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The Oregonian, Portland, OR., July 10, 1910, page 3
Includes portrait

INDIAN FIGHTERS OF EARLY DAYS IN PACIFIC NORTHWEST ARE RECALLED
Amos Underwood, Who Still Lives In Town Named After Him,
Where White Salmon River Flows Into Columbia Tells Of Struggles Pioneers Had With Reds.

HUSUM, Wash., July 9. - (Special) -- Amos Underwood, now living in the town of Underwood, which he founded at the mouth of the White Salmon River, where it empties into the Columbia, is one of the pioneers of Oregon and Washington who helped to make the history of this country.
Mr. Underwood was born in Cincinnati, Ohio, in 1834. When 18 years of age he crossed the plains over the old Oregon trail, reaching The Dalles during the summer of 1852.
Mr. Underwood took a prominent part in the historic Cayuse Indian war in the fall of 1855, near where the city of Walla Walla now stands, and his reminiscences of the stirring scenes and trying times of 55 years ago he recites with great animation. To look upon his kindly face, one would never suspect that he ever adopted the methods of warfare or the savages and beat them at their own game. But the times required just such men as Amos Underwood, and his associates of Oregon volunteers and their methods of warfare. Their work at that time caused the Indians to respect the white man, and make a lasting peace, that could not have been accomplished buying more lenient measures.
The battle between the volunteer soldiers and the Cayuse Indians took place at a time when there was a general uprising of the different tribes scattered throughout the Northwest. A J. Bolan, an Indian agent, left The Dalles to try and subdue the threatening talk of warfare, but was killed by the Indians, and 10 companies of volunteers were ordered out at once to put a stop to the massacre of white settlers.
In his own vocabulary, Mr. Underwood relates incidents of the Cayuse War of 1855:
"There have been a good many yarns told about the death of Chief Pepe Mux-Mux, and how he was captured, but they don't always correspond. I will give you the facts about the whole affair. I was fourth corporal of Company B, Oregon Volunteers, and had charge of him when he was killed. On about the 7th of December, 1855, 400 volunteers were at old Walla Walla, now Wallula. I can think of only a few of the names of the officers and men of the regiment. Colonel Kelley was in command with Major Chinn. Company A, from Portland, was commanded by Captain Wilson, and Ben Hardin was lieutenant. Company B., from The Dalles, was commanded by Lieut. John Jeffreys and James McCauliff, Captain O. Humason being at home, sick in bed. Company H. was commanded by Captain Laten. Company F was there, I think, commanded by Captain Bennett, who was killed in the battle. There were other companies, but I have forgotten their names. Nathan Olney was there as Indian agent, and had a few Dalles Indians with him. We had pack animals and wagons.
"A part of the command started up the road with the items and pack train towards Walla Walla, and about 200 of us started on horseback across the hills, a little north of east. We rode on until about 3 o'clock in the afternoon, when we saw big bands of Indians coming towards us. They came on to within 200 or 300 yards of us and stopped, carrying a white flag. Some six or eight of them left the crowd and came within 100 yards of us, where they halted and called for some of our officers to come to them. They wanted to have a talk. A few officers went and had a hand-shake with the Indians. The rest of us sat there on our horses, and while our officers talked with the chief we would flap our arms and crow and take sight with our guns at the Indians. The Indians did the same. Old Pepe said: 'I see your boys are like mine - they are keen for a fight. But us old men have better sense. We knew you were coming, so I ordered five big fat cattle to be slaughtered and roasted, and I started to meet you and have you come and take supper with me.' In about an hour he told his men to go home and tell the people we would be there for supper.
"The old chief and about eight Indians stayed with us, and the rest all started off on a keen lope. We then followed, and rode on until about sundown, when we could see lots of Indians on the high points. We were riding along a level bottom, and soon arrived at the point where the bluffs came nearly to the creek, and for two or three miles the trail passed under a high cliff of perpendicular rocks, leaving just room for one horseman on the trail at a time. Across the creek was a ticket of brush, so thick that nothing could get through it.
"It was a dark evening, and spitting snow. Nat Olney was riding back with the rear guard, and when he saw the commander and Indians making for the narrow trail, he spurred his horse and galloped to the front. As he passed I heard him say:
"'My God, what is the matter what those fellows? If they go through that hole there will not be one left to tell the story.'
