M. Mark Miller, Author

Category: Humor

  • A Tale: Angering Old Faithful — 1877

    Today most Yellowstone tourists believe that nature is fragile. They wouldn’t collect a leaf or pick a flower for fear of causing irreparable damage. But early tourists shattered geological features to gather specimens, slaughtered animals for fun, and experimented with geysers.

    Explorers Near Old Faithful, August 1871

    They reported these things without the slightest embarrassment.

    On a Sunday in the summer of 1877, Frank Carpenter was lolling around Old Faithful with his companions: Dingee, Arnold and Mr. Huston—and Frank’s sisters, Ida and Emma. They soon tired of quietly observing the Sabbath and decided to experiment with Old Faithful. Here’s Frank’s story.

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    We conclude that we will do our washing, since such an opportunity for “boiling clothes” will not be presented again soon.

    Emma and Ida put their clothes in a pillowcase. Dingee took off his blouse and tied a large stone in it and I finished tying it with my handkerchief. Arnold also removed his jacket—and we repaired to the laundry—Old Faithful.

    We hear the preparatory rumbling and the waters rise a few feet above the surface. Mr. Houston now gives the command to throw our garments into the water. The water goes down and remains low so long that we begin to feel uneasy. Dingee begins to lament his loss and to curse the man who “put us up to the job up.”

    Mr. Huston remarks that it will be all right, and the next instant, with a rush and a roar she “goes off.” The clothes, mixed in every conceivable shape, shoot up to a distance of a hundred feet and fall with a splash in the basins below.

    The water subsides, and we fish out the clothing, which, we find as nice and clean as a Chinaman could wash it with a week’s scrubbing. Dingee rejoices.

    Wishing to experiment further, we collect an immense quantity of rubbish and drop it into the crater. We fill it to the top with at least a thousand pounds of stones, trees, and stumps. Now we sit down to await further developments.

    At the exact time advertised, sixty-five minutes from the time of the last eruption, the earth begins to tremble. We hear the rush again. “Off she goes,” and away go rocks, trees and rubbish—to a height of seventy-five or eighty feet.

    Old Faithful seems to have been angered by the unwarrantable procedure on our parts—or he wishes to show us that our attempts to check his power are futile. And he furnishes entertainment of unusual magnitude and duration.

    ∞§∞

    — From The Wonders in Geyserland by Frank D. Carpenter.

    — Photo byWilliam Henry Jackson 1872. Yellowstone Digital Slide.

    — You may also enjoy Colonel John W. Barlow’s tale of bathing in Mammoth Hot Spring.

  • A Tale: Little Invulnerable —Langford, 1870

    Private Moore's drawing.

    The remote area that became Yellowstone National Park was a roadless wilderness when the famous Washburn Expedition explored there in 1870. That meant they had to carry supplies on packhorses. Vital as these animals were to survival, the explorers rarely mentioned them. But, one horse’s antics earned him a place in several journals and a nickname. Here’s Nathaniel P. Langford’s description of “Little Invulnerable.”

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    One of our packhorses is at once a source of anxiety and amusement to us all. He is a remarkable animal owned by Judge Hedges, who makes no pretentious to being a good judge of horses.

    Mr. Hedges says that the man from whom he purchased the animal, in descanting upon his many excellent qualities, said: “He is that kind of an animal that drives the whole herd before him.” The man spoke truly, but Mr. Hedges did not realize that the seller meant to declare that the animal, from sheer exhaustion, would always be lagging behind the others of the herd.

    From the start, and especially during our journey through the forest, this pony, by his acrobatic performances and mishaps, has furnished much amusement for us all.

    Progress today could only be accomplished by leaping our animals over the fallen trunks of trees. Our little bronco, with all the spirit necessary, lacks oftentimes the power to scale the tree trunks.

    As a consequence, he is frequently found resting upon his midriff with his fore and hind feet suspended over the opposite sides of some huge log. “The spirit indeed is willing, but the flesh is weak.” He has an ambitious spirit, which is exceeded only by his patience. He has had many mishaps, any one of which would have permanently disabled a larger animal, and we have dubbed him “Little Invulnerable.” One of the soldiers of our escort, Private Moore, has made a sketch of him as he appeared today lying across a log, of which I am to have a copy.

    ∞§∞

    —You can read a condensed version Langford’s book, The Discovery of Yellowstone Park, in my book, Adventures in Yellowstone: Early Travelers Tell Their Tales.

    —Illustration from Langford’s book.

    — You can read a condensed version of Langford’s The Discovery of Yellowstone Park in my book, Adventures in Yellowstone.

    — To see more stories by this author, click on “Langford” under the “Categories” button to the left.

    — For more stories about the Washburn Expedition, click on “Washburn” under the “Categories” button to the left.

