1867

The cowboy becomes a part of American culture.

(I doubt students will recognize this man.)

In Marvels of the New West (1890) William M. Thayer writes about the rise of agriculture in the lands newly settled, cites figures about the output of rich mines, and the quality of the men who tamed the frontier.

 

He has no respect nor understanding for the rights and plight of the native peoples. In a section on Jared L. Brush, a cattle baron, he says this:

 

Mr. Brush had the usual experience of pioneers with the Rocky Mountain red men, escaping with his life only because providential events favored him. Even later, in 1867 when he was engaged in the cattle business and had a ranch only fourteen miles from the spot where Greeley [Colorado] was laid out three years thereafter, the savages made a raid upon his ranch, and killed twelve men, one of whom was his brother. Mr. Brush was absent at the time; had he been home, he must have shared the fate of his cattlemen; and we should not have had the privilege of adding his portrait or sketch of his life to our collection. (617-619)

 

Of John W. Snyder, another cattle baron (though Thayer doesn’t use that term), he notes that he was born in Mississippi in 1837, and was three when his father died.

 

[He] was left in the care of a pious, loving mother, who was obliged to move, first to Arkansas, and then to Missouri, in order to feed and clothe her children. She was brave and true, and John and his brothers were ditto. Hard work and rigid economy kept the wolf of hunger at bay, but left very small opportunities for schooling. John received about one year of poor log-house schooling up to nineteen years of age.

 

At nineteen, John and Dudley [his brother] borrowed money enough to buy a team and load of apples, which they carried to Austin, Texas, six hundred miles, and sold at a good profit. They remained in Texas two years, farming with fair success, then began to drive horses to Missouri for sale, and take back apples to Texas, where they soon removed their mother and settled.

 

In 1861, John was worth one thousand and six hundred dollars, and he resolved to attend school, but a few months only escaped when the late civil war broke out, and he enlisted as a private, but was soon promoted to second lieutenant, and then captain.

 

       …

 

Soon after returning from the war, he and his two brothers, Dudley and Thomas, began the cattle trade in company, and this grew upon their hands until it became enormous, and the “Snyder Brothers” became known, not only in Texas, but throughout the New West, for wealth, enterprise, and integrity of character. They fought the Indians, hard times, and mighty obstacles in hewing their way to success.

 

…

 

Mr. Snyder married in March, 1867 and today has an interesting family; and he is never so happy as when he is in their society. He is a consistent and active member of the Methodist Church. It is a common remark that the Snyders believe in carrying religion into their business. They enforce rigid regulations among their cowboys against swearing, drinking, gambling, and Sabbath-breaking. They give away large sums of money. Evidently they act on Wesley’s rule, — “make all you can, save all you can and give all you can.”

 

On January 1, 1887, J.W. Snyder & Co. owned 30,000 cattle, 275 horses, and 20,000 acres of land in Colorado; and 17,000 cattle, 750 horses and 218,000 acres of land in Texas. (625-626)

 

Thayer mentions Thomas A. Lawrence, born in Circleville, Ohio in 1851, partner in a cattle ranch in Ogallala, on the South Platte, in Nebraska, by 1873. The partners started with 800 head. Lawrence prospered, moved to New Mexico, and in the 1880s was part owner of an 18,000 acre ranch there, with 9,000 head of cattle. (625)

 

Jared Brush, he says, was also born in Clermont County, Ohio. (He misnames it “Claremont County.”)

Gary Larson pokes fun at the idea of the "Wild West."

 

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Thayer’s take on cowboys, more generally, is of interest, particularly as he is writing in 1890. He talks about men wearing “half an acre of hat” and a scarf to protect face and neck from the hot sun. Sweat being one of the features of the job, along with dust. (545)

 

The profits of stock-raising are marvelous. For this reason, men endure hardships and brave dangers, dwelling apart from friends and civilized society. The prospect of speedy fortunes reconciles them to privations for the time being. (547)

 

Generally speaking, Thayer says,

 

The cowboy plays such an important part in the cattle business that we stop here to tell the reader about him. You have heard much about him, but little that is true. So incorrect are the representations of him in the Eastern States that the reader will be surprised to learn from the photograph that the cowboy is a member of the human family.

