“Queen Ann” of Brown’s Park

ANN BASSETT WILLIS

 “Queen Ann” was a woman of the frontier, a lover of outlaws, the most notable being Butch Cassidy, and the leader of the range wars against the cattle barons ofNorthwestern Colorado. She got her name because of the accusations made against her of cattle rustling…like Billy the Kid, the bad guys got to write the history of this era, and she has come down as an outlaw. You can make up your own mind, here, in her autobiography.

Women who dared the frontier at its worst were few. True, there were many pioneer mothers whose deeds of heroism were the  kind, that went unsung. Of those who met the West on its terms, dealt back as good as they received, asked no sanctuary because they were women, so bringing bright glory to their age and sex, the number may easily be counted. They were a brave few. history and romance have immortalized but a small number of these. And among them, none exceeds in daring, intelligence, glamor and honor—Queen Ann.

‘Child of the West,’ born to a family that grappled with the Vest in its roughest, toughest days and tamed it, was Ann Bassett. Like an antelope she was born running, and like an antelope takes water, she took to education, knowledge and experience—while moving.

There was nothing static in Ann Bassett’s career. Born in a dirt-covered log cabin, where the nearest neighbors were miles dist and schoolhouses were unknown, she nevertheless came to shine the most erudite company, to wear the manner and grace of the te, yet never losing touch nor sympathy with the land and the people of her native hills.

In more ways than one she earned the title by which she was own from prairie to ocean and from the land of the Rio Grandeto Athabasca. Wherever men rode and cattle ranged, the name of Queen Ann Bassett was acclaimed with admiration and respect.

The Frontier has vanished. Gone are the immense herds, the mile-long cavvies, the great round-ups. Long since, the badmen have been gathered together into their last hide-out. “Queen Ann” is no longer a name with which to conjure on the range. But she lives on. Many who are her neighbors do not know that the comely, dignified, yet loveable lady “next door,” could unfold tales that would overshadow the wildest thriller ever shown at the neighborhood theatre. After much persuasion, she has put on paper some of the happenings of that day long gone, when as child and woman she rode the range.

From a country to the northward and far on towards the sunset, flows the mighty Green River. In northwestern Colorado and northeastern Utah lies Brown’s Park, along both sides of the river, and comprising an area approximately sixty miles long and from five to twenty miles in width. This is Colorado’s western extremity of the vast cattle and sheep range which extends eastward one hundred and fifty miles, to the slopes of the Continental Divide. To the east and north of the Park is Cold Spring Mountain, where sarvis berries grow in moist, shady nooks beneath the tall quaking aspens, and pine trees dot the mountain meadows with emerald islands. Westward is the forbidding wall of DiamondMountain, with Wild Mountain. alongside. Douglas Mountain on the south is bounded by the great canyon on theGreen River, the entrance to which reminds one of Southey’s poem, “How the water comes down at Lodore.” Major John Wesley Powell, the intrepid adventurer who first navigated the Green and ColoradoRivers from source to outlet, gave this canyon the name Lodore.

While the Bassetts were inRock Springs,Wyoming, which was the typical railroad distributing point for north, south, east, and west, they met other adventurous families on their way to what they regarded as the promised land. From this group composed of New England farmers, people from the eastern part of theUnited States, Herbert Bassett heard rumors of a lovely valley, a mysterious spot beyond the mountains. Winters there were mild, it was said, and wild game fleeing before the storms found refuge there. It was a place where cottonwoods grew to immense size, shading parks that spread like lawns from the river to the sandy hills at the base of the mountains. And this temptingEdenwas known as “Brown’s Hole.”

Later when my mother glimpsed the richly green, natural meadows, and the groves of stately, wide-branched cottonwoods, she was reminded of a beautiful park in the eastern land where she was born. At once she re-christened the lovely valley, “Brown’s Park.”

We are told and we read extensively of the sufferings and struggles of the pioneers who first occupied the various parts of our West. Sometimes I wonder if some of this is not the product of sentimentalists and sobsters, who encourage their imaginations to embroider all pioneering experiences with the dark colorings applicable to some. Certainly this band of first settlers enjoyed their journeying into Brown’s Park. There was green grass and thickly blooming wild flowers. They traveled on full stomachs, for there were buffalo, deer, antelope, and elk always to be had for the cost of a shot. Other good things filled their supply store. They were not poverty stricken nor were they obliged to push handcarts. They rode all the way in their Peter Shutler wagons.

True, there wasn’t much of a wagon road across the sunbaked flats ofWyoming. But there was always a camp with water and grass for the stock that pulled the equipment. And these people, my parents and their friends, were men and women who understood how to work. They knew what the business end of a pick and shovel were for and were cheerfully prompt and able in using them. When they crossed Tabor Mountain they felt no uneasiness. Probably they lingered to enjoy the scenery, as you and I have done or would do, in similar circumstances today. Passing down the southern slopes and entering the pine belt, the aromatic scents of pine and sage were no less pleasing and invigorating than they are today.

From personal reminiscences of this trip I learned that these pioneers paused at the foot of TaborMountain, resting several days at the George Richards Ranch. This later became the Stage Station on the mail lines fromRock Springs to Uinta Basin,Utah.

When they arrived at Red Creek Canyon, they discovered that the bachelor population of Brown’s Park had worked the primitive canyon roads in the same manner they had improved those the party had traveled thus far. The train reached its destination without casualty, wagons right side up and everyone in excellent shape.

These families possessed similar inclinations and desires, a kindly group of friends financially able to take care of themselves. They were well equipped to endure hardship, establish adequate homes and carve their history upon the new country. While the men scattered about the valley to search for homestead sites, the stock rested, and the women tidied camp and made preparations of their own for the development of pleasant and comfortable dwelling places.

Here men and congenial wives started from scratch to build homes for a permanency, in the young and beautiful land. Now you may visit them by permitting your imagination to rove back into the past with these people who paved the way, sufficient unto themselves and enveloped with the lure of that isolated country.

Dr. and Mrs. Parsons put up a cozy cabin on the banks of Green Riverat Parson’s Ford. Jimmie and Mary Jane Goodson selected ranches on Willow Creek. John Jarvie and pretty Nell built a trading post and established the first Brown’s Park Post Office. Tom Davenport and gentle Alice, who mothered the entire community, started cattle ranches on Willow Creek.

Ed Rife and Genevieve built up the Crittenden Horse Company, bred the best of stock and were citizens any country would claim with pride. Whitcombe W. James and Jennie—our school teacher, who had a high regard for consistency—made their home close to Green River. Frank and Elizabeth Goodman, considerate, estimable folks, engaged in sheep ranching. C. B. Sears and his wife Molly, were examples of good citizenship, who also were in the sheep business.

James Warren had been educated for the priesthood, but found cattle ranching more to his inclination. His devoted wife, Katherine, cared for the sick with skill and kindness. Charles Allen and Lizzie located their ranch on theGreen Rivermeadows, where her sweet voice and cheerful disposition were an inspiration to her neighbors. Charley Crouse specialized in thoroughbred horses, and never will I forget those splendid animals with their arched, glossy necks and dark, fiery eyes. Mary Crouse was surely the “salt of the earth,” a gracious and beautiful woman.

Herbert Bassett and Mary Elizabeth Bassett, my father and mother, had ranches and cattle. She kept the treaty with the Indians with undeviating faithfulness and became a vigorous advocate of national suffrage for women.

Where hospitality was a tradition, miles apart and few in number, these frontier wives and mothers kept their bearings and steered their home ships with heroic pluck.

The old Bassett Ranch, built in 1878, was truly a “Home on the Range.” The long, low, rambling log house stood near a spring of crystal clear soft water, at the foot of a rugged mountain and overlooking the natural meadows that sloped southward. From our windows were visible the rampart walls and the dramatically picturesque entrance to LodoreCanyon.

The cutting and trimming of sufficient pine or spruce logs for the construction of a ten room cabin was no small task, particularly as each tree felled for the purpose was chosen with care. Those pioneers put equally as much thought into home making as folks do at the present time. Possibly more, for there were no convenient construction firms eager to supply materials, while furnishings and decorations depended solely upon the taste and creative talents ‘if the individual. Also, necessity played a large part in the assembling of items to go inside the dwellings.

When our commodious, many-windowed cabin neared the finish, the question of its furnishings became a topic for much discussion, and conclusions were arrived at after serious deliberation. A most important feature was the large cook stove—built to last, but not to lift. Accompanying this were innumerable iron pots and brass kettles. There were a few choice pieces of china (for which we had no use) and which traveled to us carefully wrapped in feather beds, for which we did have great use. Then there were several spool beds, their wood hand-polished to satin smoothness. All of these were shipped toRock Springsfrom the grandfather’sVirginiaplantation, and laboriously hauled by wagon to the ranch.

After a protracted and highly hazardous wagon trip to haul the organ into Brown’s Park, father was not keen to tackle any further jaunt which Might repeat the several near-mishaps, with a few real ones. He became resolutely set against the hauling of any more bulky “boughten” house furnishings.

Birch grew in profusion along all the streams. Rawhide was plentiful. He solved our problems by making small tables and chairs of all sizes, using birch for the frames and rawhide strips for seats and backs. There were high chairs and easy ones, of the various types devised by his ingenuity. Cushions were of buckskin stuffed with milkweed floss, not only supplying comfort, but of suitable appearance for a log cabin.

The curtain problem was mother’s to solve, which she did with most satisfactory results. She traded Indian Mary ten pounds of sugar for a bale of fringed buckskins, smoked to soft tan. Father fashioned rods of birch and sawed rings from the leg bones of deer carcasses. When hung, these draperies were the cause for much complimentary comment.

Wood was not only plentiful but handy. We had a fireplace in every room. These were built of native rock and so cleverly constructed that the smoke went out the chimneys, which is quite unusual!

Our ranch became the accepted stopping place for travelers entering Brown’s Park. All were welcomed, and of course no charge made for the hospitality. Father and mother were always eager for news from the outside world, or to discuss various topics of interest with either those from a distance or their neighbors. One of the rooms was a library with well-stocked shelves of books. Some of these volumes had been brought from my parent’s eastern home, others were given us by Judge Conway. There were Shakespeare’s Complete Works, an impressive book bound in padded sheepskin, Shelley, Keats, Longfellow and other poem collections, with many works of general literature, travel or biography. Bassett’s Ranch was a spot where people congregated, to read and relax. No matter if we must keep on with our work, it was a type we liked and its doing was the more pleasant with congenial visitors sharing our home.

All the farm, work was done by hand during the first years of the settlement. A few plows had been hauled into the Park from the Union Pacific Railroad. These were used by their individual owners, then “loaned around,” as were other pieces of the meager equipment. Father and Tom Davenport bought hand scythes and cradles to harvest grain, which was threshed by driving horses over bundles that had been laid down in clean corrals. The chaff was winnowed by a homemade fanning mill.

The putting up of hay was a part-time job. Horses, cattle or sheep, as the case might be, required, constant care. Our system of living depended upon its individual productive industry for well being. Staple groceries and clothing were brought over rough roads by wagon fromRock Springs, both spring and fall. Ten days at least were required for one of these trips, to make which several neighbors joined. This supplied company as we said when the, going was hard.

Men and children wore buckskin clothing, which was made by the white women, who acquired great skill in shaping the garments, which were handsomely stitched in fancy patterns, by their Singer Sewing Machines.

Those first settlers in Brown’s Park looked forward to comfortable living and the enjoyment of some social life. All cabins contained from eight to ten rooms. When buffalo and bearskin rugs were removed, the “puncheon” floors were smooth for dancing. During winter months, each of the ranches in turn would give a dance, invitations to these events being borne by a horseman who rode from, door to door of the scattered homes. “Everybody come!” he would urge warmly.

Cupboards were bursting, long tables groaned with the quantities of good food provided by host and hostess. Music was supplied by the ranch giving the party. The only mode of travel was by buckboard and team, or horseback. Many of the guests came from outside the Park, often arriving a day or two early to “rest up” for the festivities. The gaiety might last for several days and nights, or until the merrymakers felt duty bound to return to their own work and homes.

These parties were not “tough jamborees.” They were gatherings of people of natural refinement and fine standards. They made merry with -innocent fun. Often the dances became masquerades, each person representing a character of history or fiction.

Mr. Davenport, pretty Nell Jarvie, and cheerful Lizzie Allen were gifted with really beautiful voices. They sang for us all the well-loved old songs. Among these I recall as prime favorites, “Last Rose of Summer,” “Believe Me if All Those Endearing Young Charms,” “Kathleen Mavourneen,” and “Annie Laurie.” Mr. Jarvie played the old-fashioned organ well—there were several of those instruments in the park. He had over a hundred memorized pieces of music in his repertoire. Among the bachelors were several fiddlers, while nearly everyone played the harmonica. George Law was an accordion expert. He furnished music for many a lively quadrille, calling the sing-song changes in a deep, resonant voice as he played. One of the rhyming jingles ran :

Alleman left and a do-se-do,

Birdie in a cage and round you go;

Promenade right when you get straight,

Take your own lady, and don’t be late!

While they were dancing between figures, he would sing :

Shuffle your feet and don’t be slow,

Chicken in a bread pan, a-pickin’ up dough.

The older men who happened to be chess addicts never failed to fill a few hours with that pastime. Beds were provided for the children, who were placed together like cordwood, heads out, feet in. They were husky youngsters, who settled down contentedly and slept without waking. -

At midnight was spread a tempting lunch, with plenty of hot coffee. If some of the younger men took a nip too much, they were made to wash dishes and cut wood as penalty for their lapse. Jim MacNight was the chief offender. Once he was chucked into the cellar (by order of my mother) then made to grub sagebrush as further discipline. All knew the rules, so the penalties were accepted with good nature.

When several of the Brown’s Park children came of school age, a meeting was called, and an agreement made to collect from all settlers enough for a sum total that would pay a teacher for a few months each year. Mrs. Jennie Jaynes was chosen for this post, and a dug-out schoolhouse built by donated labor; at Sear’s Draw on the Henry boy Ranch. There, in 1879, Jenny taught the Park’s first school, her pupils numbering seven—Josie Bassett, my sister, Joe Davenport, Willis Rouff, Joseph Jaynes and the three little Reed children, Jimmie, Ella and Charles. The Reeds were of half Indian blood.

The first log schoolhouse was built by Charles Allen, C. B. Sears, Griff Edwards and my father, at MattSpring, which was owned by my father. Matt Walsh had a camp there. New Englandpioneers regarded schools and education of prime importance. NO isolation dimmed that ardor. Mrs. Adela Barnard, who became one of RouttCounty’s most efficient educators, taught for several years in Brown’s Park.

Resourceful and rich in expedients, these people carried on after the death of Dr. Parsons, looking after their own medical and surgical needs. When a bronc ridden by Harry Shannon ran into a fence, gashing the leg of the young cowboy to the bone, mother was acting surgeon. With the aid of Mrs. Crouse, she put five stitches into the flesh. Table salt was used for an antiseptic, and Indian herbs to stop the flowing of blood. Careful nursing worked a speedy cure, and within a few years Harry joined Buffalo Bill’s Wild West Show to become & famous bronc rider. The show toured theUnited States, then crossed the ocean toLondon. It was Harry Shannon who did the first western-style bronc riding stunts before the King and Queen ofEngland. In later years he frequently visited the Park, and always declared that he owed his’ life to the skill and quick action of my mother and Mrs. Crouse.

When sickness or death came, all hands shared in the emergency. Neither weather conditions nor the urge of personal business prevented the giving of help and sympathy to any stricken neighbor.

The Brown’s Park cemetery was presented to the district by Mrs. Valentina Hoy. The first burials there were of Juan Catrino, who died from pneumonia at the Griff Edwards Ranch, Fred Hook, from tuberculosis at the James Warren Ranch, and Jack Rollas, who was murdered at the Bassett Ranch by men who said they had come fromTexas.

For burial rough boxes were neatly lined by the women with whatever material they had at hand. Often this came from wedding dresses, that of my mother’s being used for the lining of Louis Carro’s coffin.

Funerals were conducted by Mrs. Charles Allen, with Mr. Sears offering the prayer and Tom Davenport leading the singing. Among songs used for this purpose, “Home on the Range” was their. favorite.

The killing of Jack Rollas had a considerable effect on the neighborhood. He was a pleasant-mannered young fellow from Texaswho came to the Bassett Ranch in 1882. A good hand with horses, he was hired to break broncs on the ranch. It was in the late fall of that year that three strange men arrived about noon, and were asked to eat dinner with the family. While Mrs. James, who cooked for us at the time, was preparing the meal, one of the strangers asked her if Jack worked there. Mrs. Jaynes replied, “Yes, that is Jack saddling a horse at the corral.” The three men walked^-from the kitchen and went on down to the corral. One of them pulled a gun and shot Rollas as he was reaching for a bridle. He ran behind a barn, where he fell, mortally wounded.

Father was helping Harry Hindle and Perry Carmichal whipsaw lumber, several hundred yards from where the shooting occurred. They raced for the house where they grabbed sawed-off shotguns. We children were outside. At the sound of the gunshot, Mrs. Jaynes rushed out to gather us into the shelter of the dwelling. Mother and Harry Hindle held the three strangers at bay while father and Perry carried the wounded Rollas into the bunkhouse.

Mother was noted for intrepidity in any time of danger or alarm. Armed with aWinchestershe was an able partner with Harry in disarming the strange gunmen. She marched them straight over to Rollas for an explanation. The one who had done the shooting said his name was Hambleton and that Rollas had shot and killed his brother inAbilene,Kansas. Hambleton had trailed Jack Rollas for two years, to kill hint That was the way in. which such a score was settled inTexas, he said. And all three men declared they were from that state.

Rollas confirmed Hambleton’s statement in part,” explaining that a man of that name had married his sister. He abused the sister and Rollas had killed him for it. But he said that he did not know any of the three men who had trailed him to out-ranch.

Mother spiritedly informed Hambleton that’ it was not the custom of the northwest to shoot an unarmed man in the back. By the determined threat of her leveledWinchester, she lined the trio up against the bunkhouse wall, and directed the wounded Rollas to kill his assassin, or all three men, if he wanted to.

Rollas was too weak to hold a gun, and he died a few hours later. While mother and Mrs. Jaynes were administering to the dying cowboy, father and Perry were guarding the prisoners. Harry Hindle went to notify the settlers of the park, and to get Charles Allen, Justice of the Peace, to the scene of the crime. Night came and father began to think with deepening apprehension. A lynching could be in the making. He advised the captives to go to the barn and feed their horses, and he warned them to ride directly to the county seat, over a hundred miles away, and surrender themselves to the law. When neighbors arrived at the Bassett ranch, the murderer and his companions had escaped. Naturally, they failed to do as father had instructed, and were never heard of again in that part of the country. Neighbors may have suspected father of having deliberately brought about the escape of the three men, for they all knew how he tried to prevent tragedy and human violence. The method subscribed to by father in the matter of advice ‘to the shooters would have been in direct conflict with the opinion of mother and Mrs. Jaynes. Therefore, he did not commit himself and tell the true story for some time afterwards. However his action may be criticised, additional bloodshed was averted and the Bassett ranch had three good Winchesters taken from the Texans, to be added to the gun rack.

Learning to ride in early childhood was a necessity. For training in balance, bucking contests were improvised. Our hay corral was, the arena. From this training experiment we developed what proved to-be quite a game.

Clean hay from the stacks was spread over the ground, from which all rocks or other unevenness had been removed. In the evening when the day’s work was finished, the fun began. Hay was piled high from a chute, from which each bucking cowboy on all-fours topped by a fearless little rider came bounding. out. This human steed reared, sunfished and performed all the antics of a wild and vicious bronc being ridden for the first time. The courageous little rider would hang on for dear life by gripping his knees, pressing moccasined feet tight to the flanks, and with one hand only, holding to a handkerchief tied back of the bronc’s “front legs.” The show was conducted in a regular manner, horses and riders were announced and there were purses for the best riders. In a country of few amusements, these contests attracted a considerable number of patrons, many coming quite a few miles to share the fun. Ringside seats were benches placed near the corral fence, admission was charged, and the judges’ stand was the top rail of the fence. There were no pick-up men, riders stayed on until they exhausted their horses or fell off,- leather pulling was barred, so were spurs. Roping was one of the attractions, each contestant had one throw as the human horses bucked out of the chute. For this act one or both feet must be caught at the first throw ; many of the youngsters became quite expert. George Bassett, when only five years old, was champion roper.

I was getting pretty good at riding my mounts to a finish and the judges selected for me, in one contest, a big strong cowboy fromPrescott,Arizona. A famous “bucker” who knew all the tricks of a bronco ! A sheep man in the audience slipped me a small pair of English spurs. I cautiously put them on and stood in the hay as instructed to do, by the self-appointed sponsor. When the wild ride started I used the spurs with full force. My horse immediately did what no bronc is supposed to do, under similar circumstances. He proceeded to take me over his knee and administer a good old fashioned spanking, encouraged and’ ncored by the hilarious cheers and jeers of the audience as he poured it on. This act disqualified me from the contest for some time, or until the bronc’s flanks healed, and I was able to ride without a pillow to sit on.

“No life for a lady,” has been said. As a cowhand and making no claim of being either ladyish or romantic, I suggest that it is not the range on which she moves, but her brand, that identifies the heifer. A mere “hair” brand will shed. It’s only the deep-in. stay-on kind that really measures up. A mark deeper than the skin, one that can be read clearly in crowded pens or on open ranges, is the only one of value. Should this at times become a bit blotched, under pressure the mark will still be readable. After rubbing shoulders against some of life’s cultured “shellac” the brand symbol has a more definite significance.

I had the privilege of living in a bronco West, and began life as a cow hand at the mature age of six. In a roomy out doors where cow critters spread themselves over the grass valleys and sage brush hills of southernWyomingand northwesternColoradoas far as the eyes could see. I attended the great round-ups held on open terrain, when the vast expanse of milling, bellowing cattle were worked, cut out and branded. They were handled without confusion by men trained to work, to make instant decisions, and who had the individualism to act in any emergency.

The cattle business joined me in interest with theTexascowboys of the early eighties. Men with clean minds, and able bodies disciplined by physical exercise to do any job well. Putting in time and a half, and over time, was an essential feature of their training. For them, there was no such limitation as an eight hour day.

Cowboys held womenkind in high esteem. Conversational passes and barbed jokes aimed at ,the opposite sex, were decidedly out of range dictum. Good horses and the best equipment were a cowboy’s pride. They stuck to their chosen profession, they would not flank hay or grub sage brush. The charm of their picturesque lives has gone on in song and story, exciting and appealing to the human emotion as no other profession has ever done. I am deeply grateful to those who captured the spell and have kept alive the profound meaning of a cowboy’s life on the range.

This country, itself undergoing the processes of birth, developed a new generation radically different from their New Englandancestors, and presenting a problem that kept the parents in a state of mental agitation. We were completely western by birth and environment, actively disliking anything that resembled a pattern.

I turned a deaf ear to mother ‘s long-winded lectures upon the conduct of, and correct clothing for, “little ladies,” and early adopted buckskin breeches for my personal use. Capering about on a skittish bronc, plastered to a lopsided contraption called a side-saddle, while swathed in yard-long riding togs was not my idea of frolic. I cared not a whit for social customs, and could not understand a world designed especially for privileged little boys to romp in, to enjoy sports and play, sternly denied to “little ladies,” With spirit and determination I wore my befringed, buckskin breeches. My point was difficult to prove in a puritanical sphere where girl’s legs were strictly hush-hush, and anything resembling trousers for women or girls taboo.

Imagine my mother’s disturbance of mind ! Her own outfit consisted of a beautifully fitted habit” of rich, dark blue material, long skirted and draped with grace. For trimming there was a number of gleaming brass buttons. She was a blonde, five feet, six-and-a-half inches tall. Mounted on her thoroughbred saddle horse, “Calky,” she was a picture to remember.

There can be no question that pants were more suitable riding gear, but the grown-up ‘s agony over such “disgraceful” apparel was pathetic.. However—the buckskins won out. The result was an unbridle-wised revolter from custom, riding straddle-back in a no-woman’s sphere, amidst dust or mud, and steers. I was not a romantic, inspirational number but a perfect “burr in a saddle. blanket” to cowpunchers. But I brushed off ridicule. My ambitions were centered upon ability to flank a calf or stick a wild cow’s head through a loop as neatly as any of them.

How those “cow romeos” would preen their dusty feathers, and look at their shadows as they tried to act like wolves in a sheep pasture, when a lady-like girl showed up. A real girl, all done nice and proper, hanging by doubtful tenure to a side saddle, quite unmindful of the horse’s discomfort from the back-eating kidney sores and galled withers caused by that one-sided thing she clung to, and called a saddle. The cow custodians did not have me fooled in their efforts at make believe, to impress the city school marms with their courage and gallantry. I knew how harmless and afraid. of women they really were. Men among men, were doves where women were concerned—and just cow waddies to me. As a rule there was some boot-trembling in my stirrups, during those setting up exercises, for smart kinds were not supposed to grin out of turn. Just one knowing look could bring on reprisals, and I would be demoted to a spell of lowly horse wrangling. A decided set-back for a top ,cow hand. I had an unyielding brother vigorously riding herd on me. His psychology was, if you are going to be a full fledged cow puncher you must play the game square, take it on the button aid never shy at rope burn or pistol smoke.

Through trial and error I became a specialist at evading mother’s staff of authority. With the speed of a Wapiti, I would race to the bunkhouse, that place of many attractions, where addle-galled cow punchers congregated to sing range ballads and squeak out doleful tunes on the fiddle. Somewhere in a secluded corner an absorbing round of poker was sure to be in session. One irresistible magnet of the bunk house was the very black magic of forbidden reading. At least that mental stimulation did exist, until a snoopy housekeeper yanked our valuable Police Gazettes out of hiding. To our surprise and dismay, she used them to paper the walls. The decorative effect was a bit startling, and reading made very difficult, for she pasted those old classics upside .down. From her crafty viewpoint the atrocious paper-hanging achievement served a double purpose. It freshened up the walls and gave the hands more time at the corral to clean our mangers and feed the horses.

The Gazettes never would have held especial temptation had my mother not denounced them in unmistakably definite terms as ‘ ‘awful.”

Mother was a woman of truly distinctive personality, with many. remarkable qualities. From childhood she had been required to do nothing more fatiguing than to summon a negro slave to perform even slight tasks for her. But she neither faltered nor gazed longingly back to those early experiences, when her life’s connections were broken by the Civil War. She looked ahead, seeing adventure and alluring excitement as my father ‘s helpmeet and companion in the new West.

Grandfather Miller had kept a stable of thoroughbreds. Mother commenced riding as a child and she knew horses. Under her direct supervision and management well-bred horses of several standard strains were raised on our ranch. Perfectly matched driving teams were shipped yearly toCape May,New Jersey, where they were sold at top prices. The breeding and sale of such teams was a lucrative industry at the Bassett Ranch.

Mother was a natural executive as well as an excellent horsewoman. In addition to considerable personal charm and a captivating friendliness, she had dignity and indomitable will power, and never deviated from what she considered the proper course to pursue. She loved company, and surrounded herself with interesting people. When she died, at the age of thirty-five, in the bright bloom of her young maturity, she left with all who knew her an unforgettable impression of womanly fineness, and of irreplaceable loss.

One of the most interesting and best-loved personalities of those old Brown’s Park days was “Buffalo” Jack, Rife. It was he who, during the 1870s, created one of the first game preserves in our West, on the north slope of DouglasMountain in Brown’s Park. He was prompted both by the desire to experiment and his intense interest in the .preservation of wild life, particularly in that of the few buffalo which had escaped the fur company’s robe hunters.

Buffalo Jack selected an area adjacent to a spring as a natural habitat of wild game. After consulting with the Indians, an agreement was made and ratified by the tribe’s chief, that there would be no hunting or shooting within the limits designated and agreed upon. Furthermore, this agreement was never broken. The reason for this strict keeping of faith was undoubtedly becauseBuffalowas neither “missionarying” nor attempting to interfere in any manner with their tribal customs, either being a major cause for many of the “scalp treatments” of those days.

Since he was not engaged in the engrossing pursuit of material riches, Jack had liesure to give attention to the simple business of living. He experimented with the gentling of wild animals by patient kindness, demonstrating the responsiveness of wild creatures to good will. Soon his pets, “Sampson and Delilah,” great shaggy buffaloes, would come at his call, unafraid to lick salt near the cabin door.

In 1879 Buffalo Jack took father to the beautiful retreat of ZenobiaPeak. So impressed was my father that he later built a three-room cabin there. The logs for this were dragged from the timber by horse. Door and window facings were hewed by hand. This cabin still stands intact, high on a point above scenic ZenobiaBasin, an untouched spot, serenely dreaming in an enchanting loveliness of peaks and space.

In the year 1939 this basin, discovered by Buffalo Jack Rife, was befittingly incorporated within the boundaries of a national park. It is to be regretted that many of its pine and fir trees have been swept by devastating fire.

“Uncle Buff” was a big man, jovial by nature and radiating vitality and strength. He lived his life according to his own desire and died a rich man, not with the wealth of worldly possessions, but in more important human values. He was always cordially welcomed on his visits to Brown’s Park, where he would come to stay for some time on various ranches. I remember that he never failed to bring gifts to us children, packages he would call us aside to present unostentatiously. There would always be candy as well as various trinkets of interest to the individual recipients. On the last visit he paid .the Bassett Ranch, when we were no ‘longer children, he brought a box of candy. That was in 1909.

Recalling those childhood days, my memory lingers with nostalgic affection around PabloSprings. There a scraggy cedar tree grew in a Crevice of a high rock about a hundred feet up from the ease of ColdSpringsMountain. Where the mountain cut off abruptly, as if it had been brought to a sudden stop, a number of house-size boulders had tumbled into the meadow below.

Judge Conway noticed tiny moccasin tracks chipped into the surface of these slanting boulders and pointing in the direction of a cedar. He traced the babyish footprints, and discovered that a small scaffold had been built securely in the top branches of the tree. This was made of willow switches bound firmly with sinew. The top was sort of a blanket made from cedar bark carefully picked to threads that were woven with strands of plaited rabbit fur. Wrapped closely within these folds was the skeleton body of a small baby, supposedly an Indian papoose. It was known that the tribe of Utes then living in that part of the country buried their dead in trees.

When my brother Sam and I were old enough to climb over the rocks, Judge Conway took us to see this burial cradle, and explained the probable circumstances of its being there. We were tremendously impressed and regarded the spot as a sacred place. We loved to keep its secret, of which we spoke only to each other, and with great caution never to be overheard. We would not have dreamed of touching even the covering of that baby skeleton. But knowing it was there added a mysterious interest to our hours of play in that part of the ranch.

My father owned the PabloSprings and permitted white travelers to camp there. Some wickedly unscrupulous vandal must have discovered our little treasure and carried it away. When we learned of its disappearance, we mourned the loss as only children could. Our happy hours there were shadowed, and we found but one consolation, those little footprints chipped so deeply into the stone that not even time removed them.

During my grown-up years, I have often visited “our rocks,” and each time I feel a recurrence of that wave of sentiment experienced more than half a century, in the past. And again I am saddened as I look up at the twisted ancient cedar.

Beef on the hoof ! Vast, northward moving herds fromTexastook over all the range inWyomingand were on the march toColorado. On they came relentlessly, that moving sea of hides and horns, devouring and spreading like a gigantic flood.

A few homesteaders could offer no effective resistance to such powerful intruders—or could they? A faint hope stirred—and grew. Flanked on the south by LodoreCanyon and on the west by the Mormon colonists who were united believers in freedom for the common man and his rights to build a home, till the soil, and raise a family in peace, they formed a substantial bulwark for a people struggling to do likewise. While the Mormons were not expected to take part in a quarrel, the fact of their being there eliminated anxiety from that direction, and left only the north and east open for invasion.

When the herds reached Jack Gun’s “G” ranch and occupied all of BeaverBasin, he realized it was useless to hold on with his smaller outfit. He sold to the Middlesex Cattle Company, came into Brown’s Park and explained the situation. He could not survive and compete with such herds. Griff Edwards, acting upon Gun’s advice, trailed out and sold his cattle, but kept his ranches. By agreement with the Brown’s Park settlers he invested in sheep and placed his flocks to the north and east, literally fencing the range tributary to the park with sheep. This living fence held back the bulk of the invading cattle. The result of the occupancy by sheep was seen the following spring, when the range Middlesex had attempted to take over was found to be red with dead cattle carcasses. The overflow of cattle had been stopped in an expensive way for the owners. Then a representative of the Middlesex Company came into the park and tried to buy out the ranchers. They were unceasing in. their efforts, but failed to gain a footing. The people continued to hold their range, for they had built their homes there. The experience of Jack Gun served only to unite them more firmly in determination to stand pat.

Tim Kinney owned the only other cattle herd of consequence that had to be relinquished. His range was more distant, to the north, and. inWyoming. He could Move cattle into the Park to be fed in winter, but he never came for summer range. The Middlesex ran such gigantic herds that Kinney was compelled to abandon cattle business for sheep, and for many years the Kinney sheep herds were the largest inWyoming.

During the period of 1877 to 1888, the Middlesex employed an army of cowboys. Their .cattle were gathered into herds and moved from the summer ranges to the lower lands to winter, and in the spring back to the high mountains for the summer. This movement of cattle resulted in confusion at calving time. Often a cow was driven away and became separated from the new born calf she had left hidden in a quiet spot, to sleep at a safe distance from the herd. When the cattle were moved to a distant location many of the calves were left behind to starve, unless the cow could escape from the herd, elude the riders and return. A mother cow never forgets where she puts her calf and will return from a long distance to find it. If for many reasons the cow is unable to return and the little calf manages to dodge the coyotes and eke out a living, it becomes a “dogie,” a name given to orphan calves.

In the spring of 1883 I found a dogie that was left by the mother when the drive passed our ranch. This calf had wandered into our pasture and located itself near a clump of protective willows where it could nip the soft green grass.

But it required milk, it could not live entirely on grass, and was about at the folding-up stage when I found it. The wild little brute was full of fight, but I managed to get it to the house, over a distance of a mile, which took most of the day and a lot of relays.

After I fed the calf milk—a forced feeding—I went to Mother and told her about my find. When she saw the starved, tiny creature that had been branded and ear-marked at that tender age, she immediately made it clear to me that I could feed and care for the calf, but as soon as it could eat grass and grew strong enough to rustle its living without milk, I must “turn it on the range, for I knew very well that it belonged to Mr. Fisher.” He was general manager for the Middlesex at that time. The calf of the long hornedTexasbreed, covered with burrs and emaciated from starvation, was not a very promising looking critter.

