The Hardin tribune-herald. [volume], September 14, 1934, Page PAGE FIVE, Image 5

About The Hardin tribune-herald. [volume] (Hardin, Mont.) 1925-1973

Image provided by: Montana Historical Society; Helena, MT

                
Friday, September 14, 1934.
Brig.-Gen. Edward J. McClernand Was Assigned to Second
Cavalry Soon After Graduating From West Point; Received
Congressional Medal for Gallantry in Battle of Bear Paws
By GRACE STONE COATES
Autbor of “Black Cherries,” "Portulacas In
the Wheat," and "Mead and Mangel Wurzel."
Edward J. McClernand, retired as a
brigadier-general in 1912, served with
great distinction in the Indian cam
paigns of the "JOs. He was brevetted
a first lieutenant “for gallantry in
pursuit of the Indians, and in actions
against them at the Bear Paw moun
tains, Montana, September 30, 1877,”
and received the Congressional Medal
of Honor “For most distinguished gal
lantry of action against the Nez Perce
Indians.”
In the autumn of 1870, as a graduate
from West Point, he was assigned to
the Second cavalry, and ordered to re
port at his regiment’s headquarters at
Omaha barracks, Neb. Two battalions
were stationed a t
E headquarters, but the
third squadron was at
Fort Ellis in far-away
Montana. Here Mc-
Clemand and two
classmates, Schofield
and Jerome, were di
rected to report. They
were slow in leaving
headquarters. Many of
their classmates were
passing through Om
aha, on their way to
their various stations,
and the officers of the
Second cavalry and the
— Ninth infantry ex-
Gr.ee Sune cutes tended lively hospital
ity. The post was a
gay place, and the boys were in no
hurry to leave it. The Department
Commander, General Augur, evidently
thought the feasting and festivities were
continuing too long, for one day he met
the boys on the street and said that he
supposed they were leaving that day,
and bade them goodbye. They answer
ed that they had intended to go, but
did not have time, now, for their pre
parations. They were, at this time,
five blocks from their hotel, which was
five blocks from the railroad station.
The general drew his watch, and po
litely but with much positiveness, said,
“Young gentlemen, you have an abund-
Journey From Missouri to Montana in 1880 Was
Great Adventure According to Mrs. Mary Myers
By MRS. MARY E. (GEO. W.) MYERS
The eventful day, July 21, 1880, had ;
come when I was to start on my great I
adventure. I was going north to join I
my husband in Montana territory.
The year before he had gone west
and just recently had written to me
to come to Miles City, the town that
was to be my home for over half a
century.
Two carriage loads of brothers, sisters
and cousins waited with me in the St.
Francis station in St. Joe for the train
that was to take me to Yankton, S. D.,
on the first stage of my journey. A
gay, young crowd we were, dressed in
the Victorian styles of the “80’s” The 1
girls wore tightly fitted "basques” and
pretty light colored straw bonnets. As
I was traveling I wore a thin brown
wool with the skirt Intricately draped
and a small brown straw bonnet, a tail- i
ored linen dust cloak.
All the young men of that day wore
small round beards, or long sideburns.'
The train whistled in and amid a‘
chorus of goodbyes and good wishes,'
brother Ben gave me last instructions:!
“Here’s your ticket, here’s your money
and here’s your baby! Take good care
of all three. If you need more money,
just telegraph George.” I
He placed me on the hard red velvet
cushions in the sleeper and so with my,
baby in my arms, the mysterious ticket;
and fat rolls of bills dropped casually i
into my duster pocket, the train rat- i
tied out of the station and the bright
July day closed around me. A mist
rose before my eyes. I felt a bit alone. 1
On both sides of the railway were]
dusty yellow com fields, orchards bend-:
ing under apples, red and yellow, there
were rounded hills covered with oaks,
clear streams and comfortable farms.
The passenger trains were quite prim
itive compared to the marvelous air
conditioned and joltless coaches of to
day. They were dingy noisy, dusty,
without vestibules and apparently with
out springs, but as I remember, we
considered them modern and efficient
and the dining car service was splendid
even then.
