# Oregon Historical Quarterly/Volume 11/Recollections of a Pioneer of 1859: Lawson Stockman

RECOLLECTIONS OF A PIONEER OF 1859 LAWSON STOCKMAN
By B. F. Manring.
It is a far cry from the year 1910 to that of 1859. The man who today looks back over the trail blazed by civilization while making the history of the Inland Empire views the wonderful development of the interim, exhibiting as it does the progress of the world, with far greater credulity than would have been exercised by the man who gazed into the dubious vista of the future from the untamed days of 1859 had a prophet pictured to him the things that have transpired. Men who as adults linked their lives with the West in that year are today scarce; yet a few there are whose experience spans the two score and eleven years and who have in memory the whole bewildering vision.
Mr. Lawson Stockman, of Garfield, Washington, is one of these few men. His experience in the West during those longago years was replete with activity and a great deal of the life of the country as it was then lived came under his observation. Much of it elicited his own energies.
In the winter of 1858-9 Mr. Stockman formed a partnership with a man named Adams at Iowa City and on the 1st of March, 1859, the two men headed for the plains with a wagon and four yoke of oxen. At that time the West was a long, long way from the East, and the road which threaded its way across the great American plains was strewn with the wreckage of caravans and the graves of ambitious men.
In preparing for this journey there were two things which figured very prominently in the travelers' calculations: A supply of provisions sufficient to last the entire trip, and the hostile Indians more or less thickly scattered along the entire route. ​Seventy people, the greater part of whom were bachelors, composed Mr. Stockman's company when it put out from the Missouri river. The men bound themselves into a sort of military organization, elected a captain and other officers and established a guard system which was strictly adhered to throughout the journey. To this system of guarding may be accredited the fact that they were not openly molested by Indians at any time. One sad incident, however, marred the trip. At one of the camps in the Black Hills, a little elevenyear-old girl, following the bent of her curiosity, wandered beyond the limits of the circle within the immediate view of the company. When her absence was noticed, search was at once made in the vicinity of the camp, but without success. Then searching parties scoured the country round about continuously for three days, discovering not the least sign or clue to her fate. Concluding that she had been carried off by Indians who lurked stealthily near the train, the company abandoned all hope of her recovery and proceeded on its way.
On nearing what is now the western boundary of Idaho, their provisions ran very low. Game was not very plentiful along the route and they were compelled to resort to wild berries and such fish as they were able to obtain. Wild rose buds constituted a large part of their bill of fare. One of the men shouldered his gun and, hurrying on afoot to Walla Walla, reported the condition of the company and a saloon keeper at that place sent out a wagon loaded with provisions to meet it. While encamped in the Grand Ronde valley the provisions reached the hungry emigrants. They arrived at Walla Walla on the first day of September, having been just six months en route.
From the Missouri river, settlement extended westward on the Platte about 20 miles and after passing these farms no others were seen until the Walla Walla valley was reached, the route followed lying to the north of Salt Lake. The buffalo were in their heyday, especially in the region of the Platte river. So numerous and so tame were they that ​they mingled at night with the oxen of the emigrants and often in the morning the herder would have to separate them with his dog. Ranging over the Walla Walla valley appeared to be thousands of ponies—ponies everywhere—and Indians swarming the town and encamped about the vicinity were apparently about as numerous as the ponies. A great majority of the white men there had married, or at least were living with, squaws. Yet the town was at that time orderly and decently regulated.
A few days after the party arrived at Walla Walla, a man, emaciated and worn, made his way to the fort and reported that an emigrant party of about seventy souls and of which he had been a member, had fallen into the hands of Indians on Snake river in the region of Boise. While the party was in camp on the river, the informant had gone out in search of game and, as he returned, from the top of a hill overlooking the grounds he beheld the Indians in charge of his people. Taking care that he should not be seen from the camp, he turned and hastened away. After enduring much privation, he reached the fort. One hundred soldiers set out from Walla Walla immediately and after several days of rapid marching arrived upon the scene of the encampment, where a most horrifying spectacle was presented to them. The Indians had first driven off the stock; then coming into camp, they carried away the entire supply of provisions and all the arms possessed by the emigrants. After that, for several days, they lingered in the vicinity in conspicuous view of the travelers impressing them with the assurance that they were besieged. Again coming into camp, they seized and stripped the men, women and children, to the last one, of their clothing, and adding to this all the bedding, the destitution of the party was made complete. When the soldiers arrived, fifty-six of the number had perished from starvation and exposure, and the survivors had eaten of the flesh of their dead. The remnant of the party, 14 in number, was brought on to Walla Walla.