With constant attention and kindness it learned to drink milk, and started to grow into something resembling a calf. The fact of ownership being definitely announced from the start caused much grief and secret planning on my part. I decided that I never would give the precious creature up—such a thing was unthinkable, for the little waif was as fond of me as I was of it.

I did not take my troubles to anyone, but decided to lay my case before Mr. Fisher, whose office was inRock Springs, a hundred miles away. So when Father went to this town for supplies, I begged to go with him. He consented and raised the question of who should care for the calf during my absence. I had arranged all that. Knowing how my brother and sister had referred to the wonderful calf as a “lousy, ugly little runt, unfit for coyote bait,” I would not give them the chance to let it starve nor ever over feed it. Father and mother were amazed at my wanting to go on this trip. I had refused to leave “Dixie Burr” for any reason longer than a few hours at a time during the six weeks since finding her.

I kept my reasons a deep secret, only confiding in Slippery Jim, one of the ranch hands, who had shown great understanding and had spoken encouragingly of my treasure, declaring in a most flattering manner: “This will be a big herd of cattle some day, good uns too, the kind that have sense and can find their own feed, not like them old Durhams. I don’t like ‘em no-how” (referring to the kind of cattle Father and Mother were raising).

So, by arrangement and with promises of extra chewing tobacco, and some candy for good measure, Slippery became caretaker of Dixie Burr during my ten days’ trip to and from town 133′ wagon. While inRock SpringsI, asked Father to take me to Mr

Fisher’s office, which he did without question, somewhat to my surprise. Father may have suspected my errand, but was plainly quite taken back when I boldly offered to swap one of his purebred, yearling steers for the common little scalawag. He could only be polite in presence of Mr. Fisher, so he gave his approval. Then Mr. Fisher said he would not accept such an unequal trade, but would gladly give the calf to me. He added that the calf would have died anyway, since it had no mother, and also declared that he was indebted to Father for many accommodations.

With great exaltation I returned home to exercise ownership of valuable live stock. My happiness was complete, actually owning, even in miniature aTexascow, which, according to Slippery’s opinion meant something of indescribable value.

My childish love and affection became centered on that mite •of tangled hair and bone, which soon possessed a private corral and shed, built by the combined efforts of Slippery and me. This was a work of art, and proudly exhibited to all corners. I disregarded Mother’s amused and mildly disapproving attitude. It was I who slept in the little bedroom adjoining the calf’s shelter, and it did not show from the front of the house—that is, not much. Almost at once I had become sole occupant of what my sister termed “a combination calfshed and bedroom.” She promptly moved to other quarters, for some reason beyond by comprehension. When Dixie Burr was a yearling and showing unmistakable signs of being a true “scalawag,” she was turned out in the pasture with other cattle. During the year Mr. Fisher had resigned as general manager of the Middlesex Cattle Company, and another man held the position.

The new manager had been informed by Mr. Fisher of the ownership of that certain yearling bearing the company’s brand. But there were many cowpunchers in an outfit of the size owned by this company, who could not possibly have this information. It was customary to ride through pastures among cattle, inspecting brands for any stock belonging in the show-up, which, as often happened, might have slipped through a fence into the enclosure. I was on the job when the round-up neared our ranch, for my Dixie Burr still bore the Two Bar brand. Such brand being the only means of identification, some uninformed puncher could easily make the mistake of driving my pet away. When I supposed all was well, as the herd had been started on, I went home.

The Bassett ranches contained hundreds of acres stretched along the foot hills out of sight of the home buildings. It was my habit to drive Dixie Burr to the house each night. When I rode to the pasture for that purpose, she was not there. Upon careful examination of tracks at the gate, I knew she had been driven away. It was too late to follow the herd, so I went back to the house. I found Slippery and told him what had happened. He seemed as hurt as I was. We pow-wowed for a time, then he said, “git out and find that herd and stay on the job ’til you ride it from end to end. Yore dogie is there, so wash the tear tracks of e’n yore face, git to bed, and be ariden at the crack o’ day.”

I did just that, finding the herd already on its way, and a rider bringing up the drag, lashing my Dixie Burr with a rawhide rope. I went berserk, “hog wild,” and flew at him in outraged fury. Before he noticed my wild intent, I began whipping him over the head with my quirt. Evidently he was not feeling too good himself. My slashing him over the head and face turned him plum sour, and he took on the work of properly educating and chastising me. I must have acted somewhat like a bear trap, jumpy and vicious. As I look upon the incident now, I can scarcely blame him, for what he did. He refused to let me take the calf, which in a sense was right, because it bore only the brand of the Middlesex Company. I knew the calf was mine, and fought with the intensity born of that knowledge. I was outraged, and each minute more terror stricken lest this man, who seemed to me the meanest of brutes, would be able to hold my calf, that I might be losing Dixie Burr forever. He must have finally gone too far in the enforcing of his authority. Eventually the onlookers became restive.

Among the cowhands gathered around to watch the fracas, was Joe Martin, aTexaspuncher, repping for himself and his neighbors, to gather cattle strayed from theBear Riverrange. At the start he was merely a disinterested spectator, concerned only in seeing what would happen as a result of this misunderstanding between Roark, the foreman of the Middlesex outfit, the man I had quirted, and myself. Finally Joe Martin spoke. “Why not just let the kid take the calf and settle the ownership later. It’s evident the calf and,the girl know each other.” That remark touched off the fireworks. The foreman went for his gun, saying, “You sonof-a __________, who asked for your advice ?” Joe was a live hand and he beat the foreman to the draw. Roark was just a would-be gunman anyway, so Joe took his gun. Joe did not seem a bit excited. He laid his weapon aside with Roark’s gun; and got ready for the fight. These men were about equal in size and age. The fight began fast, with furious blows. For a while I was uncertain which way the victory would go, but Joe came on faster than ever, and soon the foreman was down and out for the final count.

I jumped off my pony and started to kick him. Joe grabbed me by the arm, and said : “Shame on you, Ann, that’s cowardly. Don’t you know you should never jump on a man when he is down?” Those, words brought me up standing, and I have never forgotten them. “Never jump on a man when he is’ down.”

I took my dogie calf, drove it home and kept the whole affair to myself. When mother asked me where I had been, I simply said that I had been up in the pasture getting Dixie Burr. I had already curried my horse and cleaned away the sweat stains just as I had been taught to do by Slippery and his “book of knowledge.” When I got Slippery off alone, I told him the facts. He muttered, more to himself than to me, “I’ll do something about that brand.” This gave me an idea. It could not be erased like the letters and numbers we placed on our slates, but there was nothing to prevent me from adding a few more marks to those already on the calf. After considering the matter for some time, the idea took a definite form and I favored it.

When I had made up my mind, I thought it best to keep the decision to myself, and did not tell Slippery, for, child though I was, I understood what changing of brands meant. I knew what the consequences might be, for such acts were strictly outside range ethics in Brown’s Park, yet I had to protect Dixie Burr.

A few days after I had reached the decision that something drastic must be done about the brand, I took her into an out of the way place, up a draw, and tied her tight. While I hated to hurt her, I felt it was much better than to have her driven away and abused, as I had already witnessed. I built a fire and put a branding ring in it. When the ring was white hot I made the Two Bars into a pig-pen brand by adding two more lines at right angles to the bars.

Then I left Dixie Burr where she would be undisturbed while the new burns healed into scars and two more bars. The nearby spring which was seldom visited would provide water for her, the grass grew thick and tall, and the air was refreshingly cool. My conscience must have wakened, for as I was riding away I commenced to feel the inclination .to tell somebody. This feeling deepened to an urge that caused me, a few hours later, to confide what I had done to my brother, Sam. He at once became a fellow conspirator. He was eleven, I eight years old, two youngsters who were white for fear of what mother would say and do if she discovered what I had done.

We finally decided it would be best to remove the calf to our summer, place in ZenobiaBasin, about a dozen miles from the home ranch. Father was doing some building and mother readily gave permission for us to “visit father.” A very early start was required to get Dixie Burr from her hiding place unseen by anybody on the ranch. We were out by streak o’ day. But the calf was decidedly stubborn and hard to drive. We had only reached the “Hogback” by sundown, and were still several miles from our goal. We tied Dixie Burr securely to a tree and built a fire at some little distance, to frighten off mountain lions. Then we left her or the night and rode on to father’s camp. He suspected nothing ut of the ordinary. And when we caught our horses the next morning there was nothing unusual in that act, so we got away without questioning. We moved Dixie Burr safely into Zenobia 3asin, and established her as far from the cabin and father as possible. Father never did pay much attention to the cattle. We were safe for the present.

Roark of the Middlesex was a stranger to the people of 3rown’s Park, and he undoubtedly wanted to make a good showing with his company. He developed a grudge against the granger :lass in our• section after he took the beating from Joe Martin in ;he presence of the cow punchers at the roundup. This had added nothing to his prestige. He had a score to settle and his resentment grew. His secret malice was directed toward all grangers but my Gamily in particular. It should be remembered, none of them had heard even a whisper about the Martin-Roark fight.

Roark had a habit of riding over the settler’s ranges when owners were engaged elsewhere. He never showed up to talk matters over, just coyoted through the brush. After Father left the Basin, Roark began to snoop around. He found Dixie Burr. The job I had done was a sloppy imitation of brand blotting. (Me heap savy now). When he found the calf with the brand so obviously changed, he lit out on horse back, making hot tracks to Hahn’s Peak, the county seat of Routt County, considerably over a hundred miles from Zenobia Basin. He swore out warrants of arrest for everyone in Brown’s Park but Father, who was one of the CountyCommissioners and was attending a board meeting at the county seat. Roark made no other exceptions in his wholesale arrests. He included men and women alike.

Sam Walker, of Hayden, was sheriff at the time. He came to the Park with his bundle of warrants, and was treated as any guest would have been. But the serving of warrants was received with amazement. A roving Englishman, who roamed the world seeking enjoyment in strange or isolated spots, happened to be in the Park at the time. He had build himself a cabin and shared the life without being a real part of the community. He was astounded when presented with his warrant, and hadn’t the least idea what it meant. That most innocent and law-abiding lady, Mrs. Sears, viewed hers with a mingling of astonishment and consternation.

However, all the recipients of those, warrants reacted as any good citizens naturally would, and appeared in court when the case was called for hearing. This was immediately dismissed for lack of evidence. Its instigator may have foreseen this conclusion, but a deeper purpose, no doubt, lay behind his move, a hope to discourage the occupants of the Park remaining there.

As a result of my child efforts to protect a cherished pet from brutality, Brown’s Park was branded as a home for rustlers, and the lying rumor was widely circulated that “no good can come from Brown’s Park.”

The Middlesex were not successful in their hope-for grab. They sold out to Ed Rife. He at once stocked the range with sheep, and small cow outfits adjoining lived in peace. This state of serenity continued for many years, or until the Haley Two-Bar commenced to harrass them from the East.

“Scalawag” though she was, Dixie Burr continued to firmly hold her position in my regard, and I kept her until she died of old age, still bearing her scars and two bars.

When haying time drew near, the summer of 1884, father sent a wagon toRock Springsfor hands. With the crew of haymakers that came to the ranch was Elza Lay, a well bred appearing young fellow with a winning smile and perfect manners. He was a capable workman, strong and active, with a gentle good-nature that won the hearts of old and young alike. Elza remained on the ranch for a year and he was the only young easterner who was never bitten by the “cowboy bug.”

Young men by the score came to the western ranches. At one time father had for adjustment aClarkand a Converse, sons of the well known railroad magnates, boys that had gotten out from under parental control by having too much money to spend. They were all good boys, but none were as generally liked as Elza Lay. When the year was up he went back toRock Springs. Not long afterward rumor circulated, that he had joined forces with Butch Cassidy, and that they were carrying on a series of bank and train robberies.

Elza and Butch returned to Brown’s Park at times, but we did not pry into affairs concerning their private lives, for we were not the instigators of the short cut to riches Elza was taking, and we did not channel the course he had set.

Friendly relations between the Brown’s Parkers and the bank robbers caused a great deal of comment. The question has frequently been asked “How could a people permit themselves to harbor committers of crime without becoming involved in the deals.” The answer is simple. We were in a constant struggle to protect our own interests on the range where our living was at stake. Bank robbers were not a menace to personal interests, and Ive had no reason to carry the ball for the banks and trains. We had a fair sized job to do in itself. Law officers were elected and paid by the taxpayers to assume jurisdiction over legal matters of the country.

We had accepted Elza Lay as our friend. And friendship among those youthful pioneers was no light bond. Because he had with youthful foolhardiness stepped into the limelight of crime, seemed insufficient reason to desert him. That breaking of the raw could not contaminate us, unless we permitted it to do so. And we believed that possibly, given time, true friendship might become a substitute for the excitement of robbery. This was not a futile gesture. In the end, its purpose was accomplished.

The older men and women among our neighbors, wiser in experience, were not so confident of the ultimate reformation of Elza Lay. They quite justifiably feared the structure of illegal acts he was building around himself would forever cut him off from reliable contracts, or a settled life. But youth ignored the protesting of the venerables, and “fanned” on for Elza whenever he appeared.

A crowd of young people arrived fromUtahto put up hay on the Hoy meadows simultaneously with one of Elza’s secret visits. We at once planned a dance with him as special guest, at the Harry Hoy ranch. There Elza was introduced to a beautiful brunette, a girl of irreproachable background. She was the belle of the evening, and rightly so. They were spontaneously drawn to each other, and were a pair mighty good to look at. The most was made of those few hours in each other’s presence. Although Elza was playing with death, that uncertainty of that condition was no preventive of love. And confident youth ignored the debatable phases of the situation.

We were filled with enthusiasm and rushed home with eagerness to share the news with father. He experienced no such feeling of elation. Instead he looked at us with an expression of sadness shadowing his face. We were shocked when he turned away without speaking, to walk slowly to his room, closing the door softly behind him. We knew for what father had closed himself into that seclusion, but we were too pitifully young and thoughtless to understand why he thought prayer was called for in a situation we found so happily exciting.

Elza, whom we liked so much, had seemingly found a girl to , share his loneliness. She appeared to be equally drawn to him. But father’s attitude altered our plans. Instead of sheltering him at our house, we put him up at the schoolhouse, over the hill and out of sight of the home buildings.

I rode down to the Hoy Ranch on pretense of bringing her to my home, took Mabel on over to the schoolhouse for a second meeting with Elza. •He confided to her the details of his way of life. However, she might secretly deplore these, there was no question of the strength of her newly inspired feeling for him.

And she did not debate her willingness to share his needless hardships. There was a moon to influence the situation, I remember, and seemingly Love had power “to conquer all things.” However, his love for pretty, brunette Mabel was not sufficient power to change Elza’s desire for the ways which mean a hunted life—not until a long time afterward.

With. hope and confidence Mabel sealed her mind against anxiety and all kindred forebodings. Cheerfully she planned a future with Elza Lay. Burdened by the conflict of opposing opinions, all the influences of her early experiences and training, she thought out her future course for herself.

Elza returned to his hideout at the Big Springs in Bear RiverCanyon, or “Yampa,” as the Indians called it, when the haying ended and Mabel was obliged to go home. She stole away and swam her horse across theGreen Riverat the Gorge to see him again, and form final plans. Then Mabel searched until she found a minister courageous enough to swim that swirling stream on horseback, with her. On a lonely mountainside, Mabel and Elza were solemnly married by that daring and dripping clergyman. Immediately after the ceremony was performed, I got on my horse and rode for home. If anyone there should discover where I had been, there would be a considerable rumpus.

The two young people went on their way, journeying toward their ultimate destiny, as some said, “Braving hell and high water.”

Early one morning about two years later, Sam and I were at the corral in ZenobiaBasin, slapping a bronc around. We heard a whistle we both instantly recognized, coining from some spot among the deep, rocky caverns not far distant. Sam leaped to attention and sent me scampering to the house with an urgent request for corral poles. I was to ask the men working for us to go out and cut these needed poles at a place several miles from the cabin. When the wood choppers were safely out of the way, we gave the signal and Elza joined us.

He was still following the double path that kept him constantly at hair-trigger attention. At that moment the Law was hot on his trail, spurring him to great and greater speed to evade them. While we ate lunch he explained some unfinished business he wanted us to take care of for him. He had twenty thousand dollars in currency hidden away. This was in a cleverly concealed place near Powder Springs, about 40 miles from. Brown’s Park.

He had made a perfect map of the location, which he gave to us with’ minute directions to be followed, should it become necessary for us to lift his cache. We were then instructed what to do with the money if he should meet with serious accident, be locked up, or killed. However, if we heard from him within a year, and he was at large, that would release us from the man-sized job of finding and forwarding the money to his mother, whose address he had given us.

We traded horses with Elza and he rode away from Zenobia basin on a fresh mount. Eight months went by before Sam received a letter from him. That letter was mailed inNevada, and Tillie it did not mention money matters, we knew he must be out nd on his own, able to look after his affairs. This relieved us of a great responsibility, and we did not go to Powder Springs.

Dishonest financiers had robbed Elza Lay’s widowed mother of an inheritance. His lust for vengeance started Elza on his career of crime. This neither remedied the evil. nor worked any change in conditions, outside of altering his own life into one of shame and misery. He lost incalculable time, from his best years end brought untold sorrow and anxiety to his family before he made a fresh beginning. When that change was accomplished, he field a good position inSouthern Californiaand proved himself o be the possessor of sterling qualities. He educated his children, who became successful and respected citizens.

Butch Cassidy’s name was associated with Elza Lay’s, and Cassidy also is concerned with these old Brown’s Park memories, though the story I can relate of him differs, particularly in its ending, from that of Elza.

During the year 1886, Charley Crouse of the Park, and Ken Hatch of Vernal,Utah, matched a race between Hatch’s black nare and a sorrel gelding belonging to Crouse. This race was run m an old Indian track on one of the Valentine Hoy ranches. Racing fans may assemble in greater numbers at Churchill Downs, out never could they have gathered at spur of keener interest and excitement than did those who then assembled in Brown’s Park. Betting ran high and the atmosphere was taut.

When the thoroughbred gelding appeared on the track, he was ridden by a slender, brown-haired young fellow of about nineteen years. Small for his age he was a quiet, unobtrusive chap. Hearing rumors of this projected horse race, he had come to Crouse’s ranch a few days previously. Crouse had sized him up with favor and hired him as jockey. And’ he rode the Brown’s Park horse to a glorious victory. We were tremendously proud of that racer, he not only could run, but he was a handsome animal. His rider was hailed with enthusiastic acclaim. He modestly told us his name was Ed Cassidy. Later he became widely known as “Butch” Cassidy, outlaw.

A dancing party was given at the Charles Allen Ranch to celebrate the winning of the race. The youthful jockey stabled the horse, joined us at supper, then went quietly to bed, without sharing in the jubilant merrymaking that went on until dawn streaked the sky.

He continued to work for Charley Crouse for a year, then went away. • He was always well mannered. I never saw Butch Cassidy drunk nor wearing a gun—in sight. I have no• personal knowledge of any of his deeds of outlawry, but I do know that he never lived in the Park after he was “wanted” by the law. Occasionally he came that way, stopping for a meal, or over night, at different ranches. But he took no part in the social life, nor ever attended a party after that which followed the race. Within a few years tales came back to us of his train and bank robberies.

Cassidy had not harmed nor otherwise bothered the people of our neighborhood. If the law officers wanted him, it was their place to take him, not ours. But if the Law wished to come into our country and make such an arrest, not one hand would have been raised to protect an outlaw.

Everyone knew there was a large reward offered for the capture of Butch, dead or alive. I AM PROUD TO SAY NOT ONE OF US WANTED THAT KIND OF MONEY! We had no commendation nor excuse for his “profession,” but we knew that his life was an unfortunate one, a hard, unhappy existence.

That is what I personally know of the notorious Butch Cassidy —whose exploits are a favorite topic of all the old liars, young liars and damn liars in the northwest, southwest, and as far away asSouth America, some of whom claimed either to have killed him or to have seen him die.. If anyone knows how Butch Cassidy met death, be sure they have never told.

He never robbed anybody in the Park, he appeared there only when of necessity, passing fromUtahtoWyoming. He was often seen in Baggs and otherWyomingtowns, and in Vernal,Utah, according to fairly well authenticated reports. Why was he not taken into custody by the law, in any of these places? And why were those towns not censured for sheltering him ?

If an outlaw is at some time in a certain community, is that sound reason for widespread condemnation of all the inhabitants of that section’

Brown’s Park, because of its location geographically, was a natural stopping place for regular travelers of the country and for strangers. We had no padlocks on our doors and the latch string hung outside. To place money value on a meal was never done. If anyone arrived at mealtime, he was naturally supposed to eat, just as any One of us would do, if we came to a ranch at such an hour. It was not expected that travelers should furnish their genealogy and past history when they appeared at the Park. People of all types came and went in the ordinary transaction of their business. On the whole, we kept our noses out of the affairs of other people as well as most frontier communities did.

I knew several of the so-called “Badmen.” Some of them were bad. That is, they were criminals, wanted to be tough and were tough. They were not welcome in our neighborhood, yet they were treated with courtesy and fed, as we would any other human being who came there. Men like Cassidy and Elza Lay were decidedly not of this type.

It is my firm belief, which I know is shared by many others, that the utmost bad taste and ingratitude—to state it mildly—were shown by certain men who came later to Brown’s Park. These men were sheltered in our homes, treated in friendly manner, were fed and cared for, and went away as they came, unquestioned. They sailed under false colors, disguised their purpose, and misrepresented their motives in coming there, later writing and publishing what purported to be an authentic and general history of the Park. This supposedly true description of people and events was compiled without regard for truth, correct dates or historical accuracy on any point. Certainly more respect is due men of the type of Butch Cassidy and Elza Lay, who were frankly what they were and carried on no underhand schemes, than those bearers of false tales. These self-elected chroniclers of events, with self-authorized judgment, acquitted a hired assassin who was legally convicted and hanged for the proven murder of an innocent boy. And those writers place a character of that type on a pedestal and shout “Glory, glory,” while they class hospitable, law-abiding citizens as criminals, people whose food they have eaten.

Butch Cassidy and Elza Lay were known to have often made headquarters in Vernal,Utah, the home of Super-Man Sheriff Pope. Elza married one of the girls of Pope’s “home town.” It is a well known fact that Pope never arrested either of these men, whom he knew personally. According to history which has been satisfactorily authenticated, Cassidy and Lay were notorious bank and train robbers, successful at obtaining large sums of money by that method. Is their success the answer to this failure to effect their capture ? Is that the reason it was said that Butch had “just stepped out of, the door,” when Sheriff Pope was supposed to have attempted such an arrest ? Nearly every locality in the west that I have seen or visited has characters about whom have been woven a tale that has been told and retold, added to with each telling until the character and his or her exploits exceed those of fiction thrillers in luridness. These characters, if by some strange freak of unknown Powers, were brought face to face with their fiction counterparts, would not know themselves. If the shades of Jesse James, Bill Hickok, Billy the Kid, or Butch Cassidy should emerge from the shadows, be able to see what I have seen, hear what I have heard, and read what I have read, I am sure their comments would be interesting—possibly unprintable !

Among the early excitements in Brown’s Park was the occasion of a certain Election Day. At that time, 1884, to be exact, “the insane, slaves, and women” were not permitted to vote in the State of Colorado. For that reason a number of the women of Brown’s Park, whose husbands were Coloradovoters, retained ownership of property in nearby Wyoming, holding their right of franchise there. My mother owned property inRock Springs, which included her in the number ofWyoming voters. This group of women left Brown’s Park in a three-seated buckboard in plenty of time to arrive for the Election, leaving their children in the care of the fathers.

Conforming to law, the election judges appointed their clerks, andColoradovoting began at seven o’clock, A. M. The day dragged toward noon. All Republicans had respectfully cast their votes and retired to the shade of the big cottonwood beside the schoolhouse, to discuss the weather.

TheNorth Carolina”Tar Heels” rode up, all six together, to vote Democratic: That was a sensation. Not pleasant. Six Democratic votes in that traditionally Republican precinct was scandal unholy. The Judges of the all-Republican Election Board went into immediate conference and artfully appointed another clerk, a Democrat, to sit around and look reliable while any ballots which did not meet the dignity of the precinct could be properly taken care of. Long Horn Thompson was selected. Being a Texan, Thompson didn’t regard elections with any respect, and had little- consideration for the law he mostly contrived to avoid. He was the ideal legal fill-in.

When J. S. Hoy, one of the judges, counted the votes he found a total of fourteen, six of these Democratic. That situation demanded action. Hoy had the abilities of a “fixer.” He promptly cast votes for—several Civil War veterans who had been dead five years, or longer. When another judge timorously objected, citing legal regulations, he was won over by Hoy’s plea.

“Bassett,” Hoy said solemnly, “would you desert your comrades by denying them the right to vote l Men you fought with, side by side, to preserve theUnion’” Bassett wouldn’t.

At three o’clock in the morning after the election, Long Horn Thompson packed the ballot box on his grey mule and started for Hahn’s Peak, one hundred and twenty miles ahead—to make official delivery of the precious cargo.

A day or so later Allen Hurd came over the Boon Trail fromSnake Riverand reported news of poignant interest. He had seen a greyish-white mule with a pack roped on, straying along the ridge in east Boon Draw, thirty miles to eastward of Brown’s Park.

That information brought the voters to high tension. No doubt Long Horn had met with foul play, perhaps murder. And his mule was wandering around with a precious pack of Republican ballots on his back—a real tragedy. The most important consideration was the recovery of the ballot box and getting it to the County Seat, and contents counted, for that was a presidential election. Solving the fate of Long Horn could wait.

As soon as they could slap saddles on their horses, the voters in a body—with the exception of the Gettysburgers—took up the chase. Fathers hadn’t a backward glance for the offspring left in their care. The children were abandoned to the supervision of Miss Ada Higgins, the newly arrived teacher fromSt. Paul. Frightened at being left alone, with such responsibility, and in a county infested with Indians and goodness-knew what outlaws, Miss Higgins appealed to young Bertie Kirby, a guest on the Edwards Ranch.

Sir Bertie was gallant and instant with assurance that he would protect her from wild Indians and outlaws, or any other wild things —with the exception of the children. At us he gazed with doubt.

True, Sir Bertie had killed, without turning a hair, stampeded elephants inSouth Africa. Also he had spent some time in the wilds ofIndia. But the children of Brown’s Park had him buffaloed : the teacher was well guarded, but the youngsters were mostly on their own.

Came the moment when the buckboard returning fromRock Springscame ’round the bend. All three seats were crowded with mothers attired in town finery, long veils streaming to the breeze, while the spirited team pranced to their home barn. The women bounced to the ground, each demanding : “Where is your father ”

The wide-eyed bunch of youngsters stared back, speechless, until Sam Bassett stopped jumping his pony over a hurdle made from kitchen chairs (a trick he had learned from Sir Bertie) and replied: “Gone to hunt the ballot box.”

The truth was instantaneously clear to the women. What could they expect of men, helpless in any emergency never previously encountered, and which had to do with anything outside their previous experience. Compressing their lips, these dauntless women, who had successfully exercised their rights of citizenship, addressed themselves to a reorganization of their demoralized households. Let their husbands go cavorting over the country hunting the ballot box they hadn’t had any better sense than to lose, their wives would attend to business and keep home and ranch affairs in line unaided.

The same wives who had sense enough to vote where ballot boxes weren’t sent around the country mule-back.

Meantime the straying animal had been rounded up, precious pack unharmed. It developed that Long Horn had spied a band of wild horses. These attracted him greatly. Forgetful of the obligation of his official duties, he tied the mule to a cedar tree, and took out after the horses. When said mule became hungry, he broke loose and went on a grass hunt.

That Brown’s Park ballot box reached Hahn’s Peak only five days behind schedule. It was in time to decide the tied vote for CountySuperintendentof Schools. A young widow had received all the votes cast in the Park—notably, a total of twenty!

One sluggish summer afternoon when I was thirteen, brother Sam and I were riding slowly along a cow trail on theGreen Riverslope, in ZenobiaBasin. A dazzling glow lay over the country, hurting your eyes if you gazed too long at one spot. We blinked sleepily, speaking as little as possible, while our horses loafed drowsily along. Suddenly they threw up their heads and looked around uneasily. They had caught the scent of something unpleasant.

My eyes instantly popped wide open. And there, in the open flat at the foot of the hovering mountain, two half-grown bear cubs were tumbling about in clumsy play. They were the “silver tips” of the grizzly family, and it was pure joy to watch their awkward antics. They cuffed each other, rolling over like furry balls, they were up and peeping about under the edges of rocks for palatable crickets, and they were completely unaware of the two amused watchers, for the light wind came from the opposite direction.

Ever since I saw my first bear cub I had wanted one for a pet. Before Sam broke from his lethargy enough to shout, I was headed in a dead run toward the unsuspecting cubs. In much less time than it takes to relate I had roped one of the cubs. The instant the loop fell around the chubby little body, a loud crashing advanced down the mountain side.

We heard an angry growl, and lurching down the steep grade came the mother bear, threatening murder. I dug my spurs into the frantic horse’s sides and fumbled crazily for the rope that was in a firm “tie down.”

Sam ran around helplessly, trying to give me his pocket knife to’ cut the rope that snared the cub, for he had no gun. The other two cowboys with whom we were circling came at a gallop. They shouted with all the power of their voices, and shot again and again to frighten the angry bear. But that crazed mother was not to be turned by fright. My poor horse was going mad. He plunged and reared, until I was finally thrown clear. The bear ignored me as I scrambled hurriedly to a scrubby pinon and to a safe perch. I turned toward the scene below in time to see the mountainous form raise her huge paw. and strike. My gallant rope horse slumped to the ground, dead before the cowboys could get within shooting range of the bear. Even when they did reach her, it was no easy matter to kill the thick-skinned creature with a colts-45 while the horses bucked in a frantic determination away from that inferno dominated by the infuriated grizzly.

When the bear rolled over dead, Mack, one of the cowboys, rode up to the shivering cub and leaned over to cut the rope by which it was still held to the dead horse. That small bear had enough of man, and ran, rolling over and over in his haste to get into the tall timber.

Silently the boys removed my saddle from the dead horse’s body. Every move was made deliberately, and with the same deliberation Mack walked over and pulled me, stiff and scared, down from my cramped position.

He stared at me sternly. “Come out of there, you little hellion. I am going to give you the Hain’ your father has been puttin’ off years too long.” He jerked me around toward my horse. “See that poor dead horse over yonder ? Well, that’s what I’m lickin’ you for.”

I remember that well! Old Mack was long on strength and short on patience. I got the damnedest shaking a kid ever got, to say nothing of a few well placed smacks from a big pair of gauntlets. Then Mac bounced me to the back of his rough gaited horse and trotted all the way to camp.

That three mile ride was a silent one. I perched miserably behind the man who had so thoroughly punished me, subdued for one day at least.

As we rode up to the summer camp where two ranch hands were building a new corral, they looked at the saddle, then at me : “What’s up ?” they asked. The cowboys never did condescend to answer questions asked by lowly ranch hands, and Sam merely said : “Ask Ann.”

I slid to the ground and the cowboys hung my battered saddle on a peg, the still silent group rode away, Sam with them.

When the last horse had swished its tail around a clump of trees at the bend, I ran toward the two men digging post holes and blurted out the miserable story, ending with the entreaty : “Please go bury my horse, and the bear, too. And maybe you might just take along a hunk of fresh meat for the cubs.”

The men worked hard and long and really did a bang-up job of burying my horse, but they dug a hole only half large enough for the enormous bear,

That night when the tired cowpunchers had made their wet way back to the summer ranch, through a downpour of rain, Mack, the one who had taken the initiative from the first, said : “Ann, we’ll fix your saddle, but you’re goin’ back to the home ranch. If we ever see you carryin’ a rope again, you’ll get another lickin’. You can tell your father or not, just as you like. We’d rather not talk about it any more.”

While that unusually long speech was going on I watched, fascinated, as the water dripped in a string of brilliants from the slouch of his big hat. I had nothing to say. Sam went with me on the fourteen mile hike to the home ranch. I timidly broke the silence. “You tell the folks, Sam. I’ll keep quiet this time.”

“What do you want me to tell them ?” he said.

“Oh, I donno. Maybe we better not tell about the horse getting killed.”

“You got plenty of saddle horses,Milowon’t be missed for a long time,” he commented. We rode the rest of the way home with Sam rehearsing what lie was going to say, and I deep in gloom, mightily sorry for what had happened.

I felt even worse when my father exclaimed: “Thank God Ann was saved !,” after he heard what Sam had to tell. I thought I could name a certain cowboy who would rather see that good young saddle horse alive.

After mother passed away, Aunty Thompson kept house for us. She and “Long-horn” her husband, moved over from their ranch, and we took their cattle on Bassett range, She was a woman of excellent character and unusual capabilities. A registered nurse, she had originally come west with her mother to nurse her half-brother. He had received arrow wounds while scouting for Thorn-berg’s troops. When he recovered, she stayed on as an army nurse. She married Long-horn Thompson; and they came into Brown’s Park after the arrival of my family.

With all her common sense and abilities, Aunty Thompson could exert no restraint on my turbulent nature. About a year after mother’s passing away, I commenced to be a serious problem to my father. An Eastern college man, although wise in many ways, he was too tender and kindhearted to control a girl of my temperament. Even the faintest suggestion of a big stick wielded at the proper time, hurt his gentle soul. Nevertheless, it would have been a helpful initiation to an inflammable thunderbolt, dictatorially charging over all obstructions. I was a child possessing the energy of young wild things in the open, developing as a nature-child, and occupied chiefly with outdoors work and play on a cattle ranch in a primitive west. I was about as responsive to father’s idea of ‘”rule by love alone” as a fragment .of granite on a winter morning. Father realized that he must attempt to tame or control this girl-child of his who was, by instinct, a cross between aTexascowpuncher and a Ute Indian.

The time had come for me to be put in school, and under some shadow of discipline. It was fortunate that we had such an understanding friend, Tim Kinney, and at Mr. Kinney ‘s suggestion, Father decided to send me to a Catholic convent inSalt Lake City,Utah. I took to the idea like a duck to water. It would be another new and thrilling adventure. A journey on the railroad would be included and I would have my first glimpse of a city. I could scarcely wait for the time to come when I should start. The hundred mile trip by buckboard and team from the ranch, to the railroad was old and tame stuff, but now I was to be whirled away on a new pilgrimage of investigation which carried a special glamour.

Father and Aunty Thompson gave me wise counsel. They told me exactly what to do on the train. She gave me special and detailed instructions regarding the behaviour of a “lady” while traveling. I remember how primly I sat in my seat with my lips pressed firmly together, looking neither to the right nor left, as viewing with wonder and interest the scenes of the outdoors that appeared to flow past the car windows.