Sometime the next evening I arrived
in Yankton, where I was to take the
boat up the Missouri. It was even
then tied at the pier, the famous Far
West, that four years before had
brought back the sad news of the Bat
tle of the Little Big Horn.
The next morning I boarded the boat
with lively anticipations of an inter
esting voyage. Although I had often
seen the palatial steamers that then
plied the Mississippi, I’d never traveled
on one. This was a smaller boat but
fresh and clean with white paint and
shining brass railing. The tiny cabins
had soft red velvet carpets and com
fortable berths with beatuiful Califor
nia blankets.
Among the passengers was the own
er, Commodore Sam Coulson, his wife
and baby, his sister, Miss Coulson and
two nieces and a nephew, all on a vaca
tion trip to Fort Benton. We became
a most congenial crowd. Every day we
spent hours on deck, we young women
pretending to embroider or crochet
while Mrs. Coulson read Dicken’s “Our
Mutual Friend” aloud, or we just talk
ed. At four we had tea, then a rest be-
ance of time. You have an hour.” The
hint was taken, their trunks packed
with more haste than care, and they
reached the depot none too soon.
All the young officers knew about
Fort Ellis was that it was supposed to
be near the headwaters of the Missouri
river. They couldn’t find even a man
of the region. They left the railroad
at Corinne, Utah, to take a stagecoach
to Montana, “and on the following day
saw the stagecoach arrive. It turned
the corner near our hotel with the
horses at full gallop, and the air made
merry with the crack of the driver’s
whip,” wrote McClernand. “I learned
afterwards that this speed was attained
only while passing through a village.
Doubtless the autocrat of the ribbons
imagined he increased his importance
there among the villagers.”
The night at Corinne was niosy with
bull-whackers, mule-skinners, rowdies
and toughs celebrating all night, while
occasionallj’ some reveller would fire
his pistol at random. Since the hotel
was built of thin pine boards, there
was some reason for its guests to won
der where the next pistol shot might
land.
The soldiers were up bright and
early, and McClernand noticed with
disapproval that the stage coach had
n’t been swept out. He helpfully called
a guard’s attention to this, and the
guard gave him a dirty look and mut
tered something about “tenderfoot,”
took his ugly sawed-off shotgun and
climbed on the stage. He placed him
self and the gun so that the entire
front seat was occupied. McClernand
learned right there that frontier ways
were different from his, and decided
he better change his instead of trying
to change the other fellow’s.
The driver, three guardsmen, and the
three “tenderfeet” were the only ones
on the satge. The road was dusty, the
view monotonous, but at last through
the depression beyond Pleasant valley
they saw the mountain peaks of Mon
tana.
McClernand remembered this ascent
from a later occasion, when a Jew was
among the passengers. All the way up
he kept urging the driver to “Whoop
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THE STEAMER, “FAR WEST” ON THE YELLOWSTONE
fore dinner. After dinner the gentle
men joined us and we gathered in the
saloon cabin for a sing-song. The Da
kota badlands did not echo our songs
but to any stray Indian along the banks
of the Missouri the sentimental airs of
“Lorena," “Annie Laurie,” “The Bridge”
and “We’d Better Bide a Wee," must
have sounded strangely foreign.
About opposite Fort Pierre we met
the Rosebud to which we transferred
to make the next leg of the journey
to Bismarck. The Far West returned
to the lower Missouri.
In Bismarck I said lingering good
byes to my new friends for here I must
wait the arrival of the smaller boat that
would take me up the Yellowstone to
my destination.
The Coulson's had cordially invited
me to be their guest on the trip to Fort
Benton, although the Commodore
warned me that the Yellowstone was
very low and I might risk losing the
last boat of the season. Naturally I de
clined the invitation, much as I enjoyed
the gay company.
During the four or five days I spent
in Bismarck, I felt truly that I was in
the far west, not that I was disappoint
ed about hotel accommodations, for
they were really much better than I’d
expected, but the country seemd very
bleak and barren, the yellowish brown
buffalo grass, the flat never-ending,
treeless prairies.
In a few days the Big Horn came
along and I embarked for the last stage.