In all the various fragmentary accounts of early days, Mr. ​Stockman has failed to find any narration of this incident. Walla Walla, then composed of some half dozen buildings, was becoming very much in need of a hostelry. Dr. LaDow, a member of the Stockman party, responsive to the opportunity, set about building one, and Mr. Stockman was given the job of hauling the logs and other materials for its construction from the mountains, there being at that time no saw mill in the country and all the lumber obtained was made by the whipsaw process. This first hotel, built in the fall of 1859, was quite imposing in appearance and for some time served the purpose well.
Mr. Stockman was offered a lot in the town, free, provided he would build a house thereon. Accepting the offer, he hauled all the material for the house from the mountains at one load.
Late in the fall of 1859 he traded two yoke of oxen for the Hudson Bay farm of 320 acres about ten miles from Walla Walla on a tributary of the Walla Walla river, in Oregon. He and his partner made this their headquarters during most of the winter. They had brought with them across the plains an old-fashioned coffee mill of rather large size, which proved to be quite a rare machine in this section of the wild West. They fastened the mill on the outside of the house and men came as far as eight miles to use it. Not only was it used for grinding coffee, but a great deal of wheat was ground for making bread.
Having a desire to acquire a fortune quickly so that he might return East to his aged mother, Mr. Stockman was strongly inclined to the occupation of mining. The farm was therefore disposed of for a trifle during the next year. It is now the nucleus of a ranch worth, perhaps, one hundred thousand dollars.
About that time reports of the placer mining on the Similkameen river, B. C, became rife and in February, 1860, Mr. Stockman with a party of ten went into that region to investigate the new diggings. The wealth of the camp failing to meet his expectations, he returned to Walla Walla.
​Regardless of a certain uneasy feeling as to how they might at the proper time be disposed of, the captives were much interested, if not amused, at the camp life about them. The Indians had just bagged a lot of wild ducks and during the afternoon proceeded to prepare a sort of Mulligan. The recipe used was very simple. A large kettle which had been pro- cured from a post of the Hudson Bay Company, containing the proper quantity of water, was placed upon the fire ; then the ducks, picked none too clean and without being drawn, were sliced crosswise with the body and the whole mass consigned to the kettle. When "ready to serve," the broth presented a greenish hue not unlike that of the stagnant water in a rush pool in midsummer. A peculiarly fresh and able-bodied aroma arose from the boiling mass. When done, the kettle was re- moved from the fire and the Indians seated themselves in a circle around it. With a large wooden ladle the chief first partook of the broth, then fished out a slice of duck, after which he passed the ladle to the one next to him, who performed a similar feat, and so on around the entire circle. The captives also dined on duck, which they bought from their captors, but it was served more after the manner of the civilized.
The Indians made no open show of guarding their prisoners during the night, yet both the men felt quite sure that any attempt to leave the camp would bring their captors upon them. On the following morning, with a great deal of apprehension, the two men were preparing to depart when the Indians gath- ered around and the chief very gravely ordered them to deliver to him the overshirts which they wore. These garments were made of heavy woolen material and were strong and very durable. Without hesitation they removed the shirts and handed them over to- his excellency, wondering, meanwhile, what piece he would next require, when to their great relief he bade them depart.
After several days' travel a crossing was finally effected, and they struck into the dense forest toward the Okanogan river, along which their route lay, and soon lost their way. ​Hunger pressing upon them, they were seized with anxiety to reach their destination and made many sallies into the forest, only to retrace their steps and try again. Reaching a place where a dim trail skirted the foot of a mountain, Stockman proposed that LaDow should follow the trail while he would go over the mountain and from the high ground survey the country beyond and trace out their route. They were unable to get together again, and Stockman, after searching in vain for his partner, undertook, after several days of wandering, to find his way out. In his famished condition he became so weak that he could make but very slow progress. While moving over a mountain side from which he expected to right his bearings, a white man down on the Columbia at the mouth of the Okanogan, spied him with a glass, and suspecting from his actions that something was wrong, sent an Indian up to bring him in. Under the care of this man he was enabled in a few days to regain his usual vigor, and departed again for the mines. On reaching Rock Creek, he was surprised to find Dr. LaDow, whom he had supposed to be dead, already there, and the doctor was no less surprised at the appearance of Stockman.