 

We assure the reader that this is a photograph of a real cowboy, whom we have seen and conversed with, and from whom we begged the photo. He has been in the business since he was twelve years of age, and, of course, is a veteran cowboy although he is not over thirty years old. He has lived most of his life just outside of civilization, and scoured the “Great Plains,” and penetrated the Rockies, so thoroughly, that he is more at home there than he is in Denver or Greeley. He is a real dare-devil on the round up, and the wildest broncho cannot run faster than he can ride. He sticks to his back, too, except when the flying brute stumbles on the dead run; and then, of course, he falls with him. In this way he has learned what it is to have a broken arm, a dislocated shoulder, fractured ribs, sprained ankles, and bruises without number; but he has easily mended, and is now as good as new. He has been picked up for dead several times, when horse and rider went down together in their chase after a wild steer; and no one could tell why he was not killed, except that his time had not come. And yet this daring cowboy, so familiar with “life on the plains,” his life as wild as the cattle which he herded, actually went into a civilized community, courted and married a modest, good girl, and established a home. If her ideas of a cowboy, and those of her neighbors, had been like those of many Eastern people, she would have run away from him when he went to make love, expecting a bullet from a revolver, instead of an arrow from Cupid. (561-562)

 

…That there are bad cowboys must be admitted; but, as a class, they are not the desperados and cut-throats which many Eastern papers represent them to be. (562)

 

Thayer quotes a writer in a Portland, Oregon newspaper,

 

“The idea entertained of the cowboy by the Eastern public is as erroneous as it is possible to be. The cowboys, as a class, are a brave, intelligent, honorable, kind-hearted, and cool-headed class of men. … That their life of freedom from restraint should develop certain wild traits of character, or that among them should drift an occasional refugee from justice, is not surprising; but such a recruit must behave himself like a man, and should he commit any outrage or crime, his companions would be the first to see that he was properly punished. They have no great love for Indians, nor, for that matter, has any man who has been brought into contact that lazy, pilfering, ignoble race; and if they occasionally have trouble with Mr. Lo, the blame is by no means entirely their own. No better description of them and their characteristics can be given than the following by a cattleman, who has lived and worked with them for many years…”

A cowboy thrown from a horse had a good chance of getting bones broken.

A tough day for a cowpuncher. 

Sketch by Charles Russell.

 

The Portland writer, editor of the Western Shore, says the cowboy is the “most thoroughly misunderstood man” in the world, save where he lives.

 