  • A Tale: How to Pack a Mule — 1874

    Early tourists had to brave a roadless wilderness to see the sights of the new Yellowstone National Park. That meant supplies had to be carried by pack animals—often cantankerous mules.  One such tourist was the Earl of Dunraven, an Irish noble who first visited the park in 1874. Dunraven was an astute observer and a droll wit.  Here’s his description of how to pack a mule.

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    A man stands on each side of the mule to be operated upon; the saddle, a light wooden frame, is placed on his back and securely girthed. A long rope is looped into proper form and arranged on the saddle. The side packs are then lifted into position on each side of the saddle and tightly fastened. The middle bundle is placed between them—a few spare articles are flung on the top—a tent thrown over all—and the load ready to be secured.

    The rope is fixed so the fall is one side and the slack is on the other. Each man places one foot against the animal’s ribs. Throwing the whole weight of his body into the effort, each man hauls with all his strength upon the line.

    At each jerk, the wretched mule expel an agonized grunt—snaps at the men’s shoulders— and probably gives them a sharp pinch, which necessitates immediate retaliation.

    The men haul a while, squeezing the poor creature’s diaphragm most terrible. Smaller and more wasp like grows his waist—and last not another inch of line can be got in, and the rope is made fast.

    “Bueno,” cries the muleteer, giving the beast a spank on the behind which starts it off—teetering about on the tips of its toes like a ballet dancer. Having done with one animal, the packers proceed to the next, and so on through the lot.

    While you are busy with the others, Numbers One and Two have occupied themselves in tracing mystic circles in and out—among and round and round several short, stumpy, thickly branching firs—and, having diabolical ingenuity they have twisted, tied, and tangled their trail-ropes into inextricable confusion. They are standing there patiently in their knots.

    Number Three has been entrusted with the brittle and perishable articles because she is regarded as a steady and reliable animal of a serious turn of mind. She has acquired a stomach ache from the unusual constriction of that organ—and is rolling over and over—flourishing all four legs in the air at once.

    You may use language strong enough to split a rock—hot enough to fuse a diamond, without effect.  You may curse and swear your “level best”—but it does not do a bit of good. Go on they will, till they kick their packs off. And then they must be caught —the scattered articles gathered together—and the whole operation commenced afresh.

    ∞§∞

    — You can read more about the Earl’s adventures in my book, Adventures In Yellowstone.

    —Text and ilustration from the Earl of Dunraven, The Great Divide: Travels in the Upper Yellowstone in the Summer of 1874, London: Chatto and Windus, Picadilly, 1876.  pages 139-141.

    — You can read more about the Earl’s adventures in my book, Adventures In Yellowstone.

    — For more stories by this author, click on “Dunraven” under the “Categories” button to the left.

  • A Tale: Maud Gets Her Revenge — 1913

    In 1913 Louise Elliott publish a book about a young schoolteacher from Lander, Wyoming, who took a job as a camp assistant for a mobile camp tour. In her preface, Elliott confesses that she used several techniques that critics now might label “new journalism.” She created composite characters by combining traits of her camp companions, and made up a “little romance” for her protagonist.

    We can forgive Elliott because she provided an explicit disclaimer—and an entertaining portrait of  travel to Yellowstone Park in the early twentieth century. While her tales must be taken with the proverbial grain of salt, we probably can take her word that “the camp episodes and jokes, the weather and scenery, and the statistics” were all accurate descriptions copied from her diary.

    Elliott gives interesting details of her trip—a cook who makes biscuits “charred on the outside and doughy in the middle,”—a guide who carries “the scratchiest flannels” to be worn by anyone who didn’t heed his warning to bring warm clothing—and, snobbish hotel guests who refuse to return the greetings of lowly campers.

    At one point during the story, Elliott says her protagonist, Violet, and her friend, Maud, became irritated with one of their guests—a Boston lady that they called “The Spinster.” Here’s Louise’s story about that.

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    Maud and I baked enough biscuits for supper and some cup cakes while the Spinster complained of all the discomforts of camp life as compared with her home conveniences. Neither did she forget to mention her lovely twenty-eight dollar and fifty-cent air mattress.

    “That settles it once for all,” whispered Maud. “Never again!”

    Well Maud had her revenge—and not once today has the Spinster boasted of her comfortable pneumatic mattress. I wondered last night why Maud was anxious to retire early as she is usually the last one to bed.

    The great pine fire was lighting our tent, and the Spinster was peacefully enjoying her first snore when I saw our Irish lassie get stealthily out of bed—and crawl over to the hated mattress. She certainly must have made a thorough study of the mechanism—she knew just where to find the valve screw. She gave a few turns—crept back into bed again—and began breathing hard and steady.

    Maud had not let me into her proposed vengeance because she feared I would not countenance it. But I suspected that the air was slowly leaking out of the mattress under the sleeping Bostonian. Soon that lady stopped her regular breathing and sat up in bed. She began fumbling under her and muttered, “Well, I never.” Finally she got up, punching the mattress, muttering something and reached into her bag.