In due time I arrived inSalt Lake City, where I was met at the station by the Sisters regularly assigned to that duty. We bundled into a carriage, and were driven to the convent by Pat, the gardener. I stared with amazement at the crowded city streets, the towering buildings, and the horse cars pulling their human freight up and down through the traffic. The pavements and the store windows displayed a variety of articles exceeding anything I had ever imagined. And finally, I saw the brick building set against smooth lawns, shapely trees, and with front and sides almost completely covered with Boston ivy. When our coach came to a halt, I was quietly ushered into a spacious waiting room to be approved by the Sister Superior, a dignified woman from whom radiated the authority and responsibility given into her hands for the guidance and sheltering of just such little girls as I.

I was tabulated and turned out among four hundred girls of every age and size, from tots to twenties. I had not realized there could be so many girls in just one world, and all of them apparently doing something that fitted into a part of this great pageant that seemed to be put on for my special entertainment. I felt something likeAlicein Wonderland, finding myself surrounded by so many mysteries, where every possible wish was gratified without the trouble of thinking for one’s self.

Every action was prearranged, even the play was planned. The orderly and clean grounds had a tennis court and a croquet plot, with rackets and mallets neatly, laid out, and a young, soft-voiced sister to instruct and supervise. Our clothing was beautifully pressed and placed ready to wear. I was more than a little proud of myself, done up in a new uniform, without a trace of fertilizer to detract from its spotlessness. And what thrilling sensations I experienced listening for those innumerable bells to ring!

For me that school was the ever-changing dress rehearsal of an amusing drama, becoming more exciting with every change. Be it Benediction, Mass, or class, it was all absorbing entertainment, thoroughly enjoyed and eagerly looked forward to. I went floating around in a maze of fun, regularly pranced off to a quiet dining hall, where we were served with mountains of wholesome food, to be eaten leisurely while listening to strains of soft music. That music was like the stirring of birdwings in the air about us. True, there were some lines to be gone over, and classroom exercises, all of which I took in my stride,, and swallowed as a routine part of this never-ending show.

At the slightest symptoms of illness or fatigue we were gently whisked away to another part of this endless building, to the infirmary. There you were tucked into a snowy bed and carefully watched over by one of those faithful “Sisters,” who administered to every need. It was wonderful to loll there and be served with a tray at meal time. I had never heard of such care. The contrast to my ranch life was overwhelming.

When at home, if one got droopy, they were dosed with sagebrush tea and castor oil, then turned loose to fend for themselves. With disdain and contempt for any suggestion of ill health, I would trot out to the corral, rope a bronco, pull him this way and that to wear him down a bit before trying to put on the blindfold and anchor the saddle. Then to go to it and top him off, sometimes getting well “topped off” myself. In that case I scrambled up, brushed off some (not too much) dust from my person, and set off, to round up

the drifting horse and saddle. Catching him, I’d start all over again, until that particular bronc was “broke” to be ridden without spills. In my experience of living on a ranch one had to think fast to dodge flying feet and flaying horns, and to avoid getting kicked in the belly by a wild calf at branding time. A fella sure had to have the right caliber of insides to ignore cuts and bruises, or now and then a fractured bone. That was my real life, to be lived in earnest. My convent experiences were a delightful interlude, during which I went sailing around on clouds of beauty and ease.

Not until twenty years later did I realize that I was being disciplined and educated for the finer things of life by those masterful sisters, who are adroit in the shaping and building of a child’s character and future. Had I been managed in any other way, and for a moment realized this was control in ‘its strictest sense, I would have snorted like a wild mustang and bolted for the home range. This introduction to training was so skillful it never occurred to me that I was being schooled, and I was eager to return each year to absorb more of the luxuries. With a deep sense of obligation I wanted to please those kind sisters, and did everything expected of me. I swaggered home triumphant, for I had won a medal for good conduct. The cowboys shook their heads, and declared “you must of mavericked it.” Through the years of my lumpy career, wherever I see a Catholic sister of any order I experience a wave of genuine gratitude for those holy women and the goodness of their earnest lives. They tried patiently to heave some brand of improvement on a child, who, by the most elastic kind of imagination, could not be called “sweet little girl.”

On an earlier page I referred to Slippery Jim. He fills a definite and important niche in all memories of those old days on the Bassett Ranch. He came to live with us when I was a baby, and stuck.

Being a left-over Guerrilla of the Civil War, he probably was well fitted to cope with the twin job of making a hand around the ranch and simultaneously attempting to reconstruct my indecorous conduct.

Slippery was tall, well over six feet, his long body topped by a sandy-haired head that prominently displayed a hooked nose. A thin mustache straggled across the upper lip of a firm mouth that rarely smiled. He had a notably clean appearance, but there was nothing of humor or geniality in his expression. He had a deep sense of responsibility, and stood for back talk from nobody. Bu it even when he was speaking with force, I did not fear him, for I understood he did not mean half of what he was saying.

Nothing slipped by Slippery. He would fix me with a cold eye. Then he would slice a generous quid of “Horse Shoe” plug, lick the razor sharp blade of his hunting knife, and calmly give forth regarding some supposedly secret escapade of my own. He would pour out words with force and effective irony.

Finally a perfect kick-off came, with a big scoop for Slippery. I suddenly became bored with the annoying white tribe, their failure to understand my needs, and their narrowing restrictions. I decided to go Indian, for keeps. It was a most unfortunate circumstance that this urge came over me at the same time Father was expecting boyhood friends fromHerkimer County,New York„ to visit him.

The entire household was in a great flurry at prospect of entertaining such distinguished guests. They neglected to inform me of the date of expected arrival. Not knowing of this would not have’ greatly altered my plans, though the announcement might have caused me to postpone the drastic change for a few days, and have prevented that terribly unpleasant sensation I later felt at the pit of my stomach. Also, Father would have been Spared the unhappy embarrassment openly betrayed when I rambled. nonchalantly into our living room all done up in war paint and eagle feathers. Completely Indian from long braids to beaded moccasins, I was unexpectedly facing Father’s friends, the immaculate Doctor Nicholas Senn and Major General Otis of Los Angeles Times fame. Father gave me one despairing glance, and his face was suddenly a mask done in red.

Judge Conway collected his wits, and exhibited sufficient self-control to say: “This is Miss Ann. She will conduct our horse-back trips to places we will want to visit while you are here.” From the distressed expressions of utter dismay creeping over the notables’ faces, they were ready to take flight, if any more of such primitives were liable to appear.

Right then I wanted to clutch anything that moved swiftly, for in popped my sister, Josephine, all perked up in starched gingham and ruffles, to announce dinner.

Judge Conway gave me a shove and off we went to endure that unending meal, with no possible escape. I felt mighty small sitting there beside the towering Major, and trying -to look as I hoped an Indian Chief would look if he were ever caught red-handed in the act of lifting a white’s `,`top piece.” At the moment, my crime seemed as great.

The morning’s sequence left me fairly smoking to commit a dire deed, for it was very evident to me that the subtle old Judge had a hole card up his sleeve and that he was determined to cure me of that Indian dream for all time. He smugly suggested an after dinner rest and then a horseback ride to ‘see LodoreCanyon at sunset, all the time keeping watchful eyes on me.

To complete the picture, the Judge was very careful to see that “Lo-the-poor-Indian” rode bare back with the grotesque long feather headdress dangling over the horse at every movement. The bare-back stunt did not cool me off any, and I got a hunch.

Doctor Senn became deeply engrossed in his observation of the general landscape as we rode slowly over the hills. The Major was busy complimenting himself on his splendid horsemanship and his perfect understanding of horses. I had time to think, while the tenderfeet ogled that perfect sunset. Twilight settled over the ridges, and soon we must be on Our homeward ride.

Major Otis was laboriously climbing on his mount just when my toe got out of control and really made things interesting. That unruly toe stuck itself right into old Gussie’s flank with a nasty jab. The gentle Gussie came unbuttoned, and went down across the meadow, bucking and kicking. The Major was left flattened out on the sand like a flap jack.

My worthy act for the day was accomplished, and. I loped off to gather Gussie. The old horse was not fooled by my honeyed talk, and he eyed me with suspicion when I reached for the bridle reins.

Doctor Senn fumbled over the Major and pronounced him free from any physical injuries, so we started on the homeward journey with the Major in wonderment over the true meaning of Gussie’s homicidal tendency. My brother Sam met us at the corral, and got the story of the accident. He gave me a critical look and whispered, “Get out of the way and forget to show up while we have company.”

Experience warned me of the inevitable punishment ahead. Slippery would be lurking somewhere in the shadows, and grab me at the -very first opportunity to flay me with one of his scathing lectures. I hid out until daylight, then he nabbed me when I sneaked into the ‘kitchen for a hand-out.

I was caught, and followed him to his work, wishing he would forget about yesterday’s pranks. Not a chance.

Slippery picked up speed in the old familiar way and began. “When I was a boy back in old I(aintucky, I hated stinking Injins. Pshaw, it aint human, an you aint going to be no Injin Chief no-how. That was alright for you to make play with when you was a little ‘cuss, but what I cain’t see is, why in tarnation you ever did want to be a lousy Injin. I helped with your rasin’, of course it’s nothin’ to be proud of. When you got in from school tother day you was lookin’ plumb lady-like, now you look like somethin’ chased out of the brush. You shore are a disappointment to me. I’m to blame some, I reckon, for the way you are. When you was nothin’ but a yearlin’ I kept your Ma from lickin’ you, and you was needin’ it too. I aint forgot the time you got that bunch of kids down sick with the grip by havin’ them take their shoes off an stand in the mud and water for hours at a time makin’ them believe they had heel flies. You had them pore kids sniffin’ and snuffin’ and as red as beets, an you all dirtied up and as husky as a young mule!”

He paused to exhale a deep, sighing breath, then went on. ” Heel-flies, nawthin’ ” he exclaimed, his voice oozing disgust. “It was only one of your streaks of-meanness, scarin’ them with that stuff. An’ I lied to your pore Ma, tellin’ her how you was reely sick too, so she wouldn’t give you a lickin’. I did get some good outa that, though, for you didn’t dast kick an’ bite when I had to hold your nose and pour castor ile down you, an’ then scrub your dirty paws.

“Why in thunder do we try to get you eddicated for, anyhow? he demanded of me belligerently. Look at you now, out here in that disgustin’ garb, helpin’ to keep a wire fence straight in the’ buildin’. Aint no job for a girl, and a wire fence is a plumb no-good thing anyhow, plumb pizen to critters—and humans too. Here you are, comin fifteen, an’ wearin’ over-hauls. If there is anything I hate to see, it’s a gal in them things. Why, that kind of an outfit is just for sheepherders an’ squaw-men.” By that time he was glaring at me.

When I remained silent, trying to seem indifferent to his outpouring of angry disapproval, he went on with a final outburst of enraged criticism. “I was so ashamed of you yesterday in that turrible riggin’. And I know you was in a mood to do somethin’ awful mean. I says to Miz Thompson, that youngun can’t behave herself one minnit! Just look at Beth Brown and Wilda Mac, all dressed up and, smellin’ as sweet as posies. Them is the gals that is goin’ to get the pick of the fellers, an’ you’ll be one of them old maids, goin’ round as sour as a pickle. I was set on you gettin’ one of th’ good men around here, an’ marry. But ‘taint no use, all you can see is cattle an’ hosses!” When the last sentence had exploded, Slippery lifted a gaunt hand to brush drops of perspiration from his forehead. “Fetch me my tobacker,” he commanded, his voice pitched on a lower note, “it’s in my coat pocket, hangin’ on that limb there. I’m a-going to set again this cedar and do some whittlin’. My old bones is tired.”

I could see my self-appointed “guardian angel” and censor was weakening. Perking up, I said, “Slippery, you should say ‘please’ when you ask for something.”

He said : “See here, Ann Bassett, don’t give me any of your back talk, I won’t have no smart elecks in our family. Now get on your horse an’ go to the Pablo place and stay there while your Pa’s big friends are here. An’ say,, while your ‘re about it, don’t forget to wire the bull pasture gate, and drive the cows away from the bog holes, an’ run in the saddle horses. A body can’t depend on the boys no more, with all them pretty gals around the ranch. Come to think of it, I always did get you to do such things.” He eyed me with a faint hint of leniency.

I was trying to gain sympathy and said : “Slippery, there is no food at the Pablo, and you know it.” Slippery did not allow himself to be impressed.. He said : “Go on up there, you can catch some frogs outa the pond and fry their legs. I’ll tell Sam and Wilda to take you some biscuits. Them two is sure going to be a match. Sam is tall an’ good lookin’, and so is Wilda with her yellow-bird hair, and them pretty slim laigs. She walks like a deer, an’ sings, too. Yes-sir-ee, that girl sings like a meadowlark. An they’re sure in love. Now, when I was a boy back in Kaintucky—” He paused, shrugged his shoulders, and concluded briskly, “Shucks, I was just a boy in Kaintucky, that’s all.”

This was the usual conclusion to one of Slippery’s outbursts, and indicated that, for the time, his disciplinary mood was ended.

To give him a jolt, I chirped up, “Is that what you call being in love ? I noticed Sam and Wilda acting droopy, and I had thought about reminding father to give them a pill of assafostida gum to perk them up a bit.” I assumed a disgusted expression. Then I added, with a disdainful toss of my head, “This thing you call `love’ is too complicated for me to want to tackle. And where do you get the idea that I want a husband ? Being side-hobbled to any man doesn’t seem a bit exciting to me Of course,” I granted generously, “men are sometimes fun, and they are handy to have around, but I like them better grazing in herds. I don’t intend to cut one out to put my brand on. I have a purpose in life, and it hasn’t got anything to do with falling in love and getting married. And now, just where did you get the idea that I don’t intend to go on and be an Indian? I’m on my way this minute, to PabloSprings to carry out your orders. G’bye.”

Slippery fairly bounced up. “I, tell you, that’s a helluva idea you got ! I give you up.”

But he didn’t. The harmless old pirate kept right on with the same energy thundering his advice and criticism at me. But he wouldn’t have changed me one jot, and secretly he knew that. He prided himself on being an expert on “child raisin’.” And he actually beamed with exultation when he would boast, “I cut that young-un’s teeth on porcupine quills, and she aint never been sick a day in her life.”

Slippery only became discouraged and gave up his long-winded lectures at the age of ninety-six.

Several times I returned to the Sister’s School inSalt Lake City. Then came a more drastic change in my life—I was sent to the select “Miss Potter’s School for Girls” in the exclusive suburbs ofBoston.

I departed from home with confidence, anticipating a further enjoyable experience. I found myself in a place so strange it might as well have been located in a foreign land. Not, only strange, but at times unbearably disagreeable. Endless months dragged past in a restricted social atmosphere of quaint gentility and—baked beans. My imagination could never have pictured such a situation. I was stifled. My inner turbulence lacked even the relief of proper exercise.

I had been sitting straddle of horses and guiding them unaided since the age of three. I couldn’t remember when I had not sat my saddle with ease and security. With nothing but a hackamore to keep the horse straight, I was riding races on a quarter-mile track before I was six. A wild barbarian who knew nothing about “cor- rest style” must be taught horsemanship by a competent instructor. The school employed a riding “Mawstah” to teach the girls correct positions in the saddle and how to post. One morning about a dozen of us were lined up for inspection before taking off for a decorous canter over chosen bridle paths. Everything appeared ship-shape. But there was rebellion in my soul, revolt that demanded action.

The “Mawstah” walked back a few yards for some words with one of the stable boys. That was my Heaven-given chance to air “ronickie” dun out a little. I was perched like a monkey on a stick, atop of a locoed old sabine gelding with one glass eye. I threw my right leg up over the side saddle and raked his flanks. Then uttering a wild yell that must have scared him half to death, I put him through several range stunts while the girls screamed with glee.

The outraged “Mawstah” came on the run, giving off a stream of sarcasm meant for me, He grabbed for my bridle reins at the same time ordering me sharply to “Dismount.”

He got nowhere reaching for my bridle. I was completely ”r’iled up” by that time. I swung the horse about, with a prancing and rearing he had probably never before even attempted. Leaning from my saddle, I exclaimed vehemently, “Go to hell, you repulsive, little, monkeyfaced skunk !”

His eyes almost popping from his head with shock, he turned and ran for the school office to report the scandalous event.

Our riding lesson was promptly cancelled for that day.

And I was brought before the stony-faced faculty, on the carpet, with all the girls of my riding class also there to testify to my use of profane language.

Not one of them could remember a word that I had said ! Indeed, they had not heard anything out of the ordinary.

Even so, it looked as if I were to be expelled from that perfumed institution of learning. I had obeyed all written and oral rules with meticulous care. Nothing had even been hinted against making a horse kick the gravel as he jumped out and sat down a few times, and not a thing wrong about that where I came from, but in Boston it apparently was regarded as an unforgiveable crime, something completely unheard of.

My uncle came fromClevelandto talk matters over with the authorities, also to confer with sympathetic understanding with me. I was duly reinstated—and continued to take my riding lessons to the end of the term.

I did not return toBoston, however. The same uncle arranged for me to continue my schooling in his home city, the following year. My schooldays went on for several more years, interspersed with long summer vacations in Brown’s Park.

In the 1870s Indians had not yet been put on reservations, a “Subjugated People.” They were still free to roam over meadows which had been their home for centuries. Utes, with a few of the Sioux Tribe, were living in Brown’s Park when the white settlers came. Their rights were unquestioned by the colonists, who “tendered unto Indians the thinks that belonged to Indians,” thus avoiding racial disagreement. When whites were being massacred sixty miles to the Eastward (a tragedy brought about largely by their bigotry and hypocritical fanaticism) the Brown’s Parkers felt no uneasiness. Chief Maracisco had assured them they would not be molested, and they were not. They did not practice intolerance, nor belittle the cleverness and knowledge of a people who had survived for generations while wresting their living from the natural resources of that country.

From our Indian friends we learned many helpful lessons. They taught us the use of medicinal herbs, the art of lying on game trails to select the fat, desirable meat. And, most important, how to make “jerkey.” Another valuable lesson was in the use of marrow in tanning skins, to make them soft and unshrinkable. We learned how to insure comfort when sleeping on the ground, by making a slight depression in the earth and covering this with leaves and bits of bark.

One, of the Ute,s said of mother : “Bassett’s'squaw all-time talk, maybe so Magpie.” I am glad to remember that “Magpie” whom they regarded as their “Great White Squaw and heap good friend,” never let them down. Never did she fail to respect their dignity and human rights.

How wonderful if one could wipe out the false recording of “clatter-boned, goose-quill wranglers,” disguised as honest historians, who have too often taken over a subject wholly unfamiliar to them, setting in motion waves of misrepresentation regarding the American Indian.

How many of these tales depict the trials and tribulations endured by the Utes when subjected to the dominion of the Government Agent, Meeker? His plowing up of the race track which the Indians had made? This man, supposed to be representing a free government, where personal liberty is placed high, was determined to force these hunters of deer and tanners of buckskin to raise “tame” hay for their ponies, when the hills were covered with a rich growth of bluestem. The Indians well knew that was better feed for horses than any tame hay ever produced. Meeker’s coercion appeared senseless.

In later years when agents were sent out fromWashingtonto take charge of the wild game and police the Indians, they seemed like foreigners. Their ways were strange, not only to the Indians, but to the whites who were living in neighborly fashion with the red people. The restrictions that were imposed appeared totally uncalled for. Wild game was plentiful. We took only what we needed and used that without wastefulness. To the eastward, on the more accessible ranges, it is true that game was lavishly slaughtered by white-faced “market” hunters, to be sold in great quantities, without regard to the preservation of our game species. That was not true in the region of Brown’s Park.

When the game wardens came to take the Indians from their hunting grounds, as they did on Little Snake River, about forty miles distant, word was sent among the Utes to “get rid of the meat” if they had any.

This message was darned by white folks, the friends of the Indians. And when the game-smellers came, there was no meat to be found. The wardens were disappointed and angered at the failure of their mission. They scattered the equipment and supplies belonging to the Indians. They were arrogant and overbearing. Many times have I wondered, would the wardens have been so bold had the Indian men been in camp ?

But, of course, they were brave men, these whites, backed by the strong arm of the Law, shaking a threatening fist instead of extending a hand from the Great White Father in Washington. A Ute squaw subjected to the rough treatment attempted to defend her family and personal property. When she protested a brutal attack on a young boy, these brave Americans shot and killed her. After shooting the woman, they hung the boy by- his hands and emptied their guns into his body. Through such representatives was the Law sent to the Indians of Western Colorado.

The eloquent evidence of the manner through which this arm of the law operated, was not a true representation of our form of Government. It was the act of crackpots, moving in the shelter of misplaced power. Perhaps they had listened to the tales of other uninformed persons and were too stupid or too lazy to obtain factual information for themselves. They certainly had no comprehension of the words fairness and justice.

TheSnake Riverslaughter of Indians was stopped by the timely arrival of Henry Templeton, a resident of that section, a man of understanding and decisive character. He courageously interfered with the perpetrators of law-protected villany, and later played an active role in securing the dismissal from the Service of these misfit agents.

Circumstances entirely disassociated from the game law enforcement put me on the scene during one of the resultant incidents. That summer Beth Brown’ was at the Bassett Ranch. She was a city girl who so loved ranch life that she spent her vacations cowgirling with our outfit. She became a good hand with stock, too. Father had sold Jim Norvel a bunch of cattle, and these were to be delivered at the Thompson Ranch on Little Snake River. When Sam Bassett set out with the herd, Beth and I accompanied him. Arrived at the Thompson’s, Sam went on to Big Gulch with the cattle, but Beth and I remained to look after the extra saddle horses until he returned. And that was the time the Government game wardens had chosen to start the row with the Utes over the killing of deer out of season.

After their raid, these extraordinary government executives came to the Thompson Ranch. And never again do I want to witness such yellow cowardice as those men exhibited in their attempt to make a hasty getaway, leaving the ranch families to face the irate Indians alone. I was exceedingly keen to have the culprits turned over to the fighting braves, who got on their trail. A more levelheaded majority ruled otherwise. And Mrs. Thompson took charge of the rescue of the game wardens. Aunty Thompson took her ever-ready shotgun, her two babies and her blind mother, and driving her swift team of mules, gave the cowering agents free-wheeling to safety in the little town ofMaybell. They rode in the wagon box, concealed beneath a thick covering of hay.

They had argued unsuccessfully with Beth to induce her to go with them. She had insisted upon returning to the Bassett Ranch with me,- though the mere sight of an Indian would give poor Beth the shivers. I knew that after the wardens had retreated to the Thompson Ranch for shelter, it was no place for See-a-baka’s white papoose. Slapping on our saddles with all speed, we lit out for Brown’s Park, over the Boone Trail, thirty-three miles to go, through hills scattered thickly with Utes on the war path, sending up their alarming signal fires as they prepared for their scalp harvest. I hadn’t much fear in passing near these fires, for I was confident the sharp trained eyes of the Indians would recognize the pinto horse and its girl rider. I had many friends among these red-men, but I was less sure of the safety of my companion.

As we rode, I instructed Beth what to do if by chance we were run down and her capture was attempted. If we saw any approaching Indians, she was to bolt for the cedars and hide herself. She was to remain perfectly still until the afternoon of the next day, then slip through broken country to the Bassett Ranch, with out trying to find me. Such an attempt would certainly lead smack into trouble.

It was growing dark when we reached the top of the divide, too dark to see any distance. We suddenly heard horses’ hoofs running towards us down the slope of a hill. Beth instantly ducked into the timber, while I rode out to meet the clattering horses. They proved to be merely a bunch of range animals, running out to meet and look us over, then race off again, as such often did.

I rode back to the place where Beth had slid into hiding. I called and whistled and went round and round among the dark cedars receiving no reply. At last, I decided to tie up, and bed down until morning. My horse didn’t take to that, for he had smelled out the hiding place of his pard, Beth’s horse. I gave him his head and he found her. She had heard me calling, but had feared it was some trick of the Indians, so did not answer,-but crept deeper into her hiding place, until convinced that it was really I, trying to find her. Also, that I was alone, without Indian companions.

We proceeded on toward home and had gone about five miles when we heard a horse coming behind us. From the regular hoof beats, without a stop, I knew that horse was being ridden. I got off and put my ear to the ground to be sure of it. That time we hid together. The horseman passed us without pausing, and when he was near, we could hear the squeaking of new leather.

He was going our way, so we followed for about a quarter of a mile. The horse fell into a tired lope, that lagged more and more. I was sure the unseen rider was not an Indian, for in those days they had no leather stock saddles. Turning aside into the shadow of a near cliff wall, we whistled to him.

When he replied to the signal and came close to us, we were considerably surprised to recognize Walt Nisbet, a grocery salesman from Denver, who had been in our country taking orders for a firm in that city. Walt and his companion had been traveling in a buggy on the Templeton Mesa, when they were overtaken by Aunty Thompson and her load of terrified government officials. When Nisbet learned of the dangerous trip Beth was making with me, he unhitched his team, saddled one of them and hied it to the Thompson Ranch as fast as he could go. He was without weapon, and the wardens refused to give him one of their guns. But that did not deter him.

He reached the ranch about dark, his horse spent from its ten-mile race. When he spied horses grazing near the corral he decided to secure a fresh mount. He selected one with saddle marks on its back, for somebody had told Walt that was an indication of a gentle animal. However, in that case, the marks were misleading. He got Bill Snort, an outlaw none of the cowboys could stay on. The horse had gotten his marks when he threw off a bronco buster and ran around on the range for a week, before the peeler caught him and could get the saddle off.

We kept him in the cavvy for a bed-horse because he was so easy to handle, if no one tried to ride him. Just when Nisbet hit the saddle the Utes opened fire on him and Bill Snort let loose. He was a tough bucker. But with bullets flying around him Nisbet had to stick. He was lucky to be off balance, when one shot passed through the cantle of the saddle and landed in the fork, and another ripped off a: part of his jacket while he was desperately clinging to some part of the gear. He took a terrific roughing, but he did not let fighting Indians nor a frantically bucking horse check him. He came in hot pursuit of Beth.

They had met several times that summer, and each was much impressed by the other. When they recognized each other, Walt sprang from the saddle and they went into a clinch, absolutely forgetting anything but themselves. While they stayed in an ecstatic daze, muttering what sounded to me like sticky nonsense, ‘I walked over to inspect poor Bill Snort. As I did so, his wobbling legs relaxed, and he toppled over dead. His strong heart had given out.

I removed the saddle sadly and hung it on a cedar. I had known Bill Snort a long time, and had considerable respect for his cunning. It was really an impressive spectacle to watch him unseat self-confident bronc busters who took every advantage of him with ropes, bits and spurs. He won over every trick and contraption they could contrive, leaving them on the ground to wonder how they got off.

I felt no great elation over Nisbet and his narrow escape, although he was a daring young fellow who had exhibited a lump of real nerve in braving all odds against him to find Beth. Of course, I did admire him for that courage, even if he had used the poorest of judgment by running into an almost certain gunfight, minus a. shooting iron.

Beth and I had eaten nothing since a five o’clock breakfast the morning before. Going at a fast jolt had got me edgy and I let out a frosty link of words to untangle the cooing pigeons. I advised them to hop on Beth’s horse and be moving, if we wanted to beat the Utes to he Bassett Ranch in time for breakfast. It was eight miles to chuck, and quite evident that Beth and Walter intended to go double in future, so they just as well start right away.

Father enthused over Nisbet’s bravery and his fortunate escape from Indian gunfire. Commonplace human affairs were exciting to father, when he approved. He was an incurable romantic, and did not care a whoop about the loss of Bill Snort, when there was a love-knot to be tied.

A couple of thick steaks and ten hours sleep transformed my flustered self to something like normal. Father wrote a report and sent our depositions to the Indian Department. Within a few weeks Beth and I were called to testify before the Indian Affairs Committee, atWashington, D. C., and again to repeat the same testimony before a committee representing the Indian Department inDenver.

Complete destruction of the Thompson ranch buildings and several casualties suffered by the settlers resulted from this unforgivable blundering of officials, who should have exercised judgment instead of giving free rein to their own self conceit and ignorance.

After the investigation was completed, which took several months, theWashingtonagents who committed the heinous crime against the Indians were dismissed from government service. The incident couldn’t so readily be dismissed from memory. It marked a still further widening of the gulf between redmen and white.

Hi Bernard, manager for the Haley Two Bar cattle outfit, with ranches near Craig, Colorado, bought the Ben Majors and Sainsbury Ranches on the lower Snake River, thirty miles from, Brown’s Park. Soon’ after the transfers of the ranches, several thousand head of Two Bar cattle were driven into Routt County and turned on summer range. The intent of Haley to occupy all of the summer and winter range of the county was clearly demonstrated. There were hundreds of miles of range outside of the Park, yet we with our small herds located in the west end of the natural drift, and with less snow and plenty of feed were again in danger of becoming overrun by the big herds of cattle owned by non-residents.

Bernard visited the Park in October of 1898 to submit a proposition to the cattle owners on theColoradoside of the line. A tall, fair-complexioned man, he could adopt a most convincing manner. He plausibly suggested that they, form a Cattle Association for “protection” against the large bands of sheep that could so easily invade the winter range, fromUtahandWyoming. The men of the neighborhood listened with growing favor, and accepted his plan, for it seemed reasonable; but the women (myself included) could too well remember file conflicts and trouble of other attempts to Fraternize with big cattle companies, and doubted such a plan could work to our advantage. The locating onSnake Riverand the herds of cattle on the way did not reassure us.

The women were supported in their belief by Harry Hoy. The men far outnumbered the women and the organization was adopted with every male cattle owner joining, with the exception of Hoy. The women and Hoy fought on and would not become members of the organization until a compromise was effected, when it was agreed that our neighbors engaged in the sheep business were to continue to graze their flocks inColorado.

These neighbors, Willis Rouff, Charles Sparks and Frank Broodman, had small flocks, were home owners and would have been limed financially if forced to move their sheep out of the state t that time. Their outfits only, were allowed to graze sheep on the ranges of RouttCounty. Sheep were forbidden elsewhere in the county by the “law unto themselves, the cattle kings.”

Up to the time of Bernard’s buying theSnake Riverranches or the Two Bar, no cattle belonging to that outfit had crossed the ride into Brown’s Park. They had not fully stocked the range, nil round winter feed near the ranches at Lay Creek. Hi Bernard, whose ability to judge cattle and ranges was perhaps unsurpassed, saw the benefit to be derived by complete control of the entire open range between the Utah line on the west, Wyoming on the north; and east to Hahn’s Peak; comprising an area of hundreds of square miles of cow range. Brown’s Park cattle owners had only a few thousand head of cattle but held by right of range custom of that period, one of ‘the finest winter ranges in the West. These cow men and women could contribute nothing to the large herds, and they would not yield and become absorbed, because they were prosperous and deeply rooted in a business they understood. They presented a different problem from the upper RouttCounty settlers where conditions were not so favorable, due to deep snow, long winters, and the necessity of growing and feeding hay.

The lower country with its mild winters offered an ideal set-up. cattle could winter on the open range at no expense save labor, provided of course the local occupants could be shoved off the ranches and range that happened to lie in the path of the spreading herds. The over-stocking of the range caused a heavy drift of cattle west ofSnake Riverand brought up the question of range division.

Mat Rash was. President of the Brown’s Park Cattle Association. He was. an ex-Texas Ranger and a nephew of Davy Crockett. He had come toWyomingfromActon,Hood County,Texas, as “trail boss” of a herd of cattle delivered to the Middlesex Company in 1882. He became range manager for the “G” outfit, which belonged to the Middlesex, and later went to the Circle K, in the same capacity. Rash continued there, employed by Tim Kinney, until his cattle business was changed to sheep. Mat was a number one cow man and was given financial backing by Kinney, to branch out into the cattle business for himself. He soon established a solid bank credit and frequently negotiated loans of large sums of money through theRock Springsbanks. He bought and sold cattle in three states,Wyoming,Colorado, andUtah. Rash had a wide circle of friends, who held great respect for his word, regarding his character above reproach.

Representing our Park Cattle Association,, he interviewed H’ Bernard in the matter of establishing a boundary line betweenSnake Riverand Brown’s Park. This resulted in an agreement between Bernard and Rash to the effect, that the hills known as the divide, a range of limestone about half way between Snake River and the Vermillion, extending north and south from the Escalant Hills to Douglas Mountain, was to be the western boundary for the Two Bar, and the eastern extension for the Brown’s Park cattle The arrangement was acceptable to all concerned.

There were no fences, so it was necessary to ride the Boon Trail and Douglas Mesa to check the drift of cattle and spread them over the range. The Brown’s Park cattle men “pitched” a temporary camp on the divide and carried on this line riding during the winter of 1898 and ’99.

Billy Sautell, a cow puncher, employed by the Two. Bar, was the line rider representing Haley and his manager Hi Bernard. By this method, the situation was under control.

When the spring round-up was conducted, few strays were found on either side of the divide. Such a logical solution to the problem appeared highly satisfactory—on the surface. The drift antrol had proved far too efficient to please the Two Bar, or to serve their purpose. But the agreement had been made and Bernard. could not back out creditably. The range division was exactly as he had approved. Yet the plan was completely cutting off any advance towards the range to the west, coveted by the Two Bar. Then Bernard comprehended that the agreement had raised a more formidable barrier than he had counted on. And advantages he had anticipated failed to materialize.

Up to that time nothing had seriously blocked the flood of Two Bar cattle. All obstacles had been successfully removed. Facing failure of the original plan, the oldJohnson County,Wyoming, order for “Extermination” of the obstacle, was put into practice. There was hired secretly one who would strike, kill, and leave no sign. One who would not hesitate to shoot down friend or foe, man, or child for pay. In Tom Horn was found this killer, a murderer, lusting for blood money. And the case required prompt action. Soon a stranger rode into Brown’s Park, a man seeking a new home amid pleasant surroundings. Sometime later a mysterious bunch of cattle were seen in the Park, bearing an unfamiliar brand, the VD connected.

It was not unusual for strangers to come investigating the possibilities of a home. They were made welcome, given the desired information and their sincerity taken for granted, the settlers had u reason to be doubtful or suspicious of visitors and were not in the sanctified business of sorting the good from the bad. Counting on this susceptibility, “James Hicks” arrived in the Park representing himself as a ranchman. fromNew Mexicoin search of a location for a small ranch. He was put up as a guest at the home of Mat Ash, where every courtesy was extended to assist him in the selection of a suitable investment. He was invited to attend the round-up. but it soon became evident that he was not a cow hand, so he was given the job of cooking.

The round-up was in full swing when I came home from school and joined in the work. I did not take kindly to the new cook. His bragging that he had been a great Indian fighter, his boastful, descriptive accounts of the human slaughter he had accomplished single-handed, were exceedingly obnoxious to me. I emphasized this point with vehemence in several heated arguments.

