The Illustrated American, April 9, 1892: Pictures From Creede.

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ictures from Creede

The Illustrated American, April 9, 1892

The following is an article on the startup of the silver boom-town of Creede, Colorado, written just weeks after the main rush began (February-March, 1892). "Soapy" Smith, Bob Ford and Bat Masterson are there, though Soapy is not mentioned by name, it is assumed that he is intentionally not mentioned by Soapy's friend Masterson in his statement, "There are more bunco men in camp here than I ever saw in one place before. None of them want trouble. They simply want to get what money is in sight and then light out.”

     For some time past the same excitement that was raining and Leadville fifteen years ago has been ruling Creede, Colorado.

     One curious thing about Creede is, that nobody knows exactly in what county it is. The new Silver camp stands at the junction of Hinsdale, Saguache, and Rio Grande counties, and miners who have taken up claims there have filed their deeds with the county clerk of each county so that they may be certain of clear title.

     The County Clerk of the Rio Grande has, although his pay depends upon the fees he receives from men who file their claims at his office, put up a notice on his office door at Del Norte, to say that Creede is not in Rio Grande County.

     This is, indeed, honesty.

     Eastern county clerks, borrow a hint from your Western brother.

     Creede is not much more than six months old, so it is impossible to say whether it will “pan out” like Leadville, or whether it will follow in the wake of Silver Cliff, and be a dreary desert of ten-foot holes.

     The camp is named from W. C. Creede, who forty-nine years ago was born at Fort Wayne, Ind. At 19 he became a scout in the Regular Army of the United States, and for seven years served in the Indian country. In 1869 he started prospecting, and since then has become acquainted with almost every spot of fascinating Colorado. Like many another prospector, he has tramped over the mountains month after month, blasted away in the bowels of the earth, hoping to strike it rich, and with every disappointment seen wealth in the dim distance urging him on to try again. Twice, when alone in the mountains, that terrible mountain fever has had him in its grasp, but owing to the fact that he does not know what whiskey tastes like he has been able to pull through without the aid of doctors. Moreover, he knows nothing of gambling; and yet she is a general favorite among the rough miners and gamblers of the conglomerate settlement at Creede. Modest, pure-minded, courageous, generous to a fault, yet the possessor of untold millions, and the acknowledged leader of the settlement of cutthroats, gamblers, and the scruff of civilization generally, he is the type of man not often met, but distinctively a creation of the Great West. He lives with a nephew in a small cabin at Creede, and in this nephew alone the new silver king confides.

     Mr. Creede’s great find was made in May, 1890. How he may it is best described in his own words:

     “I climbed the mountains along the trail of the float all day. The sun was beating down on me and the glint of the float under my feet was blinding. Just when the western sky was tinged with that gorgeous red we see here sometimes, I lifted my head, and there was, projecting out in front of me, a huge bowlder[sic] of silicate, big as a house. Good God! I almost screamed with delight. I knew it was bound to come some day, but the idea of finding it in such shape was appalling to me. I stayed off a mine and called it the Mammoth. I slept sounder that night that I had for years before. In June I discovered the Ethel and the Holy Moses. I gave the latter that name because I like odd names.”

     After those many years of wandering over the grand though harsh-looking Rockies, his toil and perseverance are being rewarded by income of one thousand dollars a day.

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     Mr. Creede’s partner, Capt. L. E. Campbell, has had a career almost as remarkable. In 1861 he ran away from an Ohio college, joined the army, and did good service during the Civil War. At the close of the war he became a second lieutenant in the Indian surface. He married the daughter of Col. Fred. Dent, brother-in-law and confidential friend of Gen. Grant. As a girl she spent much of her time at the White House. She now displays the same charming grace in her husband’s rude cabin that she did at the White House. For years Captain Campbell has been supporting his family on the scanty pittance allowed an army officer. Henceforth he will enjoy an income almost fabulous.

     The general foundation of Creede is termed a bird’s-eye porphyry. The veins are found lying between the walls of porphyry and trachyte. Had it not been for the interest that D. H. Moffat took in the camp it would never have been made public. Moffat is the president of the Denver and Rio Grande Railroad, and thought it cheaper to have his ores transported by rail than to go to the expense of having the ores hauled by wagon to Wagon Wheel Gap or Del Norte. All the ore is dumped into the cars of the D. and R. G. Without even being sorted.

     Last winter was an extremely mild one in Colorado. Southern Colorado, especially, was very fortunate in this respect. Owing to this stage of the weather, those interested in claims about Creede tried to get the new camp notoriety, and money was not spared in advertising. Eastern papers were requested to send men and write up the camp. In this the management of the Denver and Rio Grande Railroad joined heartily, and as a result there are over ten thousand people in Creede to-day. The camp is situated in a gulch, surrounded on all sides by mountains.