In the fall of 1860 Mr. Stockman again returned to Walla Walla, and found the conditions of the town being rapidly transformed. Many new buildings had been erected and the population had increased amazingly. A reckless element of citizenship dominated. Gamblers and desperate characters from the various mining camps came to winter there. A large dance house was running full blast. A "restricted district," inhabited by a mottled nationality, flourished, and the town was indeed run upon a wide-open basis.
During this sojourn in Walla Walla, he came to know many of the characters who afterward, in Montana and other parts of the Northwest, became notorious. Among these gentry were "Cherokee" Bob, an avowed desperado; Boone Helm, otherwise known as "Old Tex"; "Red" Yager, "California" Jim, and many others whose careers were finally ended by ​decree of the vigilantes, or to satisfy the righteous vengeance of some one whom they had wronged.
For several years during the early sixties Mr. Stockman alternated between Walla Walla and the mining camps of Idaho, Montana and British Columbia, spending the winters in Walla Walla. In the summer of '61 he was at Pierce City, or Orofino. On his way to that region he camped on the site of Lewiston, there being no building of any description on the ground at that time. On reaching the mines, he found that provisions of all kinds were exorbitantly high. Flour reached $80.00 per hundred pounds and potatoes were 30 cents a pound. In comparison with such prices the present ado about the cost of living would seem to be mere burlesque. He conceived the idea that the growing of potatoes at the camp would be a profitable business and accordingly procured seed and planted about four acres. Stimulated by assiduous cultivation, the crop was coming on in the most promising manner when a heavy midsummer frost fell upon it, withering the tops to the ground. Feeling sure that there would be no outcome to his effort at farming, he abandoned his field, but learned afterward that the potatoes ripened sufficiently to volunteer and for several years after his experiment the miners were wont to repair there to dig them as the successive crops came on.
Social conditions in Walla Walla had grown even worse during the winter of 186 1-2 than they had been during the previous winter, and the following year saw no' improvement. Robberies and murders were of frequent occurrence. A man suddenly faced another on the principal street at midday, shot him and took what money he found upon him. One day a man stepped to the door of a barber shop and said to the occupant of the chair: "I'm going to kill you for murdering my father in California." The barber who was treating the man in the chair stepped aside for safety and his patron was shot to death before he could rise.
At another time a character of the town entered a saloon and standing near the front, called with vile epithet to a man ​in the rear that he was going to kill him, and proceeded to the execution of his dictum. The intended victim, however, refused to stand and be killed in his tracks, but, whipping out a big knife, he made toward the man of murderous intent, dodging in rapid zig-zag fashion to confuse his aim, and reached him unscathed through a shower of bullets. Plunging his knife into the gun man's body, he literally disemboweled him.
The constituted authority was powerless to check the outrages, and murderers walked the streets after their bloody work with as much freedom as though conscious of having performed the most legitimate acts.
Finally, a negro was found one morning hanging to a beam. No one knew how it came about and the circumstance was fruitful of much comment; but he was only a negro. A few days afterward a white man was found hanging in a similar manner. Here truly was matter calling for declarations of the most drastic vengeance. The "toughs" congregated in force and swore long and loud; but the most searching inquisition they were able to make throughout the town failed to reveal a single clew; no one could furnish even a lateral lead to the identification of the executioners.
A third man was found swinging by the neck from a limb and it was at once remembered that he had been of the same criminal tastes and habits in life that had distinguished each of the former victims. The demonstrations on this occasion were somewhat subdued. Those who had celebrated the preceding like event with great explosion of invective now gathered in small knots and conversed privily.
Still another, selected with discriminating care from the same social stratum out of which the three others were quarried, was found dangling at the end of a rope and to all appearance having reached his end through exactly the same channel.
There was not now the least doubt but that some body was doing the work, and after the fifth man was hanged, lawless men began to hide out and to steal away in the night. The ​vigilantes were required to perform no further executions; law and order reigned, and the foundation was thus laid for the well-regulated and prosperous Walla Walla city of today.
