Journal Notes

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On the morning of November 27, 1868, the stillness in the camp along the Washita River was broken by rifle shots and cavalrymen that descended upon the lodges from all directions, and the unfamiliar strains of “Garry Owen” blasted through the early dawn.

When the sun made its full appearance Cheyenne leader Black Kettle got his first look at the chaos in and around the camp. Riding at the lead of the main column was General George Custer. Confused tribesmen scurried in every direction; each sought refuge from the stinging, death-dealing fire of the soldiers’ guns. High-pitched screams of tiny children mingled with the dying groans of old men. Brave Indian youths sacrificed their lives so others might have a few minutes longer on earth.

Grief-stricken mothers clutched the limps bodies of children as they, too, turned the white snow scarlet with their blood. Cheyenne history notes that Mochi fought valiantly during the Battle at Washita, but, while defending her home and children from the soldiers, she was separated from her daughter, Tahnea. The five-year-old girl panicked when she saw the people in the village running for cover. Tahnea fell in with the other racing about and became disoriented by the screams and gunfire. She ran toward the river behind several women and children who plunged themselves in to the icy water.

To learn more about Mochi read Mochi’s War: The Tragedy of Sand Creek.

A portion of the sales of each book will go to the

Sand Creek Massacre National Historic Site.

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At daybreak on November 29, 1864, the sound of the drumming of hooves on the sand flats interrupted the hushed routine of the Indian women and children. Some of the women believed it was only buffalo running hard in the near distance, but it was Col. John Chivington and his men and they had come to attack and kill the Cheyenne in the camp.

Mochi was among the numerous Indians frantic to escape the slaughter. She watched her mother get shot in the head and heard the cries of her father and husband as they fought for their lives. Mesmerized by the carnage erupting around her, she paused briefly to consider what was happening. In that moment of reflection one of Chivington’s soldiers rode toward her. She stared at him as he quickly approached, her face mirrored shock and dismay. She heard a slug sing viciously past her head. The soldier jumped off his ride and attacked her. Mochi fought back hard and eventually broke free from the soldier’s grip. Before the man could start after her again she grabbed a gun lying on the ground near her, fired, and killed him.

To learn more about Mochi read Mochi’s War: The Tragedy of Sand Creek.

A portion of the book’s proceeds will go to the

Sand Creek Massacre National Historic Site.

Enter now for a chance to win a copy of Mochi’s War: The Tragedy of Sand Creek

Sunflowers were in full bloom at the site of the Sand Creek Massacre last June when I was there. I stood alone at the top of a bluff looking down on the dry creek bed Cheyenne women, children, elderly, and the infirmed raced along as they tried to flee from Col. John Chivington and his troops hell-bent on massacring them more than 150 years ago. I convinced myself I heard the voices of the survivors in the wind through the tall grass. For a moment I occupied the same ground Mochi had and I’ll never forget the emotion that washed over me.

The following are remembrances past down from one generation of Cheyenne to another about the events at Sand Creek in 1864.

“They never really forgot what happened. They would cry whenever they told about Sand Creek… When everyone started running the young ones would get lost. Those that hid watched the soldiers from their hiding place. During that time when it was almost over, soldiers came out and cut open the bellies of women who were going to have a child. When they cut the child out they cut his throat.” Emma Red Hat and William Red Hat, Jr.

“The battle scattered people… At Sand Creek, you can go there at any time of the day or night and if you close your mind to everything else you can feel the children, when they’re congregating and laughing and having fun. The old ladies mostly congregating and laughing and having fun. The old ladies mostly congregate in the shade. The young warriors congregate in the rocks.” Robert Toahty

To learn more about Mochi read Mochi’s War: The Tragedy of Sand Creek.

A portion of the book’s proceeds will go to the

Sand Creek Massacre National Historic Site.

Enter now for a chance to win a copy of Mochi’s War: The Tragedy of Sand Creek

Colorado Territory in 1864 wasn’t merely the wild west, it was a land in limbo while the Civil War raged in the east and politics swirled around its potential admission to the union. The territorial governor, John Evans, had ambitions on the national stage should statehood occur–and he was joined in those ambitions by a local pastor and erstwhile Colonel in the Colorado militia, John Chivington. The decision was made to take a hard line stance against any Native Americans who refused to settle on reservations–and in the fall of 1864, Chivington set his sights on a small band of Cheyenne under the chief Black Eagle, camped and preparing for the winter at Sand Creek.

When the order to fire on the camp came on November 28, one officer refused, other soldiers in Chivington’s force, however, immediately attacked the village, disregarding the American flag, and a white flag of surrender that was run up shortly after the soldiers commenced firing.

In the ensuing “battle” fifteen members of the assembled militias were killed and more than 50 wounded Between 150 and 200 of Black Kettle’s Cheyenne were estimated killed, nearly all elderly men, women and children.

