"Through this changing world below,Lead me gently, gently, as I go;Trusting Thee, I cannot stray,I can never, never lose my way."
"Through this changing world below,Lead me gently, gently, as I go;Trusting Thee, I cannot stray,I can never, never lose my way."
"Through this changing world below,Lead me gently, gently, as I go;Trusting Thee, I cannot stray,I can never, never lose my way."
"Through this changing world below,
Lead me gently, gently, as I go;
Trusting Thee, I cannot stray,
I can never, never lose my way."
And my faith and trust did not fail me until I saw Mrs. R. going over the hill to her home, and my utter loneliness and helplessness came upon me with so much force, that I cried aloud, "Oh, Lord, why didst you lead us into all this trouble?" But a voice seemed to whisper, "Fear not; they that are for thee are more than they that are against thee." and immediately my faith and trust were not only renewed, but greatly strengthened, and I felt that I dwelt in safety even though surrounded by those who would do me harm. It was not long until Mrs. R. came back, saying she had come to stay with me, for after she got home she thought how selfish she had acted in thinking so much of her own safety, and leaving me all alone. But I assured her my fears were all dispelled, and I would not allow her to remain.
Yet I could not but feel uneasy about Mr. S., and especially as the appointed time for his return passed, and the time of anxious waiting and watching was lengthened out until the next Monday.
On Sunday a company of soldiers came and took "Doc" Middleton a prisoner. His term in the penitentiary will expire in June, and I do hope he has learned a lesson that will lead him to a better life; for he was rather a fine looking man, and is now only thirty-two years old.
(I will here add that Middleton left the penitentiary at the close of his term seemingly a reformed man, vowing to leave the West with all his bad deeds behind.)
Llewellyn received $175 for his trouble, and Hazen $250 for his death blow, for he only lived about a year after he was shot. I must say we did not approve of the way in which they attempted to take Middleton.
We did not locate there after all this happened, but went eight miles further on, to a hay ranch, and with help put up between four and five hundred tons of hay. We lived in constant watching even there, and only remained the summer, and came and homesteaded this place, which we could now sell for a good price, but we do not care to try life on the frontier again.
In praise of the much talked-of cow-boys, I must say we never experienced any trouble from them, although many have found shelter for a night under our roof; and if they came when Mr. S. was away, they would always, without my asking, disarm themselves, and hand their revolvers to me, and ask me to lay them away until morning. This was done to assure me that I was safe at their hands.
I repeat her story word for word as nearly as possible, knowing well I repeat only truth.
And now to her collection of curiosities—but can only mention a few: One was a piece of a Mastodon's jaw-bone, found along the creek, two feet long, with teeth that would weigh about two pounds. They unearthed the perfect skeleton, but as it crumbled on exposure to the air, they left it to harden before disturbing it; and when they returned much had been carried away. The head was six feet long, and tusks, ten feet, of which they have a piece seven inches in length, fifteen inches in circumference, and weighs eight pounds, yet it was taken from near the point. Mrs. S. broke a piece off and gave to me. It is a chalky white, and shows a growth of moss like that of moss agate. She has gathered from around her home agates and moss agates and pebbles of all colors. As she handed them to me one by one, shading them from a pink topaz to a ruby, I could not help touching them to my tongue to see if they did not taste; they were so clear and rich-looking.
It seemed odd to see a chestnut burr and nut cased as a curiosity. But what puzzled me most was a beaver's tail and paw, and we exhausted our guessing powers over it, and then had to be told. She gave it to me with numerous other things to carry home as curiosities.
There are plenty of beaver along the creek, and I could scarcely be persuaded that some naughty George Washington with his little hatchet had not felled a number of trees, and hacked around, instead of the beaver with only their four front teeth.
The timber along the creek is burr oak, black walnut, white ash, pine, cedar, hackberry, elm, ironwood, and cottonwood. I was sorry to hear of a saw mill being in operation on the creek, sawing up quite a good deal of lumber.
Rev. Thomas makes his home with Mr. Skinner, and from him I learned he was the first minister that held services in Long Pine, which was in April, '82, in the railroad eating house, and has since held regular services every two weeks. Also preaches at Ainsworth, Johnstown, Pleasant Dale, and Brinkerhoff; only seventy of a membership in all.
Well, the pleasantest day must have an end, and after tea, a swing between the tall oak trees of their dooryard, another drink from the spring across the creek, a pleasant walk and talk with Miss Flora Kenaston, the school-mistress of Long Pine, another look at Giddy Peak and White Cliffs, and "Tramp tramp, tramp," on the organ, in which Mr. S. joined, for he was one of the Yankee soldier boys from York state, and with many thanks and promises of remembrance, I leave my newly-formed friends, carrying with me tokens of their kindness, but, best of all, fond memories of my day at "Pilgrim's Retreat."
But before I leave on the train to-night I must tell you of the beginning of Long Pine, and what it now is. The town was located in June, '81. The first train was run the following October. Mr. T. H. Glover opened the first store. Then came Mr. H. J. Severance and pitched a boarding tent, 14×16, from which they fed the workmen on the railroad, accommodating fifty to eighty men at a meal. But the tent was followed by a good hotel which was opened on Thanksgiving day. Now there is one bank, two general stores, one hardware, one grocery, one drug, and one feed store, a billiard hall, saloon, and a restaurant. Population 175.
From a letter received from C. B. Glover, written December 15, I glean the following:
"You would scarcely recognize Long Pine as the little village you visited last May. There have been a good many substantial buildings put up since then. Notably is the railroad eating house, 22×86, ten two-story buildings, and many one-story. Long Pine is now the end of both passenger and freight division. The Brown County bank has moved into their 20×40 two-story building; Masonic Hall occupying the second story. The G.A.R. occupying the upper room of I. H. Skinner's hardware, where also religious services are regularly held. Preparations are being made for a good old fashioned Christmas tree. The high school, under the able management of Rev. M. Laverty, is proving a success in every sense of the word. Mr. Ritterbush is putting in a $10,000 flouring mill on the Pine, one-half mile from town, also a saw mill at the same place. The saw mill of Mr. Upstill, on the Pine, three-fourths mile from town, has been running nearly all summer sawing pine and black walnut lumber. Crops were good, wheat going thirty bushels per acre, and corn on sod thirty. Vegetables big. A potato raised by Mr. Sheldon, near Morrison's bridge, actually measured twenty-four inches in circumference, one way, and twenty and one-half short way. It was sent to Kansas to show what the sand hills of north-western Nebraska can produce. Our government lands are fast disappearing, but by taking time, and making thorough examination of what is left, good homesteads and pre-emptions can be had by going back from the railroad ten, fifteen, and twenty miles.
"The land here is not all the same grade, a portion being fit for nothing but grazing. This is why people cannot locate at random. Timber culture relinquishments are selling for from $300 to $1,000; deeded lands from $600 to $2,000 per 160 acres. Most of this land has been taken up during the past year.
"I have made an estimate of the government land still untaken in our county, and find as follows:
"Brown county has 82 townships, 36 sections to a township, 4 quarters to a section, 11,808 quarter sections. We have about 1,500 voters. Allowing one claim to each voter, as some have two and others none, it will leave 10,308 claims standing open for entry under the homestead, pre-emption, and timber culture laws.
"Long Pine is geographically in the center of the county, and fifteen miles south of the Niobrara river. Regarding the proposed bridge across the river, it is not yet completed; think it will be this winter."
From an entirely uninterested party, and one who knows the country well, I would quote: "Should say that perhaps one-third of Brown county is too sandy for cultivation; but a great portion of it will average favorably with the states of Michigan and Indiana, and I think further developments will prove the sand-hills that so many complain of, to be a good producing soil."