“I know him in all his alleged terrors, and as a class there are no nobler-hearted or honorable men in the world. Brave to rashness and generous to a fault, if you should be thrown among them you would find them ever ready to share their last crust with you, or lie down at night with you on the same blanket. Say that I have ten thousand cattle which I am about to send overland from Texas into Montana to fatten for the market. Those cattle will be on the drive from the first of April until the middle of September. They are divided into three herds, with a dozen or sixteen men with each herd. I entrust those cattle in the hands of a gang of cowboys. For six months I know absolutely nothing of my stock. I trust their honesty to the extent of many thousands of dollars, without a contract, without a bond, with no earthly hold upon them, legally or morally, beyond the fact I am paying them thirty-five or forty dollars a month to protect my interests. And these are the men pictured in the East as outcasts of civilization! I trust absolutely to their judgment in getting those cattle through a wild and unbroken country without loss or injury. I trust as absolutely to their bravery and endurance in the face of danger, for a man to be a cowboy must be a brave man. For instance, we are on a drive. The cattle are as wild as deer naturally, and being in an unknown country are as nervous and timid as sheep. The slightest noise may startle them into a stampede. We have been on the drive all day, and night is coming on. It is cold and raining. We’ve reached the point where we intend to round up for the night. The men commence to ride around the drove, singing, shouting, and whistling to encourage the animals by the sounds they are familiar with and to drown any noise of an unusual character which might provoke a stampede. Round and round the cattle they ride, until the whole drove is traveling in a circle. Slowly the cowboys close in on them, still shouting and singing, until finally the cattle become quiet, and after a time lie down and commence chewing their cuds with apparent contentment. Still the vigilance of the men cannot be relaxed. At least half of them must continue riding about the resting herd all night. A stampede of cattle is a terrible thing to the cowboys, and may be brought on by the most trivial cause. These wild cattle away from homes are as variable as the wind, and when frightened are as irresistible as an avalanche. The slightest noise of an unusual nature, the barking of a coyote, the snap of a pistol, the crackling of a twig, will bring some wild-eyed steer to his feet in terror. Another instant and the whole drove are panting and bellowing in the wildest fear. They are ready to follow the lead of any animal that makes a break. Then the coolness and self-possession of the cowboy are called into play. They still continue their wild gallop around the frightened drove, endeavoring to reassure them and get them quiet once more. Maybe they will succeed after an hour or two, and the animals will again be at rest. But the chances are that they cannot be quieted so easily. A break is made in some direction. Here comes the heroism of the cowboy. Those cattle are as blind anb unreasoning in their flight as a pair of runaway horses. They know no danger but from behind, and if they did, could not stop for the surging sea of maddened animals in their rear. A rocky gorge or deep-cut cañon may cause the loss of half their number. Those in the rear cannot see the danger, and their leaders cannot stop for those behind and are pushed onto their death. A precipice may lie in their way, over which they plunge to destruction. It matters not to the cowboy. If the stampede as made, the captain of the drove and his men ride until they head it, and then endeavour to turn the animals in a circle once more. A hole in the ground, which catches a horse’s foot, a stumble, and the hoofs of three thousand cattle have trampled the semblance of humanity from him. He knows this. A gulch or gorge lies in his in their path. There is no escaping it. There’s no turning to the right or the left, and in an instant horse and rider are at the bottom buried under a thousand. History records no instance of more unquestioning performance of duty in the presence of danger than is done by these men on every drive. Should the Stampede be stopped, there is no rest for the drivers that night, but the utmost vigilance is required to prevent a recurrence of the break from the frightened cattle. This may happen hundreds of times on a single drive.” (563-565)

 

The reporter continues, with the story of two brothers on a drive. They had been educated in Eastern colleges he says.

 

“but for some reason had drifted to the cattle plains of Texas and had become cowboys. The elder was the captain of the drive. Sitting about the campfire one night the younger was very down-hearted about something, and finally said: ‘Charlie, let’s throw up this drive. I don’t want to go; I feel that one or the other of us will never go back. I am ashamed of this, but I cannot shake it off.’ His brother was impressed by his seriousness, but could only say: ‘George, here are three thousand cattle in my charge. I could not leave them if I knew that I would be killed tomorrow.’ ‘A stampede!’ cried one of the men. In an instant they were all at their animals, saddles were adjusted, and away they went. The captain gained the head of the drive, and had succeeded in turning them a little when his horse stumbled. In another instant horse and rider could hardly have been distinguished from one another. This is the class of men cowboys are made of, and I never knew of many instances where they failed to do their duty.”

