Pioneering in the San Juan; personal reminiscences of work done in southwestern Colorado during the "great San Juan excitement,"

Front matter

Chap. \L S.jCopyright No.

Shelf..

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Preface

This book is an attempt to present, in simple words, the reminiscences of work performed by a Presbyterian missionary, in Southwestern Colorado, during the "Great San Juan Excitement;" with the sincere desire to awaken a deeper interest in Home Missions. "Content to fill a little place,

if God be glorified. ' '

G. M. D.

CHAPTER

Contents

PAGE

Magg Hartman's Funeral ... 26

A Wild Ride ....... 31

Chapter I

: 'As we stand and listen to a low and increasing hum, We hear the tramp of thousands that here in the future will

come.

They will come for the air and sunshine,

They will come for scenery grand, They will come for the gold and silver,

From every civilized land. ' ' — Prospector.

In this age of electricity, when men think quick, live fast and die young as a general rule, reminiscences are below par. Men prefer to look forward rather than backward. And yet we believe that it is well, at times, to take a look at the past, that we may see what progress Christianity has made in Colorado.

More than twenty-two years have passed since I began preaching the Gospel in this State; and I can truthfully say that the churches have kept pace with the material growth and the increase in population. History teaches that Christianity generally prospers in mountainous regions. The length, height, breadth and grandeur of our great mountain ranges are in perfect harmony with the rugged, grand and sublime evangelical doctrines presented by ministers of the Gospel. The great peaks remind me of many of the precious truths presented in the Bible — Pike's Peak, of comforting, strengthening, soul-cheering atonement; Sierra Blanca, of God's precious promises. At times this mountain is enveloped in dark clouds; yet they are always lifted and never mar her grandeur and beauty. So it is with God's children — dark clouds at times surround them; but these clouds are lifted by His almighty hand, and joyfully we "press toward the mark for the prize of the high calling of God in Christ Jesus."

In the spring of 1876 there was not a church building on the Pacific slope in Colorado. The first church was erected by the Presbyterians in Lake City and dedicated November 19, 1876 — just five months, to a day, from the time of organization. Lake City was a "live mining- camp, " largely made up of young men of that class who were willing to prospect and take all kinds of chances in order to make money; but they had no desire to work underneath the ground. Miners were scarce, while 16 prospectors were numerous. No class of men knew better how to treat a minister they liked in a royal manner than the men who went into southwestern Colorado during the great San Juan "excitement" °f '75> '7 6 an d '77- Nor could a more intelligent, plucky, warm-hearted set of men be found; men who knew what was right.

Among them were many who had been taught in Eastern homes, by pious parents, that "man's chief and highest end is to glorify God and fully enjoy him forever. " Yet strange as it now seems — when looking back to those exciting times — many of these men, from the best of homes, found their way into the large gambling-halls that were in all the camps ; claiming they only wished to see what was going on and not for the purpose of taking part in the games. Yet, notwithstanding these claims, many, after getting, as they thought, "the run of the game," did "fight the tiger." Some did so successfully ; others did not.

When entering camps where no religious services had been held I invariably went to the right place to find an audience; and in every case was courteously and kindly received and generally told: "Just wait, Brother Darley, until the games can be stopped, and we will give you a chance at the 17 boys." It was not always an easy matter to stop the games ; winners were usually willing, while the losers were not. But so soon as the games closed then "roulette," "keno, " "poker," and "faro" would give place for a time to the Gospel.

A more convenient pulpit than a "faro-table" could not be found; nor a more respectful and intelligent audience. In what occasional singing we did have, men with trained voices, rich and sweet, would sing without books those grand old hymns: "Jesus, Lover of My Soul" and "Rock of Ages, Cleft for Me." With bowed heads they listened to the prayer ; often with tears in their eyes to the "old, old story, " being told as they had heard it "back East," while sitting in a pew beside father, mother, or fond wife and dear children.

The contrast was as great between the Eastern pew and beer kegs, whisky barrels and chairs, as it was between the Eastern pulpit and a Western faro-table, behind which the minister stood ; but the Christ presented was the same^-and those men's souls were as dear to the Savior. In one camp I became acquainted with a "faro-dealer" who had a decidedly clerical look. His beautiful gray beard and ministerial dress added much to his elegant manners. He always called me "Brother Darley. " 18 »

I said to a young man fresh from the East, as I met him at the door of a large gambling-hall: "Were you in the habit of entering such houses in the East?" He answered: "I was never in a saloon or gambling-house in my life until I came to this camp. My folks would be ashamed of me if they knew I frequented such places." Having hold of his hand, and the light shining in our faces, I said: "Should you be any less of a man out West than you were back East?" By the flash of his eye and the color in his face I saw that he was offended; but I held his hand and kept looking him in the eye. Finally he dropped his head and said: "I ought not to be."

