Stampede, Leslie's Illustrated News, 1881
On the trail the danger of a stampede was always present. One of the cowboys who rode the Texas or Western Trail, Edward C. "Teddy Blue" Abbott,
recalled:
"If. . .the cattle started running--you'd hear that low rumbling noise along the ground and the men on
herd wouldn't need to come in and tell you, you'd know--then you'd jump on your horse and get out there in the
lead, trying to head them and get them into a mill before they scattered to hell and
gone. It was riding at a dead run in the dark, with cut banks, and prairie dog holes all
around you, not knowing if the next jump would land you in a shallow grave.
"
Death of a Cowboy on the Trail, woodcut, 1887
Stampedes would often be started by the night time thunderstorms of the plains.
Joseph G. McCoy in his 1874 Historic Sketches of the Cattle Trade of the
West and Southwest explained:
Few occupations are more cheerful, lively and pleasant than that of the
cow-boy on a fine day or night; but when the storm comes, then is his
manhood and often his skill and bravery put to test. When the night is
inky dark and the lurid lightning flashes its zig-zag course athwart the
heavens, and the coarse thunder jars the earth, the winds moan fresh and
lively over the prairie, the electric balls dance from tip to tip of the
cattle's horns then the position of the cow-boy on duty is trying far more
than romantic.
When the storm breaks over his head, the least occurrence unusual, such as
the breaking of a dry weed or stick, or a sudden and near flash of
lightning, will start the herd, as if by magic, all at an instant, upon a
wild rush. and woe to the horse, or man, or camp that may be in their path
The only possible show for safety is to mount and ride with them until you
can get outside the stampeding column. It is customary to train cattle to
listen to the noise of the herder. who sings in a voice more sonorous than
musical a lullaby consisting of a few short monosyllables. A stranger to
the business of stock driving will scarce credit the statement that the
wildest herd will not run so long as they can hear distinctly the voice
of the herder above the din of the storm. But if by any mishap the herd
gets off on a real stampede. it is by bold, dashing, reckless riding in
the darkest of nights, and by adroit, skillful management that it is
checked and brought under control. The moment the herd is off, the cow-boy
turns his horse at full speed down the retreating column, and seeks to get
up beside the leaders, which he does not attempt to stop suddenly, for such
an effort would be futile, but turns them to the left or right hand, and
gradually curves them into a circle, the circumference of which is narrowed
down as fast as possible, until the whole herd is rushing wildly round and
round on as small a piece of ground as possible for them to occupy. Then
the cow-boy begins his lullaby note in a loud voice, which has a great
effect in quieting the herd. When all is still, and the herd well over its
scare, they are returned to their bed-ground, or held where stopped until
daylight.
The process of running the cattle back into themselves to end the stampede, was referred to as
"milling" the herd.
McCoy (1837-1915), a cattle broker, is general credited with initiating the
trailing of cattle from Texas north to railheads. He established the
stockyards in Abilene, Kansas. Within a few years after 1867, a company
with which he was associated was shipping as much as 1000 head a week.
An historic marker has been erected on E. Johnson Street, Denison,
Texas, in his memory.
Stampede on the Pecos
As suggested by McCoy, the slightest thing might set off the stampede. Jacob
Bennett recalled a stampede from when he was riding for Tom Curry's TC, southeast of
present day Waco, Texas:
There was another stampede I saw while on the TC, and it was sort of a
freaky one. After a hard rain, the cattle'd all been standing up and it
looked like we were going to ride it out without them critters stomping,
but a fellow rode up on his hoss and got down to talk to another of the
boys that had built a small fire to make a little coffee. Well, he had
one of them fancy saddles with conchas all around it, and his saddle
rattled. An old steer snorted right loud; another took it up, and in
less time than it takes to tell it, the whole herd was on the stomp,
running just as hard as it could go with a deep draw right in front of
them about two miles away.
