Black Hawk's Last Raid - 1866

Utah Historical Quarterly, Volume 4, July 1931, Number 4

BLACK HAWK'S LAST RAID—1866

By Josiah F. Gibbs

Utah histories carry few details of Black Hawk's frequent raids on the settlers of Sanpete and Sevier valleys prior to, and including his spectacular invasion of Round Valley (Scipio), in 1866—the last of his capital crimes.

The rugged country in the south part of Emery County, extending east to the Colorado River was uninhabited, save by Black Hawk and his tribe. From that Chinese puzzle of box canyons Black Hawk emerged into Sevier and Sanpete counties by way of Salina Canyon, and ravaged the settlements north and south of his exclusive line of retreat.

From the mouth of Salina Canyon it is 20 miles to the northeast base of the Pahvant Range; thence northerly 13 miles over the low divide to Round Valley, then a hamlet of perhaps 20 families. A pass leads southwesterly over the range to Holden, then a Village of a half dozen families, 14 miles from Round Valley; thence south 10 miles to Fillmore with a population of probably 400. The localities and distances are indicated because of the important bearing on the desperate courage of Chief Black Hawk and his band in their dash of close to 35 miles and return through an open country, and, as Black Hawk well knew, in defiance of several hundred Utah cavalrymen presumably alert to their every movement.

By repeated forays the chief had driven the residents of the smaller settlements of Sevier Valley from their homes to Richfield, 20 miles southwesterly from Salina, whose inhabitants had fled to Gunnison and to other sizeable towns in Sanpete Valley. Such were conditions that by early June, 1866, there was not a white family within 15 or 20 miles of the dimly marked Indian trail from Salina Canyon to Round Valley.

Sanpete herds had become so depleted by previous raids that the red marauder had but three alternatives—take chances on the Round Valley expedition, remain in his stronghold and subsist on rapidly diminishing game, with side diets of crickets and grasshoppers, or bow his proud neck to the rule of the white invaders—return to the settlements and ask "forgiveness," of his enemies, and by the grace of Uncle Sam beg for his living. In brief, that is the Indians' side of the question.

June 11, 1866, was an usually warm, quiet Sabbath at Fillmore. At about 12 m., anyone looking north toward Holden would have observed a cloud of dust appearing and disappearing within the low, rolling ridges, and except for the desperate speed, not unusual—"probably coming for Grandma Carlin"—a not infrequent call for Millard County's grand old angel of mercy in every emergency from child births to toothache. Swiftly the cloud approached until from its murky folds emerged the foamflecked forms of horse and rider. Leaning sharply forward the rider guided his mount to the residence of Bishop-Colonel Thomas Callister, facing on the public square.

Halting a minute at Holden for change of horses, Alfred Plair's nerve-wrecking race with time had occupied little more than 90 minutes. Following is the message received by Bishop Callister:

Apprehending no danger from marauding redmen, Round Valley's few inhabitants were sleeping. Rudely awakened by distant war-cries, they sprang to doors and windows and looked up the valley. Nearly 200 painted warriors were racing down the road directly toward the village. When hardly within reach of the short-range rifles of those days, the wildly riding, shrieking mob swept around toward the east foothills, and in the dim light of the early morning a part of the renegades paused to murder a 12-year-old sheep herder who thus early was driving his flock to pasture, and continued their rush toward the sink of Lake Creek, around which several hundred cattle and horses were grazing. Among the latter were several Kentucky thoroughbred mares and a stallion, famous for his speed. A few of the marauders wheeled to the west along the north side of the joint field, a mile or so from the village. An aged settler, seemingly unaware until the moment of the presence of the red invaders, was taking his early morning turn at irrigation. Again the assassins halted to commit murder.

Hurriedly rounding up the available animals—300 to 500, the Indians returned over the route they had come into the valley. While passing within safe distance of the hamlet, with mocking shouts and gestures of contempt, the raiders bade farewell to Round Valley, and, incidently, farewell to their tribal career as the most persistent aggregation of Indian outlaws that ever looted frontier settlements.