Among those on board was Father
Lindesmith, the new chaplain, bound
for Fort Keogh, and a saint on earth
If there ever was one. He became a
close friend of my husband and mine
THE HARDIN TRIBUNE-HERALD
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SOLDIERS’ GRAVE AT SITE OF WHERE BATTLE OF BEAR PAW WAS FOUGHT.
’em up,” referring to the horses mov
ing at snail’s pace up the heavy grade.
The driver said nothing, but when the
stage reached the top, gave the horses
their heads and the coach rocked and
careened down the stiff grade at a
furious pace.
The Jew cried, “Holp up, driver, hold
up!”
“I thought you wanted me to whoop
'em up," the driver retorted.
“I did, but I didn’t want you to whoop
’em down!”
for many years. There was a Lieut.
Sibley, Inventor of the famous Sibley
tent and stove, and his bride, also go
ing to the fort. There were two Ursu
line Sisters, who would be the founders
of the Convent in Mlles City. All were
most congenial and I enjoyed tills part
of the journey Immensely. One reason
was I could be completely carefree as I
was able to hire a middle-aged color
ed woman, going as a maid to the com
mandant in Keogh, to assume full
charge of my baby, my clothes and my
cabin for the trip and a trustworthy
reliable woman I found her.
Soon after we left the pier at Bis
marck, two young men rowing a small
boat hailed us and begged to be taken
on board. I was standing on the deck
and remember perfectly their eager,
laughing faces. One, a blonde, was an
Ed Hall, the other with dark eyes and
hair was a George Cole. They were a
jolly addition to our party and almost
spoiled my baby carrying her about the
deck. Later in Miles City they came
to dinner several times but I do not
know whether they stayed in the west
or not.
Several times we saw small herds of
buffalo along the banks of the Yellow
stone and occasionally Indians, but
neither was hostile appearing nor did
anyone seem alarmed.
The boats burned wood and stopped
at many places they called wood yards
where men had cut and stacked great
piles of wood to sell to the passing
boats. More and more frequently the
crew had to pry the flat bottomed boat
from sand bars. Soundings were taken
continually and these were passed up
and repeated to us on deck. Everything
The four horses of the stage were
changed every 10 or 15 miles, at the
relay and eating stations. The relay
stations were of rough logs, and where
food was served at one end of the build
ing, and the other end was used for
the stable. The partitions between the
two were of the flimsiest material. The
food seemed poor to the West Pointers,
and was invariably fried, and swim
ming in grease. Once their hopes were
raised when a waitress asked if they
wanted fruit—but the fruit proved to be
interested us and there was a good deal
of speculation about whether or not the
boat would be able to get past Buffalo
Rapids, a few miles below Miles City,
but evidently they proved no obstacle
for we arrived about 2:30 p. m., Aug.
11, 1880, the last boat of the season, as
it proved.
The landing was made at a small
wharf in Old Town, as it was called,
after Miles City had picked up its af
fairs and moved two miles up the river,
near the junction of the Tongue and
Yellowstone, to be closer to the protect
ing arm of Fort Keogh.
My husband and eldest brother were
on the wharf to meet me and whisk us
into a carriage in which we drove swift
ly to our temporary home. It was a
one-rocim log cabin, owned and rented
by a Mrs. Routhier. located on Pleas
ant street somewhere between Fourth
and Fifth streets. It was as clean as
could be with lace curtains over shining
windows, a four post bed piled with
white pillows and our own soft, heavy
California blankets. There were easy
chairs, a dining table and the walls
were covered with white canvas. It
made me feel as though pioneer
ing was no great hardship because sec
retly, I had feared that everyone in that
western land had gone native and liv
ed in wigwams.
Mrs. Routhier cooked our meals and
served them in our rooms. I don’t re
member what we ate then but I know
I often enjoyed buffalo steaks and be
ing young and interested in everything
I do not remember missing fruits and
vegetables, perhaps we had them, I do
not know.
When the days grew colder we mov-
dried peaces. On the fifth day they
reached Helena, a town of 4,000.
At Helena, Lieut. Scofield and Lieut.
McClernand were ordered to Fort Shaw,
while Lieut. Jerome was to go on to
Fort Ellis.
