The Hood River Glacier, Hood River, OR., January 22, 1897, page 2

REMINISCENCES OF THE CAYUSE WAR

     Mr. Amos Underwood of White Salmon and Hood River is one of the pioneers of Oregon who helped to make the history of this country. He has often been asked by newspaper men and others to give an account of some of his experiences in the Indian wars of this section, but never responded until called upon recently by T.A. Wood of Portland, grand commander of Indian War Veterans of the Pacific Northwest. Hon. D.W. Butler is contributing a series of articles reciting the stirring scenes of the Cayuse war to the Dufur Dispatch, and in his first article mentions Amos Underwood, as follows.
     Old Yeis, a chief of the John Days, began at a distance to deliver a sermon to us on the wickedness of the war, but a ball from the rifle of Amos Underwood (who now lives below The Dalles) cut the sermon short by breaking the old hypocrite's leg, from which injury he afterwards died. I believe Underwood had more marks to his credit than any other man in the company -- i.e., he made more good Indians than the rest of us.
     Mr. Underwood is writing incidents of this campaign that came under his observation, which will appear in the GLACIER. The old veteran recites his experiences in the trying times of forty years ago with great animation, and we believe he would take pleasure in again going through that campaign of which he writes. Those of us who have known Ame Underwood for years, when looking upon his kindly face, would never suspect that he had ever adopted the methods of warfare of the savages and beat them have their own game. But the times required just such men as Amos Underwood and his associates in the Oregon volunteers and their methods of warfare. Their work at that time caused the Indians to respect the white man and made a lasting peace that could not have been conquered by any more lenient measures. Here is Mr. Underwood's first paper:
     WHITE SALMON, Wash., Jan. 16, 1897 -- T.A. Wood, Commander Indian War Veterans -- Dear Sir: You ask me to give you an account of the battle we had with the Cayuse Indians in the fall of 1855. Well, sir, several newspaper men have wanted me to write it up for them, but I never got at it because I was always afraid people would think I wanted to air myself. I will give it now, as near as I can remember. I will have to speak of myself a good many times, as I can recollect my own doings better than I can recollect what was done by the other boys.
     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 Co. B, Oregon volunteers, and had charge of him when he was killed. To make a long story short, on the 7th of December, 1855, about 400 volunteers were at old Walla Walla, now Wallula. I can only think of a few of the names of the officers and men of the regiment. Colonel James K. Kelley was in command, with Major Chinn. Co. A, from Portland, was commanded by Captain Wilson; Ben Hardin, lieutenant. Co. B., from The Dalles, was commanded by Lieut. John Jeffreys and James McCaulif, Capt. O. Humason being at home sick in bed. Co. H. was commanded by Capt. Dave Laten. Co. F was there, I think, commanded by Capt. Bennett. Bennett was killed in the battle. There were other companies, but I can't remember which they were. Nathan Olney was there as Indian agent ,and had a few Dalles Indians with him. We had pack animals and some wagons. Part of the command started up the road with the teams 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 till about 3 o'clock in the afternoon, when we saw big bands of Indians coming toward us. They came on to within 200 or 300 yards of us and stopped. They were carrying a white flag. Some six or eight of them left the crowd and came within about 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 chiefs we would flap our arms and crow and take sight with our guns at the Indians. The Indian boys 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." So after 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 of his men stayed with us, and the rest all started off on a keen lope.
     We then followed and rode on till 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 me I heard him say: "G-- d-- them fellows! What is the matter with them? 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 had to run his horse about 400 years before he overtook the head of the column. Arriving there he used about the same language to the bosses. He called a halt, and 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 about six others.
     We unsaddled and laid down for the night. The Indians were all around us and kept halloing and talking to the chief. Nat Olney halloed to them in their own language; told them to go home and have breakfast all 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 till morning. When we got up in the morning there was about three inches of snow on the ground, and our horses were standing by our sides shivering. We had to build fires in the sage brush to take the kinks out of our blankets and ropes before we could saddle up. It was a fine, sun-shiny morning. 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 or three miles, with no chance to turn back or go forward when attacked, the Indians would have had us completely 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 three or four 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: "Klonass; hias quash tillicums." (Guess my people are scared.)
     Some of the boys from The Dalles (they 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; dug down a foot or two and found a cache under every one of these fires -- brass kettles and all kinds of utensils and clothing; wheat, peas, camas, couse, and all kinds of Indian grub. We fed our horses, ate all we wanted, took what we wanted and then threw the rest into the fires and burnt 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 Walla Walla road about dark; could see the train had not got that far, so we took the back track. In about an hour's travel we found the train, camped on a small stream, and all well. We could smell the supper and were not long in getting alongside. The camp was about 500 yards long. Capt. Fontelroy was in charge of the commissary. When bed time came, Corporal A. Underwood was called to take charge of the prisoners. We had six Indians, and I had six men, one for each prisoner. Of the guard, I can only remember the names of Warren Keith, Sam Warfield and Doctor 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 on his hands and knees and asked Bates to remove the stick. As Bates stooped to get the stick, the Indian jumped out 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 hold 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. As luck would have it, Bates was the swiftest man for 100 or 200 yards in the whole regiment. All hands turned out and tied the prisoners hand and foot.