Mat Rash attempted to iron out the discord and remarked, “most all the big Indian battles were fought around the campfire as men smoked and talked.” Hicks was not so complacent. He seemed to recognize the “Indian sign” as unfavorable to his interests, and with a flimsy excuse to Mat Rash; he removed his carcass from the round-up. And that was the one and only time I saw Tom Horn, alias James Hicks.

But an eye-witness is still living, who happened to be ‘at the Two Bar ranch at the time “Mr. Hicks” quit the round-up. This witness declares that a man rode in at early evening and was served a late supper. He held some confidential talk with the ranch authorities. A string of horses were caught and he rode away, with no comments being offered on either his coming or going. A short time afterwards those witnesses saw the same man, recognized him as the late and rather mysterious visitor to the Two Bar, and then learned that he was Tom Horn.

When he left the Dutch ovens to grow cold, “Mr. Hicks” said that he was going on a short journey, “to look the country over.” His movements were not regarded as important by people busied with their routine ranch work. He could travel over the neighborhood without hindrance or question.

In June, 1899, twenty-one head of young cattle branded VD connected strayed from the north and lodged among a band of Tom Davenport’s sheep in WillowCreekCanyon. Joe Davenport looked the cattle over and saw from the brand that they did not belong locally, the VD was new to this particular range. He let the cattle pass through the sheep herd and they drifted down the canyon. Before leaving camp for theDavenportranch, Joe instructed the Mexican herder to get the names of any one inquiring about cattle, and to tell them to see Joe.Davenport about such stock. When he returned to the sheep camp he was told by the herder that Charley Ward had been there to ask about cattle, and said that a bunch of his had strayed from. ClayBasin.

Ward was a person of doubtful reputation who had owned nothing but a saddle and pack horse during the few years he had been in or around Brown’s Park. He was not a cow puncher and his interest in cattle, or his suddenly becoming a cow man was a decidedly unusual condition. Joe would investigate. He would contact Sam Bassett and Mat Rash in the matter of Ward’s owning cattle. Joe came to the Bassett ranch for that purpose. The men he wished to consult with were on the mountain. Learning this, Joe told me of Ward’s visit and statement that he owned cattle which had strayed. The “lost” cattle struck a bright spark of interest. “Those strays did not get into this country by themselves,” I declared, positively, “Ward stole them, and probably from some place inUtah, since they are headed that way, probably trying to get back to their home range. Yip-pee ! I’ve got a wonderful idea!” I exclaimed. “The poor cattle are homesick, let’s give ‘em a leg over the river. The girls (I referred to my city guests) aren’t being properly trained in roping. We will demonstrate on those VD cattle.”

Joe Davenport wasn’t enthusiastic about my impulsive plan. Nor did he view the situation from my. angle. But my determination over-ruled his reluctance to take such action.

“Don’t stand there, looking at me,” I told him, “drag it to the pasture and run in a fresh string, so Aunty Thompson and father won’t get their heads together and decide `Ann’s up to something again,’ I’ll round up the girls.”

I did. And away we galloped, to stretch our hard-twist ropes what I believed to be a worthy cause. We found the cattle about ter-1r miles west of the Davenport Ranch, nearGreen River. The ri, er was bank full and over-flowing. There the girls tried their ’1,1)1 at roping big, game in the open.

We spent the night at theDavenportranch, and hurried back t, the cattle for more entertainment. It was great sport to watch them swim Green River at the old Parsons ford, and see them land in good shape on the west bank near the deserted Parsons ranch, and over the Utah line.

After that swimming stunt, the cattle disappeared from Brown’s Park, not one of them ever straying back. Nor was Ward seen afterward. He departed, where and how was never made known. ‘Since he was obviously in league with Horn and Horn’s backers, it is proposed Ward was “expunged” as a result of that association.

The girls and I went gaily off to the city to school that fall forgetting about the stray stock incident. As cow technicians we blundered, for the cattle had not come fromUtah. In mid winter John Davenport wrote me and said, “The VD cattle are in the picture, again. Mat Rash has been notified that cattle of such description and brand were stolen on upper Snake River nearBaggs,Wyoming, and they were traced to VermillionCanyon.” In the letter Joe asked if he should tell Mat Rash what we knew about the VD cattle. My answer was, “NO, and do not so much as imply to Sam Bassett or Mat Rash, that we ever heard of that stuff. If you do it will be `chaps’ for us.”

It was evident we were in bad for failing to give the information when Joe discovered the cattle. I had intervened and now months had passed since the VD cattle were crossed over the river and gone in the opposite direction from where they belonged. My “wonderful idea” was giving off echoes! The situation was grave indeed. Our next move was to confide in Buffalo Jack—we could trust him to keep a secret—we made a clean confession of our guilt, and asked his advice (it was our fixed habit not to seek his counsel until mired to the neck by some of our many imbecilities). Buffalo Jack admonished us for such petty mischief, but saw no foundation for great anxiety. He, reasoned that it would not help matters to say anything at that time, for the cattle were branded, they could not be lost. They would show up sometime, and would then be reported. But who could have visioned the cloud of dust those innocent cow brutes were destined to kick up ?

The owner of the VD cattle was not a member of the “inner circle” and was not told of the circumstances surrounding the disappearance of his cattle, therefore, he was chiefly concerned about their whereabouts. He had written to well-known cattle men in various parts of the country, explaining his loss, asking them to be on the lookout for his stock. Mat Rash received one of such letters, and he was making every effort to get some trace of the cattle. He did not think of lais guest, Mr. Hicks, as a suspect, nor of his being involved in the missing cattle. Mat Rash had no suspicion I had fallen into a trap by crossing the VD cattle over the river.

To promote his criminal purpose Tom Horn, assisted by spawn Ward, had stolen the VD cattle atBaggs,Wyoming, and smuggled them over the winter range to ClayBasin. He reported to theSnake Riverassociation that he had detected the theft, and incriminated several Brown’s Park cattlemen, among them Jim Mac Knight and Mat Rash. It had been Horn’s intention to sell the stolen cattle to a butcher inRock Springs.

While Horn was inRock Springsto negotiate the sale, Ward had carelessly permitted the cattle to get away. When Horn re turned from his trip, he assumed a manner of indifference and made no close inquiry. On learning that. Mat Rash was investigating the whereabouts of the VD cattle, he was undisturbed. No suspicion had been cast at Horn.

Rash failed in his efforts to locate the cattle, and there the matter rested, to add up later. The fact was revealed several years afterward, that Horn suspected Ward of having outwitted him i the disposal of the cattle. This partly upset his double-barreled “scheme, which was to sell the cattle at a profit to himself, and fasten the crime upon the Brown’s Parkers. He would then murder for an additional sum of money, the men he had accused of the theft. The scheme worked out, in part. Within a short time Mat Rash was found dead in his summer cabin, from gun shots fired at close range. He had been shot in the back by Tom Horn, the stranger he had befriended:

A few weeks later Isam Dart, a negro, was shot and killed. Fired on from ambush, when he was walking from Mac Knight’s mountain cabin in the very early morning, Horn undoubtedly mistook him for Mac Knight.

Another mistake of Horn’s similar to the shooting of Isam Dart, was his killing of Willie Nichols in place of the boy’s father, for whom he was lying in wait. Horn was concealed in the brush dear a gate,Winchestercocked, ready to shoot at Willie’s father. The boy came to the gate and Horn fired, killing him instantly. He sneaked off, unseen. There were no eye-witnesses to this crime.

The Nichols family lived in.Wyoming, and were not so far From the law officers as we, in Brown’s Park. The murdered boy’s father immediately contacted the law, and Joe La Fores, a deputy United States Marshal, was eventually assigned to the case. He very cleverly trapped Horn into a confession of his guilt, and arrested him for murder. Bail was refused, and Horn was forced to languish in jail, awaiting for his release by the men who employed him. But such help was not forthcoming, these men were well-satisfied to permit “justice to take its course.” They intended to bump Horn off when he had done his work for them. The “Power Policy” behind Horn’s diabolical deeds, were baseborn creatures, existing by greed and intolerance. His arrest was a hazard to their safety, andfrom among their kind, a committee of decoys were appointed, and a “song service” arranged for the purpose of keeping Horn’s morale up, and his mouth shut, while he, was in prison.

–Horn was not allowed to talk with anyone but his “friends.” several of the songsters were constantly in attendance, reassuring him by promises of a perfectly arranged last minute escape from the gallows. They escorted him to his final necking, and with great satisfaction saw him kick out his miserable life. They were saved from a like fate. Many of Horn’s gilded friends have crossed the bar, and ” ‘Tis a consummation devoutly to be wished” that Satan has joined the “hit-and-git” buddies together, with a firm daily welter

Horn’s arrest was primarily brought about by vital information voluntarily given by two girls in the red light district, one inCheyenne, and one in Rawlins. The girls reported Horn’s boasting of murders he had committed. His talk of miserable intrigues contemplated and the means and methods he had planned for the extermination of his intended victims, who had been marked for death.

One of the girls, known only as Mert, took a letter from Horn’s pocket and delivered it to the law. Soon after his arrest, this girl was found in a “hack” with her tongue split. This was one of the methods employed by Horn’s confederates to give out warning against any recurrent offenses that would incriminate their jackal, with the possible danger of establishing some connection between Horn and themselves. Great credit is due those girls, classed as social outcasts, who were inspired by a sense of honor to offer testimony that jeopardized their lives. At such risk to themselves, they were instrumental in bringing to justice a most vicious criminal.

The incomprehensible murder of men in Brown’s Park caused bewilderment and confusion, everybody was trying to solve the mystery, and getting nowhere. We did not know that James Hicks was Tom Horn, not until his arrest for the killing of Willie Nichols. I characterized Hicks as one capable of such a foul deed, from his revelation of Indian killings. My arguments were not much use, for there was no foundation to justify the crime. I kept on talking, however, and almost talked myself into becoming another one of his victims. Horn did not like my talk. It nagged him until he slipped back into the park, to take a pot shot at me.

Three months after the murder of Mat Rash and Isam Dart a man came creeping up to the house on the Bassett ranch. He took advantage of a dark night when a strong wind was blowing and rain was splattering against the building with noisy force. He hugged the wall and stepped over the yard fence where he could walk on the grass and avoid the sound of his boot heels on the stone walk. A small shaft of light guided him to the front door of the living room—the door where the latch-string no longer hung outside in that old traditional sign of welcome, expressing friendliness and good will since the first white man came to the West In Brown’s Park things had changed with the turn of a tragic few months. This night the latch-string was pulled inside, leaving a whang hole an inch in circumference where the lamp light from’ within streaked through.

I sat at a table in the living room playing solitaire. Four young boys, Carl Blair, Gail Downing, and my brothers George and Eb Bassett, were lunching in the adjoining kitchen. Suddenly the night was shattered by blasts of gunfire. Two bullets came splintering through the door, imbedding themselves in the opposite wall less than six inches from where I had been seated. There could be not the slightest doubt for whom these bullets were intended. I dropped to the floor and rolled under the table. The boys doused the lamp and jumped to a side window, to shoot out into the night in the direction the gunfire had come.

We remained in the darkened house and speculated on why our shepherd dog had not given the alarm of a night prowler’s approach; he did not bark all during the night, which was most unusual. That faithful old watch dog never barked again, he had been strangled to death by the spiteful marauder.

Fearful of being clipped by shots from ambush we stayed in the house under cover until eleven o’clock the next day, when two ranchmen, Pete Lowe and Harry Hindle, drove up to the corral in a wagon. We called to them to watch out for gun snipers. They crouched down in the wagon box, and drove on to the house. When we told them of the night’s happenings they, helped us in making a search of the surrounding hills. We found a man’s boot tracks in the mud and leading to a hill overlooking the house. A horse had been tied there for several hours, the horse ridden away on the jump traveling in an easterly direction, all intervening wire fences having been cut for him to pass through.

Eb Bassett and Carl Blair rode to ZenobiaBasin where they were joined by Will Morgan and my brother Sam. The four of them followed the horse tracks of the would-be killer over the sand hills to the L7 ranch fifty miles from Brown’s Park. There they found a very tired horse near the corral and indications that a fresh horse had been ridden away, towardBaggs,Wyoming. In the littlevillageofBaggsthey lost all trace of the horse and rider. The boys could get no information there and they were twenty hours behind the fleeing horseman, so they returned to the Bassett ranch. We held a council and J. S. Hoy advised me to go at once toCheyenne,Wyoming, and explain to Governor Chatterton Meager circumstantial evidence we had to connect James Hicks, Tom Horn, with the murders in our section of the country. And .especially with the bullets that had been fired, to land so perilously close to my head.

Interviewing Governors was not in my line, but this was no time for super-sensitiveness. I .was entirely unconscious of any breach of formalities, when I stalked into the Governor’s private office, disregarding protesting secretaries and clerk’s. But I lost control of my nerve very suddenly when the Governor looked at me, expressing annoyance over the violent agitation I had caused outer office.

I could only look at him in confusion. Dismissing the secretaries, he asked me to sit down and explain why I had made this breathless intrusion. I dropped into a chair but it was hard to find my voice. However, Governor Chatterton proved to be a sympathetic individual and he, listened to my story with deepening interest. Only a few hours had elapsed since he had been told similar stories by someWyomingranchmen. He assured me at the end of our interview that he would take immediate steps to find the relentless killer roaming our country.

He faithfully kept that word. Governor Chatterton took his official obligations seriously and within a few hours had Deputy United States Marshal Joe La Fores on the job.

Thirty-five years after the Tom Horn murder trial, Charles Kelly wrote a book, Outlaw Trail. Mr. Kelly did not attend that trial, but he places his personal stamp of approval upon Horn’s activities and pits his judgment against that of selected and sworn jurymen. The jurymen Kelly superficially passes off as “nesters” were twelve men of the city ofCheyenne, charged with the duty of sitting through a lengthy court proceedings and hearing all of the evidence presented for both sides of the case. They heard the examination of testimony as given by the witnesses and the judge’s final instructions to the jury.

After all these years, Kelly questions the integrity of the men who had the stamina to weigh all the evidence in the balance and mete ‘out just punishment to the self-acknowledged murderer, Tom Horn.

Mr. Kelly reopens the case of the people of the state ofWyomingversus Tom Horn, and tries the case all over again. With himself acting as judge and jury, he acquits Horn, and thereby lends encouragement to the criminal-minded.

The Horn killings were for the sole purpose of intimidating the settlers, and to force them to abandon the range. Range invasion’ was stubbornly resisted by the Brown’s Parkers and consequently; we were attacked from every angle. Rumors were circulated to the effect that not only were we cattle thieves ourselves, but we harbored outlaws and criminals from other states ; that in general the park was a refuge for no-accounts to carry on their cussedness. It was the old game of giving a dog a bad name and then go gunning for him, a method strictly in line with the mean practices followed by some of the big cattle organizations. Not all cattle owners o1 the large scale were of that stripe. Many of them were human, tA live-and-let-live fellows. By their true quality and principle the prospered and made money, while the Two Bar and its various managers went down and out. This Two Bar outfit has been charged with and is probably guilty of every crime from murder to sheep killings. They contributed practically nothing to the support of the counties their enormous outfit took over. It was impossible for county officials to make even a guess at the number of cattle and horses assessable. Tally records of branding were not available. Such control of a county has never done anything substailtial toward the building of schools, or roads, or otherwise improving a section. Money invested in a business of great magnitude, under such conditions is not calculated for the betterment of any country. It is purely an investment, the proceeds of which are not spent locally, but greedily hoarded in some distant city. Reams of paper have been written upon, telling hectic tales of rustlers gaining wealth at the expense of the numerous herds of cattle roaming over the West.

Maybe they did. My experience proves a different point. I lived there in that wide, lonely, primitive cattle range country. I lived under frontier conditions. I rode those old round-ups for months at a time, for many, many years. And I became the wife of Bernard (one of the West’s most noted managers of two of he biggest outfits inWyomingandColorado), a man who had ‘ , d 1 tied on in that capacity for thirty years, in complete control t range activities. From my own experiences and observation, then ‘ruin him, I learned that the grasping cattle barons of those early (3,1%s were the biggest cattle thieves of all time.

It was hoped that these methods would “clean out” and finally ,L1 ‘,pose of the “small” outfits, owned by the men and women who -had dared intrude on the open public domain, where every Amer-.can citizen was given a hundred and sixty acres of their own selection. to live upon.

All over our western frontier people had to fight for their rights to hold on, and most of us gave a good account of ourselves, with very little comfort to the enemy. The Tom Horn methods were new to us, but stepped up the tempo, and changed minute men to “split seconders,” for not a single one of us wanted to be caught off balance with the consequences of a bullet in the back.

Shadow boxing with bullets is not exactly a glittering adventure anywhere. Not even with our weapons of that day. Our old smoke wagons only let go of one piece of lead at a time, in fact most misunderstandings were settled in that offhand manner. It was the accepted practice, however, for each participant to be given equal start on the trigger squeeze.

Combat duty did not predominate over the scene. There were tanquil prosperous years to enjoy. It was a privilege to live on a new, free land, where real democracy existed in a wholesome atmosphere, where people were accepted on their individual merits, and background or great wealth had small importance. The person and the underlying of their composition was all that counted. Equal opportunity for development on all sides in an unclutteredAmerica, before collectivism got a stranglehold on the nation. Americanism is an “ism issue” to be remembered with gratitude and pleasure.

All of the publicized ad-libbing about how “Hi Bernard drove the rustlers out of Brown’s Park” is pure twaddle. When Bernard had served a specific purpose, the king-pins of power deserted him, and some of the early settlers of the park gave him a home. In retrospection, Hi was a thoughtful husband, a friend to children, and a gentleman under any circumstances.

It is beyond natural faculties to understand why the human mind is so often beguiled by its own dementia. How it becomes caught in the dragnet of emotion, and views a situation through the marked spectacles of Vested Interests. Those interests who keep their own powder for further sneak hostilities. In this case Hi Bernard was no exception. Like many otherwise intelligent men. he swallowed the bait and the hook was inescapable. Too late, hn understood the nature of his enchainment and stoically faced the results of his blind reckoning.

Lest we forget, The greatest of them all is Charity.

Elbert Bassett maintained a free home at the old Bassett Ranch, a spot where the birds and the beasts, homeless, travel-wearied mankind, all found a refuge, food and shelter, given in kindness and without reservation.

I am glad that my brother “Eb” took Hi Bernard there, when the sands of his life were running low.

The Two Bar outfit, under range management of Bill Patten considering themselves rolling juggernauts, refused to pay the negligible grazing fee requested by theUnited Statesforest department. They could not bribe the forester, nor deceive him by false counts of cattle, so they attempted to slay the regulations of control set up by the government order, thereby forcing the forester, to count all cattle grazing on the National Reserve. This act oT justice, in counting the cattle was resented by Ora Haley, who flatly refused assistance to the forest department. Progress of the necessary round-up, was retarded by every imaginable means. The; foreman on the range scattered cattle over wide areas adjacent to the forest, knowing they would drift into the reserve from many places. There were no fences to protect this National Reserve. and the rounding up, holding and counting of so many thousand of cattle on an open range, is an undertaking of colossal proportion:,

The three largest outfits using the, range were the Sevens, owned by the Pierce Rief Company; the Two Circle Bar, owned by the Carey Brothers ; and the Two Bar, owned by Ora Haley. Each presented a different problem to the Forest Service. The Pierce Rief Company (the Sevens) co-operated in every way. The Carey Brothers (the Two Circle Bar) offered passive resistance, and Ora Haley (the Two Bar) presented a front of determined resistance, a front of total opposition.

The Two Bar outfit even resorted to the extreme measure of stampeding a herd rounded up and ready to count. The rounding p had been accomplished by much grilling labor, and a great expense, by the Forest Department. Haley met his first defeat when he tangled with the Forest Service.

The Two Bar foreman, Bill Patten, had persistently kept up a moving row in a long range effort to over-run the beef cow country In parts of three states, to keep it free and open for the Two Bars, and nobody else. When twenty-five thousand cattle were being held on the bed ground the last night before they were to be counted and turned on the Forest Reserve, he left the roundup camp giving a flim-flam excuse. He slunk back at midnight with a few rocks in a tin can to toss at an alert old cow and snap her into action. And he carefully timed his movements when the night guard wa trotting around in the other direction.

What did Patten care for a few mangled and dead cowboys, or for cattle killed and crippled by the run of a herd of that size in a head-on rampage, as they rushed over rocks and heavy, down timber. Some of the Two Bars would escape and get into the reserve uncounted. It would teach the stubborn Forest Supervisor, Harry Ratliff, a lesson, providing he survived the death race of the stampeded cattle.

Ratliff and his rangers were camped with the cowboys near the bedded herd of cattle that night. A stampede might be an easy way to put the kibosh on the Forest Service and discourage the troublesome forester, Ratliff, who had refused to be dominated, and who insisted upon serving the Forest Department instead of becoming tool for the Two Bar outfit.

Fortunately the great herd of cattle ran away from the camp and no one was killed. The cowboys gathered on high ground in grey morning to roll Bull Durham cigarettes and decide what was to be done about attempting a new start, to round up the cattle. They found that Ratliff and his rangers were right there with them. The “tender feet” Government employees were boys that could take it rough, and they had the intelligence to map out a course to handle the situation. Harry Ratliff called into counsel theSeven and Two CircleBar men and had cowboys stationed along the forest boundary to keep any cattle from crossing the line. Other riders made a sweeping circle and bunched the cattle near the line to be counted across by the Forest Rangers.

The Two Bar riders continued to pass up cattle that should have been driven to the bunch ground. That was stopped when a Seven or a Two Circle Bar cowboy rode circle with each Two Bar man. Very few of those cattle entered the Forest Reserve without being tallied by the rangers. The effective manner in which the work was carried out was a big surprise to the Two Bar foreman, Patten. He could see how he was being outmaneuvered and he changed his tactics.

Patten went to Ratliff and threatened disastrous counterblasts if he insisted upon interfering in the Two Bar’s range affairs. At that point of the argument Patten found that he had made a serious mistake. Ratliff did not become frightened and run away, he called Patten’s hand. He sternly dished out a program that left Patten speechless, white with fury.

Patten had taken too many things for granted. If he had informed himself about the background of Ratliff and his assistants he would have learned that they were frontier bred and born, that they had been handling cattle on the range when he was hoeing cotton on a farm inNorth Carolina.

Shortly after the stampeded herd of cattle were tallied onto the Forest Reserve and drifted to various parts of the range within the reserve, supervisor Ratliff found fresh tracks of cattle where another herd had been more recently driven over the boundary line, without having been counted by him or his rangers. Shod horse tracks crisscrossing behind the cattle tracks, proved conclusively that the herd had been driven by men on horseback to the line. The riders had then turned back to retreat whence they had come. Ratliff and his men soon found the cattle on the reserve, most of them Two Bars. They were scattered over the range and some of them taken about fifty miles to another part of the same National grazing grounds.

Patten hung around out of sight and spotted the movement of the cattle by the rangers. He hurried away to circulate reports among other cattlemen and in general over the country far and wide, that Ratliff was stealing cattle and smuggling them off to markets. The cattle- were on the reserve, under the supervision of the forester, and Ratliff was acting within his rights, protecting the forest by spreading them over different parts of the range.

Before Ratliff entered the forest service he had bought a fir_:. breeding stallion from a,ranchman in the vicinity ofCraig,Colorado. When he joined the forest service he wanted to sell the horse. He contacted the original owner who had an interest in the animal and got his verbal consent to the transfer of the contract. Shortly thereafter Ratliff was arrested for selling mortgaged property, and placed under a stiff bond by a local Justice of the Peace, to await his hearing in the district court.

Bill Patten played his cards with the ranchman, a Two Bar employee, and influenced him to prefer the charge against Ratliff to annoy and harass him.

Chief Forester Gifford Pinchot sent an investigator to the scene. What the investigation disclosed of problems facing their representatives on the, Routt NationalForestwas a revelation to Mr. Pinchot.

The horse case against Ratliff came to trial and the Forest Department, sent an attorney to defend him. The plaintiff became inarticulate and could not remember anything he had formerly said. The transaction regarding the sale of the horse was declared legai and and the case was dismissed. Harry Ratliff left the court room and went at once toBaggs,Wyoming, in answer to a telephone all from one of his rangers.

Baggs is located on the Colorado-Wyoming state line and is near the National Forest Boundary where surveying was in progress.

At that time there were several large steer outfits owned byDenvercommission firms, using the range around Baggs. The largest of them was the reversed Figure Fours brand, of several thousand head and managed by Wiff Wilson. Charley Ayers also in a good-sized herd of company steers on the same range. All of the stockmen in the district were vitally interested in the success or failure of the Routt National Forest \Reserve.

If the Forest Department gained control there would be supersede grazing on the summer range, and sheep permits issued. The cattlemen had kept sheep off the range by force. Large piles of bleaching bones of sheep in different places were mute evidence of the ruthless method in practice to hold the range, exclusively for themselves. At different times a daring sheepman had crossed into forbidden land, to his sorrow. Hundreds of sheep were run over cliffs, run down and shot, or clubbed to death, by men working thr, cattle interests they represented. Upon several occasions the p herders were murdered.

Forestcontrol meant regulation in the number of livestock permitted to graze within the boundaries. Any bona-fide citizen owning livestock in the vicinity of the forest would be entitled to a grazing permit and the small owners of livestock would get an allotment equally as valid as the large owners. This equable division of range would cut a big chunk from the cake of the overlords, and last but not least, there would be a small fee of a few cents per head charged for the grazing privilege.

When Ratliff arrived in Baggs he was met by his chief assistant, Chas. Morell, who informed him that Bob Meldrum, a notorious gunman, had come to Baggs and was appointed Town Marshal. Meldrum’s background as a killer could- be traced to different mining camps in the West. He was known as a professional strike breaker and while he was serving in that capacity he had stacked up several killings to his discredit.

Survey work was going ahead rapidly with Ratliff in charge. He was sighting through his telescope when a gunshot exploded from ambush and his transit fell to the ground. One leg of the tripod had been shot away. He armed himself and his helpers and continued surveying. Toward evening Ratliff and Morell took their pack horses to Baggs for camp supplies. They were leading their horses into the livery barn when town marshal Meldrum approached and demanded their guns. They refused to give them up to him. Meldrum made a move for his shoulder holster, but before he could draw he was looking into the muzzle of a Colts forty-five held by Ratliff. This unexpected move completely nonplussed the marshal, his killer instinct vanished for the moment. Meldrum stared dazedly as Ratliff removed the gun from its holster, shoved it under the waistband of his own pants, and walked away. That was Meldrum’- last open attempt to intimidate the foresters, his next move was against the stockmen who were not in sympathy with him nor with the aggressive element that appointed him.

Bob Temple, an old time cowman who lived in the outskirts of Baggs, had been outspoken against Meldrum’s appointment a, marshal. One of Meldrum’s friends shotTempleat a time when there was not a witness present but Meldrum, and that bare-faced murder was checked off as self-defense.

Another high-handed outrage was the killing of George Wooley’s sheep, at night, by a crowd of masked men. Wooley owned considerable ranch property south ofCraig,Colorado, and his sheep were grazed entirely on private ground. Chick Bowen, a well known cowboy, was working for Wooley at the time the sheep were killed and it was rumored that he recognized some of the ruthless mob.

Chick was not the sucker type nor a blow-off kind, He could not be bought off by the Meldrum gang, consequently he was listed as being dangerous to their interests. He moved to Baggs and went to cowpunching for the Salsbury boys, two young men favorable to range control by the Forest Service.

Chick was a jolly, friendly boy with a sense of humor. Riding into town one day, he met a friend, and as they were standing on the sidewalk he laughed at some joke that passed between them. Meldrum rushed up to Chick and charged him with creating a disturbance. The words were scarcely out of his mouth when he shot three bullets squarely into Chick’s body, killing him almost un the instant.

Meldrum served a short sentence in the Wyoming Penitentiary for the murder of Chick Bowen and received a pardon. He then located inWallcot,Wyoming, and started a small saddle and harness shop. Soon after Meldrum set up shop a Miss Brown came to Wallcot. She was a fine looking young lady just out to see the West and enjoy horseback riding. Western saddles intrigued her and she made frequent visits to Meldrum’s place of business. The townspeople were not surprised to see her and Meldrum ride away together, one afternoon, towardSaratoga Springs. Several hours later, Miss Brown returned alone. She paid her hotel bill and went away that evening. A note left in her room stated simply that she was Miss Bowen, a sister of Chick Bowen.

Meldrum was found out in the hills with his head bashed up by the butt end of a shot-loaded quirt. The local authorities made no fort to locate his assailant nor to apprehend “Miss Brown.” Bulldozing and murder failed to overthrow the United States Forest Service and the Two Bar outfit concentrated on areas outside the forest boundaries.

The success of those pioneering in the establishment of the National Forests and the winning of supervision regardless of the any heart-breaking trials of the foresters and rangers put to the test, lent needed encouragement to small stock owners and ranch. The common people being overrun and struggling to live under adverse conditions, welcomed forest control with its legal protection. We owe a great debt of gratitude to Gifford Pinchot, our first of Forester and the father of our National Forest system, for Preservation of our scattered western forests of life-giving pines.

The mountains surrounding Brown’s Park were forest areas and the residents adjacent were eager to have them incorporated into a National Reserve.

I attended theUniversityofArizonaatTucsonespecially to take a course in forestry and with the definite intention of becoming a ranger on that isolated section. I qualified a hundred percent. When my application was submitted for approval, Secretary of Agriculture Wilson became adamant, and I was. rejected. Not for lack of qualification or ability to do the work efficiently, .but because the law read “a male applicant.”

For the slapdash reason that I happened to be a female, I was forced to withdraw my application. I am still protesting the law.

Finis was written on the story of the flagrant old Two Bar outfit that had survived a half century. Now it is only a memory.

In a country where thousands of cattle once dotted the range over endless miles, the present inhabitants have grown wool on their teeth from being forced to eat mutton.

My reactions to the trek of dry farmers with their wire fences and plows, stampeding to Brown’s Park and DouglasMountain, were bitterish. I could see no background among dirt farmers to make up an essence of romance. But they were there for good or evil, seeking and possessing every available spot. Their rights could not be, denied. But I could get away and out of vision of the bloodless destruction of, my precious native haunts. I would avoid being smothered by fences, and the digging up, where every sage brush, gulch and rock had a meaning of its own, and each blade of grass or scrubby cedar was a symphony. I could make effective my escape. If I had to be hedged in by people I would go away to the crowded cities, to mingle with the human herd and study them from the sidelines, for I had no desire to become a part of their affairs. All I asked of life was to be perpetually let alone, to go my way undisturbed. To Brown’s Park and its hills and valleys (the only thing I had ever selfishly loved) I bade goodbye.

Many years went by before I returned to my “sacred cow,’ Brown’s Park. I was lured by curiosity, as people will go back in mental morbidness to view the ravishing and despoliation by human I hands. I was surprised to find so many pretty little homes tucked away in the hills. Just puncturing the landscape here and there. yielding fine dividends to their owners, a friendly folk who mak up our traditional rural life inAmerica.

Brown’s Park brought back a poignant yearning to dash away. and drive an avalanche of Two Bar cattle back across the divide. Then I would awaken from my dream to discover that I had been peeping into a past that cannot return. Live Two Bar cattle are conspicuously absent. The winds have buried all the dead ones.

Those round-up days are over. And so are most of the old knee-sprung, saddle-marked cowboys “over “—over there.

“Out yonder in the corrall is the horse you used to ride.

The heart of him’s gone with you, pard, across the great divide.”

Right now I have an unfinished job to do here, keeping Pegasu, shod for the brave and valiant boys way out there on circle, t’ settle a little argument they did not start. But they have the gut and gumption to finish it. Many descendants of the Brown’s Par pioneers are units in those mighty military, navy, and air force and they can be depended upon to give out as the occasion demands occasion demands

The Evergreen Cemetery at Bethel was named for the virgin hemlock tree which still stands over the grave of the man who was clearing the land for a cemetery. He was killed when a limb fell from that tree (This is atypical tree, apparently once a clump of hemlock, for it’s really more than one. Normally hemlocks grow tall and true, much like the masts on clipper-ships, with comparatively small branches. This tree’s branches are huge, and think … a limb fell from it to kill in 1813! It’s age to have a limb that large?

Those valuable remaining red spruce are now part of the “absolute wilderness” of the “forever wild” Forest Preserve protected by the Constitution of the State. However, when you cross the Tappan Zee Bridge of the New York State Thruway remember its concrete footings, sunken barges, are pinned to the mud of the Hudson’s bottom by the tallest pines from the very shadow of these few precious Claryville white pines. Also, when you look at the older homes of Liberty, recall that many were built from that very grove of pine, saved for posterity by the far-sighted operators of the tannery . . . only to be sold by Jarius TerBush to builder and contractor James E. Dice II.

The sight that greeted the first European’s eyes here in the Cats-kills, from a high vantage point, was an unbroken carpet of dark blue color, interspersed with shadows of black. This was the view that vast, uninhabited areas of hemlock gave to the entire countryside.

The immense spreads of hemlock timber made the Catskills an island in the midst of the westward push of civilization. But today there’s just the one documented virgin hemlock left standing . . . though some are still rotting on the forest floor . . . Other virgin trees of any kind probably number less than 100.

Then the tanneries came, with the turnpikes, the sawmills, the villages and hamlets around them . . . the canal, the railroads, the inevi¬table major transportation to link them to market.

The Newburgh – Cochecton Turnpike was built in 1808. The Delaware and Hudson Canal in 1828. The Erie Railroad in 1851. The Denning to Napanoch Plank Road in 1856 . . . All of these run generally east and west, connecting the hinterlands with the rivers and the centers of population. And generally this holds true. A north to south railroad was planned, but never built, contrary to Nathaniel Bartlett Sylvester’s History of Ulster Co.

In the early years of the Newburgh-Cochecton Turnpike, its role was a vital one to the economic growth of the Sullivan area. It carried produce to the Hudson for transship¬ment to sloops bound for New York, serving as a quick route by for raftsmen returning to the upper reaches of the Delaware for a er sprawling raft of timber. Actually, by the time of the Civil Wa importance had been usurped considerably by the Delaware and son Canal and the New York and Erie Railroad.

In 1862 the 143rd Regiment used the Newburgh-Cochecton turnpike to march off to war-via Middletown and the Erie Railroad.

The hemlock, that basic need in a new industry of leather tanning was doomed. There was money in tanning, acres of tall trees to be cut, and the outcome was the growth of a vast new industry.

The eastern hemlock was more plentiful here than in any other of the state. The supply see med inexhaustible. The tide-water of the Hudson, a natural highway, was close. The Erie Railroad, the turnpikes, the D-and-H, would be built to transport the hides in finished leather out. We also had the tremendous amounts of wood needed for the hundreds of tanning establishments.