 

“There is another interesting period in the life of the cowboy, and that is the spring round-up. In the fall the cattle stray away, and in working away from the storms they sometimes get away one hundred miles or so. Each cattle owner has his own particular brand on his cattle. The ranchmen in some natural division of the country will organize a grand round-up in the spring. The cowboys will drive the cattle all in together in one big drove. Then the captain of the round-up will direct the owner of ranch A to cut out his cattle. One of A’s most experienced men will then ride into the drive until he sights an animal with his brand on. Deftly he will drive the animal to the outer edge of the herd, and then with a quick dash, run the beast out away from the drove, and it is taken in charge by others of A’s ranchmen, while the cutter goes back after another. After some fifteen or twenty minutes, A’s cutter will be taken off and B’s man given a chance. This will be continued until each ranch has its cattle cut out. If any cattle are found without a brand, they are killed for the use of the men on the round-up. This cutting is a work requiring great skill and experience and frequently requires the use of the lariat. Often cattle with a strange brand are found. If anyone recognizes the brand, a ranchman living nearest the owner takes charge of it and notifies the owner. If no one recognizes the brand, the captain of the round-up advertise it, and if no owner is found, it is sold at auction for the benefit of the Cattlemen’s Association. … I believe that, taken for all in all, the American cowboy will compare favorably in morals and manners with any similar number of citizens, taken as a class.” (565-567)

 

On another occasion, according to the Chicago Herald, a traveler saw another cowboy bring a stampede to a sudden halt. A herd of 600 or 800 got spooked and took off “pell-mell, with their tails in the air, and the bulls at the head of the procession.”

 

The herd, he realized, was headed for a steep bluff.

 

“You know that when a herd like that gets to going they can’t stop, no matter whether they rush to death or not. Those in the rear crowd those ahead, and away they go. I wouldn’t have given a dollar a head for that herd, but the cowboy spurred up his mustang, made a little detour, came in right in front of the herd, cut across their path at a right angle, and then galloped leisurely on to the edge that bluff, halted, and looked around at that wild mass of beef coming right toward him. He was as cool as a cucumber, though I expected to see him killed, and was so excited I could not speak. Well, sir, when the leaders had got within about a quarter of a mile of him I saw them try to slack up, though they could not do it very quick. But the whole herd seemed to want to stop, and when the cows and steers in the rear got about where the cowboy had cut across their path, I was surprised to see them stop and commence to nibble at the grass. Then the whole herd stopped, wheeled, straggled back, and went to fighting for a chance to eat where the rearguard was.

 

“You see that cowboy had opened a big bag of salt he had brought out from the ranch to give the cattle, galloped across the herd’s course and emptied the bag. Every animal sniffed that line of salt, and, of course, that broke up the stampede. But, I tell you, it was a queer sight to see that fellow out there on the edge of that bluff quietly rolling a cigarette, when it seemed as if he’d be lying under two hundred tons of beef in about a minute and a half.”

Stopping a stampede took courage. And in one case: a bag of salt.

Getting trampled would be a horrible way to die.

Showing riding skill.

Dragging a cow out of the mud.

Dragging the laundry.

 

Another description of a round-up adds detail. The cattle often roam free from November to May. The ranchers select a spot for the round-up in the spring, and send a number of horses and men, more for the larger ranches.

 

The cowboys, upon their well-trained bronchos, sweep over the country, searching for and surrounding the scattered cattle, driving them towards an appointed locality, where, each day, each stockman ‘cuts out’ his own cattle, brands the calves, guards them at night and on the following day drives them to another fixed locality, and thus on, until the home ranch is reached, when they’re again turned lose.

 

Many of the steers are wild as buffaloes, and often start off into a dead run just where the cowboys object to their going, and it is a neck and neck race often for miles, or until the wild creatures are exhausted. … Horses are trained so thoroughly to the business that they voluntarily chase a steer when it is necessary, but run from him when that appears advisable. (569)

 

The sound of a stampede, says one witness, saying that the cattle would run off, “bellowing wildly and with a noise as of hundreds of drums from the falling hoofs.”  One cowboy spoke proudly of the “excellence of our ponies.” (570)

 