Water is good and easily obtained.
The lumber and trees talked of, are all in the narrow valley of the creek, and almost completely hid by its depth, so that looking around on the table-land, not a tree is to be seen. All that can be seen at a distance is the tops of the tallest trees, which look like bushes. Long Pine and Valentine are just the opposite in scenery.
The sand-hills seen about Long Pine, and all through this country, are of a clear, white sand.
But there, the train is whistling, and I must go. Though my time has been so pleasantly and profitably spent here, yet I am glad to be eastward bound.
Well, I declare! Here is Mr. McAndrew and his mother on their way back from Valentine, and also the agent, Mr. Gerdes, who says he was out on the Keya Paha yesterday (Sunday) and took a big order from a new merchant just opening a store near the colony.
Mr. McA. says they had a grand good time at the Fort, but not so pleasant was the coming from Valentine to-night, as a number of the cow-boys seen at the depot Saturday morning are aboard and were drinking, playing cards, and grew quite loud over their betting. As he and his mother were the only passengers besides them, it was very unpleasant. The roughest one, he tells me, was the one I took for a ranch owner; and the most civil, the one I thought had known a better life. And there the poor boy lay, monopolizing five seats for his sole use, by turning three, and taking the cushions up from five, four to lie on, and one to prop up the back of the middle seat. It is a gift given only to cow-boys to monopolize so much room, for almost anyone would sooner hang themselves to a rack, than ask that boy for a seat; so he and his companions are allowed to quietly sleep.
How glad we are to reach Stuart at last, and to be welcomed by Mrs. Wood in the "wee sma'" hours with: "Glad you are safe back."
Stuart at the opening of 1880 was an almost untouched prairie spot, 219 miles from Missouri Valley, Iowa; but in July, 1880, Mr. John Carberry brought his family from Atkinson, and they had a "Fourth" all to themselves on their newly taken homestead, which now forms a part of the town plat, surveyed in the fall of '81; at that time having but two occupants, Carberry and Halleck. In November, the same year, the first train puffed into the new town of Stuart, so named, in honor of Peter Stuart, a Scotchman living on a homestead adjoining the town-site on the south.
Reader, do you know how an oil town is built up? Well, the building up of a town along the line of a western railroad that opens up a new, rich country, is very much the same. One by one they gather at first, until the territory is tested, then in numbers, coming from everywhere.
But the soil of Nebraska is more lasting than the hidden sea of oil of Pennsylvania, so about the only difference is that the western town is permanent. Temporary buildings are quickly erected at first, and then the substantial ones when time and money are more plenty.
So "stirring Stuart" gathered, until we now count one church (Pres.), which was used for a school room last winter, two hotels, two general stores, principal of which is Mr. John Skirving, two hardware and farm implement stores, one drug store, two lumber yards, a harness and blacksmith shop, and a bank.
Not far from Stuart, I am told, was an Indian camping ground, which was visited but two years ago by about a hundred of them, "tenting again on the old camp ground." And I doubt not but that the winding Elkhorn has here looked on wilder scenes than it did on the morning of the 27th of April, '83, when the little party of 65 colonists stepped down and out from their homes in the old "Keystone" into the "promised land," and shot at the telegraph pole, and missed it. But I will not repeat the story of the first chapter.
Now that the old year of '83 has fled since the time of which I have written, I must add what improvements, or a few at least, that the lapse of time has brought to the little town that can very appropriately be termed "the Plymouth rock of the N.M.A.C."
From The StuartLedgerwe quote: The Methodists have organized with a membership of twenty-four, and steps have been taken for the building of a church. Services now held every alternate Sunday by Rev. Mallory, of Keya Paha, in the Presbyterian church, of which Rev. Benson is pastor. Union Sunday school meets every Sunday, also the Band of Hope, a temperance organization. A new school house, 24×42, where over 60 children gather to be instructed by Mr. C. A. Manville and Miss Mamie Woods. An opera house 22×60, two stories high, Mrs. Arter's building, 18×24, two stories. Two M.D.'s have been added, a dentist, and a photographer. It is useless to attempt to quote all, so will close with music from the Stuart Cornet Band. From a letter received from "Sunny Side" from the pen of Mrs. W. W. Warner, Dec. 24: "Population of Stuart is now 382, an increase of 70 within the last two months. Building is still progressing, and emigrants continue to come in their 'schooners.'
"No good government land to be had near town. Soil from one to three feet deep. First frost Oct. 11. First snow, middle of November, hardly enough to speak of, and no more until 22d of December."
But to return to our story. My "Saratoga" was a "traveling companion"; of my own thinking up, but much more convenient, and which served as satchel and pillow. For the benefit of lady readers, I will describe its make-up. Two yards of cloth, desired width, bind ends with tape, and work corresponding eyelet holes in both ends, and put on pockets, closed with buttons, and then fold the ends to the middle of the cloth, and sew up the sides, a string to lace the ends together, and your satchel is ready to put your dress skirts, or mine at least, in full length; roll or fold the satchel, and use a shawl-strap. I did not want to be burdened and annoyed with a trunk, and improvised the above, and was really surprised at its worth as a traveling companion; so much can be carried, and smoother than if folded in a trunk or common satchel; and also used as a pillow. This with a convenient hand-satchel was all I used. These packed, and good-byes said to the remaining colonists, and the dear friends that had been friends indeed to me, and kissing "wee Nellie" last of all, I bid farewell to Stuart.
The moon had just risen to see me off. Again I am with friends. Mr. Lahaye, one of the colonists, was returning to Bradford for his family. Mrs. Peck and her daughter, Mrs. Shank, of Stuart, were also aboard.
Of Atkinson, nine miles east of Stuart, I have since gleaned the following from an old schoolmate, Rev. A. C. Spencer, of that place: "When I came to Atkinson, first of March, '83, I found two stores, two hotels, one drug store, one saloon, and three residences. Now we have a population of 300, a large school building (our schools have a nine month's session), M.E. and Presbyterian churches, each costing about $2,000, a good grist mill, and one paper, the AtkinsonGraphic, several stores, and many other conveniences too numerous to mention. Last March, but about fifty voters were in Atkinson precinct; now about 500. There has been a wonderful immigration to this part of Holt county during the past summer, principally from Illinois, Wisconsin, and Iowa, though quite a number from Ohio, Pennsylvania, and New York. Six miles east of this place, where not a house was to be seen the 15th of last March, is now a finely settled community, with a school house, Sunday school, and preaching every two weeks. Some good government lands can be had eight to twenty-five miles from town, but will all be taken by next May. Atkinson is near the Elkhorn river, and water is easily obtained at 20 to 40 feet. Coal is seven to ten dollars per ton."
I awoke at O'Neill just in time to see all but seven of our crowded coach get off. Some coming even from Valentine, a distance of 114 miles, to attend Robinson's circus—but shows are a rarity here. The light of a rising sun made a pleasing view of O'Neill and surrounding country: the town a little distance from the depot, gently rolling prairie, the river with its fringe of willow bushes, and here and there settlers' homes with their culture of timber.
O'Neill was founded in 1875 by Gen. O'Neill, a leader of the Fenians, and a colony of his own countrymen. It is now the county seat of Holt county, and has a population of about 800. Has three churches, Catholic, Presbyterian, and M.E.; community is largely Catholic. It has three papers, TheFrontier, Holt CountyBanner, both republican, and O'NeillTribune, Democratic, and three saloons. It is about a mile from the river. Gen. O'Neill died a few years ago in Omaha.
