Among the figures who shaped the early history of the Montana Territory, few left a more peculiar and lasting imprint than Truman C. Everts. Born around 1816 in Burlington, Vermont, to a Great Lakes ship captain, Everts eventually found himself at the improbable intersection of frontier politics, wilderness survival, and national conservation history. His tenure as the first federal Internal Revenue Assessor for the Montana Territory, his participation in the landmark Washburn-Langford-Doane Expedition of 1870, and his celebrated account of thirty-seven days lost in the Yellowstone wilderness collectively secured his place not only in the annals of Montana history, but in the broader narrative of American westward expansion and the founding of the national park system.
Everts was one of six brothers who grew up in New England. Historical records indicate that before arriving in Montana, he likely spent time in Ohio — a state to which he eventually returned after his frontier tenure — and was an adherent of the Republican politics associated with President Abraham Lincoln. The nation's first federal income tax, established in 1861 to fund the Union's military campaigns during the Civil War, necessitated an administrative apparatus of assessors and collectors across the country. Montana Territory, created by Lincoln's signature on May 26, 1864, required its own such officials, and Everts was selected for the role (New England Historical Society). He would hold this position from July 15, 1864, until February 16, 1870, serving as one of the earliest federal officers in that nascent territory.
The establishment of the Montana Territory in 1864 occurred during one of the most turbulent periods in American history. Gold discoveries at Grasshopper Creek, Alder Gulch, and Last Chance Gulch had drawn tens of thousands of prospectors and settlers into the region, creating an urgent need for formal governance far from the distant territorial capital. As the EBSCO Research Starters account of Montana's territorial formation notes, the lawlessness and logistical challenges of the mining camps made robust federal administration both necessary and complicated (EBSCO Research Starters, 'Montana Becomes a Territory'). Into this context stepped Truman C. Everts.
As Assessor of Internal Revenue, Everts occupied a position of considerable importance. His office was responsible for informing businesses of their tax obligations under the federal revenue code, adjudicating disputes over assessed amounts, and ensuring that the federal government received its share of the mineral wealth being extracted from Montana's mountains. The New England Historical Society notes that Everts's appointment placed him among those charged with establishing the infrastructure of the 1861 income tax in one of the most remote and volatile corners of the American West (New England Historical Society). Everts operated out of Helena, the emerging center of territorial politics and commerce, and he became embedded in the social and civic elite of that community.
Historical records preserved through Access Genealogy indicate that Everts was called to chair at least one significant public meeting in the early organizational years of the territory, placing him in the company of merchants, lawyers, and mining interests who shaped Montana's political culture in its formative years (Access Genealogy). This civic engagement underscores that Everts was not merely a passive tax functionary but a participant in the broader project of territorial governance. He was acquainted with figures such as Nathaniel P. Langford, the territory's Collector of Internal Revenue, and Samuel T. Hauser, president of the First National Bank of Helena, both of whom would later join him on the Washburn Expedition. In this sense, Everts's story is inseparable from the story of Montana's emergence as a functioning political entity.
The political winds shifted, however, with the death of Lincoln in 1865 and the turbulent transition to the administration of Ulysses S. Grant. The Grant administration, following longstanding patronage custom, installed its own preferred appointees throughout the federal bureaucracy. In February 1870, after nearly six years of service, Everts's commission was effectively terminated. He found himself unemployed, unable to secure alternative work in the territory, and preparing to return east. He sold his household furnishings and sent his daughter, Bessie, ahead of him to the East Coast (Bozeman Daily Chronicle). The Washburn Expedition thus arrived in Everts's life at a pivotal personal moment — one last engagement with the wild country he had served as a federal administrator.
The expedition that departed Helena on August 16, 1870, was no casual excursion. Organized primarily by Henry D. Washburn, the Surveyor General of Montana Territory, and co-led by Nathaniel P. Langford, the party included some of the most respected civilian figures on the northern frontier, escorted by a detachment of U.S. Army cavalry under Lieutenant Gustavus C. Doane. The group's goal was systematic: to document, map, and confirm the extraordinary natural features of the Yellowstone region that earlier explorers and trappers had described — features that strained credulity and had led several eastern newspapers to refuse publication of earlier reports as implausible (Library of Congress). The previous year's Cook-Folsom-Peterson Expedition of 1869 had demonstrated the region's extraordinary character, and the Washburn party aimed to provide definitive geographical and scientific documentation.