The villagers were aware of conditions in Sanpete Valley— that the military might or might not be informed of Black Hawk's movements; also that time was the supreme factor in the problem of recovering their livestock. Yet the settlers, apprehensive of an ambush, would not permit a messenger to depart for Fillmore before about 10:30 p. m. after the raid.

An aftermath of the raid should here be recorded. Parashonts, an unusually large and kindly old Pahvant Indian, who had overheard Plair's account of the Round Valley invasion while changing mounts at Holden, hurried to Round Valley. His visit would be that of condolence, and to assure his white friends that the Pahvants were blameless. As usual his reception by the larger part of the villagers was friendly, but some there were who, in the stern faces of the relatives of the slain farmer, sensed danger to their Indian visitor, and advised him to leave by a roundabout way. Parashonts had gone a distance of a half mile or so when a son of the murdered man overtook him—justifiable (?) revenge on the part of a white man!

Mounted messengers quickly informed other residents of Fillmore of the raid. Frontier men of those years required little training and no discipline other than their stern environment. Within thirty minutes 40 or 50 young and middle-aged men, mounted and afoot, reported to Captain James C. Owen on the public square. Large bodied, big-hearted Captain Owen was more of a father than an officer to his men. Instructions were brief and to the point:

"You, who for any reason, and especially that of physical inability to share in the toughest experience of your lives, please stand apart. How many are prepared to go at once to the Meadow range and drive in every available saddle horse? You who are not going to the range, return to your homes and have your families prepare bread and dried beef for a campaign of two weeks—there will be no use for trypans and coffee pots, one blanket or quilt for each man—there will be no pack animals. Meet at Bartholomew's barn at five o'clock. Now, boys, quickstep."

Notwithstanding the feverish haste, it was nearly five o'clock when the last band of horses arrived. A score of willing and expert hands aided in roping and subduing the range horses, whose experience in captivity had been from a few days to perhaps weeks.

The forenoon had been excessively warm, and during the afternoon a downpour of rain also served to delay the hurried preparations. It was, however, the advance herald of that which awaited the hustling band of "cow-punchers" and farmers.

The last man had arrived. Little attention had been given to the swiftly gathering mid-June deluge. "Form ranks." "Forward, March!" issued from the almost midnight darkness. The men were ascending the dugway from the barn to the street when the storm burst in tempestuous fury. The half-wild horses recoiled, reared at the disciplining thrust of spurs and backed down the grade. Again through the storm-lashed night the command to form ranks and march was successfully executed. Such was the beginning of the last, and only earnest, attempt to intercept Black Hawk and retrieve his plunder.

With lessened violence the storm continued until the drenched troopers reached the foot of the grade into Round Valley, where a halt was made. To conserve time and horseflesh, Captain Owen dispatched a couple of men to inform the villagers that his command had arrived, and would await at the lake, ten miles distant, the arrival of the Round Valley contingent. Turning sharply to the right, the men followed the base of the range about eight miles, and turned east toward the trail over which the cattle and horses had been driven.

The unusual downpour had filled to overflowing the lake, utilized by the settlers for a reservoir. The dirt dam had washed out, and the usually dry wash was running bank-full of soil and water. It was a question of a detour of several miles or swimming—the latter alternative was adopted, which requires no detailed description—additional soaking was of little consequence compared with the loss of time. It was only an hour or two before daylight when the men reached the lake, unsaddled and secured the nearly exhausted horses, spread their blankets on the wet meadow, and soon were oblivious to chafed legs, aching bodies and marauding Indians.

It was scarcely daylight when the Round Valley contingent arrived. A hurried breakfast on water-soaked bread and dried beef, and the even more strenuous effort to overtake Black Hawk was resumed.

Dead cows and fighting steers were frequent, shot by the Indians because of their stubborness, and slashed with knives as a hint to those who might be in pursuit. Also, there were vivid evidences of the desperate struggle of the Indians to reach safety before white men would arrive.

From the Round Valley-Sevier divide there are two routes by which the river may be reached. Black Hawk selected the less obstructed and open bench trail. Because of its affording shelter from observation, Captain Owen selected a deep V-shaped ravine, lined with cedar trees that extended well down toward the river, and continued as a wash. "Single file, and don't crowd," and Captain Owen spurred his mount into the difficult defile.