 “When a cowboy leaves his outfit to join any other, or for any expedition of any kind, he always takes his ‘string’ of horses, generally five or six, as well as all of his personal property, along with him. The tarpaulin – always pronounced as if spelled tarpaulion, and we will therefore henceforth so call it – and the blankets, comprising his bed, are wrapped around the gentlest of his horses and made fast with a lariat in a good ‘squaw hitch;’ On top of this the precious war-sack is fastened with especial care, and thus, driving his horses ahead of him, with all his earthly responsibilities directly before his eyes, the cowboy sallies forth. He gets his ‘grub’ at any ranch he may come to until he joins another grub wagon, and unrolls his bed on the ground wherever night overtakes him, corralling his horses if he is so lucky as to find a corral, otherwise hobbling them, that is, tying the legs together with rope. One horse, however, ready for immediate use, he always stakes.”  (571)

 

Rivers offered the men their only real chances to bathe, save for the “hard soap on the grub wagon,” one cowboy remembered. And on one occasion a cowboy invented his own laundry: tying his clothes in a bundle, at the end of his lariat, and dragging them up and down a stream. (571)

 

“The method of his bed-making is not without art of its own. He first spreads out his tarpaulion on the ground. On the middle, at one end, a few inches below the edge, widthwise, his blankets, each folded once through the middle, are laid; his war-sack is arranged for a pillow, and then the tarpaulion is folded over the blankets on either side, making a sausage-like roll of the canvas some two feet wide, and the full sixteen feet long. Going to the foot he then makes a last fold just below his blankets, drawing the extra length well up over his pillow, where it will extend a couple of feet, forming ample shelter from rain.

 

“When one crawls into bed he first throws back the top folds of the tarpaulion, drawing it out a little wider than the bed beneath; then boots, hat, chaparrals, and other garments are arranged above the pillow, and he gently insinuates himself down between the blankets, pulling the extra length of canvas up over his head. If the wind blows hard, he reaches up and tucks the loose canvas well under his head, his covering presenting a smooth surface to the weather, his body acting as a water-shed, so that he can sleep in warm security through the heaviest storm. With the blankets properly folded inside the tarpaulion, the whole is rolled up into a huge roly-poly package during the day, going on the grub wagon when the camp moves; and but a few minutes suffices at night for the cowboy to ‘roll down’ his bed, and establish himself in what his hard day’s work has taught him to regard as sufficient luxury.” (572-573)

 

One day, an experienced cowboy watched “a young lad,” just hired, try to ride “a bucking horse of extreme viciousness.” The youth was “thrown twice, once landing safely on his feet, but the next time striking on his head with terrible force. As the poor boy – he was no more than fourteen years old – staggered to his feet, sick and dizzy, to try it again, I took pity on him, and, riding out to the herd, roped up a fresh horse, while one of the other boys hastily helped me to shift the lad’s saddle and help him on in good shape.” Cowboys, some observer said, were “able to ride anything that wears hair.”

 

On any drive, a horse herder was usually taken, his only responsibility to look after the loose horses. The men liked to brag about the speed of their best ponies, racing them and making bets. A well-trained animal would go quietly through a herd during a roundup,

 

then, when you have singled out your animal and urged her on gently to the edge of the herd, he perceives at once which is the one to be ejected. When you have got her close to the edge, you make a little rush behind her, and she runs out; but as likely as not, as soon as she finds herself outside the herd she tries to get back again, and makes a sudden wheel to the left to get past you. Instantly your horse turns to the left, and runs along between her and the herd so she cannot get in. Then she tries to dodge in behind you. The moment she turns, your horse stops and wheels round again, always keeping between the cow and the herd, till she gives it up and runs out to the cut where you want her. A good cutting horse will do all this with the reins lying loose upon his neck. (576-577)

 

No matter what, some cattle are missed during a roundup and left behind. Others have escaped. A few weeks later, a few of the men may go back and work over the same ground, in an effort to pick up any strays.