Everts, at fifty-four, was the oldest member of the civilian party by a considerable margin. He was also, by nearly all accounts, the least suited for wilderness travel. Severely nearsighted and dependent on his spectacles to function, having spent his adult life as a desk officer and administrator, he joined the expedition with the enthusiasm of a man experiencing what he understood to be a final adventure in the West before retiring eastward. The USGS notes that he was, in historian Lee Whittlesey's assessment, treating the expedition as a 'between-jobs vacation' (United States Geological Survey). The party departed Fort Ellis, east of present-day Bozeman, on August 22, and made its way southward through Yankee Jim Canyon, past Devils Slide and Tower Falls, and onward through the Hayden Valley toward Yellowstone Lake.
For the first weeks, the expedition proceeded according to plan. Members chronicled the region's geothermal wonders, mapped its terrain, and named landmarks — most famously, the great geyser they designated Old Faithful on account of its apparent regularity. The party navigated around Yellowstone Lake, taking in vistas that none of them had previously encountered. Everts, despite an early illness that confined him to camp for two days in late August, managed to keep pace with the group through challenging terrain of fallen timber and marshy terrain on the lake's southeastern shore. It was there, navigating through dense lodgepole pine forest, that his ordeal began.
On September 9, 1870, Truman Everts fell behind the main party while passing through exceptionally thick timber on the southwest shore of Yellowstone Lake. His separation did not immediately alarm him; the party had experienced brief separations before, and Everts rode on confidently, expecting to rejoin his companions by the following morning. He did not. The next day, September 10, while dismounted and scouting a route on foot, Everts made an error that would define the remainder of his ordeal: he left his horse's reins trailing on the ground. Something — precisely what is not known — startled the animal, and, as Everts himself later recorded in his celebrated Scribner's article, he turned around in time to see the horse disappearing at full speed among the trees. That was the last he ever saw of the animal. With it went his blankets, firearm, pistols, fishing gear, matches, and all provisions, leaving him with only his clothing, two small knives, and a small opera glass (Everts, 'Thirty-Seven Days of Peril').
What followed was a thirty-seven day ordeal of extraordinary severity and, in retrospect, extraordinary improbability. Everts, rather than retracing his steps toward Yellowstone Lake and the planned rendezvous point, initially set off to the south, compounding his disorientation and carrying him into the Snake River drainage and eventually to the shores of Heart Lake. There he made his first crucial discovery: the geothermal activity of the region, which had threatened so many of the expedition's members, offered a means of warmth. He lay beside thermal vents to ward off hypothermia as autumn temperatures fell sharply in the mountains.
The challenges that accumulated during his isolation were numerous and serious. He suffered frostbitten feet. He fell into a boiling spring, scalding one leg. He inadvertently started at least one forest fire, scorching himself in the process and burning down a crude shelter he had constructed. A mountain lion stalked him for hours on one occasion, trapping him in a tree through much of the night. He experienced vivid hallucinations — ghostly companions he described as entirely distinct from delusion — that he maintained throughout his life were real perceptions (Cowboy State Daily). His vision, never strong, deteriorated further with the loss of his spectacles at some point during his ordeal.
The means by which Everts sustained himself are among the most remarkable details of his account. His only reliable food source was the root of a native thistle, Cirsium foliosum, known variously as the elk thistle. He discovered that the root was edible and, when he eventually learned to use the convex lens of his opera glass to concentrate sunlight and start a fire, that it could be boiled and was considerably more palatable. The plant was subsequently named 'Everts' Thistle' in his honor, an instance of botanical commemoration that remains one of his most tangible legacies. His rescuers later reported that his digestive system had suffered considerable disruption from the unvarying fibrous diet, requiring intervention from a mountain man who provided rendered bear fat to restore normal function (Yellowstone Insider).