(continued next week)

The Hood River Glacier, Hood River, OR., January 29, 1897, page 2

REMINISCENCES of the CAYUSE WAR
(Continued from last week)

DEATH OF CHIEF PEPE MUX-MUX

     Next morning, when we started on the march, myself and guard were kept in charge of the prisoners. Before we left camp, I could hear the rifles popping around the bend. The advance guard were properly in it. As we marched up the road, our position with the prisoners was about the center of the column, then followed the wagon train and then the rear guard. We could see the boys running along the hillsides and hear them shooting all day long, and I did want to be with them.
     As we rode along I noticed Ab Addington sitting by the roadside leaning on his elbows. I said "Ab, are you badly hurt?" "No, only shot through the hip," he replied, "but those sons of b---s 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. Ab was a Linn county boy. Next, I saw a dead Indian lying on the hill side. I pointed him out to old Pepe, who shook his head. Then Lieut. Ben Hardin came riding back on a big iron-gray horse. The horse had been shot in the withers, and the blood streaming down on the white horse looked bad. Old Pepe shook his head again. Nat Olney came along, going to the front. He said things were getting hot as hell on ahead. Old Pepe asked me if Olney was good and smiled when I told him he was.
     As we rode along, one of the Indians told Keith and I that he was a Nez Perces, 15 years old; that he had come down after 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 by the name of Ramo. As we rode up we saw five of our men lying in a row on their backs, all fine looking men. We recognized Henry Crow of Albany, Lieut. Burroughs of Linn county and Capt. 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 Mc's gun.
     The officers were all out in the fight. I saw Olney coming along and said to him: "Olney what shall I do with these prisoners?" He said "Tie the sons of b-s and put them in the house." I then ordered the men to take them off and tie them. Old Pepe said, "No tie men; tie dogs and horses." The boys pulled them off their horses and commenced to tie them. Champoeg Jim drew a knife and cut old Ike Miller in the arm. Then all commenced to fight and rare, and some one grabbed a gun and shot old Jim; and soon eight or ten guns going - bang, bang, bang. Down they all went except the 15-year old boy, who held was climbing up my stirrup leather. The crowd made a rush at the boy, who held to me, and the excited men pointed their guns towards him. I told Keith not to let them shoot the boy, and he pushed their guns to one side and two or three of them were discharged by my side. Finally we got them quieted to a standstill, when I told them the boy was a Nez Perces Indian with a Cayuse mother. When all was quiet and settled, I told the boy to stay near the cooks and not try and run off, and he would be all right. Olney had got about 100 years 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, and would have rode right into the Indians, but John Ashcroft jumped out of a fence corner and called me back. The boys had come to a stand, and all were hiding behind anything that would afford shelter. The line extended from the Wallula river across the flat and up the bunch grass hills something near a mile long, with a steady rattle of fire arms on both sides. I went out to the foothills, dismounted and went to shooting; but the distance we were shooting was too far to do much execution. I noticed an Indian who would swing his blanket by a corner while he rode in a circle and halloed to tantalize us. I tried him two shots, but missed. The third shot I elevated and at the crack of my gun he nearly fell off his horse, but hung to the saddle. Some of the others ran to him and led his horse behind a hill. Night coming on we went to camp in a Frenchman's field of about eight acres. While the cooks were preparing