Neligh, the county seat of Antelope county, is situated near the Elkhorn, which is 100 to 125 feet wide, and 3 to 6 feet deep at this point. The town was platted Feb., 1873, by J. D. Neligh. Railroad was completed, and trains commenced running Aug. 29, '80. Gates college located at Neligh by the Columbus Congregational Association, Aug. '81. U.S. land office removed to Neligh in '81. M.E. church built in '83. County seat located Oct. 2, '83. Court house in course of erection, a private enterprise by the citizens.
I quote from a letter received from J. M. Coleman, and who has also given a long list of the business houses of Neligh, but it is useless to repeat, as every department of business and trade is well represented, and is all a population of 1,000 enterprising people will bring into a western town.
To write up all the towns along the way would be but to repeat much that has already been said of others, and the story of their added years of existence, that has made them what the frontier towns of to-day will be in a few years. Then why gather or glean further?
The valley of the Elkhorn is beautiful and interesting in its bright, new robes of green. At Battle Creek, near Norfolk, the grass was almost weaving high.
It was interesting to note the advance in the growth of vegetation as we went south through Madison, Stanton, Cuming and Dodge counties.
That this chapter may be complete, I would add all I know of the road to Missouri Valley—its starting point—and for this we have Mr. J. R. Buchanan for authority.
There was once a small burg called DeSoto, about five miles south of the present Blair, which was located by the S.C. & P.R.R. company in 1869, and named for the veteran, John I. Blair, of Blairstown, New Jersey, who was one of the leading spirits in the building of the road. Blair being a railroad town soon wholly absorbed DeSoto. The land was worth $1.25 per acre. To-day Blair has at least 2,500 of a population; is the prosperous county seat of Washington county. Land in the vicinity is worth from $25.00 to $40.00 per acre. The soil has no superior; this year showed on an average of twenty-five bushels of wheat per acre, and ordinarily yields sixty to eighty bushels of corn. Land up the Elkhorn Valley five years ago was $2.50 to $8.00 per acre, now it is worth from $12.00 to $30.00.
The S.C. & P.R.R. proper was built from Sioux City, Iowa, and reached Fremont, Nebraska, in 1868. It had a small land grant of only about 100,000 acres. The Fremont, Elkhorn Valley and Missouri River Railroad was organized and subsequently built from Fremont to Valentine, the direct route that nature made from the Missouri river to the Black Hills.
As to the terminus of this road, no one yet knows. Whether, or when it will go to the Pacific coast is a question for the future. The Missouri river proper is about 2,000 feet wide. In preparing to bridge it the channel has been confined by a system of willow mattress work, until the bridge channel is covered by three spans 333 feet each or 1,000 feet. The bridge is 60 feet above water and rests on four abutments built on caissons sank to the rock fifty feet beneath the bed of the river. This bridge was completed in November, 1883, at a cost of over $1,000,000.
But good-bye, reader; the conductor says this is Fremont, and I must leave the S.C. for the U.P.R.R. and begin a new chapter.
Over the U.P.R.R. from North Platte to Omaha and Lincoln. — A description of the great Platte Valley.
I felt rather lonely after I had bid good-bye to my friends, but a depot is no place to stop and think, so I straightway attended to putting some unnecessary baggage in the care of the baggage-master until I returned, who said: "Just passed a resolution to-day to charge storage on baggage that is left over, but if you will allow me to remove the check, I will care for it without charge." One little act of kindness shown me already.
At the U.P. depot I introduced myself to Mr. Jay Reynolds, ticket agent, who held letters for me, and my ticket over the U.P. road, which brother had secured and left in his care. He greeted me with: "Am glad to know you are safe, Miss Fulton, your brother was disappointed at not meeting you here, and telegraphed but could get no answer. Feared you had gone to Valentine and been shot."
"Am sorry to have caused him so much uneasiness," I replied, "but the telegram came to Stuart when I was out at the location, and so could not let him hear from me, which is one of the disadvantages of colonizing on the frontier."
"Your brother said he would direct your letters in my care, and I have been inquiring for you—but you must stop on your return and see the beauties of Fremont. Mrs. Reynolds will be glad to meet you."
Well, I thought, more friends to make the way pleasant, and as it was not yet train time, I went to the post-office. The streets were thronged with people observing Decoration day. It was a real treat to see the blooming flowers and green lawns of the "Forest City;" I was almost tempted to pluck a snow-ball from a bush in the railroad garden. I certainly was carried past greener fields as the train bounded westward along the Platte valley, than I had seen north on the Elkhorn.
The Platte river is a broad, shallow stream, with low banks, and barren of everything but sand. Now we are close to its banks, and again it is lost in the distance. The valley is very wide; all the land occupied and much under cultivation.
I viewed the setting sun through the spray of a fountain in the railroad garden at Grand Island, tinging every drop of water with its amber light, making it a beautiful sight.
Grand Island is one of the prettiest places along the way, named from an island in the river forty miles long and from one to three miles wide. I was anxious to see Kearney, but darkness settled down and hindered all further sight-seeing.
The coach was crowded, and one poor old gentleman was "confidenced" out of sixty dollars, which made him almost sick, but his wife declares, "It is just good for him—no business to let the man get his hand on his money!"
"I will turn your seats for you, ladies, as soon as we have room," the conductor says; but the lady going to Cheyenne, who shares my seat, assisted, and we turn our seats without help, and I, thinking of the old gentleman's experience, lie on my pocket, and put my gloves on to protect my ring from sliding off, and sleep until two o'clock, when the conductor wakes me with, "Almost at North Platte, Miss."
I had written Miss Arta Cody to meet me, but did not know the hour would be so unreasonable. I scarcely expected to find her at the depot, but there she was standing in the chilly night air, ready to welcome me with, "I am so glad you have come, Frances!"
We had never met before, but had grown quite familiar through our letters, and it was pleasant to be received with the same familiarity and not as a stranger. We were quickly driven to her home, and found Mrs. Cody waiting to greet me.
To tell you of all the pleasures of my visit at the home of "Buffalo Bill," and of the trophies he has gathered from the hunt, chase, and trail, and seeing and hearing much that was interesting, and gleaning much of the real life of the noted western scout from Mrs. C., whom we found to be a lady of refinement and pleasing manners, would make a long story. Their beautiful home is nicely situated one-half mile from the suburbs of North Platte. The family consists of three daughters: Arta, the eldest is a true brunette, with clear, dark complexion, black hair, perfect features, and eyes that are beyond description in color and expression, and which sparkle with the girlish life of the sweet teens. Her education has by no means been neglected, but instead is taking a thorough course in boarding school. Orra, a very pleasant but delicate child of eleven summers, with her father's finely cut features and his generous big-heartedness; and wee babe Irma, the cherished pet of all. Their only son, Kit Carson, died young.
It is not often we meet mother, daughters, and sisters so affectionate as are Mrs. C, Arta, and Orra. Mr. Cody's life is not a home life, and the mother and daughters cling to each other, trying to fill the void the husband and father's almost constant absence makes. He has amassed enough of this world's wealth and comfort to quietly enjoy life with his family. But a quiet life would be so contrary to the life he has always known, that it could be no enjoyment to him.
To show how from his early boyhood, he drifted into the life of the "wild west," and which has become second nature to him, I quote the following from "The Life of Buffalo Bill."
His father, Isaac Cody, was one of the original surveyors of Davenport, Iowa, and for several years drove stage between Chicago and Davenport. Was also justice of the peace, and served one term in the legislature from Iowa. Removed to Kansas in 1852, and established a trading post at Salt Creek Valley, near the Kickapoo Agency. At this time Kansas was occupied by numerous tribes of Indians who were settled on reservations, and through the territory ran the great highway to California and Salt Lake City, traveled by thousands of gold-seekers and Mormons.
Living so near the Indians, "Billy" soon became acquainted with their language, and joined them in their sport, learning to throw the lance and shoot with bow and arrow.