    Pump, pump, pump—I tried so hard to keep from giggling that a snort escaped from my throat. Maud began to talk incoherently and to toss and throw her arms about to cover my tell-tale noises. “No sir, I told you before that I will not dance—no—no—.” Then her voice died away and she snored vociferously while the—pump, pump, pump—continued. At last the wonderful pneumatic was restored to its proper stage of plumpness and the weary Spinster was soon resuming her snores where she left off.

    She was more silent than usual this morning and did not allude in any way to her mattress. But while Maud and I were doing up the dishes, she went into the tent and gave her bed a thorough examination. She became more talkative after she had read the little pamphlet of directions, which had been attached to the mattress. After that she told the party how Maud had discussed her secrets and love affairs in her sleep.

    Maud asked innocently, “What did I talk about?”

    ∞§∞

    — From L. Louise Elliott, Six Weeks on Horseback Through Yellowstone Park, 1913.

    — Pioneer Museum of Bozeman Photo.

  • A Tale: Shooting Jake Smith’s Hat by N.P. Langford

    Jake Smith

    One of the members of the famous Washburn Expedition that explored  the uppper Yellowstone in 1870, a jocular man named Jake Smith, was always ready to gamble. Unfortunately, he lost all his money in a card game the night before the trip started. But Jake came up with a way to replenish his stake. N.P. Langford tells the story.

    ∞§∞

    Descending the range to the east, we reached Trail creek, a tributary of the Yellowstone about 3 o’clock in the afternoon, where we are now camped for the night. We are now fairly launched upon our expedition without the possibility of obtaining outside assistance in case we need it. Our safety will depend upon our vigilance. We are all well armed with long range repeating rifles and needle guns, though there are but few of our party who are experts at off-hand shooting with a revolver.

    In the course of our discussion Jake Smith expressed his doubt whether any member of our party is sufficiently skilled in the use of the revolver to hit an Indian at even a close range. He offered to put the matter to a test by setting up his hat at a distance of twenty yards for the boys to shoot at with their revolvers, without a rest, at twenty-five cents a shot.

    Several members of our party blazed away with indifferent success—with the result that Jake was adding to his exchequer without damage to his hat. I could not resist the inclination to quietly drop out of sight behind a clump of bushes. From my place of concealment I sent from my breech-loading Ballard repeating rifle four bullets in rapid succession, through the hat—badly riddling it.

    Jake inquired, “Whose revolver is it that makes that loud report?” He did not discover the true state of the case, but removed the target with the ready acknowledgment that there were members of our party whose aim with a revolver was more accurate than he had thought.

    ∞§∞

    — Excerpt Langford’s book, The Discovery of Yellowstone Park. in my book, Adventures in Yellowstone.

    — Photo, Yellowstone Digital Slide.

    — You can read a condensed version of Langford’s The Discovery of Yellowstone Park in my book, Adventures in Yellowstone.

    — To see more stories by this author, click on “Langford” under the “Categories” button to the left.

    — For more stories about the Washburn Expedition, click on “Washburn” under the “Categories” button to the left.

  • A Tale: Yellowstone’s First Car — 1902

    Henry G. Merry and his Winton

    Cars weren’t officially admitted to Yellowstone Park until 1915, but that doesn’t mean they weren’t there before that. One story says that Henry G. Merry drove his Winton to Mammoth Hot Springs in 1902 to a dance at the National Hotel. He was caught—the story goes—but was allowed to drive out under cover of darkness. Here’s a more colorful version told by his son.

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    When the Winton car arrived it was the conversation piece of the time. The word reached the commandant at the fort, along with the information that the noise it made was terrifying to horses. Very wisely he issued an order prohibiting this machine and others like if from the confines of the Yellowstone Park. My father knew of this order, but thought he would pilot the car to the fort and talk things over with commandant. In the interim, two troopers had been stationed at the entrance to prevent any such violation of the commandant’s order.

    As related in father’s diary, on June 2nd, 1902, he and  my Mother took off. When the north entrance was reached, he opened up the speed to about 25 mph, and the troopers’ mounts acted up so that they could not block the passage. The machine was well on its way before they got their horses quieted down and started after the car—which was rapidly widening the distance between them.

    All went well as long as the road was level but that was not for long. As the grade became steeper—the speed was reduced—and soon the car came to a stop. The troopers arrived at a hard gallop.

    Fortunately, each one had a lariat and between the two horses they managed to pull the car to the commandant’s office and gave him a report of how things happened. He was quite pleasant and took time to explain to father, who already knew, that the noise of his conveyance posed a threat to the lives of all tourists who were visiting the park in horse-drawn vehicles. Then he became quite stern and reminded him that he was still under arrest and would have to pay a penalty to be released. When my father asked what the penalty would be, the officer very seriously replied, “You will have to take me for a ride in this contraption.” He got his ride and then assigned a detail to escort father to the gate.

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    —Photo and text from The Pioneer Museum, Bozeman, Montana.

    — You might also enjoy “Touring Yellowstone Legally by Car — 1916.”