supper, and all of us hungry as wolves, with bright fires burning, bang went a gun outside the field, about 100 yards off. Orders were quickly given to put out the fires and in about a minute every spark was extinguished. We threw all the water we had in camp on the fires, and the cooks even emptied the coffee kettles. Every man went to the fence corners, where we laid till morning; some slept while others kept on guard. I have learned since that the Indians were in great numbers, crawling through the sage brush, 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 with the whole command; they thought there was too many Indians for us, and our ammunition was running low. But Olney told them if we ever started to retreat the Indians would cut us to pieces. He claimed that we were well enough fortified where we were and had Ramo'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 then on their way to help us. But more about them hereafter.
     After having 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 Co. B. were on one side of a hill and our company on the other. When one of us would rise up with gun to our face, there would be an Indian standing on the other side of the hill with his gun to face, and if he was about ready to shoot we would drop and hear the bullets whiz over our heads. One of the boys proposed that if any one killed an Indian we would charge on them and get his scalp. Just then Hank Humphrey fired his gun, and as he dropped to load, he said: "Ame, there's one! right there." I raised up and saw an Indian jolting his gun to get the power in the tube. I quickly fired and he was my Injun. I then called out, "I've got him, boys, charge!" Over the hill the boys went, yelling and shooting, with the Indians running like the devil was after them. I soon came up to my Indian who was trying to get up. Catching him by the hair, I pulled him over and cut his throat. I then scalped him, took his powder horn and blanket and was trying to get his leggings, which were beaded and very pretty, but seemed to be sewed on. The Indians made it so hot for me I had to leave the leggings. There must have been 100 shots fired at me, and the bullets kept striking the ground at my feet and filled my eyes with dust. Our company had got too far in advance of the line of battle and the Indians had a cross fire on us and their bullets came from three sides. As the boys came running back by me I grabbed the powder horn and blanket and followed. I didn't want the leggings as badly as I thought I did.
     We fought on till dark and then started for camp. On our way we found three rifle pits that had been dug by the boys -- about 4 feet long and 1½ feet deep. John Pulp and I got into one and waited for the Indians who were following to come up. The company went on, while we waited till after dark. We could distinguish a gang of Indians coming, and letting them get within about 100 yards, we fired our guns and at them and then ran till we caught up with the other boys. All that day there was steady firing all along the line. When we could see 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. I showed him the scalp, and the blanket with the bullet hole in it. He laughed, while he examined them closely. During the day he had told Col. Kelly that Gov. 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 Col. Kelly started the boy with a letter to take to Gov. Stevens, and next morning nearly every man was swearing at Col. Kelly for sending out a hostile Indian, claiming that he would give us all away. I offered to bet the boy would go to Gov. 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; a German was shot in the nose; several of the boys got bullet holes through their clothing. Freling Choate got three shots through his coat -- one bullet went through his tin cup on his belt and striking his pocket book, opened it at the catch, one-half the bullet stopping there, the other going on.