Throughout his wandering — covering an estimated sixty meandering miles over thirty-seven days — Everts clung to a mental resolution he recorded as his guiding principle: 'I WILL NOT perish in this wilderness.' He thought frequently of his daughter Bessie, who was awaiting him in the East. He subsisted on the thistle roots, an occasional small bird, and whatever he could forage. His companions in the main expedition party had searched for several days, firing signal shots and lighting bonfires on mountain peaks to guide him, before the group's dwindling food supplies and the onset of more severe weather compelled them to depart without him. A sign was left nailed to a tree detailing the expedition's route of departure. By the time the party reached Helena, Everts was presumed dead. His friends there organized a fundraising effort and posted a reward of six hundred dollars for the recovery of his remains (Bozeman Daily Chronicle).
Two mountain men accepted the challenge: John 'Yellowstone Jack' Baronett and George A. Pritchett. On October 16, 1870, more than fifty miles from where Everts had first separated from the expedition, the two rescuers found a figure crawling among the rocks near present-day Gardiner, Montana. Baronett's own account records that he initially mistook the figure for a wounded bear, hearing only low groaning sounds as it dragged itself forward on hands and knees. When he approached and spoke Everts's name, the man responded. Everts, by this point, had lost most of his body weight — accounts vary between fifty and ninety pounds total — his feet were blackened with frostbite, one arm was paralyzed, and he was in a state of considerable mental confusion. Baronett remained at the camp to nurse him while Pritchett walked seventy-five miles to obtain further assistance. Everts was eventually transported to Bozeman, where he made a remarkable physical recovery.
The recovery of Truman Everts became national news. Newspapers across the country reported on his survival, and his story generated substantial public fascination with the Yellowstone region at precisely the moment when advocates for its federal protection were building their case. In November 1871, Everts published his first-person account, 'Thirty-Seven Days of Peril,' in the inaugural volume of Scribner's Monthly, the new illustrated literary magazine whose debut issues had just appeared. The article, written in Everts's own measured and literary prose, described the landscape, the geothermal features, the wildlife, and the psychological dimensions of isolation with an immediacy that no previous account had achieved (Everts, Scribner's Monthly). The piece closed with a lyrical evocation of Yellowstone's future as a place of public access and wonder — a sentiment that resonated powerfully with the movement already underway to preserve the region.
The academic journal Gender, Place & Culture published a scholarly analysis of Everts's account, arguing through the lens of phenomenology and cultural geography that his narrative contributed significantly to the construction of Yellowstone as a place with national meaning. The article's authors note that the national sensation created by Everts's separation, conjectured fate, and subsequent rescue generated celebrity both for Everts personally and, crucially, for the landscape where the calamity occurred (Cole and Toal, Gender, Place & Culture). The story, in other words, served as publicity for the wilderness itself — drawing public attention to a region that Congress was simultaneously being asked to set aside as a national preserve.
Nathaniel Langford, in his own articles for Scribner's published in May and June of 1871 — predating Everts's account — had already offered a preview of what Everts would write, describing the forthcoming narrative of thirty-seven days in the wilderness as a chapter in the history of human endurance that would be 'as incredible as it must be painfully instructive and entertaining' (Yellowstone Insider). The two accounts, together with Lieutenant Doane's official military report submitted to the Secretary of War in February 1871, provided the documentary foundation upon which advocates like Langford built their case for federal protection. The USGS account of the expeditions leading to Yellowstone's establishment confirms that the Washburn party's documentation, including the attendant publicity from Everts's survival story, directly contributed to the chain of advocacy that resulted in the Yellowstone Act of March 1, 1872 (USGS, 'Benefit and Enjoyment of the People').
The immediate aftermath of Everts's rescue produced several episodes that revealed aspects of his personality rarely examined in popular retellings. When his friends in Helena organized a lavish celebratory banquet at the Kan Kan Restaurant in November 1870 — a dinner featuring oysters, roast meats, vegetables, pastry pies, and confections that stood in deliberate contrast to the thistle-root diet of his ordeal — Everts was present but found himself unable to eat. He walked slowly through the gathering, leaning on a walking stick, still recovering and emotionally affected by his experience (Walter, Montana Campfire Tales).
More revealingly, Everts declined to pay the six-hundred-dollar reward to his rescuers Baronett and Pritchett, asserting that he could have found his own way out of the wilderness unaided. This claim, disputed by the condition in which he was found, was not received favorably and reflects a certain stubbornness of character that characterized several of his subsequent actions. He also contested the naming of the peak Henry Washburn had designated 'Mount Everts' near Mammoth Hot Springs, objecting that the peak was not close to where he had actually been rescued — which was correct, as the rescue took place considerably farther north near Blacktail Deer Creek — and petitioning for the honor to be transferred to a more imposing summit near the South Arm of Yellowstone Lake. The petition was denied. Mount Everts retains its name to the present day (USGS, 'What's in a Name').