One Sabbath night, after service, it became necessary for me to visit a large dance-hall located in "Hell's Acre." I there talked with young men who less than an hour before were sitting in God's house. Even amid the thunders of the coming storm, the cry was heard : "On with the dance ! Let joy be unconfined!" During those years of toil, joy, sadness and rejoicing, I was often reminded of the words of the weeping Prophet: "Weep ye not for the dead, neither bemoan him; but weep sore for him that goeth away." Several times I was asked if I could afford to know so many sporting- 19 men, and fast women. "Associations," said one sanctimonious man, "have a great deal to do with a minister's character." I replied that I believed with the old blacksmith, who said, when told that if he would associate with so and so it would give him character: "I can hammer out a better character on my anvil than any set of men can give me." If I could not know and, so far as necessary, "associate" with all classes, I was not the man for the place.

In '76 La Veta was the terminal of the Denver and Rio Grande Railroad. It was a long, hard stage ride from La Veta into the San Juan country. During the day the grandeur of the scenery would interest passengers; but through the long nights even "old timers" grew tired and, so soon as the stage struck the "Slumgullion Road," which was far from being "freighters' paradise," the driver would join with the freighters in swearing at the Mexicans to "pull out of the road." On this road there was a fall of several thousand feet in about twelve miles ; and a few miles of that was corduroy. Where there was none, the freighters claimed that "every ten feet there was a stone projecting from six to eighteen inches and frequently on the opposite side a hole from six to eighteen inches deep, with a stump in the middle. ' ' 20

The Rev. Sheldon Jackson, D. D. (ex-Moderator of the General Assembly of the Presbyterian Church), once said to me, while trying to get the crooks out of his legs and rub down the lumps that had risen on different parts of his body: "Brother Darley, I have staged it all over this Western country; I have staged it through the tamarack swamps of Wisconsin ; but I never staged it over such a road before." Dr. Jackson was always welcome at my mountain home, for he never growled, no matter how hard the trip. He has the pluck that I admire.

In the seventies many difficulties had to be faced in the San Juan that were more than the average minister cared to face then, or would care to face now. To go beyond Lake City meant to go where there were no bridges across streams and, in some directions, no wagon roads — only trails throughout the greater part of the San Juan, and often they were very rough, while the distance between cabins was so great that frequently the missionary had to sleep on the ground.

My walk of one hundred and twenty-five miles (more than half the distance through deep snow), in five days and four nights, is often spoken of by "old timers." All the streams had to be waded; and when I reached Ouray, with swollen limbs, nearly used up, and suffering terribly, Messrs. George A. Scott and James McDonald invited me to their cabin and, after procuring a bottle of arnica, both went to work and did all they could to limber me up. On Sabbath I was hardly able to walk, so did not preach until Thursday of the following week. The sermon was the first preached in Ouray or in the Uncompahgre region.

The first church built in Ouray, and the second on the western slope in Colorado, was a Presbyterian church, dedicated October 14, 1877. I say it, without fear of contradiction, that in no other frontier' town in Colorado (Ouray is no longer a frontier town) could the same amount of money be raised more easily than that so cheerfully given by the citizens of the camp for the erection of their first house of worship.

When preparing to start home "Cap" Cline (who, with General Adams, afterwards rescued Mrs. Meeker and daughter from the White River Ute Indians) and others pled with me not to attempt to cross Engineer Mountain that day, for it was snowing hard in Ouray. But, like some other young men who lived in the San Juan at that time, my bump of caution was not very well developed, so started, and found nearly four feet of fresh snow above

"timber line." Thus, walking was difficult going into Ouray to preach the first sermon — and getting out of Ouray after the first church was dedicated. It was on this trip that I lost an elegant pair of buckskin leggings.

We often speak of the rough experiences of frontier work, and of the roughness of the work itself, when compared with the smooth and more refined labor in our cities or in the old-established churches of the Eastern villages. Yet, after all, there is a sameness about the work that can be illustrated in this way. During my varied experience in Colorado I have often officiated at funerals very different in appearance. A rough box holds the body and an old wagon is the hearse; the mourners and minister follow on foot. When the place of burial is reached, the hole in the ground is uneven in width, and boulders project on the sides. When we attempt to let down the box, the grave is too small ; so we lift it out and enlarge the grave. Finally the body is laid to rest, as the wind sighs among the tree tops and the mountains receive to their arms another body dear to someone.