As with many incidents in American history, the victors wrote the first version of history–turning the massacre into a heroic feat by the troops. Soon thereafter, however, Congress began an investigation into Chivington’s actions and he was roundly condemned. His name still rings with infamy in Colorado and American history. Mochi’s War explores this story and its repercussions into the last part of the nineteenth Century from the perspective of a Cheyenne woman whose determination swept her into some of the most dramatic and heartbreaking moments in the conflicts that grew through the West in the aftermath of Sand Creek.

To learn more about Mochi read Mochi’s War: The Tragedy of Sand Creek.

A portion of the book’s proceeds will go to the Sand Creek Massacre National Historic Site.

Enter now for a chance to win a copy of Mochi’s War: The Tragedy of Sand Creek

This book captivates a ruthless woman warrior who was born out of the pits of the Sand Creek Massacre. The word ‘warrior’ sends a tingle of fear down the spine and conjures up an imaginary fierce, merciless fighter seemingly invulnerable to fear or intimidation.

There are many reasons that a Native Indian woman would fight and become one of the women warriors. Most nineteenth century women warriors who fought in battles and conflicts did not pursue the life of a warrior on a permanent basis.

Most women fought because there was an urgent need for them to do so, which the reader will find out quickly that was the case for the young 24 year-old Cheyenne warrior.

The authors of this book writes of the malice in the young woman’s heart and the revenge that sat heavily on the edge of her tomahawk. The woman warrior fought to the death using bloodthirsty tactics to achieve victory. Not the usual image that we would associate with women, but there were many Native American warriors.

When asked to name some famous Indian women, most people have difficulty in recalling anyone other than Pocahontas or Sacagawea, the reader will have no difficulty with remembering Mochi, the Cheyenne Warrior after engaging themselves in this title, Mochi’s War.

Rebecka Lyman

Cheyenne and Arapaho Tribal Tribune

To learn more about Mochi read Mochi’s War: The Tragedy of Sand Creek.

A portion of the book’s proceeds will go to the

Sand Creek Massacre National Historic Site.

Enter now for a chance to win a copy of Mochi’s War: The Tragedy of Sand Creek

Praise for Mochi’s War:

“The authors have again collaborated to write Western history in an accurate yet accessible manner for mainstream readers…this biographical account provides a counterpoint to the many works that have mythologized such women as Pocahontas and Sacajawea.” – Library Journal ***starred review***

After the Sand Creek Massacre of 1864, one woman survived physically unharmed, but emotionally devastated by the destruction of her tribe and determined to avenge her dead relatives. Her story has rarely been told, and Mochi’s War is the first book to tell it in full.

On November 28, 1864, Colonel John Chivington and his militia attacked a Cheyenne Indian village in southeastern Colorado. Between 150 and 200 Cheyenne Indians were estimated killed, nearly all elderly men, women, and children. The events at Sand Creek motivated Mochi to embark a decade long reign of terror. With each raid she remembered the horror of the massacre, and it goaded her on to terrible violence against those encroaching on Indian soil. The war between the Indians and the government lasted ten years after the Sand Creek Massacre occurred. Mochi’s war ended with her arrest and imprisonment in 1874 – the only woman ever to be incarcerated by the United States as a prisoner of War.

Mochi’s War: The Tragedy of Sand Creek explores the story and its repercussions into the last part of the nineteenth century from the perspective of a Cheyenne woman whose determination swept her into some of the most dramatic and heartbreaking moments in the conflicts that grew through the west in the aftermath of Sand Creek.

To learn more about Mochi read Mochi’s War: The Tragedy of Sand Creek.

Purchase a copy for a local school.

A portion of the book’s proceeds will go to the

Sand Creek Massacre National Historic Site.

Eureka! The Discovery of Gold in California Part Three

Many elementary schools across the country are now studying the California Gold Rush. This short, continuing story is intended to aid teachers in their efforts to share with their classes the significance of this historical events. Teacher who use the story in this week’s lessons can register to win a copy of the book Frontier Teachers.

Marshall could not seem to saddle his horse fast enough. Down through the beautiful California country he rode to Sutter’s Fort. As he came closer he glances at the herds of cattle browsing on the lush grass. He nodded when Sutter’s Mexican cowhands, the vaqueros, called cheerful greetings, waving their high sombreros.

The Fort was the only American strong hold in the territory. John Sutter had obtained land from Mexico. He had been loyal to the country until California was practically taken over by the Unites States toward the end of the Mexican war. But now he was in sympathy with America. His Fort was at the California end of the only wagon trail from the States, and he gave aid and work to any Americans who came that way.