 

The ponies these men ride are “generally small, but remarkably tough.” The Mexican saddle, commonly used, weighed thirty to forty pounds, and on top of that you might see “a man of fourteen or fifteen stone.” The horses varied in temper, some docile, some “addicted to bucking.”

 

One cowboy explained,

 

When a horse bucks he puts his head down between his legs, arches his back like an angry cat, and springs into the air with all his legs at once, coming down again with a frightful jar, and he sometimes keeps on repeating the performance until he is completely worn out with the excursion [sic]. The rider is apt to feel rather worn out too by that time, if he has kept his seat, which is not a very easy matter, especially if the horse is a real scientific bucker, and puts a kind of side action into every jump. The double girth commonly attached to these Mexican saddles is useful for keeping the saddle in its place during one of those bouts, but there is no doubt that they frequently make a horse buck who would not do so with a single girth. With some animals you can never draw up the flank girth without setting them bucking. … A really good Texas cow-pony, when broken, is worth from sixty to seventy dollars. (579-580)

 

Another cowboy recalled a close call during one cattle drive.

 

One is not ordinarily much troubled by insomnia when cattle driving, but I had a bad nightmare one night, which was not imaginary, but came in the shape of a real cow. I had taken the first relief at night-herding, and when my time was up, and I had called the next man, I lay down near the herd and was soon unconscious of all around. While I was enjoying my peaceful slumbers, an old brute of a cow came grazing in my direction, and as soon as she saw the herder coming round to turn her in, she started to run. When she came to where I was lying, she planted her foot on my chest, having scraped my lip with her hoof and she then stepped on the leg of one of the boys, who was sleeping beside me, who woke with a fearful yell, exclaiming that his leg was broken! For a few minutes I felt doubtful whether I was half killed or not, but finally came to the conclusion that I was not much damaged, and, my neighbor seeming also to perceive that his first rash statement respecting his leg was untenable, we soon resigned ourselves again to the arms of Morpheus. (578)

 

One help during a roundup: a calve will follow its mother, and a mother will not leave a calve for “much of a run.” (580)

 

Perhaps you may think that this is an easy task [branding the calves]; but you would find if you tried it that you were never more mistaken in your life, for the ease with which the rancheros accomplish it has only come with careful training and long practice. The little animal runs wonderfully fast, springs, turns, and dodges almost like a flash. But the cowboy never takes his eyes off of him; and the trained horse, now well warmed up, and entering fully into the spirit of the chase, responds to, almost seems to anticipate, every turn of his rider’s left hand and wrist. Meanwhile the latter with his right arm, is swinging his noosed rope, or lasso; and in another minute he has thrown it exactly over the calf’s head. Instantly the horse plunges forward, giving ‘slack’ to the rope, and allowing it to be wound around the horn of the saddle; then he moves on, dragging the calf after him, and the little creature is soon in the hands of the men with the branding irons. These have been heated in a hot fire, and are quickly applied; and in a few minutes, the calf, now indelibly designated as the property of his master, is again running about. (581-582)

 

“In Kansas frequently the backs of the cattle are covered with ice to the depth of an inch or two, and the wet snow ‘balls’ on their feet.”

 

“Cattle are like men in that they can stand a terrific degree of still cold, but when exposed to storm perish quickly. In portions of Montana, strange as it may seem, the winter season is far shorter than it is farther south, since the chinook winds, which often commence early in February, divests the ground of snow, and leave the succulent buffalo grass exposed and easy picking.” (589)

 

As the days grow warmer, an annoying insect called the ‘heel-fly’ makes his appearance. The cattle are in great dread of this pest, and the instant an animal feels one, it hoists its tail in the air and takes a bee-line for the nearest water. Now a good many of the streams and water-holes in that part of the country have very miry bottoms, so that a cow plunging violently in is very apt to stick there, and, unless assisted out, will certainly perish. Often more cattle are lost in that way than from all other causes, and it is advisable during the spring, and especially during the heel-fly season, which fortunately does not last longer than three weeks, to ride along the dangerous places in a range every day. When a cow is discovered mired down, two or three men throw their lariats over her horns (if she has none, then over her neck), and take two or three turns with a rope around the horns of their saddle, drag her out on terra firma. (590)

 

Another danger was “Texas fever,” fatal not to the animals that had it, but to more domesticated cattle they might mix with on the drive north.

