Mary Hilger Dougherty

This was written by Suzanne Schmit Healy’s Grandmother for her Grandchildren.

It is transcribed as written.

Preface:

I was only six years old, and that is many years ago, for I am now seventy-two, and I am telling these stories as I remember.

And now the story...

I was about six years old when, with my father, Nicholas Hilger, and mother, Susanna Hilger, three sisters, Susan, Louisa and Regina, and two brothers, David and Will, made the trip across the Plains.

One beautiful morning in the spring of 1867, we left our native town, Henderson, Minnesota, after sad goodbyes and kisses and tears of our many Uncles and Aunts, cousins and two Grandfathers, who were sure they would never see us again, because of the many hostile tribes of Indians we would encounter.

My Father had three large wagons---called Prairie Schooners, drawn by oxen teams, and two men to help drive. With our food, supplies and provisions, we carried an unusual load of sugar---this was to trade to the Indians, and keep peace with them.

My Father had made this same trip two years before, as he was a Scout for General Sully, and he had learned much about the Indians, and their habits, and he had also learned to interpret their language. He had also learned that Indians admired bravery above all things, and they would torture to death a coward. My Father had confidence in himself and was brave and daring, and above all believed and trusted in God.

There are many days on that trip that I have no recollections of, so I am writing only of incidents I remember clearly as if they happened yesterday, and I will tell them in order as they happened.

At last we were off and had to make good time to catch the rest of the Immigrant Train, which was being escorted by a Company of soldiers. We had many miles to go to meet them. We had to cross a stream that usually oxen could ford, but there had been heavy rains, and the stream was a raging river. But we just had to get across. My Father unloaded two wagons, and tied the wagon boxes together for a boat. My Mother and we children and Father were to cross in it. One of our men swam across and lead two oxen, which in turn were fastened to the wagon boxes---we were being ferried across. Before we reached the opposite shore, which was rather steep, the oxen made a sudden run, and the water rushed over the boat. None of us washed out, but we had a bad scare, and a thorough dunking. However, we were happy that we were safe, and the rest of the loads were taken over in wagons with oxen. It took some hours to accomplish all this, and get on dry clothes, and cook and eat, and then proceed on our journey.

All went well, but we had not caught up with the rest of the Train, and we were destined to have an encounter with Indians on the war-path, and it was here my brave Father made good, and his knowledge of their habits and language saved us from a terrible fate.

In a cloud of dust, before we were aware of what was happening, the Indians rushed on us, the Chief drew his arrow at the heads of the oxen, and said "Stop!" Then he ordered the squaws and papoose back---that meant fight---then turned to my Father and said, "What are you doing here alone? We could kill you all, and no one would know what happened to you." My Father made a sign which meant peace, and told the Chief that he was going to meet the other immigrants and soldiers, and go to the "Gold Country." That he had no desire to molest the Indian’s rights and that he was prepared to trade with them.

While this was going on, Mother had we children huddled around her knees, and she was crying, and I’ll never forget how she told us to pray with her because the Indians were going to kill Papa, and all of us. In the mean time the Chief believed my Father, and told him they would smoke the pipe of peace, which they proceeded to do under a Buffalo robe. Two Indians and my Father would take a puff in turn, and then they were escorted to the wagon and given sugar, and they were pleased and bade us "Goodbye" and showed us the best route to take.

My Father had never smoked in his life, but he told us that smoke saved our lives, and we had much to be thankful, and he was convinced that there was more good in Indians than they had been given credit for.

After we reached the main train we endured much heat and dust, and in some localities the mosquitoes were terrible. There was always a guard kept watch at night. He would call out each hour, and add "All Right All Around." We children spent many hours climbing in and out of our wagon. Oxen travel very slowly, and we could play and chase each other around the sage brush, etc., but we were always on the look out for a cloud of dust in the distance that would mean Indians or Buffalo, and then we would climb in the wagon again, and when we realized our scare was a false alarm, we would climb out again.

When Buffalo travel they follow the leader in a line. Nothing can stop them. One herd ran directly through the end of the train, and turned a wagon over, they are powerful animals. We had buffalo meat often, and cooked over coals. It was delicious. Another delicacy we had once was turtle soup. Our men shot the turtle. They were French men, and insisted on preparing it. They used a great big kettle to cook it in. While it was cooking it kept moving and squirming, and I thought it was still alive and suffering. I learned afterwards that it was only contraction of the muscles. However, I never outlived the memory of that moving turtle, so I could not learn to eat turtle soup.