Now as Marshall rode through the gateway in the adobe walls surrounding Sutter’s Fort, he seemed to enter a city in itself. Here were shops and sheds and houses. He heard the clang-clang of a blacksmith’s hammer on anvil, and the soft Spanish song of a Mexican woman as she slapped tortillas on a flat stone.

Marshall strode at once to Sutter’s house, and startled his boss with his air of excitement.

“What is this, Mr. Marshall?” asked John Sutter in his quiet way.

Marshall carefully opened his small bag and emptied its contents on a desk. Sutter leaped over to it, his eyes lighting up. “Looks like that is gold, Mr. Marshall. Where did it come from?”

“From the tail race of the mill. There’s more there. Lots more.”

The ranch owner put his plump finger against his nose thoughtfully. “Now, how can we find out – ah, I know.” He went to a bookcase and took out a small encyclopedia. “Here we have it. Yes, I can try it out.”

He pored over the book for some time, reading the rules given for testing gold to find out if it was pure or mixed with other metals. Then he sent Marshall out to get silver coins from anybody who had them in the Fort. With about three and a half dollars in silver balanced on a small scale they figured it out. This was pure gold, unmixed with silver or copper!

John Sutter sat in his big chair for a long time, and stared across at his silent millwright. Gold! The word was like magic. How much would the river, and perhaps all his land, contain? Down under those waving fields of grain, those pastures where his horses and cattle and sheep grazed by the thousand – was there pure gold? What would this do to his little kingdom, where he ruled like a lord? He frowned, and chewed his under lip. Somehow this news brought a fear of losing what he had struggled so long to gain.

“Mr. Marshall,” he said quietly, “perhaps we had better not talk about this yet. Perhaps we had better think first of what to do? Let us preserve silence, for a while.”

Marshall nodded slowly. Here was a fortune. He had found it. It would be well to keep it secret from those who would perhaps steal it from him. He went to saddle his horse. As he rode into the foothills, the sun spread across the wind-blown fields of grasses and turned them all to shining, gleaming gold. A golden earth! Golden streams! A golden land!

 Register now to win a copy of the book Frontier Teachers.

Many elementary schools across the country are now studying the California Gold Rush. This short, continuing story is intended to aid teachers in their efforts to share with their classes the significance of this historical events. Teacher who use the story in this week’s lessons can register to win a copy of the book Frontier Teachers.

James Marshall stood up and saw his laborers sitting around their fire drinking coffee and eating flapjacks. Beyond them the Indian workers moved quietly, preparing their breakfast of dried deer meat. Marshall walked slowly to the fire where his sober Mormon workers ate silently, and opened his hand.

“I found it in the tail race.”

The men stopped chewing and one exclaimed, “Fool’s gold,” and laughed. Another spit carefully into a bush several yards away. “Tain’t nothing by iron pyrite,” he said. “Fool’s gold, that’s all.”

The first man took a closer look, reached for another flapjack, and said, “That’s right. That stuff fools lots of people.” They all grinned knowingly at each other.

James Marshall scowled and clenched his fist over the little pebble. They thought him a fool. He turned on his heel, and strode up the slope to a small log cabin where smoke was lazily rising from an adobe chimney. As he approached he saw Elizabeth Wimmer, wife of his foreman, standing with a long stick in hand over a big, black soap kettle. Elizabeth Wimmer was one of the few American women in this land so lately taken from Mexico. She had refused to be left at Sutter’s Fort when Peter, her husband, went to take charge of the Indian laborers building the sawmill.

As Marshall came up to her he growled, “Look here, Mrs. Wimmer! This looks like gold. The men say it’s iron pyrite.” He unclenched his fist.

Mrs. Wimmer leaned forward curiously. Then, before he could stop her, she picked up the little piece and dropped it into the bubbling soap kettle. “We’ll soon find out, Mr. Marshall. If it isn’t gold the lye in this kettle will eat it up quick.”

James Marshall said nothing, but turned and went back to the breakfast he had not yet eaten.

That night as he went to the cabin where he lived with the Wimmers he felt confident again. The mill would work well with the tail race deepened. He was thinking of the lumber they would soon be sawing and of the money they could get for it in the sleepy village of San Francisco. As he sat and smoked his pipe he was startled by Mrs. Wimmer. Through the door she marched, and up to the scrubbed pine table.

“There!” she cried triumphantly. “It’s gold, all right, Mr. Marshall!”

She flung on the table the heavy little stone. In the light of the candle it glowed and gleamed. Marshall picked it up, then put it on the floor, grasped a rock lying by the hearth, and hammered it. It didn’t break. Gold!

Next morning at dawn he went back to the tail race. From cracks between the boulders he picked up more of the tiny gold pieces. Carefully he stowed them away in a small buckskin bag and went back to his job of getting the mill going. Later in the day he announced to Peter Wimmer:

“Supplies are getting low. I’m going to the Fort for grub. Wimmer, you take over while I’m gone.”