In 1854 his father spoke in public in favor of the Enabling Act, that had just passed, and was twice stabbed in the breast by a pro-slavery man, and by this class his life was constantly threatened; and made a burden from ill health caused by the wounds, until in '57, when he died. After the mother and children all alone had prepared the body for burial, in the loft of their log cabin at Valley Falls, a party of armed men came to take the life that had just gone out.
Billy, their only living son, was their mainstay and support, doing service as a herder, and giving his earnings to his mother. The first blood he brought was in a quarrel over a little school-girl sweet-heart, during the only term of school he ever attended, and thinking he had almost killed his little boy adversary, he fled, and took refuge in a freight wagon going to Fort Kearney, which took him from home for forty days, and then returned to find he was freely forgiven for the slight wound he had inflicted. Later he entered the employ of the great freighters, Russell, Majors & Waddell, his duty being to help with a large drove of beef cattle going to Salt Lake City to supply Gen. A. S. Johnson's army, then operating against the Mormons, who at that time were so bitter that they employed the help of the Indians to massacre over-land freighters and emigrants. The great freighting business of this firm was done in wagons carrying a capacity of 7,000 pounds, and drawn by from eight to ten teams of oxen. A train consisted of twenty-five wagons. We must remember this was before a railroad spanned the continent, and was the only means of transportation beyond the states.
It was on his first trip as freight boy that Billy Cody killed his first Indian. When just beyond old Ft. Kearney they were surprised by a party of Indians, and the three night herders while rounding up the cattle, were killed. The rest of the party retreated after killing several braves, and when near Plum Creek, Billy became separated from the rest, and seeing an Indian peering at him over the bluffs of the creek, took aim and brought to the dust his first Indian. This "first shot" won for him a name and notoriety enjoyed by none nearly so young as he, and filled him with ambition and daring for the life he has since led. Progressing from freight boy to pony express rider, stage driver, hunter, trapper, and Indian scout in behalf of the government, which office he filled well and was one of the best, if not the very best, scouts of the plains; was married in March, '65, to Miss Louisa Fredrica, of French descent, of St. Louis; was elected to legislature in 1871, but the place was filled by another while he continued his exhibitions on the stage.
When any one is at loss for a name for anything they wish to speak of, they just call it buffalo —— and as a consequence, there are buffalo gnats, buffalo birds, buffalo fish, buffalo beans, peas, berries, moss, grass, burrs, and "Buffalo Bill," a title given to William Cody, when he furnished buffalo meat for the U.P.R.R. builders and hunted with the Grand Duke Alexis, and has killed as high as sixty-nine in one day.
I did not at the time of visiting North Platte think of writing up the country so generally, so did not make extra exertions to see and learn of the country as I should have done. And as there was a shower almost every afternoon of my stay, we did not get to drive out as Miss Arta and I had planned to do. North Platte, the county-seat of Lincoln county, is located 291 miles west of Omaha, and is 2,789 feet above the sea level, between and near the junction of the North and South Platte rivers. The U.P.R.R. was finished to this point first of December, 1866, and at Christmas time there were twenty buildings erected on the town site. Before the advent of the railroad, when all provisions had to be freighted, one poor meal cost from one to two dollars.
North Platte is now nicely built up with good homes and business houses, and rapidly improving in every way. The United States Land office of the western district embraces the government land of Cheyenne, Keith, Lincoln, a part of Dawson, Frontier, Gosper, and Custer counties and all unorganized territory. All I can see of the surrounding country is very level and is used for grazing land, as stock raising is the principal occupation of the people. Alkali is quite visible on the surface, but Mrs. C. says both it and the sand are fast disappearing, and the rainfall increasing. No trees to be seen but those which have been cultivated.
Mrs. C. in speaking of the insatiable appetite and stealthy habits of the Indians, told of a dinner she had prepared at a great expense and painstaking for six officers of Ft. McPherson, whom Mr. C. had invited to share with him, and while she was receiving them at the front door six Indians entered at a rear door, surrounded the table, and without ceremony or carving knife, were devouring her nicely roasted chickens and highly enjoying the good things they had found when they were discovered, which was not until she led the way to the dining room, thinking with so much pride of the delicacies she had prepared, and how they would enjoy it.
"Well, the dinner was completely spoiled by the six uninvited guests, but while I cried with mortification, the officers laughed and enjoyed the joke."
Ft. McPherson was located eighteen miles east of North Platte, but was abandoned four years ago.
Notwithstanding their kindness and entertaining home I was anxious to be on the home way, and biding Mrs. C. and Arta good-bye at the depot, I left Monday evening for Plum Creek.
How little I thought when I kissed the dear child Orra good-bye, and whom I had already learned to love, that I would have the sad duty of adding a tribute to her memory. Together we took my last walk about their home, gathering pebbles from their gravel walks, flowers from the lawn and leaves from the trees, for me to carry away.
I left her a very happy child over the anticipation of a trip to the east where the family would join Mr. Cody for some time. I cannot do better than to quote from a letter received from the sorrow-stricken mother.
"Orra, my precious darling, that promised so fair, was called from us on the 24th of October, '83, and we carried her remains to Rochester, N. Y., and laid them by the side of her little brother, in a grave lined with evergreens and flowers. When we visited the sacred spot last summer, she said: 'Mamma, won't you lay me by brother's side when I die?' Oh, how soon we have had to grant her request! If it was not for the hope of heaven and again meeting there, my affliction would be more than I could bear, but I have consigned her to Him who gave my lovely child to me for these short years, and can say, 'Thy will be done.'"
Night traveling again debarred our seeing much that would have been interesting, but it was my most convenient train, and an elderly lady from Ft. Collins, Colorado, made the way pleasant by telling of how they had gone to Colorado from Iowa, four years ago, and now could not be induced to return. Lived at the foot of mountains that had never been without a snow-cap since she first saw them.
Arrived at Plum Creek about ten o'clock, and as I had no friends to meet me here, asked to be directed to a hotel, and remarked that we preferred a temperance hotel. "That's all the kind we keep here," the gentleman replied with an injured air, and I was shown to the Johnston House.
I had written to old friends and neighbors who had left Pennsylvania about a year ago, and located twenty-five miles south-west of Plum creek, to meet me here; but letters do not find their way out to the little sod post-offices very promptly, and as I waited their coming Tuesday, I spent the day in gathering of the early history of Plum Creek.
Through the kindness of Mrs. E. D. Johnston, we were introduced to Judge R. B. Pierce, who came from Maryland to Plum Creek, in April, 1873, and was soon after elected county judge, which office he still holds. He told how they had found no signs of a town but a station house, and lived in box-cars with a family of five children until he built a house, which was the first dwelling-house on the present town-site. One Daniel Freeman had located and platted a town-site one mile east, but the railroad company located the station just a mile further west.
Judge Pierce gave me a supplement of the Dawson CountyPioneer, of date July 20th, 1876, from which I gather the following history:
"On June 26th, 1871, Gov. W. H. James issued a proclamation for the organization of the county. At the first election, held July 11, '71, at the store of D. Freeman, there were but thirteen votes cast, and the entire population of the county did not exceed forty souls, all told. But the Centennial Fourth found a population of 2,716 prosperous people, 614 of whom are residents of Plum Creek, which was incorporated March, 1874, and named for a creek a few miles east tributary to the Platte; and which in old staging days was an important point.
"The creek rises in a bluffy region and flows north-east, the bluffs affording good hiding places for the stealthy Indians.
"Among the improvements of the time is a bridge spanning the Platte river, three miles south of the town, the completion of which was celebrated July 4th, '73, and was the first river bridge west of Columbus.