One unlucky day my oldest brother and sister and I were in and out of the wagon as usual, when a cloud of dust came in sight in the distance, and we made a quick climb. I was the smallest and lost my hold and fell, and hurt my ankle very badly. The Army Doctor said it was only a sprain, and advised keeping my foot well bandaged, and not use it for some time. So I spent a good portion of the rest of the trip in the wagon. Time was very heavy on my hands, so Mother interested me by teaching me how to sew. The hardest part was to learn to thread a needle with the motion and sway of the wagon. My baby brother "Willie" learned to walk on that trip. When we were in camp he would take hold of the sage brush and bunch grass and toddle from one to the other until he was strong enough to walk alone.

We brought along a cow, and she gave us milk all the way. In those days people had not learned to can milk. Mother supervised the cooking. The men did all the heavy work, but Mother was particular and saw to it that everything was clean and wholesome.

About this time we very nearly had a battle with Indians. They were on the war-path, and spied our train in a dangerous position. As I can remember, the Indians had us surrounded and were closing in on us. Captain Davie came rushing to my Father crying "We are lost, what can we do?" My Father called him a coward. He had lost his nerve and deserved to be called a coward. My Father told him to get out his musicians, and order them to play, and they played with all of their might, and the music had the desired effect. The Indians had never heard such music, and they were charmed, and calmed, and changed their minds about fighting. Then they were also interested in trading or "swaping" as they called it. My Father was so displeased with the Captain’s actions in time of danger, that he decided to quit the Train and travel a few miles before or after it, and take his chances with the Indians alone. He had gone over the same route before, and knew where fresh water could be found, so we traveled alone, and soon met up with a Tribe of friendly Indians, but that is another story.

The Chief came to our camp and wanted to know why we were alone, and if we were not afraid of being attacked by warring Tribes. My Father told him he was not afraid, and he knew the road as he had been over it before, and it was better on account of less dust, and it would be better for the oxen feed, and also he was prepared to trade, and to show him that he was friendly he invited the Chief and his family to a meal, and they were pleased to come. My Mother helped prepare that meal, which seemed a feast to the Indians. The Chief liked my Mother’s looks, as she was very pretty, and immediately wanted to trade squaws. Not only his three squaws but seven ponies besides. Mother was fightened, and my Father knew he must explain satisfactorily. He told the Chief that the laws of the white man were different, ands he could not give his wife away or trade her for anything. The Chief was very reasonable, and said he honored my Father for being brave enough to refuse. He thanked them for the meal. Indian fashion, what they couldn’t eat they gathered up and carried away in their pouches. The next morning we were about ready to start when the Chief rode up, and he was leading a pony all decked out in beads, and he wished my Mother to honor him with a ride. She was not so sure but what he would run away with her. She told him she was very sorry, but she could not ride as she would get dizzy and fall off, so he just rode some miles with us, and directed us so we would not go wrong, and informed us that he had instructed his young warriors not to molest us.

We were progressing safely on our way when one evening we failed to find good water. Instead of camping without water, my Father decided to go on. It had been a very hot day. The cattle were bellowing for water. We traveled far into the night. We children went to sleep crying for water, but we did find good water, and were awakened by hearing our names, and "come children wake up, here is water." And how good it tasted. We never know what a blessing good water is until we are without it. The rest of the Train did not go on that night, and they suffered for they were without water so much longer than we.

We were now getting near our destination, Helena Montana. The rest if the immigrants planned to go to Oregon. A number of them were stranded in the Coeur d’ Alenes. Their cattle gave out and died, and some of the people got sick and died. The government sent relief, we heard later.

Instead of going straight to Helena, we decided to stay on a ranch in Prickley Pear Canyon, near Silver. It was known as the "Priests Ranch" and we lived there a year, and I’ll tell you all about it in another story.