During the summer of '63 Mr. Stockman was at Florence, Idaho, at that time the center of a new and rich mineral strike. Hither also flocked the thugs and desperados from their winter haunts and among them were many from Walla Walla. Like most of the mining camps of the time, the lawless element exacted deference to their sway. The men of upright character found it necessary to exercise constant care lest, inadvertently, they should seem to mix with the disreputables and thereby open the way for the cultivation of a tooclose acquaintance.
In the town was maintained a large bunk house which was made to serve also as a gambling den, and was therefore the natural rendezvous of the vicious. Very early one morning a man stepped into the building and asked in a loud voice: "Is 'California Jim' here?" From one of the bunks in the long row stretching along the side of the building, that worthy arose on his elbow and allowed that he was the party for whom the enquiry was made. Without waste of ceremony, the morning visitor opened up a pistol fusilade which raked the bunk, and when he had done Jim had gone to his long home.
A dance hall which ran on full time was one of the popular resorts for those who infested the camp for the purpose of filching from the miners. At an hour of the night when honest men sleep, "Cherokee" Bob, the desperado known in Walla Walla, and a man by the name of Williams, both habitues of the dance hall, engaged in an altercation in which a dance hall girl figured as a cause. It was an interesting scrap from an abstract point of view. Each had acquired considerable renown in the accuracy and rapidity of his gunnery, and had the fight resulted in the counting out of both the depletion in the personnel of the town would have been generally pleasing. But "Cherokee" Bob made an irreparable error in the execution of his manual of arms, his sensitive trigger finger going ​into action while his gun was yet describing a preliminary flourish, the bullet striking the ceiling over his opponent's head. He had not time for another trial, for Williams, using less formality, timed himself with greater economy and his bullet found its way straight to the heart of the desperado.
In the spring of 1865 Mr. Stockman went to Virginia City, Montana, which was then aquiver with excitement over rich gold strikes. There he engaged in hauling freight, his occupation taking him, frequently to Bozeman and Helena, and he came to know well the greater part of the leading men of the country.
Like Florence, this new section was infested with "road agents" and all-around bad men. Their depredations grew in enormity until the peaceful miner, the quiet farmer, the merchant, or any one who' might be suspected of having gold about him, was in danger of being robbed, and much the easiest method of committing the robbery seemed to be that of at once murdering the victim. The number of bodies of men found throughout the country, whose demise was due to the "road agents," reached way beyond a hundred. Henry Plummer, the sheriff whose criminal history has been often told, had not yet reached his undoing. Stockman knew him at Florence. As sheriff his operations were unique. His official position was the key which opened up to him and his gang the secrets of the express companies, the miners and the business men alike.
A man by the name of Brown conducted a store, and by his honesty and close attention to business had attained fair success. He determined to go to San Francisco and buy new goods with which to replenish his stock and for that purpose planned to carry with him fifty pounds of gold. He had decided to leave Virginia City quietly at night, and as to his intentions had told no one. While at his store making preparations to depart in the evening of the night on which he was to leave, Sheriff Plummer entered. Having confidence in the sheriff, he thought it wise to apprise him of his intended trip, ​which he did in confidential tones. Plummer, equally confidential, agreed that the plan was quite commendable. The second day out from Virginia City, Brown was overtaken by a posse of Plummer's gang and murdered and his gold carried back to be divided among the murderers.
One more incident, that happened while Stockman was living at Bozeman, deserves to be mentioned: A man named Davidson was ranching about two* miles out from town. He was a man of excellent character whose circle of friendship was widely extended and who was well connected in a social and fraternal way. He had hailed from Wellsville, Ohio, near which place Stockman himself was born and grew to manhood, and at this time was making preparations to visit his old home. He had collected some valuable presents to carry to his sister and other relatives and kept them at his ranch.
One Saturday afternoon, while standing on a street of the town looking over the near-by landscape, he exclaimed, with reference to a beautiful stretch of table land: "Boys, what a beautiful spot for a burying ground that would be!"
