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the road to the other there is a continued succession of scenes of both mild and wild grandeur-charming and awe-inspiring grandeur.
The view that we present is in the heart of the Rockies up Castle Creek Canon, in the vicinity of Aspen. Upon one side is a section of the Great Snowy Range; upon the other the lesser mountains, both producing gold, silver, iron and coal. The diminutive river seen affords water for irrigation and for machinery. This is but one of many other similarly rich localities, opened up by this marvelous enterprise.
This step was the first taken, moreover, to make Colorado Springs prominent as an entrepot to the mountains, and to attract attention to the advantages of that beautiful city as a station for transcontinental railways, as evidenced by the arrival soon after, of the Chicago and Rock Island, directly across the plains, leaving Pueblo on the south and Denver upon the north. The Cog Wheel Road to Pike's Peak also followed, as an instance of startling railway engineering. A collateral result of this spirit of municipal enterprise is the Electric Rapid Transit System, precipitated by the building of the Colorado Midland, and rendering transportation so pleasureable round about Colorado Springs and Manitou. Mr. Joseph Fulton Humphrey, the Humphrey, the first president of the Colorado Midland, made his first entrance into this State as a passenger upon the Denver & Pacific, which made its first trip from
Cheyenne to Denver, June 23, 1870. He was born March 14, 1839, at Ripley, Brown County, Ohio. His father was a Virginian by birth. His mother was a Miss Fulton and related to Robert Fulton. Mr. Humphrey served under Admiral Porter in the Mississippi Squadron as Assistant Engineer, and was in the service nearly three years. For a few years after the war Mr. Humphrey was interested as a capitalist in the iron manufactures of
Birmingham, Alabama. The same restlessness that actuated so many Union soldiers to come out West, impelled Mr. Humphrey to remove to Colorado. He filled the positions of Assistant Paymaster and General Accountant of the Denver Pacific and was Chief Clerk in the Auditor's office of the Denver & Rio Grande for six years.
He removed to Colorado Springs in 1872, and served for awhile as cashier of the First National Bank; was president of the Gas Company, and finally became a member of the firm of Howbert, Crowell & Humphrey, and engaged principally in mining. They were the owners of the celebrated Robert E. Lee mine, which yielded them, upon one day, $118,500 worth of ore. The same firm built and now owns the Colorado Springs Opera House.
As a capitalist Mr. Humphrey has evidenced much public spirit, and to him as one of the founders of the Colorado Midland Railway much credit is given for the part he took in an enterprise that has done and is do
ing so much for this State and for the traveling public either for business or pleasure.
Mr. Humphrey has a summer residence at Green Mountain Falls, a su
burb to Colorado Springs, and one of the many beautiful mountain resorts that have grown up along the railway of which he was the first president. HENRY DUDLEY TEETOR.
AN AMERICAN MOTHER: THE STORY OF HER LIFE WITH
In the days when nothing but a trackless wilderness lay west of the Merrimac river, and the allied French and Indians were a perpetual menaec to the few brave men and women who had begun the patriotic work of homebuilding, in these very outmost regions claimed by the British crown, one could not hope to find a wide range of social pleasure, nor much heart for anything but work and watchfulness. But man was a social creature even in New England a century and a half ago, and the brave woman whose adventures we have set out to relate, tells us that "in a new country pleasure is often derived from sources unknown to those less accustomed to the woods." So, because there was merriment, and laughter, and a sedate hilarity, in the log-cabin of James Johnson, of this Merrimac region in the summer of 1754, we need not conclude that prudence had vanished, nor danger disappeared. The head of the house had safely returned from a dangerous journey with his scalp where
nature had nourished it, and the cheerful promise of an early removal to a safer neighborhood; and it was but natural that the scattered neighbors should gather in, and that time "passed merrily off, by the aid of spirit and a ripe yard of melons," or "watermelons and flip," to use the words of Mrs. Johnson herself, as she related her sad and stirring story years afterward.
Between midnight and daybreak, when the neighbors had gone, and sleep had settled over the little household, there came a wild alarm, and before a defense could be improvised upon such brief notice, the house was filled with Indians, painted, and clad for war. The husband and two men in his employ were quickly bound. The wife and three children, almost naked, were huddled together in the center of the room, expecting instant death. The Indians hurriedly gathered what plunder they could, and, with their prisoners before them, plunged into the woods-there was a
fort near, and they wished to be as far away as possible before pursuit should be attempted. Two savages laid hold of Mrs. Johnson, and hurried her through the thickets in an unmerciful manner. When they had gone a mile and a half, faintness obliged her to sit down; an Indian drew his knife, and she supposed the end had come, but he only cut a band of her dress which was tightly tied, and caused her to move on by an admonition she did not dare disobey. The children were crying, the men could offer no help because of their bonds, and Mrs. Johnson's sister, who was also a captive, had all she could do to take care of herself.