Peter Wimmer glanced at his wife, but said nothing.

 Register now to win a copy of the book Frontier Teachers.

Many elementary schools across the country are now studying the California Gold Rush. This short, continuing story is intended to aid teachers in their efforts to share with their classes the significance of this historical events. Teacher who use the story in this week’s lessons can register to win a copy of the book Frontier Teachers.

And now…Part one of Eureka! The Discovery of Gold in California.

The early morning sun gleamed like a bright golden coin above the California foothills. It was January 24, 1848. In all the green wilderness world there was no sign of life except a wisp of smoke from a breakfast fire, and the figure of a man walking beside a ditch that led from a nearly finished sawmill to a river. Suddenly he stopped and stared intently down. James Marshall was a surly man, without friends, and he was a long way from his old home in New Jersey. The other men at Sutter’s Fort thought him a little peculiar, and stupid. But he was the only millwright in all the California country, and he knew that he was a good mechanic.

He looked up at the mill he was building for John Sutter, the German-Swiss owner of this big landed estate, and he felt satisfied. The mill was coming along well, the dam was finished, and the tail race, or ditch, to let water back into the American River, was dug out. Each night Marshall opened the gate to allow the water to wash as much gravel and sand down the tail race as possible. Then in the early morning he went there to see how it looked. It would not be long before his mill, the first in the new territory, would be sawing lumber to ship down the Sacramento River to the village of San Francisco.

James Marshall glanced down again. Something had caught his eye. What was it? He leaned forward. Something glittered a little in the gravel against a stone.

“What’s that?” he muttered to himself. He sat on one heel, and picked up the little glittering lump that felt strangely heavy. “Gold! Could it be gold?”

The small piece looked more like brass. It was no larger than a tiny dried pea. He rubbed it. It still looked golden.

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Entertaining Women: Actresses, Dancers, and Singers in the Old West.

“My life has run in strange places. My years have been full of color. I have known the heights of success, but likewise I have known the depths of despair.”

Leslie Carter, Liberty magazine, 1927

Catherine Louise Dudley Carter sat at her desk and clutched a pen in her hand. Nothing was left of her life but the raw will to do the only quasi respectable thing open to a woman in her circumstances. She had lost the wealthy position and standing in society that she had taken for granted for so long. She’d been kicked out of her palatial home. She had failed in her divorce case and in obtaining the money to maintain her lifestyle; her nine-year-old son had been ripped from her arms, and her once good name had been scandalously linked to actor Kyrle Bellew and New York Senator James F. Pierce.

The scandal didn’t bother her too much—small-minded persons, including her husband, just did not understand. “There is great romance, there is great love, there is great passion—all things difficult to guide—and some men and women reserve the right to have these things, regardless of that sharp dividing line which makes it legal,” she later wrote, dramatically justifying her choices.

Unfortunately, she’d fallen to the wrong side of that sharp legal and moral dividing line and now knew the cost. Her husband, wealthy industrialist Leslie Carter, had won everything in what the New York Times, in June 1889, called the “most indecent and revolting divorce trial ever heard in the Chicago courts.” Louise Carter considered herself virtually penniless, her reputation shredded to ribbons by the press, while her husband gloated over winning his countersuit charging her with adultery.

She shuddered at the memory of the witnesses against her, a veritable parade of chambermaids, housekeepers, hotel guests, and other traitors her husband had somehow coerced into telling the most awful tales about her. He had taken everything from her. She decided to take the one thing he’d given her that could most embarrass him: his name.

The plan she conceived to become an actress did not stop short of stardom. Her name—no, his name—would be blazoned in lights for all to see. She would, forevermore, be known as Mrs. Leslie Carter. That, she thought, would make her husband’s impassive face show some expression. “Nothing ever happened to Leslie Carter; consequently, nothing ever happened to his face,” she recalled. The day would come she vowed, when the name she hated would be on marquee lights and his humiliation would be as great as hers was now.

Dreaming of revenge would not make it happen. Images of poverty and squalor rose in her mind. Somehow she must triumph over this ugly trick of fate that her husband and a jury had played. The theater offered the only way out, with the added attraction of mortifying her ex-husband. Shrugging away the fact that her first attempt at becoming an actress had been unsuccessful, she concocted a new plan to succeed.

Dipping her pen into a small bottle of ink, she wrote to a man who had promised to help. The plea Louise Carter sent to wealthy meatpacker Nathaniel K. Fairbank resulted in an offer to assist her to become an actress, and his influence secured an appointment with New York theatrical manager E. G. Gilmore, who agreed to handle her career.

To learn more about Leslie Carter and about the other talented performers of the

Old West read Entertaining Women: Actresses, Dancers, and Singers in the Old West.