That night, at his ranch, he was awakened from sleep by a knock upon his door. On demanding to know who was there, a voice replied: "We have just come from Virginia City and are very tired and would like to get a little coffee." A young man who was staying with Davidson arose and let the party, a half dozen men, in and proceeded to light a fire, taking a hatchet to cut the kindlings for the fireplace. Davidson did not arise, but sat up in his bed and conversed with his visitors. After lighting the fire, the young man stepped outside to get more wood, and while on the outside heard Davidson cry out. Hurrying back to the door, he was met by a man who snapped a revolver in his face, whereupon he ran for safety and making his way quickly to a neighbor's place, reported the occurrence. With the least possible delay a band of determined men were gotten together, who, armed for desperate work, repaired to Davidson's house, where they found abundant evidence of murder; but the dead had been removed. Search was insti​tuted and on the following day the body of Davidson was found hidden in a gulch. The blade of the hatchet with which the young man had cut the kindling wood had been twice buried in his skull.
Davidson was buried on the spot which had appealed to him as being so beautifully located for a cemetery, and his was the first grave on the ground which has since become a repository for the remains of scores of people who, perhaps, knew not the story of its dedication.
The killing of Davidson proved to be the beginning of the end of the lawless regime in Montana.
Every period in the history of man which has seen him borne down in painful subjection, has also produced its giant characters for his deliverance, though they have at times appeared to be tardy in shouldering the task. Montana offered no exception in this respect. Colonel W. F. Sanders, closely connected with later history of Montana, had watched the progress of the reign of the lawless with deep concern and with outspoken protest. Absolutely fearless, highly educated and resourceful, he very naturally was conceded the leadership. Others there were who stood shoulder to shoulder with him, among whom was Mr. Stockman. The popular indignation aroused by the last-mentioned murder culminated in the organization of the most effective league for the suppression of crime ever known in all the history of the Western frontier.
The work of sifting out the undesirables was pursued with the most systematic and persistent thoroughness. The vigilantes were fortunate in overhauling at an early stage of their task, "Red" Yager, who, in a confession, supplied the committee with valuable details covering both the membership and the history of the Plummer gang. "Red" completely exonerated the vigilantes from any blame for his own execution, pleading that he richly deserved the fate and even assisting in the act of vengeance upon his worthless body by accommodating his neck to the noose.
When the moral atmosphere of Montana was finally clari​fied, more than three score desperate characters had been hanged and twice as many more, seeing the handwriting on the wall, had flown to climes more congenial.
After leaving Walla Walla in the spring of '65, Mr. Stockman never saw the place again until 1906, when it had grown to be a beautiful city of nearly twenty thousand souls. Every vestige of the old town of the early sixties had perished, and it was with difficulty that he could even locate the spots where the principal buildings stood, and only two men could be found whom he knew there in that far-away time. The great, frowning penitentiary at the outskirts of the city held more people than could have been found of the white race, all told, in what is now eastern Washington, in 1859.
He is a devoted member of the Christian church and attends the functions of that society regularly. On the first Sunday in February of the present year he counted into the birthday offering box of the Sunday school eighty-one cents, each of which represented a year of his life, and his physical condition gives promise of several more years.
In the days of his youth, in Ohio, he had for a schoolmate, James A. Garfield, and also Lucretia R. Rudolph, who afterward became the wife of Garfield. Speaking of those school days, he says Garfield rarely took time to play the common games with other boys, being too closely devoted to his studies, and his discovery of a new analysis for the 47th problem of Euclid, in after years, almost rivaling the invention of Pythagoras himself, was not considered marvelous by those who were familiar with his studious disposition.
He pays a high tribute to the Masonic order, of which he has been a member since 1850, having joined the lodge at Minerva, Ohio, in that year. When a lodge was instituted in Walla Walla, in the first years of his sojourn there, he was, by reason of his experience, called upon to take an active part in its deliberations and assisted the lodge in conferring its initial degree.
The first formal meeting of Masons in Montana was held ​on the summit of a high peak of the Rocky Mountain range near Helena. Soon after that lodges were organized in Helena, Bozeman and Virginia City. Among the men who met in council with Stockman in the lodge at the latter place were W. F. Sanders, John X. Biedler and Samuel T. Hauser. Than John X. Biedler, the "road agents" had no more daring man to contend with during the days of the overthrow of their reign.
He regards Masonry as having been the silver cord which connected the upright and order-loving citizenship of the West from the first days of wild scrambling for gold, through the building of the Northwestern Empire, whose destinies bear the imprint of the sober influence of its principles.