"In '74 the court house was built. We will quote in full of the churches, to show that those who go west do not always leave their religion behind. As early as 1867, the Rev. Father Ryan, of the Catholic church, held services at the old station house. In the fall of '72, Rev. W. Wilson organized the first Methodist society in the county, with a membership of about thirty. In April, '74, Right Rev. Bishop Clarkson organized Plum Creek parish, and a church was built in '75, which was the first church built in the town. In '74 the Missionary Baptist Society was formed. In '73 the Presbyterian congregation was organized by Rev. S. M. Robinson, state missionary.
"Settlements in Plum Creek precinct were like angels' visits, few and far between, until April 9th, 1872, when the Philadelphia Nebraska colony arrived, having left Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, April 2d, under charge of F. J. Pearson.
"In this colony there were sixty-five men, women, and children. Their first habitation was four boxcars, kindly placed on a side track by the U.P.R.R. Co. for their use until they could build their houses."
I met one of these colonists, B. F. Krier, editorPioneer, whom I questioned as to their prosperity. He said: "Those who remained have done well, but some returned, and others have wandered, farther west, until there is not many of us left; only about eight families that are now residents of the town. We were so completely eaten out by the grasshoppers in '73-74, and in 78 there was a drought, and it was very discouraging."
I thought of the sixty-five colonists who had just landed and drove their stakes in the soil of northern Nebraska, and hoped they may be driven deep and firm, and their trials be less severe.
"The Union Pacific windmill was their only guide to lead them over the treeless, stoneless, trackless prairie, and served the purpose of light-house to many a prairie-bewildered traveler. A few days after they landed, they had an Indian scare. But the seven Sioux, whose mission was supposed to be that of looking after horses to steal, seeing they were prepared for them, turned and rode off. Six miles west of Plum Creek in 1867, the Indians wrecked a freight train, in which two men were killed, and two escaped; one minus a scalp, but still living."
Mrs. E. D. Johnston told of how they came in 1873, and opened a hotel in a 16×20 shanty, with a sod kitchen attached; and how the cattle men, who were their principal stoppers, slept on boxes and in any way they could, while they enlarged their hotel at different times until it is now the Johnston House, the largest and best hotel in Plum Creek.
While interviewing Judge Pierce, a man entered the office, to transact some business, and as he left, the Judge remarked—
"That man came to me to be married about a year ago, and I asked him how old the lady was he wished to marry. 'Just fifteen,' he answered. I can't grant you a license, then; you will have to wait a year. 'Wait?' No; he got a buggy, drove post-haste down into Kansas, and was married. He lives near your friends, and if you wish I will see if he can take you out with him." So, through his help, I took passage in Mr. John Anderson's wagon, Wednesday noon, along with his young wife, and a family just from Luzerne county, Pennsylvania.
The wind was strong and the sun warm, but I was eager to improve even this opportunity to get to my friends.
Going south-east from Plum Creek, we pass over land that is quite white with alkali, but beyond the river there is little surface indication of it. For the novelty of crossing the Platte river on foot, I walked the bridge, one mile in length, and when almost across met Mr. Joseph Butterbaugh—our old neighbor—coming to town, and who was greatly surprised, as they had not received my letter.
We had not gone far until our faces were burning with the hot wind and sun, and for a protection we tied our handkerchiefs across our faces, just below our eyes. The load was heavy, and we went slowly west along the green valley, the river away to our right, and a range of bluffs to our left, which increase in height as we go westward. Passed finely improved homes that had been taken by the first settlers, and others where the new beginners yet lived in their "brown stone fronts" (sod houses).
Four years ago this valley was occupied by Texas cattle, 3,000 in one herd, making it dangerous for travelers.
Stopped for a drink at a large and very neat story and a-half sod house built with an L; shingled roof, and walls as smooth and white as any lathed and plastered walls, and can be papered as well. Sod houses are built right on the top of the ground, without the digging or building of a foundation. The sod is plowed and cut the desired size, and then built the same as brick, placing the grassy side down. The heat of the summer can hardly penetrate the thick walls, and, too, they prove a good protection from the cold winds of winter. Sod corrals are used for sheep.
Almost every family have their "western post-office:" a little box nailed to a post near the road, where the mail carrier deposits and receives the mail.
Now for many miles west the government land is taken, and the railroad land bought. Much of the land is cultivated and the rest used for pasture. The corn is just peeping through the sod.
Passed two school houses, one a sod, and the other an 8×10 frame, where the teacher received twenty-five dollars per month. It is also used for holding preaching, Sunday School, and society meetings in.
It is twenty miles to Mr. Anderson's home, and it is now dark; but the stars creep out from the ether blue, and the new moon looks down upon us lonely travelers. "Oh, moon, before you have waned, may I be safe in my own native land!" I wished, when I first saw its golden crest. I know dear mother will be wishing the same for me, and involuntarily sang:
"I gaze on the moon as I tread the drear wild,And feel that my mother now thinks of her child,As she looks on that moon from our own cottage door,Thro' the woodbine whose fragrance shall cheer me some more."
"I gaze on the moon as I tread the drear wild,And feel that my mother now thinks of her child,As she looks on that moon from our own cottage door,Thro' the woodbine whose fragrance shall cheer me some more."
"I gaze on the moon as I tread the drear wild,And feel that my mother now thinks of her child,As she looks on that moon from our own cottage door,Thro' the woodbine whose fragrance shall cheer me some more."
"I gaze on the moon as I tread the drear wild,
And feel that my mother now thinks of her child,
As she looks on that moon from our own cottage door,
Thro' the woodbine whose fragrance shall cheer me some more."
I could not say "no more." To chase sadness away I sang, and was joined by Mr. A., who was familiar with the songs of the old "Key Note," and together we sang many of the dear old familiar pieces. But none could I sing with more emphasis than—
"Oh give me back my native hills,Rough, rugged though they be,No other land, no other climeIs half so dear to me."
"Oh give me back my native hills,Rough, rugged though they be,No other land, no other climeIs half so dear to me."
"Oh give me back my native hills,Rough, rugged though they be,No other land, no other climeIs half so dear to me."
"Oh give me back my native hills,
Rough, rugged though they be,
No other land, no other clime
Is half so dear to me."
But I struck the key note of his heart when I sang, "There's a light in the window for thee," in which he joined at first, but stopped, saying:
"I can't sing that; 'twas the last song I sung with my brothers and sisters the night before I left my Kentucky home, nine years ago, and I don't think I have tried to sing it since."
All along the valley faint lights glimmered from lonely little homes. I thought every cottager should have an Alpine horn, and as the sun goes down, a "good night" shouted from east to west along the valley, until it echoed from bluff to bluff.
But the longest journey must have an end, and at last we halted at Mr. A.'s door, too late for me to go farther. But was off early in the morning on horseback, with Zeke Butterbaugh, who was herding for Mr. A., to take his mother by surprise, and breakfast with her.
Well, reader, I would not ask anyone, even my worst enemy, to go with me on that morning ride.
Rough?
There now, don't say anything more about it. It is good to forget some things; I can feel the top of my head flying off yet with every jolt, as that horsetriedto trot—perhaps it was my poke hat that was coming off. If the poor animal had had a shoe on, I would have quoted Mark Twain, hung my hat on its ear and looked for a nail in its foot.
When we reached Mrs. B.'s home, we found it deserted, and we had to go three miles farther on. Six miles before breakfast.
"Now, Zeke, we will go direct; take straight across and I will follow: mind, we don't want to be going round many corners."
"Well, watch, or your horse will tramp in a gopher hole and throw you; can you stand another trot?"
And I would switch my trotter, but would soon have to rein him up, and laugh at my attempt at riding.