If memory is not at fault, it was about seven a. m. when the captain halted his men and clambered up the side of the then shallow ravine. With unaided eyes the captain swept the open country to the east. Hastily adjusting his field glasses, he surveyed the almost unbelieveable scene.

"Come, boys, we are needed," shouted the captain. Over several miles the men had ridden at top speed. When on level ground, the jaded horses were given a brief rest, while the men viewed the ludicrous "Battle of Gravely Ford" from a distance of three miles.

Excepting a brief respite while the cattle were bunched during the worst part of the storm, the Indians had been in their saddles or bare-back, during a known period of not less than thirty hours, and during the larger part of the time were riding like demons in their efforts to keep the leg-weary animals on their feet and from scattering while urged to greater speed by their whipping, yelling tormentors. A hurried glance at the "field of battle" disclosed the incredible fact that Indian persistence and endurance had scarcely diminished. A part of the livestock had disappeared behind the hills that guard the mouth of Salina Canyon, and the others were being forced to even greater speed in the final effort to reach safety within the sheltering walls of the gorge.

A half-mile or so to the north of the left flank of the hustling redmen a company of white cavalrymen, fully fifty strong, under command of Colonel Byron Pace, as was subsequently learned, were "engaging" a solitary Indian. Mounted on James Ivy's imported stallion, Black Hawk also subsequently learned, was entertaining his white antagonists while securing more time for his warriors. Scattering puffs of smoke proved the activity of the whitemen.

Riding in an oblong circle, and firing) as he reached the point nearest the enemy, Black Hawk reloaded his rifle while on the home stretch and returning was ready for another shot. A well authenticated report is that one of the defenders of home and country received an Indian's bullet in his heel.

Evidently, Colonel Pace wanted to kill the Indian, and save the stallion. Discouraged at the result of his effort, the colonel ordered his men to fire in volley at the unoffending horse, and the gallant racer fell.

From behind the dead animal Black Hawk continued reloading and firing until a spent bullet struck the intrepid chief at the upper part of his abdomen, and, glancing downward, inflicted a serious but not immediately fatal wound. Pressing his hands to his abdomen, the chief made a hurried retreat, and amid a shower of bullets reached safety among his companions, who, after first aid, bore him to safety in the wilds of Emery County.

During the brief interval of rest, Captain Owen was formulating a plan by which the cattle might be recovered. By effecting a junction with Pace's command, they would be able to gain the mouth of the canyon in advance of the slow-moving cattle. This maneuver would compel the Indians to abandon the animals, and to seek safety through an opening to the south. With that object in view the final race for victory began. It was a disorderly stampede against time and distance. Perhaps live minutes elapsed when Captain Owen abruptly pulled his mount to a standstill-—"What the hell" was his astonished comment. Colonel Pace's command was in full and speedy retreat toward Manti—the hap-hazard riders from Millard County were mistaken for a reinforcement of Indians, charging directly down upon the near-sighted residents of Utah County!

With slackened pace, Captain Owen led his men across the river and to the deserted battle field, where lay the only victim. Even in death the stallion was a noble animal. Caught in midair, one could see by the furrows ploughed by his front hoofs that momentum had carried him forward several yards to his final rest.

It was a deeply chagrined and resentful company that went into camp in the desolate town of Salina. It was about 10 a. m, when Captain Owen dispatched two men in search of military headquarters. In substance his message contained the following: That his company was in camp at Salina; that he was unaware of the plans and whereabouts of his superiors; that unless otherwise instructed by two o'clock next morning, it would be assumed that troops were making an effort to intercept the Indians ; that his command of nearly fifty men would proceed up Salina Canyon and make an effort to effect a junction with the main body of cavalry. Meanwhile, at four o'clock p. m., a reconnaissance in force would be undertaken to determine the progress and position of the Indians. (It was fully 20 miles to where the Indians would be safe from interception, and even without pausing for rest and feed, the exhausted ponies and cattle could not cover the uphill grade, among trees, undergrowth, rocks and creek crossings short of 20 to 24 hours. A night-march of fresh cavalry from headquarters could easily have intercepted them.)