Well, you know a herd can run for 20 miles. Not likely to, but they've
been known to run that far, and lots farther. We knowed if the herd ever
reached this draw, they'd plunge on over and most of the herd would be
crushed to death, or kicked to death by those who fell in on top.
There was only one thing to do, and that was to out run the herd and mill
it.
[Writer's personal note: My grandfather, at about age 12, reversed
Horace Greeley's admonition and went East after being caught in a stampede
near Pueblo.]
Round-up, Natrona County, undated
William Owens, who had been orphaned at age 12 and went to work for the
Western Union Cattle Co., before moving on, described one stampede:
"I was with the Strayhorn outfit up in Arzonia. We had gathered 1,500
critters for market. The cattle were bunched and ready to start drifting
and we were intending to start the next morning at sun. About mid-night
a storm struck and lightening hit in the middle of the herd. As usual,
the animals were fretful before the storm hit. They did not bed and were
moving here and there. All hands were out trying to quiet and hold the
critters down. We were singing and whistling trying to give the critters
comfort, but they were all set to run just waiting for something that would
start the running. The sky-fire was what furnished the excuse and they went
off like a bunch of race hosses do when the gun is fired.
"At the jump we knew holding that herd was out of the question, so we just
tried to keep those critters from scattering until they tuckered out a bit.
Of course, it was dark and we could not see the herd or each other that
were riding, except when a flash of
sky-fire lit up the country. However, at all times we could hear the
clashing of horns and could tell about where the herd was. We waddies
kept each other posted on our location by firing several shots at a time.
The first shot was to draw attention and the other shots were given so the
fire flash could be seen.
"It was 10 miles to the Pareco River and we calculated on getting the
critters under control before the river was reached, but failed to do so.
We reached the river the critters were still going at a good rate
of speed and about half of the animals went into the water and four
of the waddies did likewise before they realized where they were going.
There was quick sand [and] sand bars at the point where the bunch run
into the river. Immediately there was plenty of scrambling and floundering
of men, cattle and hosses, in the dark and rain. No one could see enough
to do anything and we just had to wait for daylight. Of course, the
part of the herd that hit the water blocked to other critters and that
stopped the run. We put the land critters to milling, which were joined
by a few that got back out of the water and quicksand bog. When daylight
came we found two waddies, Sandy Peters and Arzonia Slim, drownded.
"Two of the waddies fished the drownded lads out while the others of us
went to work pulling out bogged critters, which were still alive. We worked
all day at pulling out bogged critters, but lost 300 which drownded.
"Pulling out Bogged Critters"
"The two waddies were buried on the banks of the Pareco River. We dug
the graves deep enough so that the wolves could not disturb the bodies.
I was selected to do the preaching and did the best I could. I requested
the Lord, 'to take them in, because their
hearts were pure as gold. While they were rough, tough and cussed, all
their acts were done with good intentions. They were true to their fellow
men, to their work and to every trust'."
A Stampeded Herd, J. A. Castaigne, Scribner's Magazine
But, as indicated above, the dangers were not limited to stampedes.
Many were killed at the very beginning of
the drive at the Red River. There were three crossings: Red River Station, Doan's Crossing, and
Ringgold. Andy Adams described Doan's Crossing:
"Red River, this boundary river on the northern border of Texas, was a terror to trail drivers.
The majestic grandeur of the river was apparent on every hand, with its
red bluff banks, the sediment of its red waters marking the timber along
its course, while the driftwood, lodged in trees and high on the banks,
indicated what might be expected when she became sportive or angry.
The crossing had been in use only a year or two when we forded, yet five
graves, one of which was less than ten days made, attested her disregard
for human life. It can safely be asserted that at this and lower trail
crossings on Red River, the lives of more trail men were lost by drowning
than on all other rivers together."
River Crossing, Alfred R. Waud, Harper's 1867
For information as to Alfred R. Waud, see Yellowstone.