An 18-hour stage ride brought them
to Fort Shaw. They had no clothing
suitable for the field, so the captain
of their squadron took them to the
quartermaster, and he fitted them out
in privates’ uniforms. The uniforms
were not well cut, nor did they fit;
and in this garb they appeared before
General Gibbon. Their superior officer
received them cordially, until he found
they had come to report for duty. Then
he ordered them to get into proper un
iform and come back and report with
out delay. They had to go a mile back
to camp, and come back in full uniform
—in a rain!
Lieutenants McClernand and Scofield
were only beginning to taste the dub
ious joys of frontier service. In late
November their squadron was ordered
to return to Fort Ellis, through snow
and storms. The nights were harsh,
the men not equipped for such weath-
ed to a two-roomed shack that had a
cook stove and a heater. Here we stay
ed until the sth day of November,
when it grew so bitterly cold we fled
to the hotel and my husband bought a
house then being built and had it hur
riedly finished. There were only four
or five rooms but it was new and warm
and quite pleasant.
Ladies called, we were entertained,
we went to church, we had friends at
the fort, I wasn’t at all lonely. There
was always something of interest. Al
though I saw nothing of the rougher
and seamier side of a frontier town I
shared in the common experience of the
flood in the spring of ’Bl. Main street
was a wide canal down which we rowed
at night in a government boat with
lanterns at either end clear across a
swollen Tongue river to the higher
ground on the western side where our
good friend the captain had a govern
ment ambulance and mules meet us and
carry us to the fort. There we spent
a merry six weeks before we returned
to town. By that time the house had
been cleaned, the mud was dry and the
huge sage brush that adorned every
one’s yard was luxuriant.
Indians were always camped in their
buffalo hide teepees along the Ton
gue river. One tribe had recently sur
rendered to Colonel Miles. My hus
band and his brother had the contract
to supply this tribe with beef so we of
ten had visiters from the camp. Some
times they brought gifts of moccasins
and beaded bags, sometimes articles to
sell but more often these were begging
calls. I remember one old squaw, who
would come after supper while we
would be sitting on the porch. One
evening she sat down on the ground
near my husband’s chair. She sat
there silent for a long time then very
sadly and softly said, “No flour, no cof
fee, no sug’, no nothing!” That was too
much for my husband's tender heart.
Mrs. Lo was served coffee and biscuits
immediately and given a gunny sack
of groceries to take home.
I had never seen an Indian grave, so
one of our picnics that spring had that
gruesome object as a destination. It
was somewhere among the low hills
south of Keogh. I remember how green
the hills were and how surprising the
wild flowers, all were complete strang
ers to me. I heard larks, too, for the
first time.
There among the spring flowers was
the fourposted last resting place of an
Indian grave. At the foot of the grave
were his worldly possessions, horn
spoons, strings of beads, bows and ar
rows, whetstones and even an old tin
cup.
The boats came early that spring
bringing us letters, packages and news
papers weeks old but eagerly read for
all of that. Many more people came
that summer. Miles City hummed with
business. That fall the Northern Pa
cific pushed its rails into town and we
were no longer the frontier, we were
civilization.
PAGE FIVE
er, and they could sleep little in camp.
They were disappointed in the ap
pearance of Fort Ellis. It was a collec
tion of log cabins, “with dirt roofs cov
ered with boards. On the northwest
and southeast corners were block
houses, through the portholes of which
an effective rifle fire could be deliver
ed. The fort served to protect the ex
treme eastern settlements of Montana.
To the westward, scattered over a large
area, were 25,00 or 30,00 settlers,
while to the east, if we except the
buildings at the Crow Indian agency,
there was not a house for many hun
dreds of miles.”
Fort Ellis was in the upper Gallatin
valley, three miles from Bozeman, ac
cessible through the three passes of the
Madison, Gallatin and Jefferson. The
Indians made hard work for the troop
pers, keeping the junior officers in the
saddle most of the time. Butexcite
ment and danger had its charm.