I wonder if my grandchildren have any idea of how we amused ourselves without any toys? Such things were left behind, yet we were very happy little children. Soon after we settled on that Ranch we had a lamb given us by the Priest, Father Minnitry. He came quite often from Helena on his way to St. Peter’s Mission on horseback. He brought the lamb on his saddle. I think he had a bag made for that purpose. Sheep were very scarce and valuable in those early days, and we were so delighted—he was such a playful and frisky little mite, and he followed us everywhere. There was also a cat, which was our constant companion, and one calf that was so gentle. My brother David had a large box that he taught the calf to draw, and he was soon strong enough to pull we four children, David, Susan, Mary (myself) and Louisa. We soon became daring enough to go beyond the ranch. There was a hill in sight of the house, and we made a road to the top, and David decided we could make a fort up there with rocks, and we made peep holes to watch out for make-believe Indians. We often made that trip, and we were a happy bunch with the lamb and cat frisking along.

My Mother had only one near neighbor—an Indian woman, who married a white man. She was good and kind and made us moccasins, or buckskin shoes. We loved to go over there on errands. Mother often sent her something nice that she had cooked, and she would always take a look at our moccasins to see if they needed mending, and when any of us were sick she would help. Mother said she was the best neighbor she ever had.

We decided one day to take a trip along a creek to "see what we could see." We took a lunch and Mother cautioned us to be careful and not stay too long. On account of the injury to my foot I couldn’t walk as fast or far as the others. When my foot would hurt I would take hold of either one’s hand and hop, and I got to be a dandy hopper. We traveled along slowly, but the farther we went the stream grew larger, and then we realized we were far from home, and it was getting near sundown. David said we couldn’t go back the same way, as it would be dark before we got home, and we would get lost, and then we remembered that bears were often seen in the bushes along the creek. We knew if we could cross the creek we could get home befroe dark. We began to look for a crossing, and we found a log that had fallen across the stream. It looked all right to David, so he took Louisa on his shoulders and crossed first, and got over safely. Susan was sure-footed, and she went next, and I followed, but the log was so high over the water that it made me dizzy, and they called to me to straddle the log and crawl, which I did for only a short way when my skirt caught on a branch, and I couldn’t go any farther.

I was so frightened I cried, and I don’t know what would have happened if my Father hadn’t come along just then and taken me across. We were all so glad to see him, but we all got a good scolding, and David especially, for not knowing better, how terrible if I had been drowned, and we never tried anything like that again.

Our good friend, Father Miinitry, visited us near Christmas, and we asked him if he thought Santa Claus would find us. He had such a merry twinkle in his eyes when he told us if he didn’t meet him he would leave word with the good Sisters at St. Peter’s Mission, and he certainly would not forget or overlook us. Sure enough, on Christmas Eve, Father Minnitry came along, and he had a package from Santa, but we couldn’t open it until Christmas morning. Our parents prepared a tree although it had no candles or electric lights, it looked beautiful to us. Mother made the cutest birds, stars and dogs out of cookie dough, and they helped fill out the tree. Candles and nuts and apples were very rare treats in those days. The Priest said a Mass in a little log cabin, and after that he gave us our presents. There was a lovely dress for the baby, and dolls for the two small girls, and because I could sew I got a thimble and a little pair of scissors, my oldest sister, Susan, rosary beads, and David a prayer book. The gifts looked wonderful to us, and we were the happiest youngsters. I wonder if my little grandchildren realize how few toys the children of Pioneers had, and yet were so easily satisfied, and just as happy as children of to-day.

My Father would go to Helena after provisions and these trips would take several days. While he was away one evening a number of Indians began racing backward and forward on their ponies past the Ranch, and occasionally gave war whoops. Mother knew something had happened to rouse them, and she was afraid they would set the cabins on fire. She and David were up all night, and they had piled everything they could lift against the door and windows. Everything was dark, and I could hear them whisper as they would move from one window to another, and my Mother prayed with us that night. We knew that we were afraid of the Indians, and that they could kill us, yet none of us excepting David was old enough to realize what a night of fear and terror our Mother lived through.

After the Indians had stolen several horses they left us alone, and when my Father came the next day he was glad they had not molested us.

After that scare, my Father decided to move to Helena as soon as he could make arrangements, and shortly afterwards we moved. The Indians did kill a near neighbor who lived at Mitchell, Montana. Some time when you go to Helena have your Daddy show you where Mitchell I; also a place called "Johns" in Prickley Pear Canyon.