When they had traveled about three miles there was a halt. The captives were given a loaf of bread and some raisins and apples they had taken from Johnson's house. By rare good fortune a horse belonging to a neighbor came in sight, and was captured by the Indians and Mr. Johnson, who had been eased of his bonds that he might help the children. As Mrs. Johnson's legs and feet were covered with blood, Mr. Labarree, one of the captives, took the stockings from his own feet, and gave them to her, one of the Indians adding a pair of moccasins. She was then mounted on the horse, and the party pushed ahead some seven miles, where a river was crossed on a raft, the horse swimming beside it. A halt was made, and some porridge quickly cooked; and as the eleven Indians and their captors
sat about the fire, the poor mother had sad occasion for the reflections she afterwards so feelingly describes. "To leave my aged parents, brothers, sisters and friends, and travel with savages, through a dismal forest to unknown regions, in the alarming situation I was then in "-she expected
soon to be once more a mother"with three small children, Sylvanus, the eldest, was but six years old; my eldest daughter, Susanna, was four, and Polly, the other, two. My sister Miriam was fourteen. My husband was barefoot, and otherwise thinly clad; his master "-the Indian who laid claim to him-"had taken his jacket, and nothing but his shirt and trousers remained. My two daughters had nothing but their shifts, and I, only the gown that was handed me by the savages."
Eight miles more were traveled before the halt for the night, Mrs. Johnson upon the horse, and two of the white men carrying the little girls. When camp was made, the men were secured by having their legs put in split sticks, something like stocks, and tied by cords that were carried on into the trees above their heads. Miriam was compelled to lie between two savages, a cord passing over her body and beneath theirs. The children and Mrs. Johnson were given blankets. The night passed in gloomy silence, the fatigue of the prisoners compelling them to take more or less sleep.
Before daybreak, the Indians were
astir. Some water-gruel was hastily cooked, and served for breakfast. The march was ordered. In about two hours the poor woman upon the horse was compelled to make such appeal as even the rude and cruel savages could not resist. A rude booth was constructed, and, with no aid but that of the husband and childsister-in the cold, and rain, and wilderness-a little girl stranger was added to the party already too many, and far too helpless and weak. The Indians remained aloof, but when requested, sent to the mother some children's clothing, which was a part of the booty taken from the house.
The mother was permitted to rest for the remainder of the day. The Indians employed their time in making a stretcher upon which Mrs. Johnson might be carried, and a booth to shelter her at night. "They brought a needle and two pins," she relates, "and some bark to tie the child's clothes, and a large wooden spoon to feed it with. At dusk they made some porridge and brought a cup to steep some roots in, which Mr. Labarree had provided. For supper they made more porridge and some Johnny cakes. My portion was brought me in a little bark. I slept that night far beyond expectation."
After a breakfast of gruel and water, Mrs. Johnson was placed upon the litter, which the three white men were compelled to carry; Miriam and the boy were mounted on the horse, while each little girl was carried by the
Indian who claimed her as his property. The white men found their load too great at the end of two miles; and the Indians informed them by signsnone of them could speak Englishthat if Mrs. Johnson went on it must be by horseback. She was accordingly mounted, more dead than alive, while one of the men carried the baby. Once every hour the mother was taken from the horse and laid for a season upon the ground-a relief that saved her life during the third day of their terrible journey.
Dark as the situation was, it was destined to grow darker. "The fifth day's journey was an unvaried scene of fatigue. The Indians sent out two or three hunting parties, who returned without game. As we had in the morning consumed the last morsel of our meal, every one now began to be seriously alarmed; and hunger with all its horrors, looked us earnestly in the face." In the evening, the poor old horse was shot, and his flesh was soon broiling on the embers. The best parts were offered the prisoners, and Mrs. Johnson declares that "an epicure" could not have carved nicer slices nor served them with more neatness. Broth was made for her, and well seasoned with roots, was found to be quite palatable. The children ate so much they were sick for several days.
The remainder of the poor animal that had been so ruthlessly transferred from the transportation to the sustenance department, was smoked and dried for future use; his marrow