One of Lieut. McClemand s worst ex
periences in his first years of service
came in November, 1871. In early sum
two troops had been sent down the
Yellowstone river as escort to surveyors
for the Northern Pacific railroad. The
survey was discontinued early in No
vember, at a point 150 miles east of
Fort Ellis. One night on the return
march a tent caught fire during a high
wind, and instantly the surrounding
prairie was ablaze, and the camp de
stroyed. The weather become stormy,
and a heavy snowfall nfade their plight
serious. Their situation was reported
by courier to Fort Ellis, and a troop in
command of Lieut. McClernand was
sent to their relief.
The snow lay deep on the Snowy
mountains east of Bozeman, and the
men frequently had to stop to dig out
a horse or pack mule up to his back in
snow. Night overtook them only eight
miles from the fort. They went into
camp, worn out, in a little grove of
pines just below the summit of the
divide. That night the temperature in
Fort Ellis, 1,000 feet below them, regist
ered 48 degrees below zero. The wind
howled, in spite of the bitter cold; and
even the animals crowded to the fires
for respite from the driving wind. No
one tried to sleep. Fortunately the
weather moderated the next forenoon.
They met the returning escort, west
bound, near the big bend of the Yel
lowstone, about 2 p. m. the next day,
and both parties headed for Fort Ellis,
intending to camp in the cottonwoods
about five miles ahead. They had gone
about two miles when a blizzard struck
them, and a driving wind cut the coarse
snow, hard as sleet, into their faces.
All landmarks were obscured, and the
! trail obliterated Each officer took
turns leading the column, and after
’ two hours of desperate struggling it was
discovered that they were riding in a
circle
Cries came from all sides that ears,
noses, arms, legs and feet were freez
ing; troppers flung themselves from
their horses and had to be lifted back
into the saddles; some men cried and
begged to be permitted to lie down and
die; the animals were almost unman
agable, and the packs could not be ad
justed The situation seemed hopeless,
but the only salvation lay in going
ahead. It looked to Lieut. McClernand
as if his troop would be scattered over
the storm-swept prairie.
After five hours the advance stumbled
onto the timber they had been seek
ing, more by luck than direction.
Trumpeter Page seiged his trumpet and
blew the “Rally.” (Six years later Page
fell at the battle of the Big Hole, shot
through the forehead).
Fortunately there was a thick growth
of willows in the cottonwoods, which
made a windbreak and enabled the
men to kindle a fire. Fifty-three men
out of the troop of 150 had their ex
tremities frozen, some of them severe
ly. They could not have survived the
night in the open. About the same time
a detachment of 65 men of the Seven
th infantry, in a field near Fort Shaw,
had a similar experience, resulting in
22 amputations.
The next year found Lieut. McClern
and again escorting surveyors of the
Northern Pacific on the banks of the
Yellowstone. The escort consisted of
four companies of the Seventh infantry
and four troops of the Second cavalry
all commanded by Gen. Eugene M.
Baker, who had well earned his fa
miliar nickname of Piegan Baker bv
the licking he had given the Piegans a
few years ago. Lieut. McClernand had
his first buffalo hunt, near the mouth
of Clark’s Fork; and here, later, he was
to experience his first Indian fighting,
.p" 8--Gen. McClernand died Feb 9
1926, aged 78. He was born at Jackson
ville, 81., Dec. 29, 1848, the son of Brig.-
Gen. John A. McClernand, who com
manded the 13th Army Corps in the
Civi! war. He entered West Point in
1866. In 1898 he was in Cuba, serving
as adjutant-general to General Shaft
er, and was recommended for a brevet
“For gallantry in action against the
Spanish forces at Santiago, Cuba, July
1, 1898,” for which he later received,
also, the Silver Star citation.
After the Santiago campaign, Ge*.
McClernand served in the Philippines
as colonel of the 4th U. S. Infantry
volunteers. He was chief-of-staff ot
the Department of the Missouri at
Omaha, Neb., in March, 1905, and later
was on military duty as attache with
the Japanese army, in 1906, he com
manded the First Cavalry at Fort Clark,
Texas, and then served at Rock Island
Arsenal, Hl., as president of the Cavalry
Equipment board, until his retirement.
$
Montana corn-hog contract signers
had been mailed a total of $53,25995
in benefit payment checks, according
to a report from Washington, D. C
which Included all checks malVd th
the close of August 17.