Again, I have been called to officiate at a funeral where the casket was a rare piece of workmanship, beautiful and costly; and the floral offerings from 23 friends expensive and appropriate; and with the Rev. John N. Freeman, D. D., to offer one of his characteristic prayers, which for the moment helped lift the dark clouds. The lovely hearse and nodding plumes, followed by a long- line of carriages, were in striking contrast to the rickety old wagons behind which I have often walked. At the cemetery, the sides of the grave looked as though they had been planed; and the body of a dear friend (Arthur S. Adams) was laid to rest. Yet in both cases it was death. On rugged mountain side or in a beautiful cemetery, it is death. And so the Gospel is the same, whether preached in a gambling-hall, or in a fine church building. The Gospel is the same in all places. I believe in the depravity of the human race and I believe in the almighty power of the blood of Jesus Christ. "There is life for a look at the Crucified One," no matter by whom given or the place the penitent soul is in as he looks. I was pastor of our church at Del Norte when the first meeting of the present Synod of Colorado was held at that place and the "Presbyterian College of the Southwest" was located. Having been president of the college as well as pastor of the church, my warmest sympathies go out toward that institution.

To-day our college at Del Norte is doing noble work for the Master. Rev. M. D. J. Sanchez, of whom ex-Senator Thomas M. Bowen said, while a trustee of the college, "There is a young man who is the peer of any young man of his age in Colorado, ' ' is among the first fruits of the college. Then there is Rev. A. J. Rodriguez, missionary to the Ute Indians, and many more who have graduated from the institution.

When the last day dawns and the stars fall and the heavens roll together as a scroll, it will not be the Methodists only that will be before the throne of God clothed in white, nor the Baptists nor the Presbyterians only. It will be the redeemed out of every nation and kindred and tongue and people, whose souls have been washed clean in the blood of the Lamb. Therefore, ministers of the Gospel should love all classes — the high, the lowly, the rich, the poor — keeping constantly in mind that the Lord Jesus Christ goes before us. His spirit accompanies our words and convinces men of sin, of righteousness and judgment. If we are faithful in our work we shall be richly blessed here and hereafter ; for the harder we toil in the Master's vineyard now, the sweeter will be the rest in His house, by and by.

Chapter II Magg Hartman's Funeral

"One more unfortunate, Weary of breath, Rashly importunate, Gone to her death."

"Who was her father?

Who was her mother?

Had she a sister?

Had she a brother?" — Thomas Hood.

If all the tears shed by parents whose daughters have gone astray were bottled, they would not be greater in quantity or more bitter than the tears shed by the erring ones. The first burst of passion and excitement of a fast life soon recoil and strike the wandering one a terrible blow, bringing to the sporting-woman's heart a deep sense of the distance there is between her and what women prize most.

When asked, "Will you come to Magg Hartman's house and preach her funeral sermon?" I consented, because I believed it my duty to go wherever I was asked for the purpose of conducting funeral services. By so doing I had become acquainted with all classes.

Magg Hartman lived in "Hell's Acre," a part of 26

MAGG HARTMAN'S FUNERAL

the new mining-camp largely given up to the sporting class. As I entered the house a very tall, well-known character, who was sitting on the floor, rose and said as he took my hand: "Well, Parson, this is the way we all go." I replied: "Yes, we all must die, hut it depends on how we have lived, and in whom we have believed, as to the place we go when we die." "I guess that is so," said my tall friend ; for the man was a friend in the way of "backing the Parson" financially and by being accommodating in various ways.

I then stepped to the side of the coffin and looked at Magg Hartman's more than ordinary face; for few faces were more remarkable looking and few lives had been stranger than that of this many-sided woman. As the "girls" came in from the "dance-halls" I took each one by the hand and spoke a kind word. When all was ready for the funeral service I noticed a strained attempt on their faces to "take it," which plainly said: "You hold a full hand now, so just wade in. ' ' Before the first eleven verses of the eighth chapter of St. John had been read, arms were unfolded and the strained look began to leave their faces; and as words void of severity were spoken tears began filling their eyes. Soon every head was bowed and, had I not 27 witnessed such scenes before, I might have believed every one would leave the paths of sin and seek a better life.