It was not long until we were within sight of the house where Zeke's sister lived, and when within hearing distance we ordered—"Breakfast for two!" When near the house we concentrated all our equestrian skill into a "grand gallop."
Mrs. B. and Lydia were watching and wondering who was coming; but my laugh betrayed me, and when we drew reins on our noble ponies at the door, I was received with: "I just knew that was Pet Fulton by the laugh;" and as I slipped down, right into their arms, I thought after all the ride was well worth the taking, and the morning a grand one. Rising before the sun, I watched its coming, and the mirage on the river, showing distinctly the river, islands, and towns; but all faded away as the mirage died out, and then the ride over the green prairie, bright with flowers, and at eight o'clock breakfasting with old friends.
We swung around the circle of Indiana county friends, the Butterbaughs and Fairbanks, until Monday. Must say I enjoyed theswingvery much. Took a long ramble over the bluffs that range east and west, a half mile south of Mr. J. B.'s home. Climbed bluff after bluff, only to come to a jumping off place of from 50 to 100 feet straight down. To peer over these places required a good deal of nerve, but I held tight to the grass or a soap weed stalk, and looked. We climbed to the top of one of the highest, from which we could see across the valley to the Platte river three miles away—the river a mile in width, and the wide valley beyond, to the bluffs that range along its northern bounds. The U.P.R.R. runs on the north side of the river, and Mr. B. says the trains can be seen for forty miles. Plum Creek, twenty miles to the east, is in plain view, the buildings quite distinguishable. Then comes Cozad, Willow Island—almost opposite, and Gothenburg, where the first house was built last February, and now has about twenty. I would add the following from a letter received Dec. 21, '83:
Gothenburg has now 40 good buildings, and in the county where but five families lived in the spring of '82, now are 300, and that number is to be more than doubled by spring.
But to the bluffs again. To the south, east, and west, it is wave after wave of bluffs covered with buffalo grass; not a tree or bush in sight until we get down into the canyons, which wind around among the hills and bluffs like a grassy stream, without a drop of water, stone or pebble; now it is only a brook in width, now a creek, and almost a river. The pockets that line the canyons are like great chambers, and are of every size, shape and height. A clay like soil they call calcine, in strata from white to reddish brown, forms their walls. They seemed like excellent homes for wild cats, and as we were only armed with a sunflower stalk which we used for a staff (how æsthetic we have grown since coming west!) we did not care to prospect—would much rather look at the deer tracks.
The timber in the canyons are ash, elm, hackberry, box elder, and cottonwood, but Mr. B. has to go fifteen miles for wood as it is all taken near him. Wild plums, choke cherries, currants, mountain cranberries, and snow berries grow in wild profusion, and are overrun with grape-vines.
Found a very pretty pincushion cactus in bloom, and I thought to bring it home to transplant; but cactus are not "fine" for bouquets nor fragrant; and if they were, who would risk a smell at a cactus flower? But I did think I would like a prairie dog for a pet, and a full grown doggie was caught and boxed for me. Had a great mind to attempt bringing a jack rabbit also, and open up a Nebraska menagerie when I returned. Jack rabbits are larger than the common rabbits and very deceitful, and if shot at will pretend they are hurt, even if not touched. A hunter from the east shot at one, and seeing it hop off so lame, threw down his gun and ran to catch it—well, he didn't catch the rabbit, and spent two days in searching before he found his gun.
Sunday.We attended Sabbath school in the sod school house, and Monday morning early were off on the long ride back to Plum creek with Mr. and Mrs. H. Fairbanks and Miss Laura F. We picnicked at dinner time. Under a shade tree? No, indeed; not a tree to be seen—only a few willows on the islands in the river, showing that where it is protected from fires, timber will grow. But in a few years this valley will be a garden of cultivated timber and fields. I must speak of the brightest flower that is blooming on it now; 'tis the buffalo pea, with blossoms same as our flowering pea, in shape, color, and fragrance, but it is not a climber. How could it be, unless it twined round a grass stalk?
The Platte valley is from six to fifteen miles wide, but much the widest part of the valley is north of the river. The bluffs on the north are rolling, and on the south abrupt. In the little stretch of the valley that I have seen, there is no sand worthy of notice. Water is obtained at from twenty to fifty feet on the valley, but on the table-land at a much greater depth. Before we reached the bridge, we heard it was broken down, and no one could cross. "Cannot we ford it?" I asked. "No, the quicksand makes it dangerous." "Can we cross on a boat, then?" "A boat would soon stick on a sand bar. No way of crossing if the bridge is down." But we found the bridge so tied together that pedestrians could cross. As I stooped to dip my hand in the muddy waves of the Platte I thought it was little to be admired but for its width, and the few green islands. The banks are low, and destitute of everything but grass.
The Platte river is about 1,200 miles long. It is formed by the uniting of the South Platte that rises in Colorado, and the North Platte that rises in Wyoming. Running east through Nebraska, it divides into the North and South Platte. About two-thirds of the state being on the north. It finds an outlet in the Missouri river at Plattsmouth, Neb. It has a fall of about 5 feet to the mile, and is broad, shallow, and rapid—running over a great bed of sand that is constantly washing and changing, and so mingled with the waters that it robs it of its brightness. Its shallowness is thought to be owing to a system of under ground drainage through a bed of sand, and supplies the Republican river in the southern part of the state, which is 352 feet lower than the Platte.
We were fortunate in securing a hack for the remaining three miles of our journey, and ten o'clock found me waiting for the eastern bound train. I would add that Plum Creek now has a population of 600. I have described Dawson county more fully as it was in Central Nebraska our colony first thought of locating, and a number of them have bought large tracts of land in the south-western part of the county. That the Platte valley is very fertile is beyond a doubt. It is useless to give depth of soil and its production, but will add the following:
Mr. Joseph Butterbaugh reports for his harvest of 1883, 778 bushels wheat from 35 acres. Corn averaged 35 bushels, shelled; oats 25 to 30; and barley about 40 bushels per acre.
First frost was on the 9th of October. Winter generally begins last of December, and ends with February. The hottest day of last summer was 108 degrees in the shade. January 1, 1884, it was 8 degrees below, which is the lowest it has yet (January 15) fallen, and has been as high as 36 above since.
The next point of interest on the road is Kearney, where the B. & M.R.R. forms a junction with the U.P.R.R.
In looking over the early history of Buffalo county we find it much the same, except in dates a little earlier than that of Dawson county. First settlers in the county were Mormons, in 1858, but all left in '63. The county was not organized until in '70, and the first tax list shows but thirty-eight names. Kearney, the county-seat, is on the north side of the river 200 miles west and little south of Omaha, and 160 miles west of Lincoln. Lots in Kearney was first offered for sale in '72, but the town was not properly organized until in '73. Since that time its growth has been rapid; building on a solid foundation and bringing its churches and schools with it, and now has under good way a canal to utilize the waters of the Platte.
Fremont the "Forest City," is truly so named from the many trees that hide much of the city from view, large heavy bodied trees of poplar, maple, box elder, and many others that have been cultivated. Fremont, named in honor of General Fremont and his great overland tour in 1842 and, was platted in 1855 on lands which the Pawnee Indians had claimed but which had been bought from them, receiving $20,000 in gold and silver and $20,000 in goods. In '56 Mr. S. Turner swam the Platte river and towed the logs across that built the old stage house which his mother Mrs. Margaret Turner kept, but which has given way to the large and commodious "New York Hotel." The 4th of July, '56, was celebrated at Fremont by about one hundred whites and a multitude of Indians; but now it can boast of over 5,000 inhabitants, fine schools and churches. It is the junction of the U.P.R.R. and the S.C. & P.R.R. I must add that it was the only place of all that I visited where I found any sickness, and that was on the decrease, but diphtheria had been bad for some time, owing, some thought, to the use of water obtained too near the surface, and the many shade trees, as some of the houses are entirely obscured from the direct rays of the sun.