"He had said early in the evening there was something wrong; that the Indians meant to trap us. He overtook the head of the column and called a halt, then the command turned to the right into a bottom and went into camp for the night. It was now dark, and snowing. Two or three Indians jumped up and ran. Bill Gates fired two shots at them, but could not hit them in the darkness. We still held old Pepe and six others. The Indians were all around us, and kept yelling and talking to the chief. Nat Olney yelled to them in their own language, telling them to go home and have breakfast ready, and we would be there; that the old chief had gone to bed and that we did not want to be molested anymore. So all was quiet until morning.
"When we got up in the morning there were about three inches of snow on the ground, and our horses were standing by our sides shivering. We had to build fires in the sagebrush to take the kinks out of our blankets and ropes before we could saddle up. It was a fine morning, the sun shining bright. Some of the boys went to the canyon and crossed the creek, where they found nests in the brush where the Indians had hidden. When we started on the march, instead of following the trail through the canyon we went around the bluff. We found tons of rocks piled up on the bluff, ready to be rolled down upon us if we had followed the trail.
"If our boys had got strung out on the narrow trail for a distance of two miles, with no chance to turn back or go forward when attacked, the Indians would have had us at their mercy. If we had jumped off and taken to the brush, the brush was alive with the Indians ready for us. In the first excitement the chief and his crowd could have jumped and ran to some place of safety understood by them. I do not believe we would have killed one Indian, nor saved a man of our command.
"We went four or five miles around and came to the Indian camp on the creek above the canyon. There were some 200 huts and about the same number of fires, but no beef and no Indians, only on the high points above us. We asked old Pepe where the roasted beef and breakfast was. He shook his head and said: 'Kliness hiss quash tillicums.' (Guess my people are scared.)
"Some of the boys from The Dalles, who were called the 'Forty Thieves,' could beat the Indians at their own game. They said: 'We will have breakfast soon.' Taking an old shovel they dug the fire away, and down in the ground a foot or two found a cache under every brass kettle, where all kinds of utensils and clothing, wheat, peas, camas, couse and other eatables were store. We fed our horses, ate all we wanted, took all we wanted and threw the rest in the fires and burned it up.
"We then started south, or east of south, and traveled all day. Indians could be seen on all sides on the high points. Some of the boys would occasionally try and get a shot, but the old muzzle-loaders would not reach them. We struck the old Walla Walla road about dark, but seeing that the train had not gotten that far, took the back track. In about an hour's travel we found the train camped on a small stream, and all well. The camp was about 500 yards long. Captain Fountelroy was in charge of the commissary.
"When bedtime came, I was called to take charge of the prisoners. We had six men to guard the six Indians. Of the guard, I can only remember the names of Warren Keith, Sam Warfield and Dr. Bates. When we put the Indians to bed, one big Indian, who said his name was Champoeg Jim, complained that there was a stick under him, and he raised up his hands and knees and asked Bates to remove the stick. As Bates stooped to get the stick, the Indian jumped up by his side and ran, Bates after him. Some of the other boys started to help Bates, and at the same time all the other prisoners tried to make a break. I jumped out and told the boys to each told his man.
"Old man Keith shoved the muzzle of his gun against the breast of the chief, pushed him over and held him on the ground. The other boys each did the same with the other prisoners. 'Doc' Bates ran his man about 100 yards and caught him. All hands turned out and tied the prisoners hand and foot. Next morning when we started out, myself and guard were kept in charge of the prisoners.
"Before we left camp, I could hear the rifles popping up around the bend. The advance guard were properly in it. As we marched up the road, our position with the prisoners was the center of the column, followed by the wagon train and the rear guard. We could see the boys running along the hillsides and hear them shooting all day long. As we rode along, I noticed Ab Addington sitting by the roadside leaning on his elbows. I asked him if he was badly hurt.
"'No, only shot through the hip,' he replied, 'but those devils have got my race mare.'
Ab's mare had run away, with him and had run through the main line of the Indians. After being shot through the hip he fell off, and as the Indians passed him they tried to shoot him, but being too closely pressed by our boys they would stick their guns in his face and before they could pull the trigger would be beyond their mark, and the bullets would whistle to one side of his face.
"The skin was pulled off his face and head in several places where the muzzles of the guns had struck him. I saw a dead Indian lying on the hillside and pointed him out to old Pepe, who shook his head. Nat Olney came along, going to the front, and said things were getting hot on ahead. As we rode along one of the Indians told Keith and I that he was a Nez Perce, 15 years old; that he had come down for some horses, but the Cayuses would not let him return home.
"About 2 o'clock in the afternoon, we stopped at a Frenchman's place. As we rode up, we saw five of our men lying in a row on their backs, all fine looking men. We recognized Henry Crowe, of Albany, Lieutenant Burroughs, of Linn County, and Captain Bennett. Neal McFarlane was standing by the fence, and just as he raised his gun to shoot at an Indian down in the creek bottom, bang went the Indian's gun, knocking off the tube and hammer of Mac's gun. The officers were all out in the fight.