In 1860 Sullivan had 39 tanneries, top number in the state. had 30, Oneida and Oswego 38, Chenango and Schoharie 17. Delaware 24 and Greene County nine.

The tanbark industry developed after the War of 1812. Not then did the United States of America enjoy free commerce with the world. From the west via the Erie, from the east by the D-and-H, Brazil, Argentina, Australia, Spain and later from Texas, Huge shiploads of hides to be converted into leather.

The hides had to come to the bark, for the green hides were easier to transport than the bulky bark. It took one cord of bark, four by four by eight,, to tan ten hides, and it cost from three to ten trees to obtain one cord of bark.

French, in his 1860 Gazetteer said, “about 1817, upon the discovery of improved methods of tanning leather, tanners rushed into the Catskill mountains, purchased large tracts of mountain lands covered with hemlock timber and erected extensive tanneries.

“The valleys of Schoharie Creek, Batavia and Westkill soon teemed with a numerous active laboring population, and the solitude of the deep mountain glens was made vocal by the hum of industry, the buzz of the waterwheel and the rattling of machinery. Villages of considerable magnitude, with churches, schools, stores and taverns, rose up in the wilderness as if by magic.

Jack E. Hope, in the New York State Conservationist for October-November 1960, wrote:
Today, the tannery industry in New York got its start 200 years earlier, when in 1638 the Dutch built a tannery on Manhattan Island (then part of New Netherland). But any industry needs customers for the goods it produces, and until the late 1800’s the Catskill Mountain region could boast little in the way of permanent settlement (sic). Further hindrance to private commercial development existed in the form of the original “feudal” type of land ownership by influential families. The influence of these feudal tenures was not completely eliminated until 184 when the Constitution of the Empire State wiped out all possility of a manorial system in New York.

“By 1830, when leather tanning secured a foothold in the Catskills,” Hope continued, “many commercially-minded citizens had grasped the importance of the huge supply of hemlock bark, waiting to be exploited for its valuable tannins. Evidence of this fact comes from Quinlan’s “History of Sullivan County” in which the author states ‘Bark was cheap, as well as labor, while leather was dear…

“…The statement that ‘bark was cheap’ might well be revised by taking into account the dollar and cents value of the millions of board feet of hemlock timber skinned of its bark and left to rot on the forest floor.”

Prior to tannery days, the beautiful Catskills had been an unbroken blanket of green hemlock stretching to the horizon. Now factories for the tanning of leather sprang up wherever there was bark to feed them. Roads suitable for heavy loads pushed up every timbered valley. Peelers, with spuds in hand, went into the bark woods about May first, peeling the hemlock as long as it would peel, then stacking the bark in cord piles to dry and be drawn to the tanneries. The bark was taken to the tannery either by skidding it out in the summer and fall in dry season, or, at opportune times, the following winter.

High on the slopes of Doubletop, where only hardy hunters now penetrate, there are a few piles of forgotten hemlock bark, green with moss on the outside, just as they were peeled.

The spud was the tool of the bark-peelers. A hooked blade, with hardwood handle, it was made to cut into the slippery cambrium layer and slide al9ong the trunk, peeling a piece of bark approximately four feet long and from twelve to sixteen inches wide. The bark was removed from the butt to the first limb. The rest of the tree was left to rot where it fell. Actually, the trees were so exceptionally long lasting that this process would have taken at least fifty years, so many were burned by the people who settled the cut-over lands. A few were cut into umber to provide the first really good roads, the plank turnpikes.

The lovely, unpainted weathered grey barns are of hemlock.Uncured, hemlock wood is easily worked, resilient and yellow and aromatic. Cured, it is rock-hard, indestructible by insects, resistant to rot and decay, but it is brittle.
The spit and polish neatness of a modern factory had no counterpart in a tannery of the year 1860. Buildings were rough, unpainted lumber, with huge stacks of hemlock bark in houselike piles built up around them. Always the tanneries were on a stream, or near one, because great quantities of water were used in tanning. A characteristic smell hung over the than years.

It is not surprising to note that the largest tannery, Hammonds at DeBruce, used the same superb water supply as the New York Conservation Department employs for the Catskill Trout Hatchery.

Tanbark was ground in a water-powered mill, something like a huge coffee grinder. Then it was taken to a leach-house where it was mixed with boiling water and left to steep for about a week. The liquor was then ready to be piped to the tan-yards as needed.

The hides were first put in vats in the beam-house, and left for approximately one week. Some weighed as much as 125 pounds! They were taken out, pounded until soft, and split down the middle into sides. The sides were taken to the sweat-pits and left for five to eight days, according to the heat. To know when the hides were ready to be taken from the sweat-pits, workmen rubbed a thumb over them. The odor on opening these pits was terrible, and the hartshorn made the eyes run. If hair could be rubbed off with a thumb the sides were ready to be milled, or pounded, to remove the bulk of the hair. Beam hands then went to work, using a flenser, worker and big knife to scrape and clean any remaining hair or flesh from the hides.

Next the hides were treated to plump them, opening the pores so the leather would take a tan. Handlers put them, one by one, flat, into a vat of weak liquor solution. A shovelful of tanbark was scattered on each side as it sank. This kept the sides from settling too close together. After three weeks the sides were turned over and the liquor was made stronger. Again, at the end of three weeks, the hides were changed and laid down in strong liquor for three months.
This ended the tanning and the hides were put in loft to dry. When dry, they were scrubbed and treated with fish oil and hung up again for a short time, they were taken down for the last time and treated with tanners’ oil and rolled for easier ship¬ment to market.

Anyone who has handled a green, uncured, raw hide that has been left for a few days in the warm weather, can easily imagine the terrible stench that hung over the tanneries. Many of these hides had traveled from the ends of the earth, slowly and without refrigeration.

The first extensive tannery in the state was built at Tannersville by Colonel William V. Edwards and his son William W., of Northampton, Massachusetts, in July 1817. The first tannery in the Greene County Catskills locale dates to 1791, or 1792, built by John Bray, in the town of Lexington. Soon after the Edwards tannery at Tannersville flourish¬ed, other tanneries were built and a very large amount of leather was made annually for a long series of years, until the hemlock bark was exhausted.

For example, the extraordinary Col. Zadok Pratt’s tannery at Prattsville used 6,000 cords of bark, tanning 60,000 sides of sole leather annually, for 25 years!

It has been estimated that it took a long ton of bark, 2,240 pounds to tan 250 pounds of leather. With a big tannery operation producing 30,000 sides of leather in a year, it is easy to see what happened to the virgin hemlock stands of these hills.

In 1860, J. H. French wrote, “The supply of bark was so exhausted, and the proprietors gradually abandoned their establishments and followed the mountain chain south, erecting new factories in t and Sullivan counties, and their successors are now pursuing the lock into the heart of the Alleghenies. The result of all this was to facilitate the occupation of the lands in the mountain towns, at many cases to carry cultivation to the summits of the most lofty ra thereby opening one of the finest dairy and wool growing regions in the State.”

The Palens gave the name to Palenville, Greene County, then south to Fallsburgh (at the Neversink Falls) where they ran the Palen and Flagler tannery, to Neversink Flats (now under the reservoir) for Palen & Co., and then on to Rockland where it was Utter and ! in the year 1865.

The Flaglers, as you know, turned to the resort business, making the transition from one century’s big business to the next century’ business without moving.

Colonel Gideon E. Bushnell, first commander of the elite called “The Ulster Guard,” the 20th Regiment of New York, ran a tannery which gave the name to Bushnellville on the Ulster-Greene county line, then came south to found Claryville.

But it was Colonel George W. Pratt and Governor Edwin D. Morgan who offered the 20th to the Union, the 12th of April, 1861. April 28th they were on their way. (The son of Col. Zadok Pratt, was a businessman and Congressman, though illiterate, Col. George W. was wounded at the second Battle of Bull Run, was taken from the to Washington, then to Albany where he died on the llth of September 1862. The 20th went on to fight at Gettysburg under Col. Gates who “lost more than half his force.”)

Private Lewis Snyder, later Captain Snyder, and also a partner in the Bushnell and Snyder tannery, was wounded at Gettysburg. Bushnell tannery became the Bushnell and Snyder tannery. Jarius Bush purchased the remaining property from the Snyders, and daughter, Mrs. Harvey Slater, now holds what is left.

The tannery owners were not only the big wheels of the villages they begat, they were the officers the men followed into battle, and the tannery fortunes, plus the experience gained in the wild boom towns and on the bloody battlefields took them into some of the most prom¬inent and influential positions throughout the world.

Many born in the township of Liberty went to other parts of the country to operate successful tanneries. Wherever hemlock grew in abundance there could be found the Crarys, the Gildersleeves, the Hortons, Garrits, Smiths or Grants.
In 1860, Liberty was turning out 106,000 sides of leather. Fallsburgh’s Woodbourne’s tanneries were putting out about 40,000 each. In 1865, the tanneries owned by Medah T. Morse, at Woodbourne, Morsston and Black Lake were pushing out about one million pounds, valued at over $250,000. However, S. Hammond and Son, at DeBruce, was the peak single producer in 1865 with 826,280 pounds of leather, valued at $279,778 dollars. In 1855, Sullivan’s 40 tanneries turned out two million dollars worth of leather.

Inasmuch as the 1865 figure was for income tax you can rest as¬sured it was slashed from the truth, perhaps even as much, or more than, fifty percent!

Mrs. James Cusator of Liberty wrote, “James Gildersleeve owned the first tannery in the town of Liberty. Born in 1786, the father of 16 children and a veteran of the War of 1812, James Gildersleeve began his tanning operations with very crude tools.

“At first the bark was broken with a hammer; later a mill was set up, run by horsepower (one old horse). Uncle Jimmy, as he was called (in the casual, friendly way), tanned hides and skins for his neighbors on shares. The shoes from his leather seldom wore out, but then children went barefooted from May to October. From this small beginning the tanning industry grew, bringing fame and fortune to the sons of Liberty pioneers.”

Putting the shoe on the right foot, elders as well as children didn’t wear shoes in the summer, except to church! They sat down by the road¬side and put them on just before going in to worship.

The Catskill hemlock leather beyond doubt seldom wore out. It was the finest leather made anywhere in the world! Imagine this fact: the boots never leaked, without using water-proofing!

After the war, when the hemlock supply was dwindling, oak bark was used, first as an additive. Later the present chemical tanning pro¬cess began. Oak tanned leather is now the best obtainable, but is in such short supply you find it only in the best sporting boots. And hem¬lock-tanned leather is not obtainable at all.

The tanning profits were enormous! In 1856 a Mongaup V; tannery, with an overhead of $12,000 turned out 50,000 sides of leather, valued at $187,000: 5,000 cords of bark were used, 70 men employee

James Gildersleeve paid a man and his oxen 75 cents for 1 day’s work drawing bark in 1829. In 1830 he laid out 14 shill ($1.65) per cord of bark. By comparison the Governor of the State paid $4,000 a year, the Lt. Gov. $6.00 a day and mileage.

No wonder the workers couldn’t afford to wear the shoes from leather they made . . . except to church!
In 1855, according to J. H. French’s Gazetteer of the State, which used census reports, there were 40 tanneries in Sullivan doing a two million dollar business. Trans¬fer that two million dollars worth of leath¬er reported in 1865 into today’s figures!

By 1844, James Gildersleeve and his son, Nathaniel, owned a sawmill, gristmill and tannery. The buildings stood in the gorge now largely filled in and covered over, below the cemetery bridge in the village of Liberty. The tannery extended from bank to bank over the Mongaup. The partners did an excellent business in tanning and currying, sending upper leather and calfskin to New York City

Mrs. Cusator continues, “Then a disastrous flood destroyed the tannery. Undaunted, the Messrs. Gildersleeve moved to Liberty Falls (Ferndale). Here they were still doing business, and paying taxes, in 1865. Records show that in that year they manufactured 103,198 poounds of sole leather valued at $32,961, and paid an income tax of $1,694.60 (The tax was 1 and 2/3 cents per pound. For the year ending June 30, 1865, Sullivan tanneries paid the United States government $112,983.92. Income tax began August 5, 1861 – 3% of all income over $800
“James Gildersleeve died in 1870. William Gildersleeve, so Nathaniel, was proprietor of a tannery near Liberty in 1872. He manufactured sole leather. Later, going to Tennessee, he continued ir leather business. David Clements, Abiel Bush and Lucas Forbes h tannery at Bushville.

“Judge William Horton tanned the first leather in Delaware County. William’s son, with his wife, six sons and four daughters, came to Liberty Falls in 1826. Here he erected the first frame house and the gristmill. Later he built a tannery, the chimney of which is still standing, and is now used as a TV tower.

“He died in 1855, but left a family of successful tanners to carry on his name. Five sons and 13 grandchildren, either directly or indi¬rectly engaged in the tanning industry. Later Henry Gurd took over the Horton tannery. In 1845, one of Isaac’s sons, Charles entered the tannery business at Liberty Falls with Nathaniel Gildersleeve, thus joining two great pioneer names of the tannery business as a partner¬ship venture.

“Stevensville (now Swan Lake) received its name from the Stevens Brothers. Native tanners from Schoharie County, they conducted a sole leather tannery in Stevensville until it burned in 1856. One brother, Daniel, rebuilt the tannery and continued the business until after 1872.

“Traffic in Parksville, during the late ’60s, presented congestion problems only exceeded by the automobiles of today. A number of tanneries operated there. They were owned by William Bradley, James F. Bush, Thomas Crary and his brother-in-law, J. Newton Young. Crary and Young, alone, kept 20 or 30 mule teams to haul the loads in and out of their tanneries.

“Grant and Lane operated a tannery across the street from the present Elks Club in Liberty. This was badly damaged by the summer flood of 1855. Quinlan mentioned this flood as follows: ‘On the 24th of July, 1855, showers of rain raised the Mongaup until it swept every¬thing in its way. The lanyard of Grant and Lane was overflowed, leaches torn away, etc. The tannery of James Gildersleeve and son was undermined and torn to pieces; their leather hides carried downstream. Their loss was $10,000.

“In 1862, Senator Robert Y. Grant died and his tanning business subsequently was taken over by his son Oscar B. Grant (A Lieutenant in the U. S. Marines during the Civil War.) About 1870, Oscar, af¬fectionately known as “Doc,” dismantled the tannery and moved to Ridgeway, Pa., where he continued in the leather business. O. B. Grant, a man of wealth, hated autos and would never ride in one, but when he died at the age of 80, ironically, the horse drawn carriage had given way to the modern coach, and this Civil War veteran was carried to his last resting place in the “devil wagon” he despised.

“About 100 years ago (1832), Mason Crary built a tannery on the flats south of Liberty. A sawmill and several tenant houses were later erected. Mason Crary, unlike his brothers, was an inventor, and a dreamer, and not a business executive. Hence the inhabitants who knew him doubted his business would succeed. They doubted to each other, they doubted to strangers; they doubted loud and long, until the little community became known as Dowtonville, and to this day the bridge over the Mongaup, near Ben Gerow’s gas station on route 17 is known as the Dowtonville bridge. * The tannery burned. Watson Co., now No. 1′s, used their new pumper for the first time on this

“While the tanneries flourished, the trout disappeared from streams, killed by the residue. However, with the passing of the tanning business, they again filled the many streams and brooks as a lure to summer boarders. As the summer boarders flocked to Sullivan On hemlock was once again in demand, but this time as lumber, used to build or enlarge the small houses that had sufficed the settlers.

“On the farm of J. Newton Clements, just east of Liberty village they peeled the hemlock before sawing the logs into lumber. The following winter, with the slackening of farm work, Mr. Clements w sell the bark to the Fairchild tannery in Monticello, delivering it horses and sleigh.

“It was an all day trip, and especially long to the mother with small children at home. Often, when night drew near, the children would stand by the road and put their ears to the ground to catch beat of the horse’s feet, a quarter of a mile away.

“The Clements family sold bark as late as 1906.”

Some of these fortunes which were made during the Civil years, when Sullivan County tanning was at its peak were lost di the 1870 depression. But the Webb Horton Memorial Church and Elizabeth Horton Memorial Hospital of Middletown were erected using a large share of money given by the heirs of the Horton family who vast holdings in county tanneries.
Mildred Parker Seese, Middletown Times Herald Record columnist wrote. “The fact that there were tanneries in Greene County importance in Middletown and all of western Orange County means we still profit directly and indirectly from the southward migration of tanners when the hemlocks around Windham, Ashland and Pratt: gave out.

“The chief monument to the tanning industry, perhaps the one, is the rock carving representing Zadok Pratt overlooking his vi and the Schoharie Creek, which furnished water necessary for bod tanning process and the power his tannery needed. That rocky once bore a noble forest of deep green, red barked hemlocks.

* (This bridge was just south of the present Mongaup bridge OH the north, entrance to the Route 17 Quickaiay at exit 100. Editor)

“Catskill, where the tanners put their produce on Hudson sloops, has a monument of another kind, the Tanner’s National Bank. And there is Tannersville across the mountain from Windham.

“Albert E. Babcock, who built the Cornelius &: Dodd Funeral Home on Grove Street for his daughter, Mrs. Thrall (long the Harry Gould residence, and his brother Linus B., who became a Middletown hat manufacturer, and built a fine residence on an eminence now leveled and replaced by a gas station opposite Central Firehouse, went’ down from Sullivan. But they were sons of an early tanner at Prattsville and Ashland, and first cousins of the railroad financier from Delaware County . . . Jay Gould. Albert’s daughter, Sara Maretta Thrall, was Middletown’s Beneficient Lady.”

The Matthews & Hunt carpetbag factory and at least a dozen fam¬ilies, some of great importance to the city – like Horatio Wilcox, a hat¬ter who built Dr. Pohlmann’s house at Railroad and Grove-went from Greene County to Middletown in related migrations. And about 1895 the Newburgh took their foundry from Coxsackie to Goshen, which was for them really a return to near their pioneer territory in Warwick.

Service to the Sullivan County tannery industry was among the reasons Samuel Callendar Howell built a depot and warehouse and per¬suaded the Erie to designate a stop at his place on a trade route from Sullivan to the Hudson. Thus we have the Orange County hamlet of Howells, dominated by the magnificent brick Howell house which was long the home of the Times-Herald advertising staff’s Fanny Dudley.

The Dietz operation at Burlingame, from where some Dietzes went to Syracuse and the lantern business, probably was Sullivan’s first tan¬nery of consequence. One of the Dietz buildings, as well as a family home, still exists, on the property that was, in the 1930′s, Camp Isida for Macy Store employees, after the late Benjamin Todd of Middletown, Marie’s father, had made a summer resort around the tannery pond.

John Joachim Dietz, whose tannery and glue factory in New York depending on hides from his fellow-Rhinelander, John Jacob Astor, moved the tannery to the Sullivan-Orange border in 1818 to be near the source of tanning bark. The bark supply gave out about 1838, but the family is represented in the area.

The earliest Orange County tannery, Mildred Parker Seese reports, was the Dill and Boyd at Hunting Grove, near Burnside. She says it was either the Robert Boyd, junior, Revolutionary arms maker, or his father who was the partner with Dill.

French’s Gazetteer says that Bethel township tanneries turned out 102 thousand sides of leather annually 100 years ago. That (then pronounced Caw-li-coon) five large tanneries turned oui thousand, “Lumbering and tanning form the leading industry” in Cochecton. Fallsburgh: 80,000. Forestburg, 100,000. Tanning and lumbering form the principal employments of the pro But evidently Highland had no tannery, French said, “the pcople chiefly engaged in lumbering and the rudiments of farming.”

Liberty turned out 106 thousand sides of leather, Lumber and evidently had no tanneries, but there has been timbering since at least when “Reeves Sawmill” was mentioned in the Minisink Paicni didn’t report how much leather Mamakating turned out, though had tanneries, but did say the 1855 census shows “this town is se only to Thompson in dairying.” Neversink’s 1855 production wi thousand sides, Rockland’s area had one of the most extensive tanr in the state and annually tanned 170 thousand sides of leather. Th son, where people raised stock, lumbered and tanned, turned out 8 . . . Tusten’s people were generally engaged in farming and liinib rather than tanning.
Former Sullivan County Historian, Charles C. Hicks compiled list, with the following footnote:
The above (below) is for the year ending June 3Qth, 1865, a probably taken from a tax return. The tax paid to the U. S. Gout. ( War tax) was $142,893.92 – which is the rate of 1 2/3 cents per pound

Names Pounds Value
Wales, Gad & Co., Forestburg, later Gildersleeve 225,818 $67,793
Wheeler, O.B., Oakland Valley 121,711 42,437
Gilman, W., St. Josephs 246,252 63,730
Wales, Gideon, Pike Pond 303,938 97,896
Hammond, S. & Son Debruce 826,280 279,778
Morss, Medad T. Woodbourne 324,866 103,699
Morss, Medad T. Morrston 341,239 100,453
Morrs, Medad T. Black Lake 206,849 66,370
Mileas & Miles Hankins, Mileses 88,527 27,784
Clark, E.A. & Col. Jeffersonville 600,051 243,461
Horton Knapp & Co. Cochecton Center 247,309 74,811
Babcock, L.B. Beaverkill 184,329 62,517
Buckley & Lapham (same as Hoyt Bros.) Callicoon Center 207,795 75,572
Buckley, B.P. & Sons, Freemont Center 312,292 80,637
Utter & Palen Rockland 161,212 54,806
Babcock, A.E. Beaverkill 149,367 57,987
Inderlied, Henry Parksville 107,584 31,469
Horton, Clements & Co. Liberty Falls 286,303 71,490
Cochrane & Appley Roscoe 100,058 29,372
Hoyt Brothers (reside in N.Y.) Callicoon Center 265,653 92,688
Interlied, Henry Youngsville 12,413 3,238
Young & Crary Parksville 146,665 47,528
Palen & Flagler Fallsburg 464,757 149,138
Snyder & Bushnell Claryville 326,792 94,431
Palen & Col. Neversink Flats 373,299 112,422
Castle, Philip A. Gildersleeve, J. & N. Liberty Falls 103,198 32,961
Stevens, D.T. Stevensville (Swan Lake) 157,979 42,810
Johnston, John Denning, Ulster Co. 74,196 22,530
Hammond, Stoddard Grahamsville 199,082 65,265
Grant, O.B. Liberty 189,190 31,877
Dutcher & Decker Willowemoc 110,929 36,266
W. Kiersted & Co. Mongaup Valley 513,405 161,104
Fobes, Edwin Bushville 192,147 59,504
Snyder, John B. Claryville 25,597 14,220
Kuykendall & Knapp Summitville 61,511 27,079
Denniston, C.W. 68,411 28, 310
Bowers & Morris Wurtsboro 6,914 3,107
Dietz, G.F. Burlingham 29,879 11,346
Totals: 8,567,872 $2,609,389

The tanning industry gave employment to many men, the larger ones employing as many as 700 at a time. Boom towns sprang up around the tanneries. Today they are ghost towns, like Ferndale, or forgotten communities, like Starlight, which did have a post office, or marked only by a few vestiges of foundations and village homes, like Fallsburgh, leaving very little evidence of the many tanneries which dotted Sulli¬van’s 1,082 square miles.

“Tanneries varied in size,” Jack E- Hope reported “from very small establishments employing three or four workers to large, well-planned operations such as the Palen tannery built in the year 1832 on the falls of the Neversink in Sullivan County. The main building of this tan¬nery measured 40 x 350 feet and contained 160 tanning vats, capable of holding 25,000 sides of leather. In operation, the business required 4,000 cords of hemlock bark yearly (a cord is roughly equivalent to one ton of bark). About 40 workers earned their living under ilic of this one building, while additional manpower was needed in < to harvest the huge amount of bark. The Claryville tannery, Inii 1848, also in Sullivan County, was even larger. It employed 50 and tanned 30,000 sides of leather annually.

“But the tanners, whose aim it was to ‘convert the forests to at the least possible expense,’ added to their bank accounts at the l< their future. By 1870 the Catskills fell behind the Southern Tier Adirondack counties in leather production. At this time, New York lost her lead to Pennsylvania, with tanning establishments declining in number from more than 1,000 in 1870 to but 147 in 1900, following state-wide depletion of hemlock.

“It’s small wonder that the supply of hemlock bark disappeared Following tanning processes of the day, one “long” ton (2,240 pounds of hemlock bark was needed to tan between 200 to 300 pounds of leather. With tanneries the size of Rufus Palen’s, mentioned above, using as much as 4,000 long tons of bark yearly, the hills were soon denude hemlock. These three species, along with a few others, are the “natural successors” in the Catskill area, ruling out the possibility of natural replacement of the hemlock stands …”

Hope continues, “Profit-minded tanners did not heed the wan of the few foresighted individuals who predicted the inevitable extinction of the hemlock stands and the downfall of the tanning business

“At the turn of the century, Catskill tanneries were on their out; only eight small businesses remained. The area also possessed and chestnut, which could have been used for tanning, but these sp were relatively scarce and their utilization for tanning would have impractical.

“During their period of prosperity these tanneries were not I filed by any of the more modern advances in tanning technology ginning about 1880, laborsaving machinery and new tanning compo found their place in American leather manufacture. Although the | extract, tannin, is still the leading ingredient in tanning formula importance has been diminished by the popular use of oils, aldehydes, chrome and synthetic tanning materials. But the revolutionary formulas and mechanical advantages of modern tanning came too late to the tanning industry and the hemlocks of the Catskills. The region’s importance as a leather producer vanished as quickly as it came about.

“Had this heavy exploitation of the hemlock been postpone some twenty years, modern technology might have prevented the plete disappearance o£ the Catskill tanneries. But no amount -of en¬lightenment now can restore these tanneries nor the great tracts of hem¬lock that played such a brief but dramatic role in the history of the Catskills.”
Had this exploitation been postponed by one year, the North might have lost the Civil War . . . “for the want of a nail …”
French tells us that Sullivan’s valuation in 1858 was $4,276,586. Now it is, assessed valuation $121,257,502: true valuation $330,387,709.

In 1858, Thompson was our richest township, with Mamakating second with $658,778, but Mamakating was ahead in valuation of real estate, $612,928 to $515,680, but way behind in value of personal prop¬erty, only $45,850 compared to Thompson’s $225,800. Rockland was the county’s poorest township with only $115,685 valuation, of real and personal property.

Other interesting 1858 figures: there were 125,489 1/4 acres of im¬proved lands, 494,829 1/4 unimproved. Four to one. I doubt that to¬day’s comparison is any better, if as good, for we hit our peak around the turn of the twentieth century.

Our population was 29,487, and it is still under 50,000. 15, I’M i 13,996 ladies, more men than women, as on any frontier. Their were only 5,403 dwellings, 5,517 families, 4,070 freeholders, 46 churches, school districts (now 10) with 12,330 children in school. There i two secondary schools, Monticello and Liberty academies. Mamakating maintained its lead over Thompson down the line, except in freeholders. Thompson had 514, Mamakating 511. The town of Forestburg the least number of people; a total of 598,325 in school. The town of Delaware hadn’t come into being.

Thompson had the most horses, 440 and cows, 1721, raised most dairy products, chiefly butter. Liberty had the most working oxen and calves, 2,463 and made more cheese than Thompson. Neversink led with sheep, 2,450, Mamakating had the top number of hogs, 1,751, raised the most grain, nearly 50,000 bushels. Neversink the most apples 14,545 bushels.

French also said, sort of prophetically, “The climate is cool bracing, and the county is remarkably healthy.”
Sullivan’s population of 29,487 people included 110 colored. There were 5,727 voters, only men in those days; 3,606 aliens, 21,508 New York born, 23,185 born in the country. 6,128 were born out of the country. Also there were 436 people over 21 who couldn’t read or write but probably most over 21 could only read and write their own names. There were 11 deaf and dumb, 13 blind, 16 insane, 13 idiots.

Ulster County’s population then was 67,936, Orange 60,868. Orange; had 1,426 black or mulatto . . . but there was only one slave still alive in New York State in 1855 when these figures were compiled.

Back in 1790 Sullivan had 1,763 people … in 1800, 3,222. how these figures were compiled we don’t know, inasmuch as Sull wasn’t set off from Ulster until 1809. In 1810 we had 6,108; 1814 6,233; 1820, 8,900; 1825, 10,373; 1830, 12,364; 1835, 13,755; 1 15,629; 1845, 18,727; 1850, 25,088; 1855, 29,487.
Sullivan and Ulster had no medical society, though most other counties did.

There were many religious, literary and benevolent societies in 1860, all of which arose between 1822 and 1825, and all with an meetings during “Anniversary Week” on the 2nd week in May in York City. The American Bible Society which started in 1809 in state, began in Sullivan in 1826. It had raised over $5,000 up to of the year 1858.
The Free and Accepted Masons order began in Sullivan in 1861. Oddly, horseracing at Saratoga started during the war itself, Aug. 1863.

Sullivan was a state leader in one agricultural “product” . . . the number of working oxen. They drew the loads of hides in, the bark to the tanneries, the leather out. We had 4,265 working oxen, bested only by Chatauqua, Delaware, Dutchess, Saint Lawrence, Steuben, Ulster and Westchester.

We had only 15 stone houses, no brick ones, 4,230 frame homes, 757 log houses, a total of 5,403. There were 3,643 farms, with 125,489-1/4 improxed acres, 620,318 1|2 unimproved. Eleven counties had more unimproved land. Ten counties had more sawmills . . . but no county had more tanneries.

Gales in the town of Thompson is now just a memory. Bashville in Bethel is gone. Neversink Falls had 25 homes, was even in 1860 the Fallsburg post office. Now it’s often called Old Falls to differentiate it from South Fallsburg which grew up around the New York, Ontario & Western railway depot. Sandburg’s 15 homes would come to be known as Mountaindale; Woodridge was then Centerville; Liberty Falls is now Ferndale, and Glen Cove is Grossinger. Robertsonville became White Sulphur Springs, Stevensville turned into Swan Lake.

Neversink Flats, which in 1860 had the Neversink post office (and post offices were in their infancy) is now obliterated by the New York City water supply reservoir of the same name. Morsston has been for¬gotten for Morsston Depot on the O and W Railroad which we call Livingston Manor.

Westfield Flats turned into Roscoe in honor of Senator Roscoe Conkling. The Delaware river’s raftsmen often called Lackawaxen “Lacawack,” but Lacawack was on the Roundout River located directly under the present Merriman dam.
Consider this, away back then, when the great war began, this was a raw, rough frontier, with booming growing towns. Some of our townships, like Fallsburgh, Liberty and Thompson of the present Gold¬en Triangle, have more permanent residents, but most townships of Sullivan have less.

In 1860, Neversink had 2,180 people, now only 1,555. In 1860 Cochecton had 3,071 compared to today’s 1,067.

Anna Etheridge is a person who was common to all the regiments of the Union 3^rd Corps. She is mentioned in numerous regimental histories that I’ve read from this corps, and I don’t think a history of the brigade can be written without talking about her.

Annie Blair was born in Detroit Michigan on May 3^rd, 1844. She is said to have been of Dutch descent and her father, was well-to-do at the time of her birth. In her early childhood, however, the family fortunes changed, and a move was made either to Minnesota or Wisconsin,…where her father died when she was twelve years old. While still young, Anna married a Mr. Etheridge.

When the Civil War broke out, she joined the Second Michigan in Detroit, but she then transferred her allegiance to the Third Michigan, and lived in the field with it. She never carried a rifle, or course, but it was said that she carried pistols. She was wounded in the hand at Chancellorsville. General Kearny gave her the Kearny Cross for her devotion to the wounded at Fair Oaks, and commissioned her as a regimental sergeant. She was sometimes called Michigan Annie, and Gentle Annie.

She was furnished with a horse, side-saddle, saddlebags etc. and during battle would often ride fearlessly to the front. When she saw a man fall, she would dash forward into the hottest fire, lift him on her horse and bring him safely to the rear; and whenever she found a soldier too badly hurt to go to the rear, she would dismount, and, regardless of the wounds, give water or stimulating drink, then gallop on in search of another sufferer. At night she would wrap herself in her blanket, sleeping on the ground with the rest of the soldiers. Her exploits at Manassas, Antietam, Chancellorsville, Gettysburg and in the battles of Grant’s closing campaign were a favorite theme with the soldiers. Wounded only once, a grazed hand, she acquired many bullet holes through her long dresses. Once a shell burst near her, killing the young man from New York she was bandaging. At Blackburn’s Ford, she was there at the front of the charge. She displayed a “reckless indifference to danger” and, when the charge was over, though wounded in the hand, she calmly dismounted, unpacked her saddle bags and, though under heavy fire, set about caring for the wounded.

At Chancellorsville, she went to the outposts with the skirmishers and was ordered back to the lines. The enemy was already shooting at the pickets. On the way back, she passed a line of low trenches where the Union soldiers lay concealed, and, spurning the thought that the affair must end in a retreat, she turned her face to the enemy and called out to the men, “boys, do your duty and whip those fellows!” A hearty cheer was the response, and those fellows poured a volley into the hidden trenches.

At Spotsylvania she turned a party of retreating soldiers back to their place in the ranks by offering to lead them into battle.

And, finally, a soldier’s tribute:

“At the beginning of the war, many regiments brought out laundresses, as provided for in army regulations. Annie etheridge, a young and remarkably good looking girl, from humble life, was among the laundresses of the Third Micigan Volunteers……..At the battle of Williamsburg, during the severest shelling on Sunday morning, she rode coolly up to the spot where the brigade commander and staff were watching the progress of the fight, and insisted on their eating some breakfast and drinking some coffee she had provided. Ordered repeatedly to seek a place of safety, she refused till each one had taken a drink of coffee from her canteen, and a ‘hard tack of two if nothing more.” While in the group three horses were shot under their riders by her side, but she never flinched or betrayed the slightest emotion of fear.

At one time the enemy had killed nearly every horse of one of our batteries, several of the caissons had been exploded, and more than half of the men shot at their guns. Disheartened, the remainder were about to abandon their pieces, when Annie rode up calmly to the battery so thinned, and smiling said, “That’s right, boys, now you’ve good range, you’ll soon silence their battery.” The boys took courage, remained at their posts, silenced the enemy’s battery and saved their pieces. One of the men, relating the incident, said, that “all the officers of the Army of the Potomac would not have had as much influence over the men as did Annie, on her little roan mare. “ They say that she saved their battery that day.

At another time she came very near being captured. Riding in the extreme front, she came within a rod of the enemy’s line, but she said she grasped her pistol, (which she always wore in her belt,) determined to have a fight before being captured.”

After the war, Annie returned to Detroit with her regiment which was mustered out on July 1, 1865. She secured a clerkship in the Detroit Treasury, but was dismissed in 1878 upon her marriage to a Mr. Hooks, a one-legged soldier.

It can confidently be said the she saved many hundreds of lives of wounded men who would have perished but for her assistance.