 

A Dakota paper described a prairie fire:

 

Last Sunday evening, as the sun was sinking in the western horizon, a fire was noticed encircling this place, and at no greater distance than twenty miles to the north and west. The scene that immediately followed was too horrible to be thought lightly of. The whole heavens seemed as one mass of seething, hissing fire. The roar that accompanied the flames as they darted upward, was enough to startle the pioneer and completely shatter the bold and fearless tenderfoot. A dense cloud of smoke that hovered above the fire soon sent huge coils upward that, as the flare of the flame showed against them, pictured to the beholders standing below and shivering with fear, grimacing demons as they flitted about in their aerial home in the skies.

 

A cry was raised, and in a few minutes the citizens had turned out en masse with wet bags and coal oil torches, and going to the north and northwest limits of the town along the wagon trail leading west, immediately plied their torches. The grass went off like powder, burning a back-fire twenty feet wide in an instant, reaching nearly a half-mile. Then to meet the creeping flames approaching from the north, a double back-fire was started by the torchmen, and had just been completed when the roar of the flames was heard ascending the hill – only in a moment to flash in the tall grass and meet the back-fire with the swish peculiar to the concussion following the discharge of a cannon. The fire to the west was then about two miles distant, but nearing at the rate of about eighteen miles an hour; and when the north fire had been safely met, all hands went to the southwest trail, running about twenty yards north of the new school-house, and started a back-fire on the north side of the trail and then bringing the fire over the trail it was left to burn around the south side of the school-house, being watched by eight or ten to prevent the fire spreading to the building. At one time it seemed as though the blaze would get the best of them, but the wet sacks were applied and the flames subdued.

 

The keys to fire-fighting were a can of kerosene and a bundle of matches, and a plowed fire-guard. A hogshead of water was kept to hand, to wet the shirts and blankets used to beat out flames. A fire near Cameiro, Kansas could be seen one day, “miles upon miles, acres upon acres, of low grass burning like a sea of fire.” The people of Camiero were called upon to help. Each man was required to labor “steadily at his own arc of the great circle, trusting blindly that others were at work on the other side, as of course they always were, that the lurid scene darkened down at last.” It was typical to plow four furrows around a town or ranch, then a second four, fifty yards inside the first. The grass in between was burned, setting up a fire barrier. (593-594)

 

 

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Cursed by “carpet-bag” rule.”

 

The process of Reconstruction begins in earnest. Edward P. Ellis, a respected historian of that era, provides a dim view of the new state governments, his view clearly influenced by racism. (See: Library of History by Ellis, Charles P. Barrett Co., 1895.)

 

A few highlights of his description,

 

Louisiana, like several other southern states, was cursed by “carpet-bag” rule. During the six years following the war, taxes in Louisiana increased nearly five hundred percent. This blight on the South was graphically depicted by Judge Black, when he declared that a general conflagration sweeping over all the State from one end to the other, and destroying every building and every article of personal property, would have been a visitation of mercy in comparison to the blight of such a government. (1393)

 

Benjamin Adams puts the dilemma of what must be done in these terms:

 

Though arms were grounded, there remained the new task, longer and more perplexing, if not more difficult, than the first, of restoring the South to its normal position in the Union. It was, from the nature of the case, a delicate one. The proud and sensitive South smarted under defeat and was not yet cured of the illusions which had led her to secede. Salve and not salt needed to be rubbed into her wounds. The North stood ready to forgive the past, but insisted, in the name of its desolate homes and slaughtered President, that the South must be restored on such conditions that the past could never be repeated. The difficulty was heightened by the lack of either constitutional provision or historical precedent. Not strange, therefore, that the actors in this new drama of reconstruction played their parts awkwardly and with many mistakes. (IV, 182-187)

