was somewhat amused by a fussy elderly lady who was continually complaining because the train was an hour or so late, and she quite and argument with the Porter for non-attention , and my mind could not help but go back to the days of the overland journey when it took three months to go over the distance that is almost covered in 24 hours. I thought of the trials and tribulations of the mothers and the children as they crossed the trackless prairie. The inconveniences, the hardships, the dangers of roving bands of hostile indians, and I compare them to the fussy old lady in the Pullman Sleeper, and I thought to myself lucky indeed that there were at one time pioneers who blazed the trail for the commonwealth of North Dakota and Montana.

You may want to know why it was that we used work oxen instead of horses for making this trip, and I must tell you the reason. An Indian had no use for the ox. At that time he had all the game he wanted. Horses would have been subject to stampedes, and could have been taken away from us by any attacks of Indians, and this would have put us on foot, as the saying goes. Cattle never wander but a short distance from camp where there is plenty of water and grass, which is not the case with the horse. They were also a great deal cheaper than horses, and required only a yoke and a chain and were then ready for action. We usually drove from twelve to twenty miles a day depending, of course, upon the water, fuel and available camping ground.

When we left Minnesota we engaged two half breeds, and one Sioux Indian as guides, who were thoroughly familiar with the country, and rendered us valuable assistance, in fact we could not have gotten along without them.

I must relate one instance in connection with these guides. Unfortunately, one day through some source they got possession of some whiskey, and as the saying goes they got intoxicated, in other words paralyzed drunk, and they were placed in a wagon more dead than alive, and we continued on our journey. The Captain was very enraged at the Indians getting drunk, and made a fatal mistake of censuring the guides rather than the guilty parties who had given them the whiskey, and they got very much offended after sobering up, and were going to quit the train. They were finally persuaded to go along until we reached the Missouri River. They were however sullen and in a non-talkative mood, and near evening we were compelled to make dry camp, the cattle suffering severely for the want of water, the weather at that time being extremely hot. The Captain with his advisory board had to finally go to them and make overtures to get them in good humor again, and many promises besides presents, and the result was that they immediately took an interest in matters, and one of them informed the Captain that if he would order the train to yoke up he would take them to a fine spring in less than a mile from the place we were camped. This was immediately done and we were soon at a beautiful spring that so far had escaped the notice of the pickets that we had sent out in search of water. After that, great care was taken with our guides, even permitting them to have a limited amount of whiskey.

The reader may also want to know why we shot the work oxen that we were compelled to leave behind, and I will say to you that is was out of an act of charity to do so. Just as surely as we left one, the buffalo would come across and would them to death. One of these scenes having been witnessed by the whole train, so we concluded thereafter we would put them out of misery, rather than suffer the buffalo to kill them.

We never were short of buffalo meat at any time from the time we left Minnesota, until we reached Fort Benton, and I might say that antelope and deer were seen almost everyday, and furnished an abundant supply of deer meat on the trip.

I am quite sure the reader will desire more detailed description of my impressions of the buffalo, which at that time roamed by countless thousands over North Dakota and Montana, and I must relate a few incidents that happened on our overland journey.

When we reached Milk River, and for several weeks thereafter while our train was slowly moving westward and up the Milk River Valley, I can say without the slightest exaggeration that we saw thousands upon thousands of buffalo everyday, ranging in numbers from small herds of from twenty-five to one hundred, up to five hundred, and even over one thousand in a herd, and from any high point where any considerable view could be had, you could count from ten to twenty herds in sight at one time. As the train approached their accustomed grazing grounds over which they had held full sway for perhaps centuries in the past, they slowly and somewhat sullenly moved from the path of their invaders. It actually became dangerous at times, for a herd could have been stampeded through the train by careless hunters, for it was next to impossible to turn a large herd from their course, and I remember one day when a massive buffalo ran right through the train when stretched out in double file, by jumping over and between the ox teams. No particular damage resulted, although he was shot some eight or ten times and was finally killed a short distance from the train.

We found great difficulty in finding good watering places for our cattle. The tramping of so many buffalo had mad accessible points along the banks of the Milk River perfect mire holes, and water had to be dipped in buckets to water our cattle. Clouds of dust rose from vast herds as they moved over the prairie at a swift gate in a solid compact body, and low rumbling occasioned by the sound of so many feet which seemed to vibrate the very earth, was at times awe-inspiring.

It seems increditable that these monarchs of the Plains could have disappeared from the very face of the earth in a comparatively short time. Not many years later professional buffalo hunters with the heavy sharp rifles lured by the fasination of criminal destruction and the prices paid for buffalo hides soon created havoc among their numbers, and now we can only see the sad remnants of their once former greatness in a few parks, as a reminder of our once great frontier.