There were carvings in Rosslyn Chapel that shouldn’t have been there. Among the most prominent are carvings of Indian Maize (corn)…Europe didn’t know about corn when Rosslyn was built, in 1446, 46 years before Columbus. Where did the Masons who built this castle learn about corn?

On this site is the story of Henry Sinclair’s (of the Sinclair family that built Rosslyn castle) voyages to the new world, in the 1300’s.

Prince Henry Sinclair was the subject of historian Frederick J. Pohl’s book “Atlantic Crossings Before Columbus”, which was published in 1961. Not all historians agreed with Pohl, but he made a highly convincing case that this blond, sea-going Scot, born at Rosslyn Castle near Edinburgh in 1345, not only wandered about mainland Nova Scotia in 1398, but also lived among the Micmacs long enough to be remembered through centuries as the man-god “Glooscap”.

This Zeno Narrative told about a survey to make a map of the travels of the Sinclairs to Nova Scotia in about 1393; it was conducted by Nicolo Zeno, and later by Prince Henry’s ships. This Zeno Map of the North proved to be the most accurate map in existence for the next 150 years!

Not only did the Zeno Map chart the sea with uncanny precision, it also showed certain landmarks. For example, it illustrated two cities in Estotilanda (Nova Scotia), possibly founded by Sinclair at and St. Peter’s. A castle or fortification was shown. There is speculation that Zeno based his map upon a much more ancient map, coming from the Templars in the Middle East, carried in secrecy by them for safekeeping in Rosslyn Castle , until Price Henry commissioned its update by Zeno.

Further, there is a carving, in Westford, Massachusett , on rock, of a Templar knight. In the 1880s, the people of Westford, Massachusetts, knew of a strange carving on a rock beside a quiet road. Back then, they believed it to be a “primitive” Indian carving and, thinking no more of it, left it alone. But in 1954, the carving was “re-discovered” by an amateur archaeologist. Upon further examination, it was declared that the six-foot high figure punched into the rock seemed to represent a medieval knight. The effigy was in full armour, wearing helmet, mail and surcoat.

The existence of this incised figure – if it is genuine – would appear to corroborate a statement in the Zeno Narrative that explains that a cousin of Zichmni’s died while on the continent. If the Westford Knight is indeed a 14th century carving, it is typical of an effigy used to mark the grave of a fallen knight.

Now…on Oak Island, a small island off of Nova Scotia, is a hole where people have spent 150 years trying to discover treasure supposedly buried there. The legend was that it is pirate treasure, but the hole is an ingeniously engineered trap to prevent people from discovering what is inside it. To date, no one has gotten to the bottom of the hole.
Pirates did not have the skills to build such an effective hiding place for their treasure…but the Knights Templar did. If Henry Sinclair, a Knight Templar, spent a few years on Nova Scotia Island, he would be the perfect candidate for having constructed the treasury on Oak Island, to bury the Templar treasure.

A Close examination of Capt. Charles H. Weygant’s Mysterious Horseman, May 2d, 1863
By Steve Haas

On the evening of May 2, 1863, the 124th New York had a meeting with a group of Confederate horsemen. The regiment fired on those horsemen, and the horsemen disappeared into the woods.

 For the rest of their lives, the men of the 124th believed they had shot at Confederate Major Thomas J. Jackson, who was killed that night by his own troops. The 124th believed that they had either killed Jackson, or caused him to turn back into his own troops, causing his death by the hands of his own men. This belief was held by many other men and regiments in the III Corps, and formed a good part of the lore of the survivors of this Corps.

 This article is meant as a critical analysis of that event, a detailed look at a mystery in one regiment’s archives. Hopefully, this will clear up the mystery.

 The account of Charles Weygant, author the 124th’s regimental history, reads as follows: ”

 …..A moment later, my attention was drawn to a slight rustling in the road, just in front of me, and a horseman rode up and asked, in a tone of authority, ‘What regiment is this?’ and added, ‘Colonel, don’t fire into your own men,’ for at that juncture, in reply to another slight shower of bullets which passed over their left, our regiment, without waiting for orders, opened a straggling fire. Colonel Ellis, who at the time stood talking with me, stepped toward the questioner and replied, in a loud voice, ‘This is the One Hundred and Twenty-Fourth New York, and by —— we will give them shot for shot, friend or foe.’ Meantime several other horsemen appeared, and drew rein in the shadow of the trees. At Colonel Ellis’ gruff answer, this unknown officer whirled and put spurs to his horse, and the whole party dashed in the woods on the farther, or north side of the road, followed by a ball from Colonel Ellis’ revolver and a volley from Company A….”[1]

 Weygant then gives several quotes from Professor R.L. Dabney, of the Union Theological Seminary, Virginia, from his book, “Life and Campaigns of Lieutenant-General Thomas J. Jackson,” and some officers of General Jackson’s Staff to show that Jackson did indeed utter those words, was in the locale, and gave actions similar to those described in Weygant’s account. He concludes thusly, “Again I ask, was the officer who rode out of the woods and asked, ‘What regiment is this,’ Stonewall Jackson? Let others answer as they may, in my mind there is not the slightest doubt if it; but as to whether his mortal hurt was caused by one of the bullets the 124th sent after him as he rode away, or by that of one of his own men as he returned to them is not so clear.”[2]

 In order to reconcile the question of the 124th’s involvement in the wounding of General Thomas J. Jackson, two key facts must be established; first is the geographical position of Colonel Emlin Franklin’s First Brigade, 3rd Division, III Corps; the second is to determine the time of the encounter with Weygant’s mysterious horseman.

 Weygant recalled that the 124th NY was ordered from the vicinity of Catherine Furnace late in the afternoon of May 2 and was massed with other units by General Sickles as soon as they “came to another cleared farm.” He goes on to state that  “our brigade (Franklin’s)….moved on across the open space and took position in the edge of the woods beyond.”  He describes the position of the regiment thusly:

 ”The right of the 124th now rested on a road which ran at right angles with their line and into the woods in front of them. This road was….the “Orange Plank Road…the clearing behind us was the Van Wert farm. We were facing West”[3]

 This road is further defined later in Captain Weygant’s narrative, when he vividly (and accurately) described the late night attack of General Birney’s division, spearheaded by General J. Hobart Ward’s Brigade. The only road available for Ward’s troops that could accommodate their formation of column of companies closed en masse was the road leading from Catherine Furnace north to Hazel Grove, or through a break in the forest known as “Vista” and terminating at the Orange Plank Road near an old school house. Certainly it was this road that anchored the right of the 124th NY, not the Orange Plank Road. And, since this lane runs in a roughly north-south direction, the 124th NY must have been facing north, not West.

 As for the “clearing” described by Weygant as the Van Wert Farm, Col. Emlin Franklin, the brigade commander, reported that his brigade was located “on a hill” and “placed in a position to the left and front (of a line of III Corps Artillery) about 200 yards holding a line of woods which skirted an open field.”[4] This position is confirmed in the official report of the 3rd Division, III Corps, written by Captain Henry R. Dalton, Assistant Adjutant-General of the 3rd Division (for the deceased General Amiel Whipple). Dalton submitted “the First Brigade was then put in two lines, to the left and front of the batteries, close to the woods on the edge of the open field….[5] Although the terrain does bear some similarity to the vicinity of the Van Wert Farm, there were simply no III Corps units positioned at Van Werts’. The terrain described by Franklin, Dalton and Weygant can only be the Hazel Grove sector; the farmhouse was just a small structure noted on many maps of the area. It is important to note that the position of the 1st Brigade at Hazel Grove is over 100 yards southwest of Van Wert’s on Orange Plank Road.

 As for the time of the encounter with the horseman, eyewitness accounts written very soon after the battle provide interesting information. Private Henry Howell of Co. E., 124th NY, in a letter dated May 7, 1863 wrote that:

 ”There was a rail fence breastwork that protected the first line from the minnie balls. Until 11 o’clock the 122d PV (Pennsylvania Volunteers) were on the first line and we were 8 or ten rods (about 50 yards) behind them…at 11 o’clock we changed places with the front line and stood there until morning.”[6]

 The pieces seem to fit, corroborating the accounts of Dalton, Franklin and Weygant. While First Sergeant Sprenger’s account mentions a time of “10 pm”, the official report of his regimental commander, Lieut. Col. Edward McGovern, 122 PV asserted that “about 11 p.m. the enemy advanced and opened fire. My skirmishers fell back, as directed, and immediately I opened fire….shortly afterward, I was relieved by the 124th New York Volunteers.”[7]

 Weygant, in his vivid description of his night reconnaissance patrol, gives us little indication of the time of this mission. One might surmise that it took place soon after the 124th took to the picket line at 11 p.m. This premise gains further support upon consideration of another Howell letter…this one written by Henry’s brother, Corporal William Howell, also of Company E. On May 4, 1863, William wrote: We were behind a fence at the edge of a wood where the rebs were in force…(They were) said to  be Stonewall Jackson, just come down from Culpepper…we sent 40 men a few rods into the woods…[8]

 With General Sickles’ planed night attack fast approaching its “jump off” time, the requirement of timely information as to what lay ahead for Ward’s men in the woods around Vista and beyond became crucial. Logically, the task was delegated to the III Corps most advanced unit at the time: the 124th NY. While Company B’s Captain Henry Murray probed a trail obliquing from the regiments’ left flank, Weygant lead his small squad north into Vista. His exciting account of the sortie concluded with the unfortunate wounding of private Ciles and the hasty withdrawal of Weygant’s now compromised reconnaissance. It would not be unusual for the Confederates to investigate the reason for some unexpected firing so near to their front lines, especially when the location of the enemy was unclear; this is exactly what prompted Jackson’s reconnoiter.

 When was General Thomas Jackson shot?

 In The Rebels Resurgent volume of the Time-Life series on the Civil War, p. 138, we find that “…a little before 9 p.m. Jackson rode ahead with several staff officers to scout the enemy lines near the plank road.” In Bigelow’s The Campaign of Chancellorsville, pg. 317, the description ran thusly:

 Jackson with his party had halted in the rear of the 3NC. After listening for a while to the sounds coming from the Federal lines, he turned his horse about and went back towards the Confederate lines. He had halted for a second time to listen when, at about 9:15 (pm), the sound of firing caused by General Knipes call for General Williams and by the appearance of his orderly in front of the Federal lines broke upon his ears….Jackson and his party hurriedly left the Plank Road, and pursued their way to the rear through the woods on the right, or north side of the plank road. The Confederate troops were now keenly alert, having been warned against possible attack by the Federal cavalry. The thumping hoofs and the clanking of sabers produced by Jackson and the …escorts caused an impression in the line that a charge was about to break upon them. The order was given to fire and repeat the firing.”[9]

 R.R. Dabney, in his Life and Campaigns of Lieutenant General Thomas J. Jackson, pg. 686, confirms this account by noting that Jackson “….turned and rode hurriedly back to his own troops and, to avoid the fire, which was, thus far, limited to the south side of the road (Orange Plank Road), he turned into the woods upon the north side.”

 As to the location of Jackson’s wounding, Douglas Freeman, in Lee’s Lieutenants, Vol. I, pg 56, wrote that “Stonewall turned his horse and started back the way he had come. Silently he rode along til he was nearly opposite a weather-boarded house in the woods by the roadside. Suddenly, from the south side of the road there was a shot. Several others were fired. A volley roared through the woods.” Jackson’s own guide that night, Cavalryman David J. Kyle (and one of the very few men with Jackson who was familiar with the ground in daylight) wrote that “Jackson was opposite the Van Wert house” when the fateful shots were fired.

 According to these accounts, Jackson’s wounding apparently took place just after 9:15 pm on the north side of the Orange Plank Road opposite Van Wert’s house. This location was well over a half-mile from the established position of Franklin’s First Brigade near Hazel Grove and nearly two hours before the 124th NY was on the picket line. Even if one discounts all the Union sources thus far examined and only compared Wegant’s testimony of the 124th’s position late on May 2 to that of the Confederate sources mentioned, Jackson’s wounding would have taken place behind the 124th – for that was where Weygant remembered the location of Van Wert’s house!

 While this author does not dispute Weygant’s and Sprenger’s heartfelt belief that the mysterious horseman was “Stonewall” Jackson, the weight of the evidence does not support their belief. Well….if the rider was not Jackson, then who was it?

 Private James C. Heggarty, noting the day’s highlights with fragmented phrases in his diary, wrote that on May 2, “….the whole brigade lay along the picket line about midnight the regt. Fired into reb Col. Taken (written here as it appears in Heggarty’s diary.) This time seems to coincide with the sequence of events recounted by Weygant, as well as General Birney’s assertion in his official report that the attacking columns that night stepped off at “11:30 pm.” Compare these established times and events to the report of Co. D.H. Hamilton, the acting commander of McGowan’s South Carolina Brigade (the body of opposing troops in the closest proximity to Vista and the road connecting Catherine Furnace with Orange Plank Road) who remembered the brigade reaching the Plank Road by “sunset.” Then at “about 11 o’clock, orders were given for an advance of the brigade….at 12 o’clock midnight the brigade was marched to a position in front of the enemy’s breastworks.[10] In Hamilton’s regimental report, he recorded that “I was pushing on when my acting adjutant Captain T.P. Alston, came to inform me that the left of my regiment had become separated from me in the thicket through which we were forcing our way.”[11] But far more interesting was the manner in which Hamilton singled out Alston for praise in his report: “Captain T.P. Alston, First regiment South Carolina Volunteers, who acted as my assistant adjutant-general, I feel myself under great obligation for his untiring zeal and efficiency. He was ready at all hours to go to any position, either to the skirmishers in front or along the line.” In point of fact, Alston is the only staff officer spotlighted for such service out of all the reports from McGowan’s and Archer’s Brigades who, according to National Park Service base maps and map illustrations in Bigelow’s were the brigades closest to Franklin’s 1st Brigade that night. 

Was it Captain T.P. Alston who, during a brigade movement at night, rode forward to investigate the cause of some minor firing to the South Carolinian’s immediate front and called out into the gloomy night to some distant shadows with the reasonably unremarkable words: “What regiment is this?” and “Colonel, do not fire into your own men?” And, was it Captain Alston who, discovering a full Federal line to his front, turned and galloped away, barely escaping a volley from the 124th’s company A? Was it possible that First Sergeant Sprengler, 122 PV mistook this volley for the firing of Birney’s men, which occurred soon thereafter? 

The definitive identity of the mysterious horseman may never be known. What is known is that a certain Captain Alston, from the 1st South Carolina performed splendidly “at all hours” and at “any position,” be it “the skirmishers in front or along the line,” while his brigade advanced in a close proximity to the III Corps’ northernmost picket line at Hazel Grove at a time which seems to fit both Weygant’s chronology and the recollections of Federal eye-witnesses. One fact is now clear – the unfortunate General Thomas Jackson had been wounded nearly two hours before a Confederate horseman and some New Yorkers from Newburgh confronted each other in Hazel Grove.

   Bibliography 

1) Weygant, Charles H., “History of the 124th New York Volunteers,” Journal Printing House, Newburgh, New York, 1877, Reprinted in 1986 by Butternut Press, Inc., 19761-W. North Frederick Avenue, Gaithersburg, maryland, 20879 

2) LaRocca, Charles J., “This Regiment of Heroes.” 1991, Charles LaRocca, 209 Goodwill Road, Montgomery, NY  12550 

3) Bigelow, John Jr., “Chancellorsville.” Konecky & Konecky, 156 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY  10010, 1995 

4) “Camp and Field Life…the History of the 122nd Pennsylvania Volunteers.” Author and publsher unknown 

5) Official Records of the War of the Rebellion, Volume XXV, pt. 1 

The Booth legend that persisted the longest came from the Oklahoma Territory town of Enid, just west of the immense domain created in the late 1800′s by G.W. Miller and his sons. This Booth story began in Enid on January 13, 1903, with the demise of David E. George, an itinerant house painter nearly sixty years old who swallowed strychnine and died after having told several folks that he was John Wilkes Booth, the killer of Lincoln.

 The story of David George did not cease with his death. His corpse was taken to an Enid undertaker for embalming, but because of questions about his identity, local authorities requested that the burial be delayed until the investigation was completed. Apparently, that prove quickly fell apart and everyone eventually lost interest in the case and forgot about the body, which languished for many years on a storeroom shelf.

Enid old timers could recall that when they were boys they would sneak into the funeral parlor to take a peek at “John Wilkes Booth.” Some Enid boosters planned to ship the body, entombed in a glass case, to the 1933 Chicago World’s Fair as part of the Oklahoma exhibit. Not surprisingly, the world’s fair people rejected that proposal.

The ‘Booth Mummy” would up in the possession of carnival exhibitors and went out on the road. By the late 1930′s, the mummy was reported to be on the carnival circuit. It survived a train wreck, thieves, debt collectors, and enraged veterans of the Grand Army of the Potomac who threatened to hang the cadaver.

In 1938, a tattooed man from a circus bought the Booth mummy-by then known only as “john” for several thousand dollars. He and his wife lugged the body around the country in a trailer that doubled as their home and a portable exhibit hall. When the tattooed man ran into financial problems, a report surfaced that “John” was seized in lieu of overdue loan payments.

Folks in Enid who tried to track the mummy through the years said that by the 1960′s, they heard that “John” was on exhibit somewhere in Ohio. That was the last reported sighting of   the remains of the man who once said he was John Wilkes Booth.

Then, in 1995, a Maryland schoolteacher and history buff petitioned a court to exhume the remains of John WIlkes Booth, whom most credible historians contend was buried in 1865 in a Baltimore cemetery. The teacher believed Booth really had escaped the burning barn and gone to Enid. He wanted to have tests conducted on the remains to prove his theory. The judge refused the request, finding no good reason to disturb the grave.

But, in Oklahoma stories still circulate about the mummy. So does another tale of Bosten Corbett, the soldier who allegedly killed Booth.

After collecting a cash bounty for his deed, Corbett reportedly developed severe mental problems which led to his castrating himself as a radical form of penance for past promiscuities. By 1887, he had found a job as a doorkeeper for the Kansas legislature. His service was brief but memorable. Angered by a legislative chaplain’s prayer which Corbett considered sacrilegious, he brandished two pistols and terrorized the entire chamber. Declared insane, Corbett escaped from the Kansas State Hospital in Topeka in 1888, vanishing in the mists of history and time.

More than a century later, another story about Corbett has surfaced. It tells of his escaping to Oklahoma terriritory, where he took an assumed name. It was said he found a town out in the cattle country that he liked, and he stayed there until the day he died. The name of the town was Enid.

THE FEDERAL THIRD CORPS ON THE SECOND DAY
OF THE BATTLE OF CHANCELLORSVILLE, MAY 1-3, 1863
By Steve Haas 

Summary:

The III Corps of the Army of the Potomac, the Federal army, was a major participant in the fighting at the Battle of Chancellorsville. Under its commander, Major-General Daniel S. Sickles, it was initially cut off and virtually surrounded by the Confederate flank attack at the beginning of the battle. The III Corps had to find its way back to the Federal line, in the dark, without being overwhelmed by superior Confederate forces, and without being fired upon by nervous Federal troops.  On the second day of the battle, the III Corps provided the core of the opposition to repeated Confederate attacks against the Federal lines. It was hard fighting by the regiments of the III Corps which prevented the initial Federal rout from becoming a general stampede.   

April 28, 1863 marked the beginning of the spring campaign in the Eastern Theatre of the American Civil War. The Federal Army, the Army of the Potomac, was composed of 120,000 well-equipped, trained men with new moral and a new General, Major-General Joseph (“Fighting Joe”) Hooker. This Federal army had a confidence and a dash that had been lacking for almost a year, since the disastrous Federal defeat on the Peninsula of Virginia in the spring of 1862, the Pyrrhic victory at Antietam in September of 1862, and the disastrous Federal defeat at Fredericksburg in December of 1862. It was eager to come to grips with their Confederate foe.

  The Confederate Army facing the Federals was, on the other hand, at the lowest ebb in fighting capabilities since the beginning of the war. The campaign was beginning, and the Federal army facing them, was crossing the Rappahannock River river, which had separated the two armies over the winter, yet the Confederate Army of Northern Virginia, under its already legendary leader, General Robert Edward Lee, was not ready to face this Federal thrust. General Lee had only 40,000 troops with him[1]. This was woefully little to face such a huge Federal force.  Fully a third of the Confederate army, the Confederate II Corps under Major-General James Longstreet, was south of Richmond, foraging for supplies. These men were not expected to return to the Army of Northern Virginia before this upcoming battle was over.

 The original Federal battle plan called for a two-pronged attack; half the Federal army, 60,000 men of the Federal V, XI and XII Corps, was to pin the Confederates around the Confederate right flank by threatening the Confederate positions at Fredericksburg, Virginia. The other half of the Federal army, 60,000 men under the Federal I, III and VI Corps, was to perform a wide flanking maneuver around the Confederate left flank, acting as a hammer against the Fredericksburg anvil. If the Confederates turned to face either force (either of which was larger than the whole Confederate army), the other force could attack the Confederates from the rear. The plan worked brilliantly at first. By the night of May 1, 60,000 Federal soldiers were camped at the crossroads village of Chancellorsville, poised on the next day to march against the 40,000 strong Confederate army. Sixty thousand other Federals were watching the Confederate army from across the Rappahannock River at Fredericksburg, waiting to follow and attack the Confederates if they abandoned their works. The Confederates were in a seemingly impossible position, unable to flee, without enough strength to fight.  General Hooker was certainly justified in releasing a statement to his troops stating that the Confederates must “either ingloriously fly, or come out from their entrenchments to face certain defeat.”

 No other major campaign of the Civil War had started with such a disparity of numbers between the two forces facing each other. Confederate General Lee would not have been faulted for retreating in the face of overwhelming numbers, finding a good defensive position and waiting for his Second Corps under General Longstreet to come up and even the odds against him. General Lee, however, was supremely confident in the quality of his army, the quality of his subordinate leadership, in his own capabilities and the capability of his chief subordinate, Major-General Thomas (Stonewall) Jackson, commander of the Confederate I Corps. Lee also knew the army he was facing and, especially, knew the man in charge of that Army. General Lee felt he could handle General Hooker, and anything General Hooker could throw at him. Not only was General Lee willing to face the Federal army with only 1/3 of their numbers, he was also to do something which some would say stretched the word audacity to the point of lunacy; he split his army three different times within the next two days, in the face of overwhelming numbers. Yet there was method to this madness. At the point of combat, he managed always to have a superiority of numbers. In no other battle in American history would one general so dominate another as General Lee dominated General Hooker.

 General Lee was successful in everything except his stated goal of destroying the Federal army, and many say it was happenstance, which prevented him from doing that. On the first day of the battle, General Jackson marched around the flank of the Federal army and completely routed the XI Corps of the Federal army, driving it from the field in total disarray. Only the fall of darkness prevented the Confederates from driving on and routing the rest of the Federal army. The one blot on his victory was the mortal wounding of the famous Stonewall Jackson; some say if General Jackson had not been shot on the first day of the battle, the South would indeed have driven the Federal army into the Rappahannock River and destroyed it.

 On the second day of the battle, General Lee continued his attacks on the Federal army, pushing it into a tight defensive position. Then he took most of the army, leaving a small force to contain the main Federal army, and headed East to attack the Federal VI Corps, which had been approaching the Confederate rear from the direction of Fredericksburg. While not defeating the VI Corps, General Lee managed to force it to retreat across the Rappahannock River. General Lee returned west to deal with the rest of the Federal army, but that too had retreated across the Rappahannock, ending the battle.

 The III Corps of the Federal Army of the Potomac was originally assigned to the Federal left wing, that part of the force that was to demonstrate in front of Fredericksburg. It was to serve as a sort of mobile reserve; available to help the other two corps of the left wing, the I and the VI Corps if a breakthrough seemed imminent, but also available to the right wing if needed. The Left Wing (I, III and VI Corps) broke camp on April 28th, with the I Corps moving at noon, the VI Corps by three o’clock, and the III Corps by five p.m.  By 9:00 p.m. the III Corps found itself between the I Corps at Fitzhugh’s Crossing and the VI Corps at Franklin’s crossing, below Fredericksburg.f

 By April 30th, it was becoming plain to General Hooker that the enemy was concentrating against his right flank. Orders went out to the III Corps to march to United States Ford, cross and concentrate around the crossroads village of Chancellorsville. The order was sent at 12:30 p.m. on the 30th, was received by General Sickles at 1:00 p.m., and the Corps was in motion by 1:30 p.m. By 11:30 p.m., the Corps went into bivouac at the little hamlet of Hamet, near the United States Ford. At 7:30 am the next morning, May 1, the Corps began crossing the Rappahannock, heading for a concentration at Chancellorsville. General Sickles, at the head of his Corps, reported to General Hooker at 9:00 a.m., at the Chancellor mansion, headquarters for the Army of the Potomac.

 Initially the III Corps was placed in reserve, the Federal line having been filled. Two of its three Divisions, the Second Division (2/III) under Major-General Hiram Berry and the Third Division (3/III), under Major-General Amiel W. Whipple, were massed in reserve around the Chancellorsville mansion. The First Division (1/III) under Brigadier-General David B. Birney was ordered to a position the east, between the Federal XI Corps and XII Corps to fill a gap between the Corps. By this time General Hooker had abandoned all idea of an offensive, and had pulled all his advance units back into a defensive line, hoping the Confederates would attack him in a strong position.

 The next day, May 2, General Birney’s lookouts noticed, from the top of the trees upon which they had been posted, a long line of Confederate troops stretching out along a road to the South of the Federal position, moving from left to right. This caused consternation in the Federal High Command. What were these Confederate doing? General Hooker made the logical conclusion, under the circumstances, that the Confederates were retreating, a conclusion reinforced by the fact that the Confederates seemed to be heading South. General Hooker was elated. He sent a note to his General on the right flank, Brigadier General Oliver O. Howard of the XI Corps, warning that a flank attack might be in the offing, just in case, and then prepared to take off in pursuit of the supposedly retreating Confederates. About noon General Hooker sent General Sickles orders to “advance cautiously toward the road, followed by the enemy, and harass the movement as much as possible.” Hooker ordered Sickles to take General Birney’s and General Whipple’s divisions (1,3/III), but refused to let him have Berry’s (2/III), which was held in reserve around the Chancellor mansion.  General Sickles sent orders to the commander of his first Brigade, General Birney to advance to the road and pierce the enemy column, taking possession of the road.

 General Birney (1/III) advanced a Brigade, with sharpshooters from Brigadier-General Hiram Berdan’s crack sharpshooter regiment, which cautiously crossed Scott’s run and advanced to the road upon which the Confederates were marching.  General Whipple’s division filed into an elevation to the rear of the Federal advance, known locally as Hazel’s Grove, as a reserve. 

 By 2:45, General Sickles was confident that General Birney could break the Confederate line, and notified Hooker to that effect, saying that he could expect to receive heavy resistance, and wouldn’t attack until he knew the two Corps on either side of him would support him. He sent messages to these two Corps, the XI Corps, on his right, and the XII Corps under General Henry W. Slocum, on his left, to support him, and then sent his Third Brigade under General Whipple to cover the gap between the left of the III Corps and the right of the XII Corps. It took a while to organize the attack; Barlow’s Brigade of the Eleventh Corps, 2/2/XI, was ordered to support Sickles’ right flank at 4:00, and General Williams’ division of the Twelfth Corps, 1/XII was ordered to support General Sickles’ left flank at 4:30. General Sickles received orders to attack the ‘enemy’s right flank,’ whatever that meant, at five o’clock p.m. At the same time, about 5:00 p.m. Captain Comstock, General Hooker’s chief of engineers and General Warren, his chief of topographical engineers, started out together from army headquarters “to examine the line.” They had got to the vicinity of Hazel Grove, when a heavy fire of musketry began on the right, and caused them to hasten in that direction. Meeting fugitives of the XI corps, Warren sent his aide to inform Brigadier Alfred Pleasonton, commander of the first division of cavalry, who had joined General Sickles at Hazel Grove, and General Sickles that the XI Corps was in a state of total disorganization and rout, and that his position was perilous.

 This word apparently didn’t reach General Birney (1/III) until much later; at 6:30 he received word from General Hooker to ‘advance rapidly,’ which he did, throwing a few shells at the, supposedly, retreating Confederates. Then, without hearing word from either General Sickles or General Hooker, General Birney prepared to put his division into bivouac, around 7:00 p.m. At this point, he received word from General Sickles to withdraw to Hazel Grove, which he did. At the same time, General Whipple (3/III) received word from the same source to also return to Hazel Grove, and General Williams (1/XII) received word from General Major-General   Slocum, in command of the XII Corps, also to withdraw and to return to the XII Corps line. General Barlow (2/2/XI) retreated to Hazel’s Grove on his own initiative. Sickles hurried to Hazel Grove while his infantry was making their way to Hazel’s Grove, and formed a line of artillery to hold off the triumphant Confederates He managed to accomplish this, aided by the charge of a lone cavalry regiment of 100 men, the 8th Pennsylvania, which delayed the Confederates but virtually destroyed the Cavalry regiment. As night fell, the lines on both sides seemed stable.

 Between 8:00 and 9:45, General Sickles was in a quandary. He knew a major disaster had occurred to the Federal right flank, but the extent of the disaster and the current location of the Federal right flank were completely unknown. He didn’t know where the rest of the Federal army was located, didn’t know whether General Hooker’s orders of 5:00 p.m. to attack were still his current orders and, if so, which direction and whom he was supposed to attack. It was nighttime, and an attack at night during the Civil War was a terribly chancy thing to do. It was apparent from the flashes of musketry that he was nearly surrounded, with enemy forces on his left front and right front. To do nothing, under the circumstances, seemed to court a worse risk than to do something. At Hazel Grove at this time, General Sickles had General Birney’s Division (1/III), General Whipple’s Division (3/III), General Barlow’s Brigade (2/2/XI) and 38 artillery guns and a few cavalry regiments.

 The position of the III Corps was actually more hazardous than General Sickles was aware. Hazel Grove was the kind of good high ground that a general loves to choose as a defensive position. Unfortunately, it was not within the Federal lines. The two divisions of General Sickles’ corps actually formed a finger sticking out from the rest of the Federal line. There were Confederates on either side of the position; to the West were the 20,000 or so Confederates of General Jackson’s flanking column, now under the command of Major-General J.E.B. Stuart following General Jackson’s wounding. To the east were the 16,000 men under General Robert E. Lee. Neither side knew of the vulnerability of the III Corps’ position, but it would be quite apparent as daylight occurred. General Sickles was the only force preventing the junction of the left and right wings of the Confederate army.

 In addition, the Confederates would certainly become aware of the fact that Hazel grove was a position they had to occupy. It was only a little less elevated than the main Federal position at Fairview, and thus would provide an excellent position for Confederate artillery. Hazel Grove was situated in such a way relative to the Federal lines that the Confederates, firing from Hazel Grove, could take both the Western face and the Southern face of the Federal lines in their flanks. Lastly, if the Federals changed their lines to encompass Hazel Grove, their position would be immeasurably stronger.

 At 9:00 p.m., General Sickles received orders from General Hooker to hold his position. Sickles replied that some of General Whipple’s (3/III) wagon trains were still between him and the Plank road, and asked permission to attack in that direction, to recover the trains, to re-establish connection with the Federal army, which he assumed to be stationed in that direction and, perhaps, to recover the Union lines along the plank road.

This decision on General Sickles’ part to attack at night is a very controversial decision, though in the overall debacle of Chancellorsville it has been quite overlooked. As stated before, night attacks in the Civil War were very rare; they were dangerous, as communication at night was even more difficult than during the day, it was hard to keep control of the troops, hard to maintain adequate lines of advance, and the chances were just as likely that troops would fire upon themselves as upon the enemy.

This attack was especially hazardous. Sickles didn’t know where his own lines were, had no idea where the enemy was, had no time at all for reconnaissance and his objectives were quite vague. An experienced officer most likely wouldn’t have suggested this attack, and would have waited until morning to see what the situation was, especially as the goals of the attack were so unclear. The possible gains to be made from the attack were apparently, from what one could see at the time, no way as great as the potential risk for disaster.

Yet, in a very real way, for reasons that no one at the time could have known, the attack was a very good idea, one of the lesser known lost opportunities of the war. The Confederates had the momentum, and were victorious in their part of the field. However, they had been thrown into confusion by the wounding of two of their major officers, Brigadier-General Thomas Jackson, and Brigadier-General Ambrose P. Hill. The Confederates were tired after marching and fighting for a whole day. This attack, even if it hadn’t succeeded, would have thrown doubts in the minds of the Confederate high command as to the location of the Federals. It could have halted the Confederate momentum and given the Federals that much more time to organize a defense for the upcoming battle on the next day. If the attack had been coordinated with the Union XII Corps, as Sickles wished, the attack could very well have routed the Confederates in the same way the Federal XI Corps had been routed, and turned the battle completely around.

 The attack was formed from two brigades of Birney’s division, Brigadier-General J.H. Hobart Ward’s (2/1/III) and Colonel Samuel B. Hayman’s (3/1/III). General Ward’s Brigade was in the front, along with the 63rd PA of Brigadier-General Charles K. Graham’s Brigade (1/1/III) and the 17th ME of General Hayman’s Brigade (3/1/III). General Hayman’s Brigade formed the rear echelon. General Whipple’s Division (3/III) and General Barlow’s Brigade (2/2/XI) remained at Hazel Grove, guarding the artillery. The sky was clear, and the moon glinted off the bayonets of Birney’s men as they marched silently north along the road leading to the Plank Road, caps taken off their guns to prevent the men from firing before they reached the enemy. The orders were not to fire until the Plank road was reached. There were no skirmishers ahead of the troops, and no scouting had been done to locate the enemy ahead of time; no one knew what was ahead

The actual attack lasted about one half an hour, and was something close to ludicrous. The left of the Federal line met and contacted the enemy, Confederate Brigadier-General James H. Lane’s Brigade (4/1/II). The right of the Federal line brushed against the center of the Federal XII Corps, and charged a battery of General Williams’ division (1/XII) who, not knowing of the attack, fired on the Federals as if they were the enemy. The III Corps men fired on both friend and foe, not knowing who was who. The III Corps center continued straight north and managed to attain the Plank road, briefly, and reestablish a stronger line with the rest of the Union army, as well as re-capture several guns and caissons, but did not significantly improve their position and were eventually repulsed. The men fled from their position with something resembling a panic back to the Hazel Grove position.  Though General Sickles had not taken the Plank road, he had achieved some gains in position, one from which he could cut a road to the rest of the Federal army.

