M. Mark Miller, Author

Tag: Truman Everts

  • A Tale: The Last Outpost of Civilization — 1874

    Late in the summer of 1870, men rushed into the area that was to become Yellowstone Park looking to find Truman Everts and claim the reward that was offered for his rescue.

    McCartney's "Hotel"

    Everts, who had become separated from the famous Washburn Expedition, had been alone in the wilderness for thirty-seven days when Jack Baronett found him. Everts refused to pay the reward on the grounds that he would have made it to safety on his own. Baronett said  he found Everts nearly starved to death and raving mad.

    The searchers also discovered Mammoth Hot Springs and immediately saw an opportunity to convert the area into a bath resort. The next summer, two entrepreneurs named James McCarntey and Harry Horr took out homestead claims near the springs and build the first hotel in Yellowstone Park—a 25-by 35-foot log cabin with a sod-covered slab roof. “Guests” at the cabin had to provide their own blankets and sleep on the floor.

    Although the hotel had hot and cold running water (a 40-degree stream on one side and a 150-degree stream on the other), the Earl of Dunraven  wasn’t impressed with the accommodations when he visited in 1874. Here’s his description.

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    The accommodation at the Mammoth Hot Springs Hotel was in an inverse ratio to the gorgeous description contained in the advertisements of the Helena and Virginia newspapers. No doubt the neighborhood of these springs will some day become a fashionable place. At present, being the last outpost of civilization—that is, the last place where whisky is sold—it is merely resorted to by a few invalids from Helena and Virginia City, and is principally known to fame as a rendezvous of hunters, trappers, and idlers, who take the opportunity to loiter about on the chance of getting a party to conduct to the geysers, hunting a little, and selling meat to a few visitors who frequent the place in summer; sending the good specimens of heads and skeletons of rare beasts to the natural history men in New York and the East; and occupying their spare time by making little basket-work ornaments and nicknacks, which, after placing them for some days in the water so that they become coated with white silicates, they sell to the travelers and invalids as memorials of their trip. They are a curious race, these mountain men, hunters, trappers, and guides—very good fellows as a rule, honest and open-handed, obliging and civil to strangers if treated with civility by them. They make what I should think must be rather a poor living out of travelers and pleasure parties, doing a little hunting, a little mining, and more prospecting during the summer. In the winter they hibernate like bears, for there is absolutely nothing for them to do. They seek out a sheltered canyon or warm valley with a southern aspect, and, building a little shanty, purchase some pork and flour, and lay up till spring opens the rivers and allows of gulch mining operations being recommenced. If you ask a man in the autumn where he is going and what he is going to do, ten to one he will tell you that it is getting pretty late in the season now, and that it won’t be long before we have some heavy snow, and he is going “down the river or up the canyon.”

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    — The Earl of Dunraven, Hunting in the Yellowstone, Outing Publishing Company, New York, 1917.

    — Photo detail from the Yellowstone Digital Slide File.

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

    — You might also enjoy Truman Everts’ chilling tale of being “Treed by a Lion.”

  • Treed by a Lion — Truman Everts, 1870

    Probably the best known story of early travel to Yellowstone Park is Truman Everts’ account of  being lost and alone there for 37 days. During the famous Washburn Expedition of 1870, Everts became separated from his companions as they made their way through heavy timber east of Lake Yellowstone. Everts was extremely nearsighted so he got off his horse to look for tracks. While he was scrutinizing a path, the horse ran away leaving him with little but the clothing on his back.

    Everts was a clever and tenacious man. He built a nest between two hot springs to survive a snow storm, made fire with the lens from an opera glass, and lived mostly on a diet of thistle roots.

    He told about his adventures in a magazine article that helped win support for creation of Yellowstone Park. Here’s one of them.

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    I stretched myself under a tree, and fell asleep. How long I slept I know not; but suddenly I was roused by a loud, shrill scream, like that of a human being in distress. There was no mistaking that fearful voice. It was the screech of a mountain lion; so alarmingly near as to cause every nerve to thrill with terror.

    The work of the moment was to yell in return—seize with convulsive grasp the limbs of the friendly tree—and swing myself into it. Scrambling hurriedly from limb to limb, I was soon as near the top as safety would permit.

    The savage beast was snuffing and growling below—on the very spot I had just abandoned. I answered every growl with a responsive scream. Terrified at the delay and pawing of the beast, I increased my voice to its utmost volume. I then broke branches from the limbs and madly hurled them at the spot from whence the howlings preceded.

    I failed to alarm the animal that now began to make the circuit of the tree—as if to select a spot for springing into it. With my strength increased by terror, I shook the slender trunk until every limb rustled. All in vain. The terrible creature pursued his walk around the tree—lashing the ground with his tail, and prolonging his howling almost to a roar.

    It was too dark to see, but the movements of the lion kept me apprised of its position. Whenever I heard it on one side of the tree, I speedily changed to the opposite—an exercise that I could only have performed under the impulse of terror. I would alternately sweat and thrill with horror at the thought of being torn to pieces—and devoured by this formidable monster. All my attempts to frighten it seemed unavailing.

    Disheartened at its persistency, and expecting at every moment that it would take the deadly leap. I tried to collect my thoughts, and prepare for the fatal encounter. Just at this moment it occurred to me that I would try silence.  Clasping the trunk of the tree with both arms, I sat perfectly still.

    The lion ranged around, occasionally snuffing and pausing—all the while filling the forest with the echo of his howling. Suddenly it imitated my example and fell silent. This was more terrible than the clatter and crash of his movements through the brushwood. Now I did not know from what direction to expect this attack. Moments passed with me like hours. After a lapse of time, which I cannot estimate, the beast gave a spring into the thicket and ran screaming into the forest. My deliverance was effected.

    Had strength permitted, I should have retained my perch till daylight. But with the consciousness of escape from the jaws of the ferocious brute came a sense of overpowering weakness. That made my descent from the tree both difficult and dangerous. Incredible as it may seem, I lay down in my old bed, and was soon lost in a slumber so profound that I did not awake until after daylight.

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    — Excerpt and illustration from Truman Everts’ “Thirty-Seven Days of Peril,”  Scribner’s Monthly, 3(1):1-17  (November 1871).

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

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