No description would be complete without something being said about the half breeds of forty years ago. A common name locally, but perhaps not so well understood at a distance. The half breeds were simply the products of an inter-marriage between whites and indians, which became almost a distinct race by themselves. When near Devils Lake in North Dakota, we were visited by a large body of Red River half breeds, that consisted of a party of about two hundred, at least they had two hundred Red River carts, which was a home production built with an axe and auger, a crude but serviceable vehicle, and capable of hauling a thousand pounds.

They were comparatively wealthy at that time as far as good fat horses were concerned, and themselves cleanly, contented and happy, and they always observed the Sabbath by rest and religious exercises, and wore white shirts on Sundays, scrupulously clean but never ironed. They were well armed, and had no fear whatever of hostile Indians. Contrasted with the sad remnants of the so-called half breeds of this section tells a somewhat sad story, and here is a theme for the temperance lecturer, for I can safely say that alcohol in its various compounds has done more to impoverish, debauch and degrade these people, as well as Indians, than all other influences combined. They are simply a sad wreck of their once former greatness.

When we reached Milk River and our train was slowly moving up the valley in a long column, an incident happened that nearly resulted disastrously for the personnel of the train. For a week or more we were daily visited by Indians, and our men traded for quite a number of horses, and they appeared very friendly. An old Indian Chief became a very close friend of my father, induced by generous treatment accorded to him, and presents and invitation to dine are valued factors in such cases. Finally taking my father to one side, he told him that in "three sleeps", which meant three days, we would reach a camp of Indians of about 300 lodges, who had many bad young men among them, and who had killed several wood choppers a week before on the Missouri River, and to caution our men to stay close to the train, as the young warriors would surely kill them if caught away from the train. And that we must be careful in coming up to the Indian Village to promote friendship by presents, but to take no chances of being ambushed.

The next day our train formed in double column, and extra precautions were taken. On the third day our pickets reported a large Indian camp several miles ahead, and at this point the hills crowded either side of the river leaving a narrow bottom, and a dense growth of timber skirted the river, an ideal place for a massacre.

Suddenly a strong party of mounted Indians in full war paint, typical young warriors burst into view. Emerging from a coulee ran at full speed to the head of the train, and with leveled guns and drawing bows and arrows, commanded us to halt, which we immediately complied with. At the same time Indians seemed to rise from the earth. The timber was alive with them. In a few minutes, about 500 to 600 warriors were among us. My father had been in many Indian skirmishes before, and he immediately detected the absence of squaws and pappooses. Which meant trouble. He was met by Capt. Davy, who was white as a sheet and trembling from fear and addressing my father, "My God, what are we going to do?" I was 81/2 years old at that time, but I can assure you that I was old enough to realize the situation with suppressed excitement, for the war paint on the Indians riding bareback, with not a stitch on except a breech cloth, and a bow and bundle of arrows, or a musket, was evidence enough as to the intenet of their murderous natures.

If I do say it myself, and I shun the spirit of egotism, my father, Nicholas Hilger, never possessed an iota of fear, and I never saw a man in my life that under the most trying circumstances possessed such absolute control over himself, and by the way, he was a dead shot, but the crucial moment of action had arrived, and he was fully equal to the occasion. "Captain, order out the brass band at once, and don’t act like a cur. Put on a bold front, " was his rejoiner.

The band was quickly gotten together, and in a brief time the astonished Indians were regaled with the inspiring tune of "Yankee Doodle" for it was perhaps the first band that most of them had ever heard. They seemed to forget the purpose for which they had come. My father immediately summoned the Chiefs together, offered them presents, gave them trinkets, and divided sugar and coffee with them, and finally smoked the pipe of peace, but at no time did that Brass Band let up until we were finally commanded to move on. The squaws and pappooses had been attracted by the music, and my father’s experience had indicated to him that the extreme danger point had passed. We were soon under way and camped that night about four miles beyond the Indian camp on high ground, some distance from Milk River. Can you imagine the distress of my mother during this trying time? It was a close call, for one of them followed us for several days finally told my father that the Chiefs were unable to restrain their men, and that they intended to kill every man on the train.

The bows and arrows in the hands of our boys seem harmless indeed, but not so in the hands of an Indian, and it seemed icreditable with what force and accuracy they could drive an arrow. I have seen them shoot arrows through the largest buffalo, so that the spear head of the arrow would protrude from the opposite side of entrance, and I remember of seeing a young Indian of about fourteen years of age in full sight of the train, kill three buffalo in a run, which was accomplished by riding a horse alongside, or quartering behind, close to a buffalo at full speed, and the second or third arrow landed just behind the short ribs and ranging forward in the region of the heart and lungs soon brought him to a standstill, and shortly fall, bleeding to death inwardly.