Monument at Doan's Crossing
Today, the crossing at Red River Station is on privately owned land and is not
accessible. Instead, the visitor may gaze upon a monument and a wheat field, but the
river is not to be seen. At Doan's Crossing there is the adobe store which
provided the last place for the purchase of supplies before the end of the
trail and another monument bearing
the brands of many of the outfits passing by.
Addison Spaugh, later a foreman for the Converse Cattle Company when it was located on
Old Woman Creek north of Manville, later observed:
Outfits had gaily started north, only to reach their destinations months later with
half their cattle gone, some of their men laying in shallow graves along the trail, or
lost in the waters of angry rushing rivers.
Besides the danger of drowning, the river bottoms were often quicksand. One method of avoiding drowning
on a river crossing was to unsaddle one's horse and to ride across naked. In that manner, one would
not be weighed down by clothing, boots, and gear. Samuel Dunn Houston, a
cowboy who rode for Tom Moore, a contract drover, recalled of an 1879 trail drive:
When we reached Fort Laramie we made ready to cross. I pulled my saddle off and then my clothes.
Tom came up and said, "Sam you are doing the right thing." I told him I had crossed
the river before and that I had a good friend who once started to cross the
river and he was lost in the quicksand. His name was Theodore Luce of Lockhart, Texas.
He was lost just above the old Seven Crook Ranch above Ogallala.
And Andy Adams similarly described in his The Log of a Cowboy a young cowboy who drowned crossing the
North Platte near Fort Laramie. In his pocket was found a letter from his mother bidding him
to take care. His two brothers had drowned on the trail. A minister from a nearby emigrants' train delivered a
service. Thus, a young lad far from his home in Texas was laid to rest beside the Platte while the
minister's two daughters sang How Firm a Foundation, the same hymn as sung at the funeral
of General Lee. The third verse:
When thro' the deep waters I call thee to go
The rivers of woe shall not thee overflow
For I will be with thee, thy troubles to bless
And sanctify to thee thy deepest distress
River Crossing, Jean Andre Castaigne, Scribner's Magazine
J. A. Castaigne (1861-1929) was a French artist who provided art work
in the 1890's for American periodicals, Scribner's, Century Magazine,
Harper's, and McClure's. He is sometimes listed as a Western artist, mainly
due to drawings of American Indians. He was a recipient of
Legion d' Honneur.
On the trail besides the dangers, the
cowboys were faced with dust, heat, and boredom. At the rear of the herd the least experienced rode drag. Their
job was to prod along the slow, the infirm, or the lazy cattle. Occasionally,
a cow would drop out to give birth to a calf. Since new born calves could not
keep up with the herd, it was an unpleasant duty of the drag riders to dispatch the calves and
drive the cow back into the main herd. At the back of the herd the dust was such that the
color of the men's clothes could scarely be discerned. Indeed, as recalled by one cowboy,
Ben Kinchlow:
"I went up the Chisholm Trail five or six times. Charley Word, Blocker,
George West, W.G.B. Grimes, Abel an' John Pierce was all big trail drivers
then. Goin' up the trail you never was out of sight of a herd. The trail
was so worn, that the dust would be knee deep to the cattle. You could ride
right up to the rear of the cattle an' you couldn't see the cattle for the
dust.
"Holding Up the Lead," undated
To the sides of the herd would ride the flankers and ahead of them the swingmen whose jobs were to
keep the herd aligned. The dust was hardly less and in some instances they faced the incredible heat
given off by the herd. At the front of the herd several of the more experienced rode point, for it was
there that the more rambunctious cattle would be found. It was the
job of the pointmen to keep the herd aimed correctly. Ahead was the trail boss and ahead of him would be the
cook who would, among other things gather the occasional fuel, and set up for
the evening dinner. The cook was generally recognized as the second most
important man in the trail crew and would receive as much as $5.00 a month more than other drovers.
He was often experienced in all aspects of
trail work and could fill in where needed. Additionally, there were wranglers to tend to the horses. For each cowboy would
ride three or more horses in a day, so as to preclude horses from becoming winded.
Next Page, Cattle drives continued.
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