At four p. m. the men were enroute to the canyon. At the entrance scouts were advanced and instructed to keep sharp lookout for lurking redmen. The company had penetrated the canyon a distance of perhaps a quarter mile when the scouts returned and reported horsemen coming down the trail. Retreat to the knolls and cedars at the mouth of the canyon was hurriedly effected, and preparations made for defense.

Captain Owen's message had been delivered, and hurried arrangements were made to intercept the reconnaissance party, rather than the Indians. The stranger horsemen delivered a message instructing Captain Owen to report at headquarters, at Grass Valley, a few miles southeast of Manti. Consideration for the weary mounts, induced Captain Owen to defer the nearly 20-mile ride until next morning—evidently there was no rush.

The Fillmore men reached headquarters early in the forenoon. Colonel Byron Pace's company were mounted, evidently awaiting orders for another scouting expedition. From their saddles the Fillmore "Indian chasers" had a close-up of the Utah County troopers. They were typical frontiersmen—theirs' was not the responsibility for the long-range "engagement," nor for the precipitate retreat.

Instructions were to return to Fillmore and await further orders.

A week or so after the return of the Fillmore cavalry, orders were received to again take the field; that they were to be accompanied by a guard of infantry, baggage wagons and thirty days' rations for an expedition of "chastisement" of Black Hawk and warriors, and to report at Salina.

By way of Round Valley; thence to Sevier Bridge; thence up the river to Gunnison and north to Salina was nearly 100 miles, and' over a typical frontier road. On arrival at Salina, Captain Owen again dispatched messengers to headquarters; that the Millard County troops were encamped at Salina and were awaiting instructions. Orders were to return to their homes —that peace had been negotiated—that the Black Hawk War was over.

The two expeditions, including the time the men were under arms awaiting orders, had consumed more than thirty days. About forty years after the expeditions, survivors among the Millard County men applied to the Pension Bureau for the usual recognition for service in Indian wars, as did other members of the Utah militia enrolled for service against Black Hawk. Imagine their profound surprise and deep disgust at receiving copies of the following document in reply to their applications:

"This company was mustered into service at Fillmore, Millard County, June 10 (11), 1866, by Colonel Thomas Callister, and started in pursuit of the Indians that made the raid on Round Valley; they followed them into Sevier County, came up about three hours after the battle at Gravelly Ford; they were then attached to General Pace's command, and followed up Salina Canyon. They were in active service ten days, and mustered out June 20, 1866.

"I hereby certify that the above account is correct, (Signed) H. B. Clawson, Adjutant General Nauvoo Legion.' :

NOTE—General Clawson was not in the field, and is not held responsible for the work of a reckless subaltern, who merged the two expeditions into one, added the names of the infantrymen to those of the cavalrymen, called it "ten days," and "let 'er go at that"; this, in addition to falsehood concerning attachment to Pace's command.

Following are the names of those on the muster roll to which General Clawson referred:

(Read from head of first column down. Only those whose names are marked with an asterix (*) are now known to be living.)

Captain James C. Owen, Lieutenant William King, Peter Huntsman, Marcellus Webb, Volney King, Henry Crump, Josiah F. Gibbs,* Platte D. Lyman, Jesse Huntsman, George Croft, Amasa Lyman (Jr.),* Henry J. McCullough, Dorus B. Warner John N. McBride Henry E. Hatton,* Orson Holbrook, William Hatton, Joseph H. Holbrook, John Felshaw, Almon Robison, Albert Robison, Joseph Payne Franklin Carlin, James Knights, Henry Teeples, Culbert King, Nelson Bartholomew, James Dougherty, Dennis Dougherty, Brigham F. Young,* Ephraim Tomkins, Edward Skinner, Joseph Prisbey, Mortimer Warner James Ivy, Frank Ivy, Edward M. Webb, John King, Sims L. Mathens, William A. Ray, Henry McArthur, Richard Ivy, Ferguson, Shindy Ivy.