The reader would undoubtedly be interested to know how we managed to get along with a train of three hundred wagons across wild and undeveloped country, without any wagon roads or bridges, and I will tell you how this was accomplished.

A large part of our journey lay over a level or rolling prairie, and was not at all difficult. But occasionally, and this was true when we reached the Missouri River, we had to cross broken, in fact, bad land country, and it required a considerable of labor to construct roads.

The most serious trouble, though that we experienced, and that was in the earlier part of our trip in North Dakota, was the crossing of a good many streams that were not fordable. Now, we had made provisions for exactly such emergencies. We expected to have to swim a number of streams and the wagon boxes were especially constructed with a view of being water tight. I remember three different streams that could not be forded, and the train was ferried on boats made out of the wagon boxes. These boats were made by lashing two wagon boxes side by side, and some times four were placed in this way, two in front and two behind, held together by cross timbers, and this made quite a fair sized ferry boat. Ropes were attached to pull them backward and forward when the stream was narrow, otherwise they were paddled and poled over. The running gears of the wagons were taken apart and ferried over, and then the effects and supplies were taken over, so that in a days time our entire outfit would be able to cross a stream that could not be forded.

We narrowly escaped serious disaster in one of our ferrying operations, when the men, tiring somewhat of pulling the so called ferry boats back and forth with the ropes, concluded to use a yoke of oxen to perform this work, and everything went well until on one of the trips they were about half way across the stream, and unfortunately this load was composed of women and children, not omitting myself, and when about mid stream the oxen scared at something, and became uncontrollable, pulling too strong upon the ropes, the water bulged in over the top of the boxes, and the result was we were swamped. The oxen kept going however, so that with assistance of eight or ten men plunging into the river, and with the exception of the momentary fright, no harm was done, although that boat load got a splendid dunking.

Picket duty and guard duty forms one of the most laborious duties of the immigrant outfit in the hostile Indian country. The Captain has a roster of able bodied men that were in the train, and each one had to perform his proportionate part of picket duty. At night time a guard placed around the train, consisting of four men, placed equal distance, whose duty was to pace backward and forward, and at each half hour you would hear something like this: "Half past one, all right all ‘round." This was taken up by the next guard and repeated until it made its run. The time was repeated every half hour during the night. The guards, of course, were relieved, one set being on from eight o’clock until twelve, and the other from twelve until four. This was the guard work of the train, but the worst part of all was what is known as picket duty.

A picket consisted of from three to five men, located at some distance from the train on a commanding point of view, who were required to be concealed as much as possible. They generally took pick and shovels, and dug a trench, throwing dirt outward and forming a breast work, which would protect them from the fire of an enemy. These pickets were usually located two or three hundred yards to as much as half a mile distance from the train. They were not relieved at night time, but would be on duty from eight o’clock until daylight in the morning. Or about 4 A.M.

There was never less than two pickets out, and in a dangerous country as many as four of five.

Every evening the Captain read off the list of those assigned picket duty, and also for the guards that night. The list of names was always carefully checked, so that each one performed his proportionate share of this duty, barring sickness or disability.

During the day time we had what where known as the day guard, composed usually of twenty-five men whose duty it was to form a line on either side of the train when it was in motion. They were usually placed about from fifty to one hundred yards apart on each side of the train, and maintained this position while we were traveling.

I must not neglect to say that the two Companys of Infantry that were with us under Captain Smith rendered great service to us as far as Fort Buford, in protecting the train and in performing guard and picket duty. I attribute largely the fact that we had no open encounters with the Indians due to our effective pickets and guard duty both night and day.

I have heard epochs in our national history that tried the very souls of men, and I can assure you that the character of a man is brought out in bold review on a trip of this kind. You might live as neighbors in your home town for years and years, and still know very little about his latent character. Quiet unassuming and unnoticed individuals, will in the most trying times prove to be heroes, whereas others that you had always believed would be brave and courageous, would prove to be abject cowards. A trip across the Plains, via the ox team route, develops character better than any test that I know of. And I know when we arrived at Helena in the fall of 1867 weary and travel worn that it would have been an easy matter to have made out a classified list, based upon the worth and courage of the membership of that emigrant train, and I can recall the fact that from that list of worthy members are names of men who have performed an important part in the settlement and development of the Empire of Montana, and who will forever be honored and revered for their splendid traits of character, brave and courageous and yet, kind and gentle. Ready at all times to risk their lives for the protection and safety of others. Who never for a moment lost their keen perception of justice, and on whose sunburnt and unshaven faces beamed the sunlight of honesty.