After the pall-bearers had fastened the top on the coffin one of the "girls" asked if I would go with them to the cemetery. Her request was granted. Who can tell what impressions the reading of God's Word, and the funeral sermon, made upon the minds and hearts of those outcasts of society, many of them mere girls? Men who have seen much of life know that there are thousands of bleeding, aching and sorrowing hearts that are struggling against the terrible current of prejudice and coldheartedness that is so prevalent; battling hard against the sense of shame in their own hearts and against the powers of a cold world ; traveling in the most lonely of life's paths without one kind word to cheer, without one glimmer of light to guide their lonely footsteps until, discouraged, disheartened and crushed, these words of deepest gloom fall from their lips :

"Go to the raging sea and say be still; Bid the wild tempest obey thy will ; Preach to the storm, and reason with despair: But tell not Misery's child to beware."

Many are ready to cry: "It is their own fault.

MAGG HARTMAN'S FUNERAL

The young girl or young man ought to have remained at home and been good." Friends, how do you know that it is all their own fault? Who told you so? What means have you of knowing so much? Be honest, and acknowledge that you are ignorant regarding their temptations, surroundings, education and peculiar temperaments; the promises made them and broken — made by those you are pleased to take by the hand. Then try to have enough Christian charity and hard common sense to keep you from kicking the fallen.

If the whole human race were constituted alike — all of the same temperament, all having equal advantages — then we might be able to judge all correctly; but, since there are such differences, we should be very slow in passing harsh judgment on anyone. It is well for the fallen that there are those on earth, as well as in Heaven, who can be "touched with the feeling of" their "infirmities."

I trust that all Christians, while they cannot reasonably be expected to feel as kindly toward the fallen as some do, will remember that —

"There's no life so lone and low But strength may yet be given, From narrowest lot on earth to grow The straighter up to Heaven. ' '

When Jericho was destroyed, not Rahab alone, but "all that were with her in the house" were saved, because "she did hide the messengers that were sent. ' '

It is a blessed thing when all in the house are saved — but how often it is otherwise ! This solemn and awful truth may cause some to have charity who at the present time are as devoid of it as the stones beneath our feet. The day may come when those who are rejoicing because no wanderer belongs to their family, may say, alas! —

"From the same father's side, From the same mother's knee, One to lone darkness and frozen tide, One to the crystal sea."

Chapter III A Wild Ride

"Chill airs and wintry winds, my ear Has grown familiar with your song,"

— Longfellow.

Some years ago, while reading the "Denver Republican," I saw an article taken from the "Hinsdale Phonograph" : "San Juan Weather Comparisons. " In it I found the following: "While congratulating ourselves for the splendid weather San Juan is experiencing at present, we mayremember that every season is not this way. In 1879 the snow was eight feet deep on the Continental Divide the last of December, and the mail from Del Norte to Lake City was carried the entire distance on sleds from November 25 to April 8, a period of almost four months and a half. ' '

The reading of this brought to my mind, with a freshness not altogether pleasant, one of the wildest rides I ever had — and I had many a wild one during the seventies. For a month that winter no mail could be carried from Clear Creek to Powder Horn, except on a "snow-shoer's" back. One of the drivers 31 nearly lost his life while trying to get through with a sled. A large number of men went from our camp and tried to "pack" the snow so that the mail could be brought in on sleds, but the storms were severe and the snow deep; so the plan was abandoned.

We decided that it was impossible to get papers or circulars, but letters we must have. A Swede by the name of Fjelley, one of the best "snow-shoers" in the San Juan, was employed to carry letters. He used the narrow, eleven-feet snow-shoes. I loaned him part of my "outfit," and, not being willing to accept pay for the use of it, he gave my little girl a silver dollar, which she has kept and calls her "snow-shoe dollar."

It was necessary for me to go to the railroad, which by that time was one hundred and fifteen miles from Lake City, having been built as far as Alamosa. But, before the headwaters of the Rio Grande could be reached, the great Sierra Madre range of mountains and the Continental Divide had to be crossed. I asked the stage agent when he thought an attempt would be made to cross the range with horses and sleighs. He said he would let me know as soon as it was decided to make the attempt. Soon after he told me: "You can keep 32

A WILD RIDE

it to yourself, for several want to go, and we cannot take them, for the chances are we won't get through ; the drivers say 'Darley can go.' We are going to try it with two light sleighs ; one span of horses to each. Be ready at midnight, when the crust on the snow will be hard. ' '