 

One question, Andrews writes, was whether or not secession had been “an act of state suicide.” He continues, “All loyal Democrats and most Republicans answered it in the negative. Secession, they said, being an invalid act, had no effect whatever; the rebellious tracts were still States of the Union in spite of themselves.” (187)

 

Leaders of the Radical Republicans, however, had different ideas:

 

The theory of state suicide was held by many, but with a difference. Sumner and a few others deemed that secession had destroyed statehood alone; that over individuals the Constitution still extended its authority and its protection, as in Territories. Thaddeus Stevens and his followers viewed secession as having left the State not only defunct but a washed slate governmentally, like soil won my conquest. Both these parties conceived the work before Congress to be out-and-out “reconstruction,” involving the right to change old state lines and institutions at will. Not even this position was more ultra than the course which reconstruction actually took. (188)

 

President Andrew Johnson, he describes as, “Conceited, obstinate and pugnacious…” (191)

 

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March 2: As described by Andrews, Congress passes the “iron law” to deal with “Secesia.” The Confederacy,

 

was divided into five districts and placed under military rule, there to remain until certain conditions were fulfilled. These conditions were, in brief, the calling of a state convention by the loyal citizens, blacks included; the framing by the convention of a constitution enfranchising negroes; the ratification of this constitution by the people and its approval by Congress; the ratification of the Fourteenth Amendment by the new legislature. Having conformed to these prescriptions the State might be represented in Congress and consider itself fully restored to the Union. (196)

* 

March 30: The United States pays Russia $7,200,000 for Alaska. McMaster notes, “Soon after the purchase a few small Alaskan islands were leased to a fur company for twenty years, and during this time nearly $7,000,000 was paid into the United States treasury as rental and royalty.” (97/390) 

*

 

Chauncey Depew shared a few memories from this era. He says Commodore Vanderbilt “disliked boasters and braggarts intensely. Those who wished to gain his favor made the mistake, as a rule, of boasting about what they had done, and were generally met by the remark: ‘That amounts to nothing.’” (123-37)

 

Depew was nominated for an ambassadorship in Japan. The ambassador to China assured him that the Japanese post would be worth taking. “If you think these people are barbarians, I can assure you that they had a civilization and a highly developed literature when our forefathers were painted savages.” Depew still declined. (123-45)

 

He describes President Johnson, after an interview, “as a man of vigorous mentality, of obstinate willfulness, and overwhelming confidence in his own judgment and the courage of his convictions.” (123-48-49)

 

*

 

September 5: The first cattle driven up the Chisholm Trail to Abilene are shipped east by rail. The “Cowboy Era” can be said to begin.

 

My notes include:

 

Joseph McCoy, 29, bought up 450 acres near Abilene for about $5 per, shipped two million head in four years, famous as “the real McCoy,” and advertised down in Texas. Abilene becomes known as the first “cow town.”

 

Cowboy life seems exciting, but it was often hard, lonely and boring. Terrible weather could be expected. Many of the men didn’t even wear guns. An estimated 40,000 men were employed (15% black, 15% Mexican). Rich ranchers became known as “cattle barons.” Cowboys were almost all young, and they were often reckless. Lynchings were common, as were murders.

 

Eventually, “easy money” caused men to rush into the business, and for a time cattle fed on the northern Great Plains did so well, said one cowboy, that the ranching business could “make the dollar crawl right into yer jeans.”

 

Sam Maverick was famous for his refusal to brand his own cattle. Any unmarked cow came to be known as a  “maverick.” My students were interested to know that a “maverick” today is a person who is “different,” a “nonconformist.” Sen. John McCain acquired a reputation as a maverick in politics.

Growing up in the 1950s, we all wanted to be cowboys.