In 1872, when Congress established Yellowstone National Park and the position of its first superintendent required filling, Everts was among those considered. He was formally offered the position but declined, citing the absence of any salary attached to the post. Nathaniel Langford accepted the role under the same conditions. The distinction between the two men at this juncture is instructive: Langford recognized the political and historical significance of the superintendency despite its lack of immediate financial compensation, while Everts made the pragmatic calculation of a man who had spent years in federal service and had practical obligations to attend to. He subsequently relocated to Hyattsville, Maryland, where he obtained employment with the United States Post Office Department, and there he spent the remainder of his working life (Library of Congress, LC Linked Data Service).
Everts lived until February 16, 1901, dying at his home in Hyattsville at the age of approximately eighty-five. He was survived by his daughter Elizabeth — known as Bessie — and, remarkably, by a young widow and a son nine years of age, born when Everts was approximately seventy-six. This last biographical detail was noted by Nathaniel Langford in the preface to the 1905 edition of his expedition diary as testimony to the physical vigor that had carried Everts through his wilderness ordeal three decades earlier (Yellowstone Insider). Everts was buried in Washington, D.C.
The historical significance of Truman C. Everts rests on multiple and interrelated foundations. As Montana's first federal Internal Revenue Assessor, he participated in the critical work of establishing the administrative infrastructure of a new territory during one of the most consequential periods in American national history. His role was not glamorous — tax assessment rarely is — but it was essential to the functioning of federal authority in a region where that authority was, at best, loosely applied. The historical record of his participation in the early political and civic culture of Helena, including his chairmanship of public organizational meetings, confirms that he was embedded in the community of men who built the institutional fabric of Montana's territorial period.
His participation in the Washburn-Langford-Doane Expedition places him in direct connection with one of the pivotal episodes in the history of American conservation. While Everts's experience as a lost member of the party was unplanned and nearly fatal, the publicity his survival generated was real and consequential. The article he published in Scribner's Monthly reached a national audience at precisely the moment when the campaign to preserve Yellowstone as public land was gaining traction in Congress. Whether or not Everts can be credited as a conservation advocate in any intentional sense, the practical effect of his ordeal and its telling was to focus national attention on Yellowstone and to contribute momentum to the movement that produced the world's first national park.
His biological legacies are modest but durable. The thistle that sustained his life for thirty-seven days, Cirsium foliosum or Everts' Thistle, bears his name in the botanical record. The mountain named in his honor near Mammoth Hot Springs, however incorrectly located relative to his actual rescue site, is a permanent feature of the Yellowstone landscape that park visitors pass today with varying degrees of awareness of its namesake. And the narrative he left in 'Thirty-Seven Days of Peril,' available to contemporary readers through the Project Gutenberg digital archive, remains a vivid and accessible primary document — one of the most immediate and personal accounts of what the Yellowstone wilderness was before human infrastructure transformed it.
From the broader perspective of Montana history, Everts represents a category of figure whose importance tends to be obscured by the more dramatic actors of the frontier period. He was neither a military commander, a mining magnate, a territorial governor, nor a celebrated scout. He was an administrator, a political appointee of the Lincoln era, a man whose most famous achievement was involuntary and nearly fatal. Yet that very involuntariness is part of what makes his story historically instructive. His presence on the Washburn Expedition, his loss, his survival, and the account he produced of all three illuminate the contingency of historical events: the ways in which unplanned and even absurd individual experiences become woven into consequential national narratives. Truman Everts did not set out to help create Yellowstone National Park. But the thirty-seven days he spent lost in its wilderness, and the extraordinary account he wrote of them, contributed materially to that outcome.
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Cole, Diane, and Geraldine Toal. 'Yellowstone Embodied: Truman Everts' "Thirty-Seven Days of Peril": Gender, Place & Culture.' Taylor & Francis Online, vol. 15, no. 3, 2008, https://www.tandfonline.com/doi/abs/10.1080/09663690801996338 . Accessed 22 Feb. 2026.
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