From the point of view of the common soldier, this attack had a nightmarish quality. Accounts of different soldiers give differing versions of what was going on in this attack. Some saw themselves as fighting their way through a ring of a surrounding, victorious Confederate army. Others saw themselves as running a gauntlet of fire, from their own troops on the right, who didn’t know who was moving across their front, to the enemy on their left, who also didn’t know what was happening, as the Third Corps moved North against an enemy in front of them who was also firing.  Wyman S. White, a member of Berdan’s Brigade saw this charge as a desperate attempt to avoid being cut off and surrounded.  He describes breaking through two Rebel battlelines and taking a battery of Federal Guns, before realizing that the III Corps had broken through the Confederates to reach the Federal lines.

General Williams (1/XII) describes the action this way: 

“A tremendous roll of infantry fire, mingled with yellings and shoutings, almost diabolical and infernal, opened the conflict on the side of Sickles’ division. For some time, my infantry and artillery kept silent, and in the intervals of the musketry, I could distinctly hear the oaths and imprecations of the rebel officers, evidently having hard work to keep their men from stampeding. In the meantime, Sickles’ artillery opened fire over the heads of the infantry, and the din of arms and inhuman yellings and cursings redoubled. All at once, Berry’s division (2/III) across the road on our right, opened fire in heavy volleys, and Knipe (1/1/XII), commanding my right brigade next to the road on the South, followed suit…”

 With the failure of the attack, General Sickles re-grouped at Hazel grove. General Sickles realized that he couldn’t improve his position, and the only action the Federal army could take in order not to lose the important position Hazel Grove represented was to change the Federal lines to include Hazel Grove. It was about 1:00 a.m., and an aide was sent to General Hooker suggesting that the lines of the Federal army be adjusted to take in this important position. When the aide arrived at General Hooker’s headquarters at the Chancellor House, General Hooker was asleep. General Van Allen, who was on duty and in charge of headquarters, refused to awaken General Hooker, and directed the aide to wait. Toward morning, General Van Allen was prevailed upon to waken General Hooker, and the message was delivered. What happened next is not clear; Sickles was sent for immediately, but whether or not General Hooker went to meet General Sickles is not known. Whatever happened, the orders were given to Sickles at dawn to abandon the Hazel Grove position and move to the Western face of the Federal position around Fairview. 

General Sickles immediately sent out a regiment (105PA/1/1/III) to cut a road through the swampy area around General Sickles’ right through the line of the XII Corps to the Fairview position. First the artillery were evacuated. Then came General Whipple’s division (3/III), and then came Barlow’s Brigade (2/2/XI), followed by Birney’s division (1/III). Lastly came Graham’s Brigade (1/1/III).  At 6:00 a.m. the Confederates attacked the last regiments of Graham’s Brigade. Graham’s brigade, after firing a few volleys, which checked their advance to some extent, retired rapidly, closely pursued, and subjected to hot fire. Huntington’s battery, with a regiment on each flank, covered this movement to the last moment, and brought up the rear, losing three pieces. Hazel Grove was in the possession of the Confederates by 7:00 a.m., May 3. 

The rest of the morning of May 3, the III Corps, as well as the rest of the right flank of the Federal army, were slowly forced back by repeated Confederate assaults on their lines. At noon, the attacks ceased, as the Confederates abandoned their attacks to march against the Federal VI Corps, which was advancing against the Confederates from Fredericksburg. The Federals on the right flank contracted their lines again, and then retreated over the Rappahannock River by the end of the day. This ended the battle of Chancellorsville. 

Besides ending the hopes of the Federals for an early advance on the Confederate army, this battle marked the beginning of the end of the III Corps. It had suffered severely in this fight. Two months, almost to the day from this time, it would be virtually destroyed at the battle of Gettysburg, and would be disbanded by the end of the year. In its short career, lasting little more than a year, the III Corps had participated in some of the heaviest fighting against the Confederate army when that army was at its peak of fighting abilities. Its high point was at the Battle of Chancellorsville, and it made a record for itself, which the units who were members of this Corps carried proudly to the end of the war. 

Bibliography 

1) Official Records of the War Between the States: Series I, Volume XXV, Parts I and II 

2) Bigelow, John Jr., “Chancellorsville,” 1995, W.S. Konecky Associates, Inc. (Reprinted from the original) 

3) White, Russel C., “The Civil War Diary of Wyman S. White,” 1991, Butternut and Blue. 

4) Weygant, Charles H., “History of the 124th New York State Volunteers,” 1986, Butternut Press, Inc. Reprinted from the original. 

5) Battles and Leaders of the Civil War, Volume III 

 1) There is some question as to how many troops were actually with each army at the beginning of the Chancellorsville Campaign; to an extent the total numbers vary depending on who you count and at what part of the campaign you are talking about. The estimates for the size of General Lee’s army vary from 30,000 to 57,000. Those of General Hooker vary from 97, -000 to 150,000. Rather than getting into an extended discussion on the subject, I’ve chosen the most acceptable figures of 40,000 for the Confederates and 120,000 for the Federals.

The 124th New York Volunteers at Houck’s Ridge,
Gettysburg, 1863

On the afternoon of July 2, 1863 a titanic struggle took place at Gettysburg between Confederate General Robert E. Lee’s First Corps, commanded by Lieutenant General James Longstreet, and elements of ultimately five Corps of the Federal army, led by Major General George Gordon Meade. The final defeat of General Longstreet’s attack was due as much to the skill and heroic sacrifice of tens of thousands of Federal soldiers as it was to any great feats of generalship on the part of the Federal officers. The 124th New York State Volunteers were one regiment that contributed to the defeat of the Confederate attack. Their story, and the story of the fighting that occurred at Devil’s Den on that hot afternoon, illustrates the fine fighting qualities of the Federal Army of the Potomac which were a primary cause of the ultimate Federal victory at Gettysburg.

Major General George Gordon Meade, commander of the Federal forces at Gettysburg, had hard choices to make on the evening of July 1, 1863, regarding the dispositions of his forces for the next day’s battle. He had present on the battlefield three of his seven corps, the I, XI and XII Corps. Yet of these three, two, the I and the XI, had been shattered by the first day’s fighting while the XII Corps was the smallest Corps in the Army, numbering little less than 9,000 men. Meade was expecting two other corps shortly, the II and the III Corps, while his remaining two corps, the V and the VI, should be up in the morning and afternoon of the next day. It seemed obvious to Meade, from information gained during that day’s fighting, that the Confederates were concentrated in front of him, while his own army was scattered and still coming onto the field. And the Confederates had the initiative, having driven the Federal troops from the field on the 1st of July.

Nevertheless, the Federal army was formed in an excellent defensive position. This position has come to be known as “the Fish Hook”, starting at Culp’s Hill on the Federal right, curving west and then south around Cemetery Hill in the center, and then continuing south to Little and Big Round Top on the southern part of the line, the Federal Left. Big Round Top was unsuitable for defense, due to its height and heavy tree cover, but Little Round Top was an excellent defensive position, and should serve to anchor the left of Meade’s line.

A natural bastion facing west and south, Little Round Top would be hard to take if manned by any decent amount of men. General Meade sent orders to Brigadier General Daniel Sickles, commanding the Federal III Corps, that when the Corps came up from the next morning, it was to take position with his left on Little Round Top and extending to the north along Cemetery Ridge, replacing units of the XII Corps which had occupied this position . Then General Meade forgot about his left flank, concentrating his energy on forming his available troops of the I, XI and XII Corps to defend the northern part of his line against the expected Confederate assault .

On the morning of July 2, Brigadier General Daniel Sickles, commander of the Federal III Corps, had major disagreements regarding General Meade’s dispositions of his forces. Fearing the rise in the ground in front of him would make an ideal artillery position, dominating the line drawn by General Meade along Cemetery Ridge, General Sickles sent message after message to Meade objecting to the position Sickles was ordered to occupy. Receiving no reply, Sickles took it upon himself to move his line forward, anchoring his left on a rocky, hilly area to the southwest of Little Round Top, known as Houck’s Ridge, and running generally northwest until it reached the Emmitsburg Pike, then North along the pike for about a half mile.

Houck’s Ridge runs generally northeast to northwest, facing southwest. The far left of Houck’s Ridge was known colloquially as Devil’s Den. The wisdom of General Sickle’s forward move is debated to this day. Its effect was to thin the Federal line so that was manned by only a single line of battle, without any depth and without any reserves. Whether a defensive line such as this could hold against determined enemy attack would depend to a very large extent on the mettle of the men holding it .

The 124th New York Volunteers was formed in August, 1862, in Orange County, New York. Enlisted for three years, or until the end of the war, the 124th had joined the Army of the Potomac in September, 1862, a few days too late to participate in the battle of Antietam. The 124th was present at the December 1862 battle of Fredericksburg, but did not participate in combat. The 124th’s first trial of combat occurred during the May 1863 battle of Chancellorsville where it, along with the rest of the Federal III Corps, helped fight off Confederate General Thomas “Stonewall” Jackson’s Corps for two days in some of the hardest fighting which occurred during the battle. By July 2, 1863 the 124th was considered to be a veteran regiment.

The 124th New York State Infantry, also known as the Orange Blossoms, was part of Brigadier General J. H. Hobart Ward’s 2nd Brigade, Major General David B. Birney’s 1st Division, III Corps, filed onto their position on Houck’s Ridge on the afternoon of July 2, hardly realizing the fight the New Yorkers would have to face. The march to Gettysburg had been hard, harder than anything they had made to date. In the past month they had trudged up from Virginia, sometimes doing twenty-five hot dusty miles a day in temperatures exceeding ninety degrees. The rigors of this life had taken its toll. Even in a veteran regiment such as the Orange Blossoms, the march had caused over ninety casualties, so that the regiment mustered only two hundred forty-five rifles on this hot afternoon. Their food was someplace miles away, the men were tired and hot. They had spent the morning fortifying a position near the hill to their rear (the now famous Little Round Top), which they had to abandon when forced to occupy the position on Houck’s Ridge.

Thus it is not hard to understand why the men spent the long hot afternoon resting, playing cards, joking and, especially, taking the ‘soldier’s prerogative’, sleep, instead of building breastworks as they should have been doing . This was one of the few breaks they had had in the whole horrid month, and they were enjoying it. And, it was early enough in the war that soldiers did not naturally build a safe position, as they would do without question later in the war. However understandable this break-down in discipline might have been, it was foolish from a military point of view, and potentially disastrous from the point of view of the Union army. That the enemy was close at hand should have been obvious; the sound of rifle fire to the west occasionally filtered through the trees, even with the air so heavily laden with moisture. Time spent on building breastworks might have saved lives, and certainly would have strengthened what was a naturally strong position.

The 124th New York was one of seven regiments composing Ward’s Brigade. The other regiments were the 3rd and 4th Maine, the 99th Pennsylvania, the 20th Indiana, the 86th New York, and two sharpshooter regiments (the 1st and 2nd United States Sharpshooters). All were veteran regiments. Some, such as the 86th New York, had served the entire war from the beginning. The 86th was a favorite of the men of the 124th, and the two regiments always sought to fight next to each other. The 86th was thus to the right of the 124th, with the 20th Indiana next to the 86th, and then the 99th Pennsylvania. The 3rd Maine had been detached to the skirmish line someplace to the West would not return this afternoon. The 4th Maine was to the left of the 124th, down in the valley below them and out of sight. The 4th Maine would be joined by other regiments later on, while the 99th Pennsylvania would be moved over to the 124th’s left, as the action started. But as far as Colonel A. Van Horne Ellis, the experienced commander of the 124th New York knew, his left was the left of the entire Federal line. He knew that his men had to hold the line. If his unit caved in, the whole Union line would fold up like an accordion.

The Confederate General James Longstreet’s First Corps had spent the whole afternoon moving into position to attack the Federal position on Houck’s Ridge. The original plan, designed by Robert E. Lee, called for an attack ‘en echelon’, which meant the attack was supposed to start on the far right of the Confederate line. As each regiment became engaged, the next regiment in line was to start its attack. The idea to force the Federals, to focus his attention on the original attacks, along the southern part of the line, leaving an opening further up the line. The attack was to start along the Emmitsburg Pike, southwest of Devil’s Den, and extend along the Emmitsburg Pike heading towards Cemetery Ridge.

General Sickles’ advance to a line bordering the Emmitsburg Pike changed the Confederate plan of operation dramatically. The Federals were not where they were supposed to be, and the change in Federal dispositions required improvisations in the Confederate battle plan. Furthermore, the march to the point of attack had not gone well. Mistakes had been made in the route chosen, causing the attacking force to change directions at one point, which required several more hours than originally intended to get the troops into their final attack positions. The attack thus began two or three hours later than it should have started. When it did begin, there was a big question as to whether or not there would be enough daylight for the attack to achieve its goal of breaking through the Federal lines along Cemetery Ridge.

In addition, the Confederate high command was not at all enthusiastic about this attack. General Longstreet opposed it from the beginning. Major General John Bell Hood, commanding one of General Longstreet’s key divisions, was convinced his men would be thrown away attacking the position he was ordered to attack. General Hood argued almost to the point of insubordination requesting a further time-delaying march around the back of the Federal position. It was obvious to many of the attacking troops themselves that it would be very difficult, if not impossible at all, to succeed in an attack like this. In most instances, over a mile of ground had to be covered, under Federal artillery fire all the way, before a single enemy soldier could be engaged.

To rear of the left of the 124th was Captain James E. Smith’s Battery, 4th New York Light Artillery, which had joined Ward’s position sometime around 2:30 pm. Smith brought six long-range Parrot rifles with him. These Parrot rifled cannons were excellent long-range guns, though when it came to short-range work they were not as good as other cannon would be under the same conditions. The position on top of Houck’s Ridge was too tight for all six guns. Two of the six guns had to be left down in the valley below Houck’s Ridge. To further add to the troubles of Captain Smith and his sweating artillerymen, the northern side of Houck’s Ridge was so steep that it was a struggle to get the guns up to their firing positions. Horses could not do it alone, and the men of the 124th New York had to pitch in to help. There was not enough room for the caissons, so the ammunition had to be brought up by hand from below (the rear of the hill).

Sometime near three in the afternoon, off to the south, some sort of activity in a line of trees caught the attention of the Union officers and men. Peering through their field glasses, the officers were able to make out several batteries of Confederate artillery rolling out from the woods. Clearly the folly of not having fortified this position must have crossed the mind of Colonel Ellis, as he peered across the open fields to the enemy artillery. Enemy infantry would surely be behind the artillery, ready to step out after the initial bombardment. But, it was too late to begin fortifying anything now. The boys were in for it. That much was obvious.

The Confederate guns opened up at 3:30 pm, and the bombardment was furious and accurate. Captain Smith’s battery replied in kind, sending shot after shot in the direction of the Confederate artillery. In fact, Captain Smith’s counterbattery fire was so intense the enemy was convinced they were opposed by more than one Federal battery! Smith was opposed by 12 Confederate guns. Colonel Ellis moved his men briefly into the nearby woods for protection against the iron storm. Soon, though, perhaps realizing that the flying wood splinters were hurting his men worse in the woods than if they were out in the open, Ellis moved them back into position along the ridge.

At 4:00 pm, from the woods in the distance, the Federal troops saw masses of Confederate troops moving out from the woods behind the Confederate guns. Though the Federals did not know this, these were some of the best troops in the Confederate army, Major General John Bell Hood’s division, containing, among other fine brigades, Brigadier General J. B. Robertson’s hard-bitten Texas brigade and Brigadier General Henry L. Benning’s Georgia Brigade. Over 10,000 Confederates were forming in double lines to face the awaiting Federal soldiers. The Confederates stepped out immediately on forming up, and reached the base of Houck’s Ridge around 4:30 pm. Their march there must have been a magnificent sight, flags flying every few feet up and down the line, four complete lines of battle perfectly ordered, officers riding back and forth maintaining order, their ranks continuously thinned by the accurate artillery fire of Smith’s Battery.

Reforming at the bottom of the hill, the Confederates started up Houck’s Ridge. When the Confederates reached within fifty feet of the Federal lines, Colonel Ellis let loose the combined firepower of the 124th New York, a volley which tore gaping holes in the Confederate lines. The Confederates recoiled, reformed, and came on again. Another volley from the Federals sent the Confederates scampering down the hill. Colonel Ellis’ men wanted to charge, and finally Ellis raised his sword. The New Yorkers charged their bayonets and, with a cheer, came pouring down the hill, alone and unsupported on either flank, after the dazed Confederates. The Confederates broke and ran from the raging Yankees, with the jubilant Federals racing after them. Few Federal troops could claim to have pushed back these tough Texan troops, veterans of some of the hardest fighting in the War. But the Texans had met their match this day in the Orange Blossoms, the 124th New York.

By the time the Orange Blossoms had gotten three fourths of the way down the ridge, a second line of Confederates was preparing to meet them. A mighty volley brought down many of the New Yorkers, including Major James Cromwell, Colonel Ellis’ second in command. The Orange Blossoms swelled forward to retrieve his body, forcing the Texans back again. A third line of Confederates leveled their rifles for a mighty volley, while other Confederates poured into a wall to the Federal left, firing on the regiment. Colonel Ellis rose in his saddle to urge his men on, the sword slipped from his hand, and his men saw him fall from his saddle. In the face of determined firing from the front and both flanks, the Orange Blossoms grudgingly made their way back up the hill, bringing the bodies of their two officers with them .

The Confederates then advanced slowly up the hill, firing from behind the wall at the bottom of the hill and from the many rocks which littered the field. The Federals could see the body of Captain Isaac Nichols, former commander of Company I, wedged between two rocks mid-way below the hill. Further down, at the farthest point of Federal advance, soldiers saw a hand waving through the smoke. This was Private James Scott of Company B, signaling encouragement to his friends on the hill above him. “When Cromwell dashed through the ranks to lead the charge,” says one of his comrades,
“Scotty was the first to spring forward after him, and when the Major fell it seemed to me Scotty changed to a wild beast. He had been wounded in the arm and his hand and face were covered with blood, but he did not seem to know anything about it, and kept on fighting until a ball hit him in the breast, and went clear through and came out of his back. That must have paralyzed him like, for his hands dropped and, as his gun struck the ground, he fell heavily forward upon it, as if he had been killed instantly.”

But Scott was not dead Though wounded twice more by shell fire, paralyzing all but his right arm, and once more by a bullet which broke two ribs Scott was still alive. He was captured and forced to endure the agonizing retreat of the Confederate army.

The 124th fought for another hour and a half , waiting for help. The bodies of their officers, Colonel Ellis and Major Cromwell lay on a rock behind them. At one point Private David Dewitt, arriving from the hospital just before Colonel Ellis died, said, “Boys, there’s Fifth Corps men down in back of us, but they are boiling their coffee before they come to our aid.” Whether this is true or not, (and it probably was not) the New Yorkers believed it, believing they had been abandoned. Every once in a while a man would drop a rifle which had become clogged or so hot that he could not hold it steadily. Bidding those beside him be careful where they fired, he would rush forward and pick up a weapon that had fallen from the hands of a dead or wounded comrade.

Meanwhile, the 99th Pennsylvania had been moved to the left of the 124th, intermingling with the 124th. The 86th New York and 20th Indiana were still on the right of the 124th. General Robertson’s Texans were moving from the Federal right, threatening to outflank the 20th Indiana and 86th New York. Meanwhile, on the Federal left, Benning’s Georgia Brigade had pushed back the 4th Maine below Devil’s Den. The 4th Maine took positions on the rocks of Devil’s Den, but the pressure was too much for them. Smith’s guns were now silent on top of the hill, their ammunition all gone and no men to be spared to drag the guns down the hill. The Confederates were pushing from all sides.

In the face of overwhelming numbers, and with their ammunition running out, the Confederates closing in to their front, left and right flank, and word that the V Corps was coming to relieve them, Ward’s Brigade was ordered to pull back. Smith’s guns were left to be captured. General Sickles had been severely wounded; General Ward, the former brigade commander, now commanded the division. The 124th was now commanded by Captain C.H. Weygant who, before the battle, had been fourth in line for command. The 124th withdrew down the hill and regrouped behind the Federal lines, losing more men on the way down Houck’s Ridge. No more than a dozen New Yorkers grouped around Captain Weygant near Little Round Top, as the regiment regrouped. Eighty one men gathered around the flag that night. More joined as the night went on, but ninety three would never rejoin the regiment again. Many of them were left behind on the field of battle, while many lay in a hospital, screaming in pain or silently waiting for the end.

The Confederates would eventually take Devil’s Den and Houck’s Ridge, holding it until the Confederate retreat on July 4. The Federal high command was able to rush enough extra troops to stop and finally push back the Confederate assault on Little Round Top, ending the fight for the left of the Federal line. It is highly doubtful, without the determined stand of Ward’s Brigade on Houck’s Ridge, whether the Federal line on Cemetery Ridge would have held. Little Round Top was the key, but the Confederate attack on Little Round Top was limited by the number of troops that could be brought to bear at the point of attack. Ward’s Brigade managed to engage the bulk of the Confederate troops attacking this portion of the field, troops which could have been used to attack, and probably overwhelm, the forces on Little Round Top. Without Ward’s lengthy defense of Houck’s Ridge, the Federal position could not have held. To quote a noted Gettysburg historian,

“…[this was] one of the most desperate encounters on the battlefield of Gettysburg, with close mortal combat between participants for that entire duration. The lengthy but almost bloodless delaying tactics of Brig. Gen. John Buford on the first day of the battle have gained historical significance on the story of the battle; the dramatic and drastic final assault by General Lee on 3 July is known by every school child. But neither of these heralded actions could possibly compare to the upcoming events at the southern end of Houck’s Ridge and in the Slaughter Pen. The tide of battle for Smith’s Battery changed so often and so rapidly that this action rivals that at the Wheatfield for not only drama and significance, but in confusion of eyewitness accounts and sequential narrative. Whereas at the Wheatfield troops from three Union corps were needed to hold back Anderson’s, Semmes’ and Kershaw’s Brigades, only Third Corps troops were used to hold this vital point against portions of Law and Robertson’s Brigades, and later Benning’s Georgia Brigade….if Sickles’ left fell before supports had arrived, it could have meant defeat for Meade’s Union Army.”

While the fight at Devil’s Den was not the finest moment for the 124th New York State Volunteers it certainly merits high praise. Some will argue that Catherine’s Furnace at Chancellorsville, or the Wilderness, or the Mule Shoe at Spotsylvania, or even Appomattox the true glory of the 124th New York volunteers shone. The 124th volunteers fought gallantly on every field of battle. At Devil’s Den, Gettysburg, the farmers and laborers who made up the 124th New York volunteers fought for two hours against overwhelming odds and did their job. They did no more or less than hundreds of other Federal regiments on the field of battle that day. They did their job and, by doing so, contributed to the great Federal victory that was Gettysburg.

BIBLIOGRAPHY

1) Harrison, Kathy Georg, Our Principle Loss was in this Place, Action at the Slaughter Pen and at South end of Houck’s Ridge, Gettysburg, Pennsylvania, 2 July, 1863, Gettysburg Magazine, Issue Number 1, July/1989
2) Pfanz, Harry, Gettysburg: The Second Day, The University of North Carolina Press, 1987 ISBN 0-8078-1749-x
3) Smith, James E. A Famous Battery and its Campaigns, 1861-’64, Washington: W.H. Lowdermilk and Co.
4) Tucker, A.W., Private, Company B, 124th NYSV, “Orange Blossom”: Services of the 124th New York at Gettysburg, National Tribune, January 21, 1886
5) Weygant, Charles H., History of the One Hundred and Twenty-Fourth Regiment, N.Y.S.V. Originally Published in 1877 by Journal Printing House, Newburgh, NY, Reprinted by Butternut Press, Baltimore, MD, 1986. ISBN 0-913419-45-1
6) Long, Roger, George J. Gross On Hallowed Ground, Gettysburg Magazine, Morningside House, Inc., 260 Oak Street, Dayton, OH 45410, January 1994, Issue Number 10, page 112.

One result of the attempted bank robbery by the James-Younger gang is an outdoor festival, The Defeat of Jesse James Days,^[4] held the weekend after Labor Day every year to commemorate the event. The festival is among the largest outdoor celebrations in Minnesota. Thousands of visitors witness reenactments of the robbery, watch championship rodeo, enjoy a carnival, watch the parade, explore arts and crafts expositions, and attend musical performances

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Northfield,_Minnesota

From the Minneapolis Star Tribune:

Just when you thought you knew the story of the James-Younger Gang’s failed Northfield bank heist in 1876, along comes an old letter — and a new twist in the tale.

The young medical student shot the bank robber dead. That’s a fact. It’s what happened to the outlaw’s body afterward that is less clear. Just found: a new twist in the old grisly story of the infamous Northfield, Minn., bank robbery of 1876.

Henry Wheeler was home in Northfield on summer break from his medical studies on Sept. 7 that year when eight or more members of the James-Younger Gang rode into town on horseback to rob the First National Bank. Wheeler, 22, ran for a rifle. From a second-story window of the Dampier Hotel, he fatally shot Clell (McClelland) Miller, the bullet tearing a hole just below Miller’s left shoulder.

In seven short minutes, the raid had gone horribly awry. Miller and another desperado were dead in the street. The bank’s acting cashier refused to open the safe and lay dying on the bank floor. A Swedish immigrant who didn’t understand much English failed to follow the robbers’ orders and was shot; he died four days later. The remaining members of the gang fled town, including Jesse James and Cole Younger.

Gawkers arrived by train the next day to view the two outlaws’ bodies. A Northfield photographer propped up the corpses and snapped pictures, probably using toothpicks to keep their eyes open, a common crime-photo practice in the late 1800s. In less than a month, the photographer sold 50,000 gruesome pictures, at $2 a dozen.

Bodies of Clell Miller and William Stiles

Three days after the robbery, a Sunday, the bank cashier, a hero, was buried with all due respect. Miller and the other robber were buried in a paupers’ corner of the Northfield Cemetery in the dark of night, with no mourners and no funeral service.

Behind the scenes, Wheeler had asked the police chief for the outlaws’ bodies, explaining that his medical school, the University of Michigan, was short on spare cadavers. In those days, medical students often were expected to procure bodies to study.

According to the version usually told, authorities denied Wheeler the bodies, but, wink-wink, they let it be known that the outlaws’ graves were shallow and no one would be guarding the cemetery. Sure enough, grave robbers set to work that night and exhumed the bodies. Wheeler and two Michigan classmates, also from Northfield, were the diggers. They shipped the exhumed bodies to Ann Arbor in kegs labeled “FRESH PAINT.” The bodies served medicine as intended.

Later, Wheeler became a respected physician and kept Miller’s skeleton in his office closet in Grand Forks, N.D. He loved to show off the bones, as well as his rifle, to friends and special patients. Eventually, the skeleton succumbed to a fire.

But a forgotten letter in the Minnesota Historical Society collections tells another chapter. Whether true or not — and it’s probably not — the tale is certainly juicy.

Francis Butler wrote to a historian in 1962 that at the time of the infamous robbery, his father was a 10-year-old boy living on the family farm 5 miles northeast of Northfield. Undoubtedly, Butler wrote, his gregarious Irish grandfather, Patrick Butler, took his older sons into Northfield to view the dead outlaws. Francis’ father later passed on the story about what happened when Wheeler asked the town fathers for one of the bodies.

“They considered this,” Francis Butler wrote, “and allowed that since Wheeler had killed him, he was entitled to him.”

However, officials did not want to outrage the public, so it was suggested that Miller’s pine casket be filled with stones and that the body secretly be given to Wheeler.

It was Sept. 9 or 10, Butler wrote, and either Wheeler’s vacation was not yet over or the weather was still too warm to ship the body by train to Ann Arbor. That raised the quandary of what to do with the body temporarily. A local farmer had a solution. He offered to put the bandit’s body in his pickling box — a long, lead-lined box in the back of his barn that was used to cure hogs slaughtered for salt pork during the winter. This was agreed to, and the farmer took appropriate care to disguise the temporary resting place.

Soon after, a young Swedish immigrant who had worked for the farmer that summer showed up to collect his wages. The farmer explained that no one — repeat, no one — was paid until the wheat crop was marketed. The young man was persistent. Again, he demanded his pay.

So the farmer took the hired man out to the barn. He pulled an old horse blanket off the top of the pickling box, pointed to Miller’s decaying corpse and said, “That is the last man who asked me for his pay before he was entitled to it.”

Arthur lived in the period of 460 to about 540 A.D., so you can see, from these dates, what was happening in Britain; they couldn’t depend on Rome anymore, and were on their own, so to speak. Most of this story has to deal with the decline of Roman power in Britain, and the attempts by the British to defend themselves without the Imperial Legion.

You have to understand, also, that Britain was important to Rome; it was the breadbasket of Gaul (France); it supplied most of the food to support the Roman Legions who were defending Gaul against barbarian attacks….and Gaul was important to Britain, because it was the site of most of Rome’s strength. If Gaul fell, Britain would be isolated. There was a very close relationship here, and many British rulers had lands in Gaul.

We shall start the story of Arthur in about 280 A.D. Britain had just recently become the target for raids by the Angles and the Saxons; these were two Germanic tribes who lived in and around Denmark. You can look upon them as Vikings.

In any case, Britain had no defense against these attacks, from the West. The Saxons would land a few ships on Britain, each with about 75 men, spend a few days raiding and, by the time help arrived, would be on their ships heading for home.

The Roman response to this was to create a British Navy, the Classis Britannica. They put a man in charge of this called Mausaeus Carausis, a native of Roman Belgicum (modern Belgium). He did a good job, but it wasn’t long before there were charges of collusion with the Anglo-Saxons…and he was dismissed.

Rather than taking this lying down, he declared himself Emperor, adding the Imperial names “Marcus Aurelius” to his own…he defeated two Roman Fleets sent against him and ruled Britain and Northern Gaul from A.D. 287 to A.D. 293.

In A.D. 293 The Ceasar, or junior Emperor Constantius Chlorus (under the short-lived political reforms institutued by Emperor Diocletion, Rome was ruled by four Emperors at this time, two Senior and two Junior Emperors. Constantius was one of the junior Emperors) finally defeated Carausis in a battle fought near Bononia Morinorum (Boulogne) in north Gaul. Carausis was assassinated by his own deputy in charge of finances, Allectus, and this is all we hear from Carausis.

Constantius Chlorus then proceeded to go pacify Gaul (which was in turmoil because of all this fighting), while Alectus returned to Britain and declared HIMSELF Ceasar. Well, it wasn’t too long before Constantius invaded Britain to attack Alectus in 296. Alectus was defeated and beheaded.

Britain, however, was in shambles with all this fighting, and the Picts, in the North, took advantage of it to invade. They ravaged, pillaged and burned down as far as Eboracum (York), in Britain, until Constantius led an army against them and defeated them, decisively, in 306 A.D. Constantius, unfortunately, died at Eboracum. His troops immediately proclaimed his son, Constantine, Emperor of Rome, which, though highly illegal under the Diocletion reforms, was highly popular with the Roman Armies.

Constantine spent some time in Britain, garrisoning the country against the Barbarians, and then led his legions out of Britain towards Rome. Civil War followed for many years, but in 324, Constantine defeated his last rivals and was officially proclaimed Emperor of Rome.

Constantine was the last, great Roman Emperor. He stabilized the Empire, and was given the name ‘the Great’ for his efforts. He ceased the persecution of the Christians and adopted the Christian religion, himself, making it the official religion of Rome. His reign was generally peaceful.

However, a British Army commander had forcefully seized the throne of Rome. He was the third Britain to declare himself Emperor in a very short period of time. The Britains remembered the glory of this, and the precedent would be set, to Britain’s misfortune  

Skipping ahead a couple of decades, in 382 A.D., another Roman general in Britain, Maximus Magnus, seizing the opportunity of disorder in the Empire, declared himself Ceasar and invaded Gaul, taking with him two Legions in Britain, which never returned. The current Roman Emperor, Theodosius, was willing to accept a join regentship with Maximus, but this was not good enough for Maximus. In 387, Maximus invaded Italy, taking Milan, was defeated by Theodosius in two battles and was beheaded. The memory of Magnus Maximus was retained by the people of Britain, later to become the Welsh, in the Mabinogion, a collection of Celtic stories first written down in 1300. The relevant story is entitled, “The Dream of Macsen Wledig,” and is the only one of the Mabinogion which bears any relevance to history.

The troops lost by Britain in Magnus’ aborted attempt to seize the throne of Rome affected Britain deeply. The Picts and the Scotii again invaded Britain. Two distinct invasions are recorded, both of which were repelled only by the intervention of Roman troops from the continent.

In the early years of the 5th century, in 401 and 403, the Visigoths, under Alaric invaded Italy, and were defeated, but only by calling in as many Legions as could be called, further weakening Britain. The instability caused by THIS brought the rise of even another Imperial pretender in Britain, a common soldier named Constantine (no relationship to the others). The time seemed propitious, due to the instability. Constantine crossed into Gaul and seized the province, The current Roman Emperor, Honorious, was forced to recognize Constantine as co-regent in the West.

Rome was sacked by Alaric in 410. The Emperor, Honorious, moved the capital to Milan and then Ravena. By this time, there was no effective Roman help for Britain. In 410, Honorious wrote to a British high council of some sort stating this very fact, telling Britain that Rome could not help them. They were on their own.

All I have written up to this point is history. From now on, we venture into scholarly speculation. We know that some sort of British council existed, because they sent an appeal to Honorious, and he replied to them. We know that, in 425, a leader arose named Vortigern. In the next letter, I shall go into the history of Vortigern, the man who saved Britain and ultimately doomed it to Anglo-Saxon conquest due to passion and poor judgement…but you must understand that all of what I say is my own interpretation of the works I have read. It should be right…but it could be all wrong.

The first history of Britain that we are aware of was written in 540, A.D. by a mad monk called Gildas. Unfortunately, it is much more concerned with the moral failings of the British kings than with any particular detail. Besides providing a framework within which to work, Gildas has caused more problems than he has solved by writing his work. He doesn’t mention Arthur.

The next history, though, was written in 731 A.D. by a monk named Nennius. Nennius is considered to be one of the genius’ of the age. He lists his sources, and provides good detail; unfortunately, his sources have not been found, and the details he describes are often obscure. For instance, he is the first to list the twelve battles of Arthur, and the first to mention Arthur…but he doesn’t say where the battles were fought and we cannot identify the sites even now. He probably never visited Britain, and was only working from sources.

Bede, writing about the same time as Nennius, uses the same sources but organizes them better; many phrases of Bede’s are exactly the same as in Nennius, suggesting they are using the same work.

Finally, we come to Geoffrey of Monmouth.Written in the 12th century, Geoffrey’s book is the origin of the Arthur legend as we know now. Claiming to have used ‘ancient sources’ for his book, he makes claims that are wild and strange; in this we see the legend of Merlin arising, the Sword in the Stone, the legend of Arthur’s birth by Uther….Geoffrey is probably the least realiable author, since he is so far removed from the events, but we can’t reject what he says out of hand.