At midnight we started — John King and myself in the front sleigh and Charlie Swift in the other. We had traveled less than two miles when the sleigh we were in upset and spilled us out. King clung to the lines, while I rolled down the side of the mountain and landed against a tree. In the upset our glass stage lamps were broken and we were left in the dark. Charlie Swift had the laugh on us. By daylight we were at Powder Horn Station, near which, in after years, proved to be a favorite place for "road agents" to collect toll from travelers. After a good breakfast and considerable conjecturing about our ever reaching Clear Creek Station, we started on the wildest ride I ever had. We fairly flew. The gulches were filled with snow and the rocks were covered ; in many places the trees were snowed under. We had plenty of room and down-grade most of the way. "Talk about horses!" the driver said, "those grays would be human if they could talk." It did seem to me that they understood every word King said to them while they were being "hooked up"; for evidently they realized just what they were to do. No whip was needed to urge them to their best. "Barlow and Sanderson" never had finer horses on any of their great western stage lines. Whenever the horses' feet broke through the crust they would gather themselves for a fresh spring and, quick as a flash, dart ahead. The driver understood the horses, the horses understood the driver, and all knew the danger. I had many a wild ride in the mountains of the San Juan, but never anything to equal that one. By taking my chances that night with the drivers, I was "billed" through to Del Norte free.

Traveling in the San Juan, during the years of staging, was not considered a great pleasure by many, partly on account of the roughness of the roads and partly on account of the peculiarities of the Mexican freighters. They invariably camped in the road, and it was amusing, whenever one of their wagons would get ' ' stuck, ' ' to see a driver running around it to turn his cattle one way, then in front of the "leaders" to turn them the other way. A Mexican does not drive cattle like an American — by keeping on one side and using a long whip. In addition to corduroy, holes, stones, stumps, steep

A WILD RIDE

grades and mud, many of the roads were "sidling" and the curves very sharp, so that four horses were all that could be handled by a stage-driver. One night I was in a stage-coach with thirteen other victims. The lower part of the "boot" and the back part of the coach were filled with mail. With such a heavy load the driver and express-messenger claimed that the brakes could not hold. If there was a big dance in the camp, the brakes would not work, or else were not sufficient to hold the coach. Some were uncharitable enough to say that Charlie Swift wished to get in ahead of time to attend the ball. On the night to which I refer, Charlie declared that it would be unsafe to try to hold the horses. So they went down-grade on a swinging lope, while the passengers held on and "let her go."

Chapter IV Church Bells

"I've heard bells chiming Full many a clime in, Falling sublime in Cathedral shrine, While at a glib rate Brass tongues would vibrate ; But all this music

Spoke not like thine."

For aught we know to the contrary, everything that leads men to God's house may be a part of His plan for the winning of souls to himself ; although it be nothing more than a church bell. Anything that helps a man's thoughts to turn toward home and good influences, when he is far from home, proves a blessing. All that leads man to call to mind hallowed associations does him good. Man is said to be a "religious animal." Apart from the influences of religion and home he would soon become a wild animal; for it is under the teachings, and by the power of the religion of Jesus Christ, and the hallowed surroundings of Christian homes that we are lifted up and our affections purified. Without these .36

CHURCH BELLS

things an individual, family, community or nation would sink. Many who appear to appreciate home ties claim that none are benefited by Christianity ; but I question if they believe it.

The mountain towns in Colorado are not free from this class, but have a large number of men professing to hold views contrary to what the Christian religion teaches. What we call "bold infidelity" shows itself plainly where it is not policy to remain covered ; and in no region can we find men who are so indifferent to religious influence as in new mining-camps. Yet this class like to see "improvements in the camp, ' ' and often lend a helping hand.

After our church was built in Lake City, it being the first one on the Pacific slope in Colorado, saint and sinner expressed themselves as being very proud of it; and showed their appreciation by attending services and "paying for their preaching." Still, one important thing was lacking. Nowhere in Colorado, west of the Sierra Madre range of mountains, was there a bell of any kind for public use larger than a dinner bell. One day, to my great joy, Mr. Theodore Little, Jr., informed me that his father, Mr. Theodore Little, Sr., of Morristown, New Jersey, had bought a bell for our church — and would "pay the freight." When a 37 man said "pay the freight,"* in those days, it often meant a great deal more than the first cost. The bell was freighted in a wagon across two great mountain ranges — the Sangre de Cristo and the Sierra Madre — also over the Continental Divide.

The bell was presented to our church in 1877. Often, during the early days of that camp, men have said after church services: "As we came toward the camp we heard the sound of a church bell and were surprised; for we had no idea that there was a church in Lake City. " It no doubt reminded many of home and loved ones far away, when they heard the peals of that bell ringing out an invitation to enter God's house. It could be heard for miles and the grand old mountains seemed to take up the sound and pass it on. Since then that bell has called many to the house of prayer, who without it would never have known that there were church services in the camp — and not until the last day shall we know how great its influence for good may have been.