"An attempt was made to tie the prisoners, but they all jumped and started to run. The boys shot them down, however, with the exception of the 15 day-year-old Indian boy, who was climbing up my stirrup leather. The crowd made a rush for him, but I told Keith not to let them shoot the boy, and as he pushed their guns to one side two or three of them were discharged at my side.
"Olney had got about 100 yards off when he heard the shooting. He came back, and as he rode up he drew his revolver and fired a shot into old Pepe and said:
"'You old rascal, I am satisfied now.'
"'Old Pepe had tried the same beef game to murder Olney about six weeks before, but some of the Indians had posted him. I then galloped up the road to join the boys in the fight.
"The line extended from the Wallula River across the flat and up the bunch-grass hill nearly a mile long, with steady rattle of firearms on both sides. Night coming on, so we went to camp in the Frenchman's field. While the cooks were preparing supper, bang went a gun outside the field. Orders were quickly given to put out the fires, and in about a minute every spark was extinguished. Every man then went to the fence corners, where we laid until morning. I have learned since that the Indians were in great numbers, crawling through the sagebrush, and intended to fire on us and then make a grand charge. But a gun went off accidentally, which stopped them, and when they saw our fires go out they changed their plans.
"When morning came our officers wanted to start for our fort on the Umatilla River with the whole command, thinking there were too many Indians for us, and that our ammunition was running low. Olney told them if we ever started to retreat, the Indians would cut us to pieces. He said we were well enough fortified where we were and had Ramo's (the Frenchman's) house for a hospital. Old Mountain Robinson was given Pepe's black horse and started with another man for The Dalles, via Umatilla, to hurry up reinforcements. All old Oregonians will remember Robinson, who lived on what is now known as Robinson's hill in Portland. On his way down he met several companies that had been to Yakima and returned to The Dalles, and were on their way to help us.
"After breakfast we started for the battle ground, about half a mile from camp. The Indians managed to get advantage of the ground every morning, and we would have to do some hard fighting to get a good position. The battle raged fiercely all day, and about 3 o'clock in the afternoon we were within 50 yards of the Indians. The Indians opposing Company B were on one side of a hill and our company on the other. All that day there was steady firing along the line. When we saw them carrying off the dead and wounded we would yell and make fun of them, and they would do the same when they saw our dead and wounded being carried off.
"When we got to camp, the little Nez Perces Indian came to me and shook hands. During the day he had told Colonel Kelly that Governor Stevens was coming back from the head of the Missouri River; that he had passed through there in June going up country with a lot of men and the pack animals. The boy said it had been planned by the Indians to ferry about one-half the crowd over the river and then murder them all. The boy said it was about time for Stevens and his command to reach the river. That same night Colonel Kelly started the boy with a letter for Governor Stevens.
"In the morning we went again to the battle ground and found the Indians in the rifle pits, and it was some time before we got them out. A man named Sheppard was shot in the arm, and a German had his nose shot off. Freling Choate got three shots through his coat. One bullet went through his tin cup on his belt, striking his pocket book opened it at the catch, one-half of the bullet stopping there, the other going on.
"Lieutenant Jeffreys went over the hills and made arrangements with Captain Connor, in charge of a company of mounted half-breeds from French Prairie, to charge the Indians. This company was about the best lot of Indian fighters in the command. Pretty soon we could hear the French boys yelling, and we could see their flags above the hill. They dashed off as fast as their horses could run. Company B then charged over the hill. The Indians ran and we captured their rifle pits. They left their tobacco sacks, gun sticks and in fact nearly everything could be found in their holes in the ground. We got in the rifle pits. The Indians had made a stand just over the next rise of ground. They would raise their hats on gun sticks for us to shoot at and occasionally one would dance around, holding his blanket by one corner while he swung it in the air.
"We had an old mortar gun that we had brought from the fort, which we loaded by filling a sock which pieces of iron, bullets, etc., and fired several shots into the timber, thinking to oust the Indians. While Captain Wilson was pouring powder into the tube a bullet came along and knocked the can of powder from his hands. The third time the mortar was fired it burst, and flying pieces nearly killed Captain Wilson. A little later a bullet struck Meigs' glazed cap and tore it nearly off his head. A bunch of cotton larger than his cap was knocked out in the first place. He was a young lawyer from The Dalles.