(continued next week)

The Hood River Glacier, Hood River, OR., February 5, 1897, page 2

REMINISCENCES of the CAYUSE WAR
(Continued from last week)

     Lieut. Jeffreys of our company went over in the hills and made arrangements with Capt. Conoyer, in charge of a company of mounted half-breeds from French Prairie, to charge the Indians. This company was about the best company of Indian fighters in the command. Pretty soon we could hear the French boys yelling, and we could see their flag above the hill. They dashed off as fast as their horses could run. Co. 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 into the rifle pits, and I was in one along with Lieut. McAuliff and Jim Beebe. 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. I made a hole in the ridge of earth thrown up outside our pits, laid a stick of wood on top so that I could be seen by the enemy, and sat there with my gun cocked. McAuliff and Beebe were lying down. Beebe kept saying "Why don't you shoot? " I said "Wait till that rascal swings his blanket again." Presently the Indian made a grand flourish and swept around gracefully with his blanket. It was all done in an instant, but I fired and shot him in the belly. The Indians made a great a great fuss, and I could hear him crying. He was put on a horse and started across the bottom. Finally they took him off his horse and about 25 Indians came out of the timber and he was carried away.
     While a party of us were sitting on a hill side, eating camas and couse, we noticed an Indian stealing down towards a hollow in the direction of where Choate had gone. We yelled to Choate and tried to tell him to look out for himself, but couldn't make him understand. We then motioned for him to come back. I went over toward the Indian and crawled up behind a badger mound. I look looked over in the gully and saw the Indian crawling along. He saw me at the same time and got behind a slight rise in the ground. I laid with my face close to the ground, as the little mound would hardly hide me. Pretty soon the boys shouted "Shoot him, Ame; he's running." As I raised up he had started to run across the bottom. He ran in a zig-zag course, so that I could not take aim till he was about 125 yards off; but I finally downed him.
     He laid there in plain view of us, but I could not get to him, as he was too close to the headquarters of the Indians near a point of timber. 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 then fired several shots into the timber, thinking to oust the Indians. While Capt. Wilson was pouring powder into the tube, a bullet came along and knocked the can of powder out of his hands. About the third time the mortar was fired it bursted, and flying pieces nearly killed Capt. Wilson, who went about with his head tied up for three or four days. The Indians came in the night and dragged my Injun away with horse and lariat, and all I got from him was 16 bullets I found scattered along the trail where they dragged him. A little later a bullet struck the front part of Meigs' glazed cap and tore it nearly off his head. A bunch of cotton bigger than his cap in the first place was knocked out of it. Meigs jumped onto Bill Gates' horse and rode down the hill 50 yards and up the other side of the gulch about 50 yards, and then came riding slowly back. He was a young lawyer from The Dalles.
     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 our commander. Lieut. 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 him, so I stopped and the other Indian did the same. Jeffreys and the Indian met and shook hands; their talk lasted about five minutes, when each man turned and started for his own command. The Indian was on horseback while Jeffreys was afoot. When they got about 50 yards apart about 50 Indians on horseback came yelling toward us. Jeffreys ran till he came to me. I drew my gun up to my face. The Indians came on to within about 200 yards, when one-half of them turned to the right and the other to the left. What they wanted was to kill one of our officers, but they saw our boys running down the hill to meet them, and they were too cowardly to come nearer.
     It was rather quiet on the hill for awhile in the forenoon. We could see a big Indian riding up and down a ridge 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 on him, but being anxious to shoot, bang, bang! went our guns. The Indian wheeled his horse and came riding towards us. Our guns being empty, we took to our heels and ran. The Indian did not follow far, but turned and rode back up the hill. I have since been told that it was Stock Whitley, chief of the Des Chutes, 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 till about 4 o'clock. The volunteers that Mountain Robinson met came in sight on the hills toward Umatilla and there was one continuous stream of soldiers kept pouring over the hills until after dark.
     Next morning no Indians were on the battle ground; we could see one here and there on the high points, acting as spies. It was 9 o'clock before we discovered that the Indians had left. We started up the road, and in about four miles came to their town. They had taken the roofs off their houses, which consisted chiefly of skins of animals. There was 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, 15 or 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 stood 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 hill side. 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 so many days without food. We returned to camp, and next morning the snow was 15 inches deep and the thermometer was 27 degrees below zero. We went into winter quarters in factory cotton tents, and wintered on beef straight, but it was good beef, captured from the Indians, and we had plenty of it.
     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. Lots of the boys did good work, among them, Mr. Hald, now a resident of Hood River valley.
     One evening, after the cold spell had ended, two half-breeds rode into camp and reported that Governor Stevens would be there next day by 10 a.m. So next morning we made ready to receive him and fixed a platform for him to give us a speech, at which business he was second to none. We formed in hollow squares, 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 Gov. Stevens some where in the Nez Perces country, and that was the first 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 then got 100 Nez Perce braves to accompany him and was not molested. The governor mounted the platform and spoke for over an hour and half. I was standing in line, with two of three lines back of me, when one of the boys in the rear rank gave me a nudge and 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.
     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 sometimes of white women at us, and we naturally wanted to retaliate.
     One of the most excitable instances of the whole campaign happened the first night of the battle, while we were lying in the fence coroners. The Indians set fire to a house about 600 yards from us. It made a big blaze and lighted up the surroundings as plain as day. About 1,000 Indians circled round and round the fire, every one yelling his best.
     George Montane was our guide and a good one he was, too.
     Well, Mr. Woods, this ends the story of the battles as I saw it and as I recollect it. Yours truly,

Amos Underwood.
P.O., Hood River, Or.

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