Names of Infantrymen

Captain Joseph Pugmire, Wesley S. Trescott, Christian P. Beauregard, John Dutson, William Bishop, Edward Partridge, Christian Hansen, Wesley Dame Robert Henry, James Lambert, John Pilling, William Press, William Holt, Robert Barrow, Horace Russell, Lewis Brunson, Allen Russell, Abraham Carlin, John Avery, Minor Prisbey,

It was during the latter part of April, 1870, that a stranger Indian introduced himself to Bishop Thomas Callister at Fillmore, and became his honored if not welcome guest. Slowly dying of tuberculosis, induced by a gunshot wound, received on June 12, 1866, Black Hawk had returned with the dual purpose of making peace with the Great Spirit and of effecting reconciliation with his Mormon foes.

The presence of the Pah-ute chief caused a mild furore, and many there were who desired merely a glimpse of the Round Valley raider, but in his splendid humanity and forethought, Bishop Callister requested that his guest be not disturbed; that tomorrow—Sunday—Black Hawk would meet and talk to his white "friends."

The especial incentive for the redman's visit was that in the later '50s, Bishop Josiah Call of Fillmore, and Samuel Brown, son-in-law of "Uncle" Reuben McBride, while returning from Salt Lake City with several hundred dollars, received for beef steers, were murdered and robbed by Indians a couple of miles south of present Juab station on the S. L. & L. A. Ry.

At two o'clock the next afternoon the meeting house was jammed with an eagerly expectant audience, not the least expectant of whom were the men who, nearly four years previously, had been "hot" on the crimson trail of Bishop Callister's guest.

With head erect and dignified steps, as unperturbed as a white geneiral, Black Hawk, preceded by the bishop, marched to the platform, and was seated at the right hand of Bishop Callister, and next to "Uncle" Reuben McBride. With arms folded the outlawed chief calmly surveyed his auditors. After preliminary exercises, Bishop Callister briefly introduced his guest, and stated the object of his presence.

Personified dignity in every movement and gesture, Black Hawk deliberately arose. Ignoring the pulpit, he stood at the east side, directly in front of "Uncle Reuben," whose son, Reuben A., acted as interpreter. Speaking exclusively in Pah-Ute, the slowly dying chieftain rapidly rehearsed the story of his early grievances. How the white invaders had taken possession of the hunting and fishing grounds of his ancestors; of the insolence of some of the white men; of the whipping and occasional killing of his warriors. Evidently, the speaker had little regret for his raids in Sanpete and Sevier, merely referring to them in defence of his retaliations. He denied complicity in the murder of Call and Brown; expressed sorrow over the killing of the young sheepherder and aged farmer during the Round Valley raid— that it was against his orders except when necessary; that none of his warriors had any grievance against the settlers; that had he been so inclined, every man, woman and child could have been massacred; that the raid was forced by starvation of his people. Black Hawk concluded his speech with a not deeply repentant plea for forgiveness.

Bishop Callister moved a vote of forgiveness of their late enemy, who was preparing to meet the Great Spirit, and requested that the audience express their views. The suspense was broken by "Uncle" Reuben McBride, who briefly spoke against the motion; then suddenly turning on the redman: "You black murderer, you killed Bishop Call, one of the best friends the Indians ever had, and you murdered Sam Brown for his money; you black devil. I will NOT forgive you." In the language of the street, Black Hawk "never batted an eye."

One grim "NO," and the one-time dreaded chieftain was absolved from mortal responsibility for his heritage of the ancient law of "an eye for an eye, and a tooth for a tooth."

Note.—Frank E. King, a native of Massachusetts, and a Utah pioneer of 1857, a man of exceptional courage, honor and veracity, who recently died at Marysvale, of which he was also a pioneer, told the author of this narrative, that he and his wife during the Indian trouble in Sanpete County, occupied a farm a mile or two west of Manti; that during hostilities, and at various times, scores of Indians, including Black Hawk, were his guests; that strictly observing President Brigham Young's admonition that it "is cheaper to feed than to fight the Indians," they were invariably fed, and treated with like courtesy accorded to whitemen; that not once during their visits did the redmen refer to their difficulties with the whitemen.