"The next day was the last day of the fight. An Indian came out some distance from the main crowd and said he wanted to talk with the commander. Lieutenant Jeffreys and I went out to meet him. The Indian also had a man with him. When we got within 200 yards, the Indian asked that only one of us come to meet him, so I stopped and the other Indian did the same. Their talk lasted about five minutes, when each man turned and started for his command. The Indian was on horse-back while Jeffreys was afoot. When they got about 50 yards apart all of the 50 Indians on horseback came yelling towards us. Jeffreys ran till he came to me. I drew my gun up to my face. The Indians came on to within 100 yards, when one-half of them turned to the right and the other to the left. What they wanted was to kill one of the officers, but they saw our boys running downhill to meet them, and they were too cowardly to come nearer.
"It was rather quiet on the hill for a while in the forenoon. We could see a big Indian riding up and down a bridge across the hollow. He seemed to be waiting for something. John Fulp, better known as Oregon John and myself stole down the hill, across the flat and up a little gulch. The Indian came back down the ridge, and as he turned to go up, our boys called to us, 'Now is your time, boys." We ran up a hill a few yards, and there he was, riding along in plain view, not over 100 yards away. Both of us were so tired out from running that we could not hold our guns on him.
"The Indian wheeled his horse after we had taken a couple of shots at him and came riding towards us. Our guns being empty, we took to our heels and ran. The Indian did not follow far and turned and rode up the hill. I have since been told that it was Stock Whitley, chief of the Deschutes, and that he was on a strike. He and his band were fighting for revenue, and they had concluded they wanted more pay, and while riding back and forth on this ridge was waiting for an answer to his demand for a raise.
"In the afternoon the fight was more lively all along the line until about 4 o'clock. The volunteers that Mountain Robinson met came in sight on the hill toward Umatilla, and there was one continuous stream of soldiers pouring over the hills until after dark.
"The next morning no Indians were on the battle ground. We could see one here and there on the high points, acting as spies. When we discovered the Indians had left, we started up the road, and in about four miles came to their village. They had taken the roofs off their houses, which consisted chiefly of skins of animals. There were about 500 houses in the village. In some of them were large ricks of the provisions of all kinds. We took some and set fire to the balance. We then followed their trail over to the Coupee, some 20 miles, where we camped for the night.
Some of the officers went to the French barracks, where all the French of the valley and some friendly Indians stopped all fall and winter. They reported that Indians passed there in great confusion, saying they could have staved us off but that a new crowd had come, a string of soldiers reaching from The Dalles to Walla Walla, which they considered too much for them. The Frenchman said the Indians had their children tied on top of the packs on their horses, and that while traveling in the night one squaw discovered that a horse was missing with her baby lashed on the pack. She went back and found the horse feeding on a hillside. She was only three or four hours ahead of us.
"Next morning it was snowing, and our horses were not fit to follow the retreating Indians after standing out so many days without food. We returned to camp, and next morning the snow was 15 inches deep and the mercury 27 degrees below zero. We went into Winter quarters in a factory cotton tents, and wintered on beef straight. But it was good beef, captured from the Indians, and we had plenty of it.
"One evening, after the cold spell had ended, two halfbreeds rode into camp and reported that Governor Stevens would be very next day. We made ready to receive him and fixed a platform for him to speak from, at which business he was second to none. We formed in a hollow square, fired a salute from our guns and gave him a royal reception. The little Indian had taken Colonel Kelly's letter and delivered it to Governor Stevens somewhere in the Nez Perce country, and that was the first in intimation the Governor had received of the war. Everything was so agreeable when he passed up in the Spring that he never thought of war. He got 100 Nez Perce braves to accompany him and was not molested.
"The governor mounted the platform and spoke for over an hour. I was standing in line when one of the boys said a gentleman wished to speak to me. I turned around and there sat the little Indian on his horse. I went to him and he leaned over and grabbed my hand and held it quite awhile. I asked him how he knew me among so many. He smiled and said, "Me always know you."
"I have since learned that he joined the hostiles the next Summer and was killed in a fight across Snake River, along with Ow High. The Nez Perces all went to The Dalles with the Governor.
"One of the most exciting scenes of the whole campaign happened the first night of the battle, while we were lying in the fence coroners. The Indians had set fire to a house about 600 yards from us, and the blaze lighted up the surroundings as plain as day. About 1000 Indians circled around and around the fire, everyone yelling his best.
"I was said to be the best shot in the whole regiment. I shot away 60 bullets in the battle, and was known to kill only five Indians. A good many of the boys were good shots. I suppose some will say we were wicked in our treatment of the Indians, but while we were fighting them they would shake the scalps of white men and women at us, and we naturally wanted to retaliate."