So then we moved to Helena, but it was a different looking City than now. It used to be called "Last Chance" because the miners and prospectors who had tried the different mining camps and hadn’t made a "stake", when word reached them that rich placer ground had been discovered there, they rushed to the Gulch, as it was their "last chance" to find gold. My Father was there then. That was when he first crossed the Plains with General Sully. There was a creek running down the street called Main Street, and many thousands of gold nuggets were sluiced from Last Chance Creek, and it was along this Gulch that the town was first built, and it was soon christened Helena. Gold was discovered all around it, so it grew from a mining camp to a town and later to a nice City and the Capital of Montana.

When we moved there it wasn’t very big, but it had schools, and we older children started to school right away, but we were lonesome for our lamb and calf, for we couldn’t bring them to town.

While we still lived on the Ranch my Father discovered a road to Helena many miles shorter than the big grade over the mountains which we took when we moved to Helena, so he, with two others, some time afterwards laid out the new road along the creek. He was out there while they were doing the work. Many bridges were built and grading done. And brush cut down. When it was finished it was a Toll Road, and every man on horseback, with teams or freight teams, had to pay a toll or go the old trail.

One of the partner’s names was "Johns" and he built a house right at the gate and collected the fares. His family kept the station and served meals to travelers. Later the Government bought the road, but to this day the Station is called "Johns" so that is why I have told you to have Daddy show the house, as it was near the Priests Ranch where we lived the first year in Montana.

There was another Gulch on the East side of Helena called "Dry Gulch" because there was water running in it only part of the time, and gold was also discovered there. Before they discovered gold, there were no cabins built on the East side. My Father owned and operated the placer ground between Fifth and Seventh Avenues, and our old home in Helena is now owned by your Great Uncle, David Hilger. The basement of that house was built of rocks washed out of our Placer property.

So I lived in and near Helena until I was a young woman, and all of the changes that took place are recorded in the History of Montana, at the State Capital, where David Hilger, your Great Uncle, is Secretary of the State Historical Library.

Some time when you are with your Daddy in Helena, he will take you over to see for yourself all the relics of the early days, and you will see among the pictures of the early Pioneers of Montana, the picture of my Father, Nicholas Hilger, who is your Great-Grandfather.

A few years later my Father bought a Ranch eighteen miles North of Helena, on the Missouri River, at the "Gates of the Mountain." We spent all our vacations in the summer there. At one time we owned a herd of cattle. My oldest brother was at the Ranch during the winter. Men often stopped there, especially if they were driving stock. One cold night two men came late; they had lost their way, and they were cold and hungry. They had a dog with them. They were made welcome, and they called the dog in. We also had a dog, and he didn’t like the idea, so when he growled and began to show his teeth my brother put him out, as he had a good place in the barn. "Shep" decided to run away to town. It was on a Saturday night and late, but my Father, who was in town, was up, and he heard something at the door, so he opened it, and there was "Shep" all excited. After patting him for a minute, my Father put on his coat and hat and took a lantern out to the barn to open the gate, expecting to see my brother David there, but he wasn’t in sight, my Father went back to the house and gave "Shep" some water and fed him and then off he went.

My Father was worried. He went out to the barn several times, and decided that David had stopped at a Ranch in the Valley, so he went to bed. At day break "Shep" was back again at the door, and then left again. My Father knew that David must have had an accident, and immediately went to a Livery Stable, and got a horse and started to the Ranch. About half way, near the foot hills, he could see at a distance, a sleigh turned over, and he was almost too frightened to look. When he got near he saw that it was not our sled. Someone had had an upset, and unhitched the horses, and gone to a nearby ranch. My Father felt relieved, but as he was nearer the Ranch, he went on. When he got there "Shep" welcomed him, and the strangers were about to start. It nearly took my Father’s breath to find David all right, and "Shep" there, but when it was all explained, they decided "Shep" was jealous, and went to town in three-fouths of an hour, and returned to the Ranch, for he was seen there, and then made another trip and returned, beating Father by several hours. The distance he covered was four times eighteen—seventy-two miles. This is really a true storuy. "Shep" was a good reliable dog, and smart too, but he couldn’t figure out how much grief his jealousy caused us.

So this, my dear Grandchildren, is the end of this little book, and I hope you have enjoyed reading my stories as much as I have enjoyed writing them for you.