     Creede is a typical Western mining town. It’s seething, diversified population has come from everywhere. Never since the days of early Leadville is anything of the like been seen. The scum of Western life is there, along with much of its sturdiest element. Faro-dealers, Arm in arm with the Denver speculators, may be seen in the streets at any hour. The tenderfoot lately from the East is an easy prey to the gamblers and sports. Assassins and honest men hobnob like old acquaintances. Desperados from Kansas, confidence man, horse-thieves, a Harvard graduate of law, and an escaped convict from Texas, may be seen sitting together on a footing of democratic equality at the faro tables. Everyone is engaged in a wild scramble for money. The shining metal has attracted all – gaming men, lawyers, miners, desperados, and tenderfeet. “Timber Line Sall” – is there, and the one-eyed Mexican who has capered about every dance-hall in the mining camps of Colorado for the last fifteen years. And there is that tall, fair-haired Englishmen who for sixteen years has sunk every cent he has ever made into Mother Earth and has never struck it yet. Still, he is full of hope and, after all these years of grub staking, believes a fortune is at his hand and that in the near future he will be able to return to the Mother Country a rich man.

Soapy Smith's Orleans Club
saloon can be seen in
the photo on the lower right.

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   A man who has been bit mining fever never loses hope.

     Living in Creede is, of course, very expensive. There are probably nearly one hundred hotels there; but it does not take much to make a Creede hotel. A plain board shanty, sixteen feet square, with a blanket for door, is dignified with the name “Palace Hotel.” Until a short time ago the hotels were similar to this one, although many of them were made larger. In all, the sleeping-room held from twenty to sixty cots, the use of which was granted the tenderfoot at one dollar and a half each a night, with blankets furnished, or, without blankets, at only fifty cents. The Pullman Company has also entered the hotel business, leaving on the side track from three to ten sleepers, in which the anxious speculator could find a bed on payment of one dollar, provided he could catch the conductor in time to pay in his money and secure his ticket. Everyone sleeps with his clothes, satchels, hat, and shoes under the quilts. The revolver is generally kept ready for action. Sometimes a drunken miner enters the room, and insists on sharing the bed. In that case, one is compelled to look wise and say nothing. A meal at Creede costs one dollar. Beer costs fifteen cents a glass, or eighty and forty cents a bottle. Whiskey that will not kill cannot be got for less than twenty-five cents a drink, and the bartender is careful that your libation is not too large at that. Horses or burros to ride over the mountains are hired at fifty and twenty-five cents an hour. The streets are so terribly sloppy that one dares not walk around much, and a ride to any part of the city will cost you fifty cents. Labor is high. Any man who can drive a nail can command four dollars a day, and in some extreme cases they are paid one dollar an hour. Boss carpenters get eight dollars a day, and are talking of raising the scale of wages. Laundry costs three times as much as it does in Denver, and no Chinamen are allowed in the camp. Rents, too, are enormous. A man who went to Creede to rent a cabin declined because the rental was three hundred and fifty dollars per month. What makes the building of cabins somewhat dangerous is the fact that Willow Creek is above the camp. The water ripples down through the main alleys, and it is difficult for one to keep out the wet. Within less than a year 600 burros had been lost in floods, to say nothing of the many cabins. There is great fear already expressed of the usual June flood when the snow melts, and arrangements are being perfected to erect a dike.

     An electric-light plant is now in operation, a street-car line is being agitated, and a circus is en route from New Mexico. Notices are posted everywhere that lots are on the school section and held subject to the law of the State, but every man is a law, and drives his stakes in face of menace. The only title is that of occupation.

     Curiously enough, there has been as much excitement about the town lots in Creede as there has been about the mines, and fortunes are made daily by the transferring of real estate. At a recent sale of lots a blacksmith from Denver named Daniel O’Brien got a lot on which a certain Dr. Milton had improvements. When O’Brien went around to settle, Milton followed, telling him he should never occupy a lot. O’Brien replied that he would have a shop on it before night. Milton said he would do it at the muzzle of a shot-gun. Sheriff Gardner, of Hinsdale, stepped between them as the men began firing, and got hurt in the arm. One lot was put up, the minimum price being fifty dollars. Someone shouted, “a woman occupies it.” Then the crowd cried, “give it to her!” One man offered fifty dollars. The crowd groaned and hissed, and the gallant man bid one dollar more, announcing that it was for the woman, and it was knocked down to her amid a storm of cheers.

     A few minutes later a woman got out on Squatters’ Committee stand and made her own showing. Mrs. Barry was her name. She said she had been begging for two days, and was living on the lot. The woman wore an astrakhan fur jacket, and her fingers resembled a jeweler’s show-case. First she was cheered by a clique, and then a roar went up to give her the lot. She got it. It was certainly surprising to know that there were so many “lady squatters” in Creede. No one was aware that there were half so many in town.

     The highest price obtained was for a corner, which sold for two thousand seven hundred dollars.

     In all, two hundred and twenty-five thousand dollars was realized. An attempt was made to rob the State officials of the money, but a mob of one thousand men, armed to the teeth, immediately surrounded the governor’s train and guarded it over night.

     On a lot close to a saloon kept by Israel and Groff you can read the following, stuck up on a board:

     Notice.