I will not attempt to touch on the country as we neared Omaha along the way, as it is all improved lands, and I do not like its appearance as well as much of the unimproved land I have seen. We reached Omaha about seven o'clock. I took a carriage for the Millard hotel and had breakfast. At the request of my brother I called on Mr. Leavitt Burnham, who has held the office of Land Commissioner of the U.P.R.R. land company since 1878, and fills it honestly and well.
Omaha, the "Grand Gateway of the West," was named for the Omaha Indians, who were the original landholders, but with whom a treaty was made in 1853. William D. Brown, who for two or three years had been ferrying the "Pike's Peak or bust" gold hunters from Iowa to Nebraska shores, and "busted" from Nebraska to Iowa, in disgust entered the present site of Omaha, then known as the Lone Tree Ferry, as a homestead in the same year. In the next year the city of Omaha was founded. The "General Marion" was the first ferry steamer that plied across the Missouri at this point, for not until in '68 was the bridge completed. All honor to the name of Harrison Johnston, who plowed the first furrow of which there is any record, paying the Indians ten dollars for the permit. He also built the first frame house in Omaha, and which is yet standing near the old Capitol on Capitol Hill.
The first religious services held in Omaha were under an arbor erected for the first celebration of the Fourth of July, by Rev. I. Heaton, Congregationalist. Council Bluffs, just opposite Omaha, on the Iowa shore, was, in the early days, used as a "camping ground" by the Mormons, where they gathered until a sufficient number was ready to make a train and take up the line of march over the then great barren plains of Nebraska. Omaha is situated on a plateau, over fifty feet above the river, which is navigable for steamers only at high water tides. It is 500 miles from Chicago, and 280 miles north of St. Louis. It was the capital of Nebraska until it was made a state. What Omaha now is would be vain for me to attempt to tell. That it is Nebraska's principal city, with 40,000 inhabitants, is all-sufficient.
I had written my friends living near Lincoln to meet me on Monday, and as this was Tuesday there was no one to meet me when I reached Lincoln, about four o'clock. Giving my baggage in charge of the baggage-master, and asking him to take good care of my doggie, I asked to be directed to a hotel, and left word where my friends would find me. The Arlington House was crowded, and then I grew determined to in some way reach my friends. Had I known where they lived I could have employed a liveryman to take me to them. I knew they lived four miles west of Lincoln, and that was all. Well, I thought, there cannot be many homœopathic physicians in Lincoln, and one of them will surely know where Gardners live, for their doctor was often called when living in Pennsylvania. But a better thought came—that of the Baptist minister, as they attended that church. I told the clerk at the hotel my dilemma, and through his kindness I learned where the minister lived, whom, after a long walk, I found. "I am sorry I have no way of taking you to your friends, but as it is late we would be glad to have you stop with us to-night, and we will find a way to-morrow." I thankfully declined his kind offer, and he then directed me to Deacon Keefer's, where Cousin Gertrude made her home while attending school. After another rather long walk, tired and bewildered, I made inquiry of a gentleman I met. "Keefer? Do they keep a boarding-house?" "I believe so." "Ah, well, if you will follow me I will show you right to the house." Another mile walk, and it wasn't the right Keefer's; but they searched the City Directory, and found that I had to more than retrace my steps. "Since I have taken you so far out of your way, Miss, I will help you to find the right place," and at last swung open the right gate; and as I stood waiting an answer to my ring, I thought I had seen about all of Lincoln in my walking up and down—at least all I cared to. But the welcome "Trude's Cousin Pet" received from the Keefer family, added to the kindness others had shown me, robbed my discomfiture of much of its unpleasantness. Soon another plate was added to the tea-table, and I was seated drinking iced-tea and eating strawberries from their own garden, as though I was an old friend, instead of a straggling stranger. Through it all I learned a lesson of kindness that nothing but experience could have taught me. After tea Mr. Ed and Miss Marcia Keefer drove me out to my friends, and as I told them how I thought of finding them through the doctors, Cousin Maggie said: "Well, my girlie, you would have failed in that, for in the four years we have lived in Nebraska we have never had to employ a doctor."
And, reader, now "let's take a rest," but wish to add before closing this chapter, that the U.P.R.R. was the first road built in Nebraska. Ground was broken at Omaha, December 2, 1863, but '65 found only forty miles of track laid. The road reached Julesburg, now Denver Junction, in June, '67, and the "golden spike" driven May 10, 1869, which connected the Union Pacific with the Central Pacific railroad, and was the first railroad that spanned the continent. The present mileage is 4,652 miles, and several hundred miles is in course of construction. J. W. Morse, of Omaha, is general passenger agent. The lands the company yet have for sale are in Custer, Lincoln, and Cheyenne counties, where some government land is yet to be had.
A colony, known as the "Ex-Soldiers' Colony," was formed in Lincoln, Nebraska, in 1883. It accepted members from everywhere, and now April 24, '84, shows a roll of over two hundred members, many of whom have gone to the location, forty miles north-east of North Platte, in unorganized territory, and near the Loup river. Six hundred and forty acres were platted into a town site in spring of '84, and named Logan, in honor of Gen. John A. Logan. Quite a number are already occupying their town lots, and building permanent homes, and most of the land within reach has been claimed by the colonists. The land is all government land, of which about one-half is good farming land, and rest fit only for grazing.
This is only one of the many colonies that have been planted on Nebraska soil thus early in '84, but is one that will be watched with much interest, composed as it is of the good old "boys in blue."
Over the B. & M.R.R. from Lincoln to McCook, via Wymore, and return via Hastings. — A description of the Republican and Blue Valleys. — The Saratoga of Nebraska.
We rested just one delightful week, talking the old days over, making point lace, stealing the first ripe cherries, and pulling grass for "Danger"—danger of it biting me or getting away—my prairie dog, which had found a home in a barrel.
One evening Cousin Andy said:
"I'll give you twenty-five cents for your dog, Pet?"
"Now, Cousin, don't insult the poor dog by such a price. They say they make nice pets, and I am going to take my dog home for Norval. But that reminds me I must give it some fresh grass," and away I went, gathering the tenderest, but, alas! the barrel was empty, and a hole gnawed in the side told the story.
I wanted to sell the dog then, and would have taken almost any price for the naughty Danger, that, though full grown, was no bigger than a Norway rat; but no one seemed to want to buy him.
The weather was very warm, but poor "Wiggins" was left on the parlor table in the hotel at Plum Creek one night, and in the morning I found him scalped, and all his prophetic powers destroyed, so we did not know just when to look out for a storm, but thunder storms, accompanied with heavy rains, came frequently during the week, generally at night, but by morning the ground would be in good working order.
Our cousin, A. M. Gardner, formerly of Franklin, Pennsylvania, for several years was one of the fortunate oil men of the Venango county field, but a couple of years of adverse fortunes swept all, and leaving their beautiful home on Gardner's Hill, came west, and are now earnestly at work building upon a surer foundation.
When I was ready to be off for Wymore, Tuesday, Salt Creek Valley was entirely covered with water, and even the high built road was so completely hidden that the drive over it was dangerous, but Cousin Rob Wilhelm took me as far as a horse could go, and thanks to a high-built railroad and my light luggage, we were able to walk the rest of the way. The overflow of Salt Creek Valley is not an uncommon occurrence in the spring of the year. This basin or valley covers about 500 acres, and is rather a barren looking spot. In dry weather the salt gathers until the ground is quite white, and before the days of railroads, settlers gathered salt for their cattle from this valley. The water has an ebb and flow, being highest in the morning and lowest in afternoon.