There are other sources, snippets of information here, linguistic studies, archaeological studies and anthropological studies, all of which go into deciding who Arthur really was. Over all of this is the notion that maybe there WAS no Arthur…and that possibility exists, also.

                                                                                                                      Vortigern

We are currently in the year 410 A.D. Rome has told Britain that Britain cannot expect help from Rome to stave off the attacks of the Picts, from the North, the Scotii (Irish) from the West and the Anglo-Saxsons from the East. Arthur is not even a twinkle in his father’s eye at the moment, but events are shaping Arthur’s world so that when that twinkle occurs, Arthur will be thrust into a maelstrom.

We start now with Vortigern, and I shall spend a bit of time on this gentleman, partially because he is so interesting, and because he has such a strong influence on future events.

Who is Vortigern, you might ask?

I don’t know, is the answer I might give.

There is no real history on this person. We know someone by that name appeared in some events at this time, but we know nothing, really, about who he was or what his life was like.

We CAN infer certain things, though. His age, for one. He came to prominence in 425 A.D., by seizing power in Britain. He died in 468 or so; he couldn’t have been much younger or older than 20 years old in 425; at the age of 20 in 425, in 468 he would have been 63, a ripe old age for the time. It is not likely he was much older than that, and not likely he was younger than 20 in 425 when he seized power.

We know his name was not Vortigern. Vortigern is derived from the Celtic words vor, meaning “over”, and gern, meaning “chieftan.” His correct Latin title probably meant superbus tyrranus, which is how Gildas describes him in de Excidio Brtannia. The translation of this would be tyrant; it must be understood that this was not a pejorative word at the time. A tyrant was someone who wielded power without real authority to do so. Vortigern assumed the kingship of Britain without any legitimate authority.

We can also infer his name. Geoffrey of Monmouth refers to him, wrongly, as the betrayer of Constans, the son of Emperor Constantine III. Constantine’s betrayer bore the name Gerontius (Geraint, or Gerient in Welsh). In addition, the surviving fragment of a lost Welsh poem alludes to a Saint Germanus receiving command of a Briton army from a ruler called Gereint. This incident occurred when Vortigern governed in Britain, so the Gereint from whom Saint Germanus received command must have been Vortigern. Finally, a hillfort on Deeside by Llangollen in Clwyd (Northeastern Wales), which was recaptured by the Britons from the Irish during Vortigern’s reign is calld “Fort of Geraint.” This fort was probably reconquered and renamed for Vortigern.

We also know a son of Vortgern bore the impressive title of Brutus Catellus Durnolucius. Thus, Vortigern’s name was possibly Gerontius Catellus Durnolucius.

In 425, as was said before, Vortigern assumed power of the British Council. He did this by the simple means of marrying the daughter of the former emperor Maximus; her name was Severa, and she came with a large dowery of land and money. The influence of Maxiums’ name, plus the wealth of the dowery ensured Vortigern the opportunity to claim a piece of British politics. The force of his personality must have been the rest of what Vortigern needed to claim ultimate authority over the British Council. Note that there was still no legitimacy to his claim; anyone else could have made the same claim. The fact that Vortigern was able to maintain this position for over 25 years is a tribute to his political skill.

At this time the biggest threat to the Britons were the Picts. The Picts, at this time, were led by Drust macErp, who reigned from A.D. 414 to A.D. 458, and was said to have participated in over a hundred battles. Most of these were with the Britains. Also, the Irish were raiding the Welsh Coast, and even settling in certain areas.

In 428 A.D., Vortigern made the momentous decision to invite three shiploads (about 200 men) of Anglo-Saxons to settle in Britain, in exchange for the use of their swords. The agreement was that the Anglo-Saxons would settle on Thanet Island, off the coast of the province of Kent. This was a good agreement, and not terribly original, as the Romans had often used barbarian mercenaries to fight other barbarians. Giving them Thanet Island was a risk, but they were not on the mainland, and could still be contained. However, it was a precedent.

Using these Anglo-Saxons, as well as former Roman Legion members who had settled in Britain around the towns that had been the base of those legions as well as native soldiers, Vortigern met and fought the Picts somewhere in the vicinity of Hadrian’s Wall, in and about A.D. 431. We know nothing about this battle, but after it, the Picts never troubled the British again. It must have been a great victory. Now Vortigern was free to deal with the Irish.

The Irish had, by this time, settled extensively in Wales. The principal Irish kingdom in Britain was Demetia, in southeaster Wales (essentially the southern part of modern-day Dyfed). The Irish settlement in Demetia was extensive, involving a major tribal relocation.

Vortigern’s solution to this was simple; he decided, again, to pitch one barbarian tribe against another. To do this, he relocated many of the unreliable Votadini from far north Britain to north Wales. These Votadini had allied themselves with the Picts during the recent wars. Rather than destroying them, Vortigern made very good use of them in this manner.

This solution was brilliant. The Votadini, led by Cunedda and his sons, carved out a new kingdom for themselves, which they called Gwynedd (Latinized as “Venedotia”) meaning ‘desirable land.” The war between the Votadini and the Irish lasted at least three generations, in Wales, and while these two fractious peoples were fighting against each other, they were no trouble to the rest of Britain.

With northern Wales out of his problem area, Vortigern was able to turn his attention to other areas in Wales…capturing Devon and Cornwall and making them a part of Britain again. Now, his only real problem was the Anglo-Saxons, who were still raiding his Eastern Coast. 

We are now at 435 A.D., and are getting closer and closer to Arthur. Unfortunately, the closer we get to Arthur, the further we get from facts. In fact, I shall probably not be able to finish this story to anyone’s satisfaction because any answer would be as good a speculation as any other. I’ll give several lines of speculation, but that is probably the best I can do.

Vortigern’s policies had proven successful. He had neutralized the Picts and the Irish, and his treaty Anglo-Saxon troops were successful in keeping the foreign Anglo-Saxons at bay. There were internal problems, however, and these had to do with another player in the field, the Ambrosii.

The Ambrosii were an old, Roman family who had holdings in Wales, probably in Devon and Cornwall. I know this contradicts, in some ways, my previous assertion that Vortigern defeated the Irish in Devon and Wales, and I accept that. One can’t go through this without contradicting oneself…

The Ambrosii led the faction that wanted a return to Roman rule; they believed that if they held out long enough, Rome would return and Britain would be returned to the Roman fold. They were in distinct opposition to Vortigern, who was establishing Britain as a power in and of itself. They held aloof from Vortigern’s wars, probably refused to send troops to help him and opposed his introduction of Anglo-Saxon treaty troops into Britain. The leading member of the family, Aurelianus Ambrosii counciled that the introduction of these troops would inevitably be fatal to the British cause. They waited patiently for Vortigern’s policy to fail.

In 449, Vortigern expanded the lands that the Anglo-Saxons were allowed to include most of the province of Kent. For the first time, the Anglo-Saxons were being given land to settle on the mainland of Britain. Why Vortigern did this is open to speculation; perhaps he was feeling comfortable with his foreign allies, and wanted to cement the relationship with them. More likely, his earlier promises of providing food and weapons to them were becoming burdensome, and he wanted to pay them in other ways.

However, as part of the deal, Vortigern married the daughter of the Saxon leader, Hengist, Reweina. To me, this is a far more compelling reason. Vortigern might have been in his 40’s by this time. His former wife was dead, and she had been ten years older than him when they married, It is not at all unforeseeable that Vortigern became smitten with a beautiful young woman and, as a result, sold out Britain in the hopes of becoming part of his family. This is the idea that I like, best, as it gives a hint of romance and passion to the story, though there is absolutely no evidence for this in literature or history.

Nevertheless, Ambrosius reacted strongly to this move, which would have blown red flags in front of his eye from East to West. There is record of a battle between Vortigern’s troops and Ambrosius,’ which Ambrosius lost. In retrospect, Ambrosius was right.

The demands of the Anglo-Saxons became more and more insistent, and finally Vortigern could not meet them. In 455 there is a record of a battle between in ‘a place that is called Aylesford.” The son of the Anglo-Saxon leader, Horsa, was killed there, and so was Vortigern’s son, Vortimer. Ayelesford can be found on the Medway river, and it is the place the Anglo-Saxons would have to cross to break out from Kent. No one knows who won the battle, but it is known in the British language as Saessenaeg Habail, “The Slaughter of the Saxons,:” so maybe Vortigern won this one.

Two years later the Anglo-Saxons inflicted a crushing defeat on the Britons at Crayford, where they claimed to have killed 4000 men. The Britons, says the Anglo Saxon Chronicle, fled to London. The defenses of London were strong, and the Anglo-Saxons had to pass London to break out from Kent, but it was a matter of time.

In 473 that breakout occurred. The Anglo-Saxon Chronicle has a laconic and terrible entry: “This year, Hengist and Esc (his son) fought with the Britons and took immense booty. And the Britons fled from the English like fire.’ The reference to immense booty must mean either that the Saxons so completely broke the army of Britain, or they captured a great city. Both probably happened; Vortigern’s army was destroyed and London taken and sacked. There was nothing holding the English (for this is how they are now called) back from sacking and taking the rest of Britain.

With Vortigern’s policy of treaty troops discredited, the people of Britain looked to Ambrosius, who had always opposed this policy, for help. Ambrosius now became the acknowledged leader of Britain. His first campaign was not against the Saxons, but against Vortigern. Vortigern, his army in disarray, his political support gone, took refuge in a fortified town, someplace, and there Ambrosius besieged him. Ambrosius used sieged engines against the walls, reminding us that he was a Roman with a Roman equipped army, and that he was still fighting a classical war. But, he was using Roman methods against a Roman fortified town, and his methods failed. Finally, he set fire to the town and Vortigern perished in the flames. Thus we see the last of Vortigern.

Ambrosius was able to hold the English back for 17 years, from 473 to about 490. The people who had rallied to Ambrosius in utter dispair must have gleaned some hope for final victory over the Saxons…but Ambrosius was not able to defeat them, only prevent their further breakout from their strongholds. Hengist was defeated and beheaded in 488, and his place taken over by other Saxon kings. In 490, the English took their revenge, for Aelle and his sons landed in Sussex, capturing the Roman fort of Pevensey. It is said that Ambrosius died here, but he would have been over 80 at the time, and this is doubtful. Nevertheless, the Saxons were triumphant, and Britain was in need of a new leader.

Now we are at the point of searching for Arthur, for he was the new leader. I shall give various lines of speculation of who he was but, to me, the most likely was that he was connected with the Ambrosii, somehow, more than likely a son.

Who was Arthur

Now we come to the essential question. Who was Arthur? Did he exist? What do we know about him? What did he accomplish that was so significant? I am appending a text file to this listing all the current scholarly claimants to the identity. It is not necessary to post it here. It is just for your information.

First, the question of his existence. There is no independent documentation as to the existence of Arthur. The earliest reference is a Welsh drinking song, known to exist in 630 or so, where there is a line about the hero which says, “he fought like Arthur.” After this, we have Gildas, writing about the same time, who writes a panagyric against the British kings, and doesn’t mention Arthur at all, though he does mention Arthur’s final battle at Mount Badon. Gildas’ lack of mention is actually considered a plus for those who favor Arthur’s existence; he was inveighing against the British kings that he thought were sinful, and the lack of mention of Arthur might just mean that Arthur didn’t do anything that pissed Gildas off…

The first, real, documented mention of Arthur was Nennius and Bede, writing in the 700’s. This is almost 200 years after Arthur lived and died, and there is question about their veracity. Nennius mentions twelve battles that Arthur was supposed to have fought. Unfortunately, he gives names for the battles that are virtually impossible to place in Britain. Again, this might be a plus; he was using local names that are not in existence anymore, which gives some claim to his veracity…but we just don’t know.

I believe that Arthur did exist. SOMEONE at the time did what Arthur was supposed to have done. After 530 A.D., the supposed date of the Battle of Mount Badon, the Anglo Saxon Chronicle does not list a single Anglo-Saxon victory in Britain for close to 50 years. Someone defeated the Anglo-Saxons decisively. Maybe it was someone other than Arthur…but why go someplace else, when we have a person named already?

Ok, so, assuming Arthur existed, who was he? Again, there are many claimants for the identity, but I don’t see a need to go any further than the narrative I have given here. Ambrosius Ambrosii fought the Saxons for close to 20 years, and then died fighting the Saxons. Does it make more sense to look for someone else, or someone who was closely associated with Ambrosius? To me, it makes a lot more sense that Arthur was either a close associate of Ambrosius, a trusted lieutenant or, most likely, a son of Ambrosius. This would place Arthur in the Ambroii family, and give him a name and a pedigree.

Another question is why Arthur became so prominent, and not Ambrosius…this is an important question because it reflects on another conflict that was going on in Britain. Arthur was a Christian, and was pushing the Christian cause. Nennius says that Arthur went into battle ‘Wearing the image of the Holy Virgin Mary on his shield.” Ambrosius was a Roman, and sought Roman values and Roman gods. Vortigern was a pagan, and sought to restore Pagan values to Britain. Arthur was the Christian champion; his victory was seen as a victory of the Christian god over godless heathens, and helped spread the cause of Christianity in Britain. He possibly recognized that if Roman qualities were to survive in Europse, they had to be identified with the Christian cause; and that the barbarians had to be conquered no only because they were seizing the island from the citizens, but quite simply because they were heathens. He was fighting not only for the land of Britain, but for civilization. His motives and greatness could thus be recognized by Christian elements throughout Europse. The ages that succeeded were Christian, and the acts of Arthur the Christian champion acquired a significance and permanence that were denied to the more ancient virtues of Ambrosius.

Ok, now, about the other of the Arthur legend….Merlin, Guinivere, Lancelot, Ban, etc…who were they? I don’t know. There is plenty of speculation. You take your pick. To me, they aren’t important….though there is one thought that Merlin was actually Ambrosius. As the story goes, Vortigern was seeking to build a castle in Wales, and it kept falling down. The Druid priests suggesting sacrificing a young child in order to placate the gods. They brought a young child, Merlin, to be sacrificed but, instead, he told them that underneath the site of the castle were two dragons fighting each other, a red dragon and a white dragon. Until one or the other won, they couldn’t build the castle. This story is possibly an allegory for the victory of the Britains over the Saxons, and Merlin was telling Vortigern that he couldn’t build the castle until he triumphed…but that is all speculation.

In the next post I shall give a reasonable time line and location for Arthur’s battles, but first I want to say something about his form of combat. Every account of Arthur has he and his soldiers on horses; they were always knights, fighting on horseback. That is a very significant fact.

The Saxon style of combat was something that had little real discipline. If you saw the film Braveheart, the Saxons would usually line up against an enemy, build their courage, and then charge like madmen. There were few troops, even trained troops, that could withstand this kind of maniac charge. They were excellent warriors, with excellent war leaders, but did not have the discipline of trained troops.

Ambroius’s victories most likely occurred because of the Roman training of his troops; they would form a solid wall of shields, each shield locked to the next one by special grips. Each soldier carried a short spear, which was thrown just before the two sides met in combat, and a short thrusting sword. It was the discipline of these troops which overcame the Saxons; if one man fell, another took his place in the line of battle, thus maintaining the shield wall.

However, with the Saxon break-out at Pevensy, this was no longer effective. The Saxons were everywhere, and foot soldiers simply did not have the mobility to go where they had to go and strike hard.

Arthur’s innovation, probably, was mounted cavalry. No Saxon line could withstand a charge by lightly armored cavalry , and the Saxons would have had no experience with this. The knights would charge the line, break it up into segments, and either mop up on horseback, or get off the horses and fight on the ground. The horse gave Arthur the mobility to be where the Saxons were, wherever they were. It was a true innovation in warfare at the time 

Arthur’s Twelve Battles

Nennius, the earliest witness to mention Arthur, in his History of the Britains, written somewhere between 700 and 800 A.D, describes Arthur’s twelve Battles this way:

“In that time, the Saxons increased in numbers and their strength grew in Britain.
When Hengist was dead, Octha, his son crossed from the left hand side of Britain into the kingdom of the Cantii, and from him descended the Kings of the Cantii.  Then Arthur fought against those people in those days with the Kings of the Britons, but he himself was the dux Bellorum, or General in these battles.
The first battle was on the mouth of the river, which is called Glein. The second, and the third, and the fourth, and the fifth upon another river, which is called Dubglass, and is in the Kingdom of Linnus. The sixth battle was upon the river which is called Bassas.
The seventh was the battle in the wood of Celidon, that is Cat Goit Celidon (which is “The Battle of the Wood of Celidon” in the old British tongue.)
The eighth was the battle in the stronghold of Guinnion, in which Arthur carried upon his choulders the image of the Blessed Mary, the Eternal Virgin. And the pagans were turned to flight on that day, and great was the slaughter brought upon them through the virtue of our Lord, Jesus Christ, and through the virtue of the Blessed Virgin Mary, his Mother.
The ninth battle was fought in the City of the Legion. He fought the tenth battle on the shore of the river which is called Tribruit. The eleventh battle was waged in the mountain which is called Agned.
The Twelfth battle was on Mount Badon where in one day nine hundred and sixty men fell in one charge of Arthur’s. And no one ladi them low but himself alone.
And in all these battles he stood as victor.

As has been stated before, all these names are local British names, and their location has been lost to history. Scholars have been debating where they were, especially the last site, the Battle of Mount Badon, for a few centuries. The following commentary on where these battles actually were I am taking from one source, Beram Saklatvala’s “Arthur: Britain’s Last Champion.” I like his commentary, because I think he does something none of the others have done; instead of trying to match names in Nennius with places in Britain, he looks at the political and military situation and tries to match the names with what he thinks was happening at the time. Please refer to the enclosed map to follow this. I shall try to post it as a separate message, also.

For instance, most people have Arthur fighting all over Britain; this makes no sense. What was going on is that the English were trying to break out from their bridgehead in Kent, into the rest of Britain. Most of these battles had to have been fought in the South of Britain.

Also, notice how many of these battles were fought on rivers. It is quite natural for Arthur to have been defending river crossings against English attempts to break out from the river.

SO…we have the first battle, the mouth of the river Glein. Of course there is no river Glein in England…however, forty miles south of Modern Lincoln (Lindum Colonia, at the time), is the modern town of Bourne. Hereabouts, because of the great bay of the Wash, the road is only some twenty miles from the coast. To attempt to hold the road south of this point would be difficult. An enemy approaching from the south would have the width of Norfolk to maneuver. But, at Bourne, the sweeping coastline approaches the road. The Briton’s left flank would be secured on the marshlands, and an enemy could only make frontal attacks.

Morever, about ten miles north of Bourne rises a small river, the Glen; it runs parallel with the road and to the west of it. As it turns eastward to the Wash, the road crosses it. Here, strategically and tactically, a battle might well have been fought.

The second, third, fourth and fifth battles were on the river Dublas. This has often been identified with the river Duglas, in Leicesterhsire. It is sensible, however, to seek a river whose modern name is a translation of the old British one. Du, or dhu, meant ‘black’ in the British tongue, and there are several Blackwater rivers. One such is in Hampshire, forming part of the boundary with Sussex. Here might well be the Dublass of the battle, and it makes sense; having established a northern boundary with the first battle, now the Saxons were trying to break out in the West….

The sixth battle, on the river Bassas, is unknown. The suggestion that Basingstoke marks the site is feasible; it presupposes that, after the engagements on the Dubglass, Arthur had withdrawn some few miles to the northwest. The name Basingstoke, considered to be of Saxon origin, not British, means the village built by the followers of a Saxon leader named Basa. This leader might have given his name to the river.

Beram suggests that the site of the seventh battle was in Scotland, north of the wall, for the wood of Celidon is the wood of Caledonia. This seems improbable to me, for the reasons given above (i.e. it is too far away). However, almost everyone agrees on this one, and who am I to argue? It does make some sort of sense, if one supposes that the Picts tried to take advantage of the fighting in the South…but why in the world would Arthur travel that distance when he had a real menace in front of him. Maybe he thought he had beaten the English enough. I don’t know.

The ninth battle was fought at the castle of Guinnon. This could be Winchester, which, in the Breton poem of Chretien de Troyes is spelt ‘Guincestre,’ or even Windsor, which, in the same text is spelt “Guinesores’. Neither is geographically impossible, one being at the southern, the other at the northern extremity of Arthur’s defensive line which held the Saxons from breaking out in the West.

It is in this battle that Arthur carried the image of the Virgin, and the choice is rather interesting, both in the timing and the choice. Maybe, at this time, Arthur finally declared his Crusade a holy crusade? If Arthur had been brought up in the Romanised western kingdom of Ambrosius, and if he had been a follower of the Marian cult of Glastonbury, his use of Mary’s image as his standard becomes credible and reasonable.
The Ninth battle was at the ‘City of the Legion.’ This has always been a problem, as there were many cities identified with Roman Legions; each one used a particular city as its base. Chester seems a logical choice, as it is in the same general area that Arthur has been fighting….and, in light of the battle at Winchester (or Windsor), one can see him swinging North to quell another attempted breakout.

The tenth battle, the Battle of Truibruit, is documented in other sources than Nennius. The ‘Black Book of Carmarthen,’ a medieval book of Welsh poetry, tells of one of Arthur’s companions who came back with a broken shield from ‘Tryvrwd’. To lose one’s shield in Battle has always been taken by the Romans as a sign of disgrace and defeat. This poem conveys that the victory was barely won, and the defeat narrowly avoided. The same poem tells us that the casualties were heavy; that one of Arthur’s men killed his enemies three at a time, another a hundred at a time. It also refers to ‘the shores of Tryvwyd’. So, Tribruit was a river, and again a battle for a crossing. Unfortunately, we don’t know where this river is, but it has been placed in the North, maybe another campaign against the Picts….or maybe Rebellious Celts? It has been suggested that the Northern Celts didn’t see the danger of the Anglo-Saxons as the southern ones did, and were less cooperative than Arthur might have wanted…who knows?

The eleventh battle was fought on the hill called Agned. According to a marginal note in some of the manuscripts, this was in Somerset. If this is so, it would appear that, while Arthur’s main army was engaged in the North, the English had broken through in the South and marched deep into the West country.

This theory is borne out by the twelfth, and most desperate, battle, the battle of Mount Badon. Geoffrey Ashe places this at Badbury, in Wiltshire, just south of Liddington. ‘Badbury’ as he points out, could be derived from ‘Badon-Byrig’, the fort of Badon. There is another possibility, though. A few miles to the south-west is the small village of Baydon, standing on the old Roman road from Calleva Atrebatum northwards to Corinium, the modern Cirencester. North of this village rises the steep hill of Baydon, on the slopes of which can be still seen the scars and ditches of ancient fortifications.

The fighting here must have been desperate, for Arthur was fighting the combined strength of the Anglo-Saxon forces. His victory must have been absolute, for the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle records no Saxon victories in Britain for the next 50 years. Here, at his final battle, Arthur finally achieves the goal for which he has been fighting most of his life…a goal for which his father had fought all of his life, the halting of the Anglo-Saxon advance into Britain and the survival of the Celtic people and Celtic culture.

For the Celts did survive, even though their nation was eventually conquered. Celtic culture is still present in Wales, the home of Arthur and the Ambrosii, and in the place names around Britain. This was the result of the stolid resistance of men like Arthur through the ages, and an essential part of the steel that makes up the British national character.

Other Arthur Candidates:

Who was Arthur

Arthur, it seems, is claimed as the King of nearly every Celtic Kingdom known. The 6th century certainly saw many men named Arthur born into the Celtic Royal families of Britain but, despite attempts to identify the great man himself amongst them, there can be little doubt that most of these people were only named in his honour. Princes with other names are also sometimes identified with “Arthwyr” which is thought by some to be a title similar to Vortigern.

Breton King
Geoffrey of Monmouth recorded Arthur as a High-King of Britain. He was the son of his predecessor, Uther Pendragon and nephew of King Ambrosius. As a descendant of High-King Eudaf Hen’s nephew, Conan Meriadoc, Arthur’s grandfather, had crossed the Channel from Brittany and established the dynasty at the beginning of the 5th century. The Breton King Aldrien had been asked to rescue Britain from the turmoil in which it found itself after the Roman administration had departed. He sent his brother, Constantine, to help. Constantine appears to have been the historical self-proclaimed British Emperor who took the last Roman troops from Britain in a vain attempt to assert his claims on the Continent in 407. Chronologically speaking, it is just possible he was King Arthur’s grandfather. Arthur’s Breton Ancestry was recorded by Gallet.

Riothamus the King
Geoffrey Ashe argues that King Arthur was an historical King in Brittany known to history as Riothamus, a title meaning “Greatest-King”. His army is recorded as having crossed the channel to fight the Visigoths in the Loire Valley in 468. Betrayed by the Prefect of Gaul, he later disappeared from history. Ashe does not discuss Riothamus’ ancestry. He, in fact, appears quite prominently in the pedigree of the Kings of Domnonée, dispite attempts to equate him with a Prince of Cornouaille named Iaun Reith. Riothamus was probably exiled to Britain during one of the many civil wars that plagued Brittany. He later returned in triumph to reclaim his inheritance, but was later killed in an attempt to expel Germanic invaders. The main trouble with this Arthurian identification is that it pushes King Arthur back fifty years from his traditional period at the beginning of the sixth century (See Ashe 1985).

Dumnonian King
Welsh tradition also sees Arthur as High-King of Britain but tends to follow the genealogies laid down in the Mostyn MS117 and the Bonedd yr Arwr. These show Arthur as grandson of Constantine but, this time, he is Constantine Corneu, the King of Dumnonia. Traditional Arthurian legend records three Kings of Dumnonia during Arthur’s reign: Constantine’s son, Erbin; grandson, Gereint and great grandson, Cado. Nowhere is there any indication that these three were closely related to Arthur, nor that he had any claim on the Dumnonian Kingdom. Nor is their any explanation as to why a Dumnonian prince would have been raised to the High-Kingship of Britain. Arthur’s connection with this area of Britain is purely due to his supposedly being conceived at Tintagel, the residence of his mother’s first husband, and buried at Glastonbury, the most ancient Christian site in the country.

Cumbrian King
The Clan Campbell trace their tribal pedigree back to one Arthur ic Uibar: the Arthur son of Uther of tradition. Norma Lorre Goodrich uses this fact to argue that Arthur was a “Man of the North”. This idea was first proposed by the Victorian Antiquary, W.F.Skene, and there is some evidence to recommend it, especially the possible northern location of Nennius’ twelve battles. Goodrich places Arthur’s Court at Carlisle. As the capital of the Northern British Kingdom of Rheged, this seems an unlikely home for Arthur, who was not of this dynasty. Prof. Goodrich relies heavily on late medieval literary sources and draws imaginative conclusions. (See Goodrich 1986 & Skene 1868).

Pennine King
There was a Northern British King named Arthwys who lived in the previous generation to the traditional Arthur. He was of the line of Coel Hen (the Old) and probably ruled over a large Kingdom in the Pennines. Many of Nennius’ Arthurian Battles are often said to have taken place in the Northern Britain. These and other northern stories associated with the King Arthur may, in reality, have been relating the achievements of this near contemporary monarch.

Elmet King
Another Northern British Arthwys was the son of Masgwid Gloff, probably a King of the Elmet region of modern West Yorkshire. Nothing is known of this Prince who was exactly contemporary with the real King’s traditional period. Though it is unlikely that he held his own kingdom, his exploits may have contributed to King Arthur’s story.

Saxon Ally
There is also the possibility, proposed by August Hunt in his downloadable book “The Road from Avalon”, that Arthur developed from King Cerdic, founder of the Saxon dynasty of Wessex. The name Cerdic is Celtic, not Germanic, and he may well have been Ceredig son of Cunedda Wledig. Arthur’s battles as recorded in Nennius may be identified with Cerdic’s battles in the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle.

Merionydd King
August Hunt, as a second alternative, suggests that King Arthur was really King Cadwaladr of Meirionydd. His name translates as “Battle-Leader”, exactly identical to Nennius’ description of Arthur as Dux Bellorum; while one probable location for Arthur’s death at the Battle of Camlann is the Camlan Valley on the border of Meirionydd and Powys.

Scottish King
The Scots, though fresh from Ireland, also used the name Arthur for a Royal Prince. Artur, the son of King Aidan of Dalriada, was probably born in the 550s. David F. Carroll has recently argued that this man was the real Arthur, ruling Manau Gododdin from Camelon (alias Camelot) in Stirlingshire. Details can be found on the author’s web site. (Carroll 1996)

Powysian King
Graham Phillips and Martin Keatman identify Arthur as Owain Ddantwyn (White-Tooth), a late 5th century Prince of the House of Cunedda (more specifically of Gwynedd). Their arguments, however, are wholly unconvincing, and contain many unresolved discrepancies. Owain’s son, Cuneglasus (known from Welsh pedigrees as Cynlas) was among the five Celtic Kings condemned in the writings of Gildas. Through a misinterpretation of this account, Keatman & Phillips imply that Cuneglasus was the son of one Arth, ie. Arthur. They further claim that he, and therefore his father, Owain, before him, must have ruled Powys, as this is the only Kingdom un-reconciled with Gildas’ Kings. However, Cynlas lived at Din Arth in Rhos. He was not the son of Arth. In traditional Welsh manner the Kingdom of Gwynedd had been divided between his father, Owain, who received Eastern Gwynedd (ie. Rhos) and his uncle, Cadwallon Lawhir (Long-Hand) who took the major Western portion. During this period, Cyngen Glodrydd (the Renowned) was ruling Powys. He was probably the Aurelius Caninus mentioned by Gildas. (See Phillips & Keatman 1992).

Rhos King
A much simpler and thoroughly more convincing thesis from Mark Devere Davies suggests that Arthur may have been Cuneglasus himself. I can do no better than recommend you to the author’s website.

Dyfed King
A King Arthwyr ruled in Dyfed in the late 6th century. He was the son of King Pedr ap Cyngar, but little else is known of him. Though he was probably merely named after the great man, it is possible that some of his accomplishments may have become attached to the traditional legend.

Glamorgan King
Baram Blackett & Alan Wilson have theorised that the legendary King Arthur was an amalgam of two historical characters: Anwn (alias Arthun), the British King who conquered Greece and Athrwys (alias Arthwys) the King of Glywyssing and Gwent. Arthun was a son of the British Emperor Magnus Maximus, who lived in the late 4th century. He is better known as Anwn (alias Dynod) and his title of King of Greece is generally thought to be a misreading of his Latin name, Antonius Gregorius. He actually ruled much of South Wales. Arthwys of Glwyssing & Gwent is widely accepted as a seventh century King who lived in South-East Wales. His home in the traditional Arthurian region around Caerleon is part of this man’s attraction. Blackett & Wilson argue, not unconvincingly, that he really lived in the early 6th century and that his father, King Meurig was called “Uther Pendragon”, a title meaning Wonderful Commander. They also make the important assertion that Arthur lived, not in Cerniw (ie. Cornwall), but in Cernyw (ie. Glywyssing). (See Blackett & Wilson 1980).

St. Arthmael the King
Like Blackett & Wilson, Chris Barber & David Pykitt identify the King Arthur with King Athrwys of Glywyssing & Gwent. However, here the similarity stops, for there are important differences in the identification of people, places and events. Their major addition is the supposition that after Camlann, Arthur/Athrwys abdicated and retired to Brittany where he became an important evangeliser. He was known as St. Armel (or Arthmael) and his shrine can still be seen at St.Armel-des-Boschaux. Their ideas have much to commend them and make compelling reading. (See Barber & Pykitt 1993).

Roman King
It has been suggested, many times over the years, that King Arthur may have been a descendant of one Lucius Artorius Castus: a theme most recently taken up by P.J.F. Turner. Castus was an historical 2nd century Dalmatian general stationed in Britain who commanded the Roman auxiliary troops, known as Sarmations, on an expedition to crush an uprising in Armorica. It is highly unlikely that the two had any connection with each other. (See Turner 1993).

Reference

Here is a list covering some of the major books I have used over the years in my search for the true history of Britain.

Alcock, Leslie (1963) An Iron Age, Dark Age and Early Medieaval Settlement in Glamorgan. Cardiff: University of Wales Press

Alcock, Leslie (1971) Arthur’s Britain. London: Penguin Books Ltd

Alcock, Leslie (1972) By South Cadbury is that Camelot… London: Thames and Hudson Ltd

Alcock, Leslie; Stevenson, S.J. & Musson, C.R. (1995) Cadbury Castle, Somerset. Cardiff: University of Wales Press

Andere, Mary (1995) Arthurian Links with Herefordshire. Woonton Almeley: Logaston Press

Anonymous (c.1900) Welsh Pedigrees. Manuscript Work WS/G48. London: The Society of Genealogists

Ashe, Geoffrey (1957) King Arthur’s Avalon. London: William Collins, Sons & Co Ltd

Ashe, Geoffrey (ed.) (1968) The Quest for Arthur’s Britain. London: Paladin

Ashe, Geoffrey (1980) A Guidebook to Arthurian Britain. London: Longman Group Ltd

Ashe, Geoffrey (1982) Kings and Queens of Early Britain. London: Methuen Ltd

Ashe, Geoffrey (1985) The Discovery of Arthur. London: Debretts Peerage Ltd

Ashe, Geoffrey (1987) The Landscape of King Arthur. Exeter: Webb & Bower (Publishers) Ltd

Ashe, Geoffrey (1990) Mythology of the British Isles. London: Methuen & Co Ltd

Ashe, Geoffrey (1997) Arthurian Britain: The Traveller’s Guide. Glastonbury: Gothic Image

Aston, Michael & Burrow, Ian (1982) The Archaeology of Somerset. Taunton: Somerset County Council

Aubert, O.L. (1993) Celtic Legends of Brittany. Kerangwenn: Coop Breizh

Barber, Chris (1982) Mysterious Wales. Newton Abbot: David & Charles

Barber, Chris (1986) More Mysterious Wales. Newton Abbot: David & Charles

Barber, Chris (1996) Arthurian Caerleon in Literature and Legend. Abergavenny: Blorenge Books

Barber, Chris & Pykitt, David (1993) Journey to Avalon: The Final Discovery of King Arthur. Abergavenny: Blorenge Books

Barber, Richard (1961) King Arthur: Hero and Legend. Woodbridge: Boydell Press

Barber, Richard (1979a) The Arthurian Legends: An Illustrated Anthology. Woodbridge: The Boydell Press

Barber, Richard (1979b) A Companion to World Mythology. Hardmondsworth: Kestrel Books

Baring-Gould, S (1877) The Lives of the Saints. London: John Hodges

Baring-Gould, Sabine & Fisher, John (1913) The Lives of the British Saints. London: The Honourable Society of Cymmrodorion

Bartrum, P.C. (1966) Early Welsh Genealogical Tracts. Cardiff: University of Wales Press

Bartrum, P.C. (1974) Welsh Genealogies. Cardiff: University of Wales Press

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