     The land either belongs to R. H. Sayre, who has located it with Valentine scrip, or to the State of Colorado. In either case you are trespassing, and cannot possibly gain anything by squatting upon it. The matter will probably be settled in thirty days, at which time you can purchase lots and get a title. For particulars call on

J. W. SMITH.

     

     Thus far, fairly good order has been preserved in Creede. Beyond the frequent killing of a stake jumper, and innumerable saloon brawls, the deeds of lawlessness have been comparatively few. It is highly improbable that this quiet state of things shall long continue. Bob Ford, the murderer of Jesse James, is at Creede. He professes to have gone there to make money; but in a recent interview he was careful to let it be known that he is still able to take care of himself in any quarrel. Bat Masterson, a noted frontier marshal, is the manager of the gambling house. He is one of the nerviest men in the West, and it will go hard with any gambler who raises a row in his establishment. Masterson has already killed twenty men. Others equally well known are in the town, and the future peace and order of the place does not look assuring.

     In a recent interview Masterson said: “we would be powerless should there be an outbreak. These mugs are on their good behavior because they are afraid of one another. There will be a break pretty soon. Why, you don’t know who you are talking to hear half the time. There are more bunco men in camp here than I ever saw in one place before. None of them want trouble. They simply want to get what money is in sight and then light out.”

     Creede’s first baby was born on February 17th. J. S. McDonald, a Scotchman, was its father. The miners went wild with enthusiasm over the advent of the little one. The child was a girl. Presents were showered upon the parents and offspring; but the great problem was a suitable name for Creede’s first-born.

     The father exhausted the entire gamut of the McDonald patronyms, but none of them suited the camp. As the prodigy was a girl, the mother considered it her exclusive privilege to choose the name. Mary, Sarah, Elizabeth, and all the grand old names were suggested to no avail, and then Mrs. McDonald in desperation ran over all the fanciful names the novelists are so fond of, such as Maud, Lillie, Clarisse, Pearl, etc. But too none of these with the miners agree. A council was held, and after a long debate, in which every man of the seventy-five present had a voice, the name of Creede Amethyst McDonald was chosen and duly conferred.

     Who can tell but that Miss Creede Amethyst McDonald will be the great American heiress of A. D. 1910, and become an English duchess.

SOURCE: The Illustrated American, April 9, 1892, Pictures From Creede (page 343), authors collection.

"Soapy Smith is a name familiar to nearly every man in Colorado. He is probably the last of his race—a relic of by-gone days, when desperate men armed with a brace of huge pistols, were allowed to trample on the laws of county and state."

—Denver Times, 10/12/1895
—Alias Soapy Smith, p. 394.

NOVEMBER 5

1844: A grizzly bear undergoes a successful cataract operation at the Zoological Garden in California.

1861: Central City is chosen as the capital of Colorado Territory.

1870: Twenty hours after being robbed in Verdi, Nevada, the Central Pacific's No. 1 is robbed a second time about 385 miles from Verdi. A total of approximately $4,000 in gold and silver is taken.

1871: The Wickenburg Massacre. Indians attack the Wickenburg-La Paz stagecoach in Arizona Territory, bound for Los Angeles, California. Six passengers are killed, two survive. Passenger Kruger keeps the Indians at bay with a gun until the attackers give up the attack. Kruger and a badly wounded Mollie Shepherd are rescued, but Mollie succumbs to her wounds and dies a few days later.

1872: Susan B. Anthony is fined $100 for attempting to vote in the presidential election.

1874: While scouting Lieutenant William Thompson and nine Indian scouts attack a Comanche Indian camp near Laguna Tahoka, Texas. Two Indians are killed, and 26 horses and mules captured.

1877: Confidence man Canada Bill Jones is erroneously reported dead in Cheyenne, Wyoming.

1877: Ed Masterson is shot and wounded in the Lone Star dance hall in Dodge City, Kansas, after trying to disarm Bob Shaw, who was threatening to kill Texas “Moore” Dick, accusing the latter of stealing $40. Masterson struck Shaw on the head with the butt of his revolver, but Shaw turned and fired a bullet into Masterson’s right breast. As Masterson fell, he fired his revolver twice, wounding Shaw enough to stop his aggressions.

1878: Virgil Earp is elected Constable of Prescott, Arizona Territory.

1892: Bascomb Smith, brother of con man “Soapy” Smith, assaults a man over a political remark at Denver’s city hall, and then helps others throw the man down a flight of stairs.

1895: George B. Selden receives the first U.S. patent for an automobile. He sells the rights for $200,000 four years later.

1896: Soapy Smith’s brother, Bascomb, is in court for stealing a woman’s expensive diamond-encrusted jewelry.

1901: Wild Bunch outlaw Ben “The Tall Texan” Kirkpatrick is arrested in St. Louis, Missouri. On the 4th Kirkpatrick had passed off some of the currency from a robbery. The bank teller noticed the consecutive serial numbers and alerted authorities and Kirkpatrick was arrested the following day (Nov. 5). Both he and his female companion, Laura Bullion, had stolen banknotes. Interesting to note that none of the Wild Bunch Gang were ever caught while in pursuit, but rather the law “followed the money” spent by the gang.