I had been directed to call upon Mr. R. R. Randall, immigration agent of the B. & M.R.R., for information about southern Nebraska, and while I waited for the train, I called upon him in his office, on the third floor of the depot, and told him I had seen northern and central Nebraska, and was anxious to know all I could of southern Nebraska.
After a few moments conversation, he asked:
"What part of Pennsylvania are you from, Miss Fulton?"
"Indiana county."
"Indeed? why, I have been there to visit a good old auntie; but she is dead now, bless her dear soul," and straightway set about showing me all kindness and interest.
At first I flattered myself that it was good to hail from the home of his "good old auntie," but I soon learned that I only received the same kindness and attention that every one does at his hands.
"Now, Miss Fulton, I would like you to see all you can of southern Nebraska, and just tell the plain truth about it. For, remember, that truth is the great factor that leads to wealth and happiness;" then seeing me safe aboard the train, I was on my way to see more friends and more of the state.
A young lady, who was a cripple, shared her seat with me, but her face was so mild and sweet I soon forgot the crutch at her side. She told me she was called home by the sudden illness of a brother, who was not expected to live, and whom she had not seen since in January last.
Poor girl! I could truly sympathize with her through my own experience: I parted with a darling sister on her fifteenth birthday, and three months after her lifeless form was brought home to me without one word of warning, and I fully realized what it would be to receive word of my young brother, whom I had not seen since in January, being seriously ill. When her station was reached, the brakeman very kindly helped her off and my pleasant company was gone with my most earnest wishes that she might find her brother better.
The sun was very bright and warm, and to watch the country hurt my eyes, so I gave my attention to the passengers. Before me sat a perfect snapper of a miss, so cross looking, and just the reverse in expression from her who had sat with me. Another lady was very richly dressed, but that was her most attractive feature; yet she was shown much attention by a number. Another was a mother with two sweet children, but so cold and dignified, I wondered she did not freeze the love of her little ones. Such people are as good as an arctic wave, and I enjoy them just as much. In the rear of the coach were a party of emigrants that look as though they had just crossed the briny wave. They are the first foreigners I have yet met with in the cars, and they go to join a settlement of their own countrymen. Foreigners locate as closely together as possible.
I was just beginning to grow lonely when an elderly gentlemen whom I had noticed looking at me quite earnestly, came to me and asked:
"Are you not going to Wymore, Miss?"
"Yes, sir."
"To Mr. Fulton's?"
"Why, yes. You know my friends then?"
"Yes, and it was your resemblance to one of the girls, that I knew where you were going."
No one had ever before told me that I favored this cousin in looks, but then there are just as many different eyes in this world as there are different people.
"I met Miss Emma at the depot a few days ago, and she was disappointed at the non-arrival of a cousin, and I knew at first glance that you was the one she had expected."
"You know where they live then?"
"Yes, and if there is no one at the train to meet you, I will see you to the house."
With this kind offer, Mr. Burch, one of Wymore's bankers went back to his seat. As I had supposed, my friends had grown tired meeting me when I didn't come, as I had written to them I would be there the previous week. But Mr. Burch kindly took one of my satchels, and left me at my Uncle's door.
"Bless me! here is Pet at last!" and dear Aunt Jane's arms are around me, and scolding me for disappointing them so often.
"The girls and Ed have been to the depot so often, and I wanted them to go to-day, but they said they just knew you wouldn't come. I thought you would surely be here to eat your birthday dinner with us yesterday."
"Well, Auntie, Salt Valley was overflooded, and I couldn't get to the depot; so I ate it with cousin Maggie. But that is the way; I come just when I am given up for good."
Then came Uncle John, Emma, Annie, Mary, Ed, and Dorsie, with his motherless little Gracie and Arthur. After the first greeting was over, Aunt said:
"What a blessing it is that Norval got well!"
"Norval got well? Why Aunt, what do you mean?"
"Didn't they write to you about his being so sick?"
"No, not a word."
"Well, he was very low with scarlet fever, but he is able to be about now."
"Oh! how thankful I am! What if Norval had died, and I away!" And then I told of the lady I had met that was going to see her brother, perhaps already dead, and how it had brought with such force the thought of what such word would be to me about Norval. How little we know what God in His great loving kindness is sparing us!
I cannot tell you all the pleasure of this visit. To be at "Uncle John's" was like being at home; for we had always lived in the same village and on adjoining farms. Then too, we all had the story of the year to tell since they had left Pennsylvania for Nebraska. But the saddest story of all was the death of Dorsie's wife, Mary Jane, and baby Ruth, with malaria fever.
To tell you of this country, allow me to begin with Blue Springs—a town just one mile east, on the line of the U.P.R.R., and on the banks of the Big Blue river, which is a beautiful stream of great volume, and banks thickly wooded with heavy timber—honey locust, elm, box elder, burr oak, cottonwood, hickory, and black walnut. The trees and bushes grow down into the very water's edge, and dip their branches in its waves of blue. This river rises in Hamilton county, Nebraska, and joins the Republican river in Kansas. Is about 132 miles long.
I cannot do better than to give you Mr. Tyler's story as he gave it to us. He is a hale, hearty man of 82 years, yet looks scarce 70; and just as genteel in his bearing as though his lot had ever been cast among the cultured of our eastern cities, instead of among the early settlers of Nebraska, as well as with the soldiers of the Mexican war. He says:
"In 1859 I was going to join Johnston's army in Utah, but I landed in this place with only fifty cents in my pocket, and went to work for J. H. Johnston, who had taken the first claim, when the county was first surveyed and organized. About the only settlers here at that time were Jacob Poof, M. Stere, and Henry and Bill Elliott, for whom Bill creek is named. The houses were built of unhewn logs.
"Soon after I came there was talk of a rich widow that was coming among us, and sure enough she did come, and bought the first house that had been built in Blue Springs (it was a double log house), and opened the first store. But we yet had to go to Brownville, 45 miles away, on the Missouri river for many things, as the 'rich widow's' capital was only three hundred dollars. Yet, that was a great sum to pioneer settlers. Indeed, it was few groceries we used; I have often made pies out of flour and water and green grapes without any sugar; and we thought them quite a treat. But we used a good deal of corn, which was ground in a sheet-iron mill that would hold about two quarts, and which was nailed to a post for everybody to use.
"Well, we thought we must have a Fourth of July that year, and for two months before, we told every one that passed this way to come, and tell everybody else to come. And come they did—walking, riding in ox wagons, and any way at all—until in all there was 150 of us. The ladies in sunbonnets and very plain dresses; there was one silk dress in the crowd, and some of the men shoeless. Everyone brought all the dishes they had along, and we had quite a dinner on fried fish and corn dodgers. For three days before, men had been fishing and grinding corn. The river was full of catfish which weighed from 6 to 80 pounds. We sent to Brownville, and bought a fat pig to fry our fish and dodgers with. A Mr. Garber read the Declaration of Independence, we sang some war songs, and ended with a dance that lasted until broad daylight. Very little whiskey was used, and there was no disturbance of any kind. So our first 'Fourth' in Blue Springs was a success. I worked all summer for fifty cents per day, and took my pay in corn which the widow bought at 30 cents per bushel. I was a widower, and—well, that corn money paid our marriage fee in the spring of '60. One year I sold 500 bushels of corn at a dollar per bushel to travelers and freighters, as this is near the old road to Ft. Kearney. With that money, I bought 160 acres of land, just across the river, in '65, and sold it in '72 for $2,000. It could not now be bought for $5,000.
"The Sioux Indians gave us a scare in '61, but we all gathered together in our big house (the widow's and mine), and the twelve men of us prepared to give them battle; but they were more anxious to give battle to the Otoe Indians on the reservation.