The river is swollen into a fretful stream and the sound of the waters makes us even more homesick.
"More rain, more grass," "more rain, more rest," we repeated, and every thing else that had a jingle of comfort in it; but oftener heard, "Ido wishit would stop!" "Whenwillit clear off?" "Does italwaysrain here?" It did promise to clear off a couple of times, only to cloud up again, and so the day went as it came, leaving sixteen souls crowded in the cabin to spend the night as best we could. Just how was a real puzzle to all. But midnight solves the question. Reader, I wish you were here, seated on this spring wagon seat with me by the stove, I then would be spared the pain of a description. Did you ever read Mark Twain's "Roughing It?" or "Innocents Abroad?" well, there are a fewinnocents abroad, just now,roughing itto their hearts' content.
The landlady, daughter, and maid, with Laura, have laid them down crosswise on the bed. The daughter's husband finds sleep among some blankets, on the floor at the side of the bed. Mr. Ross, almost sick, sticks his head under the table and feet under the cupboard and snores. Mrs. Ross occupies the only rocker—there, I knew she would rock on Mr. Philips who is stretched out on a one blanket just behind her! Double up, Mr. P., and stick your knees between the rockers and you'll stand a better chance.
If you was a real birdie, Mrs. Gilman, or even a chicken, you might perch on the side of that box. To sleep in that position would be dangerous; dream of falling sure and might not be all a dream, and then, Mr. Boggs would be startled from his slumbers. Poor man! We do pity him! Six feet two inches tall; too much to get all of himself fixed in a comfortable position at one time. Now bolt upright on a chair, now stretched out on the floor, now doubled up; and now he is on two chairs looking like the last grasshopper of the raid. Hush! Lizzie, you'll disturb the thirteen sleepers.
Mr. Lewis has turned the soft side of a chair up for a pillow before the stove, and list—he snores a dreamy snore of home-sweet-ho-om-me.
Mr. Truesdale is rather fidgety, snugly tucked in behind the stove on a pile of kindling wood. I'm afraid he will black his ears on the pots and kettles that serve as a back ground for his head, but better that than nothing. Am afraid Mr. Newell, who is seated on an inverted wooden pail, will loose his head in the wood-box, for want of a head rest, if he doesn't stop nodding so far back.
Hold tight to your book, Mr. N., you may wake again and read a few more words of Kathrina.
Here, Laura, get up and let your little sister, Verdie, lie down on the bed. "That table is better to eat off than sleep on," Lizzie says, and crawls down to claim a part of my wagon seat in which I have been driving my thoughts along with pencil and paper, and by way of a jog, give the stove a punch with a stick of wood, every now and then; casting a sly glance to see if the old lady looks cross in her sleep, because we are burning all her dry wood up, and dry wood is a rather scarce article just now. But can't be helped. The feathery side of these boards are down, the covers all wet in the other room, and these sleepers must be kept warm.
Roll over, Mr. Lewis, and give Mrs. Ross room whereon to place her feet and take a little sleep! Now Mrs. R.'s feet are not large if she does weigh over two hundred pounds; small a plenty; but not quite as small as the unoccupied space, that's all.
Well, it's Monday now, 'tis one o'clock, dear me; wonder what ails my eyes; feels like there's sand in them. I wink, and wink, but the oftener, the longer. Do believe I'm getting sleepy too! What will I do? To sleep here would insure a nod over on the stove; no room on the floor without danger of kicks from booted sleepers. Lizzie, says, "Get up on the table, Sims," it will hold a little thing like you. So I leave the seat solely to her and mount the table, fully realizing that "necessity is the mother of invention," and that western people do just as they can, mostly. So
All cuddled up together,In a little weenty heap,I double up my pillowAnd laugh myself to sleep.I know you will not blame meIf I dream of home so bright—I'll see you in the morningSo now a kind "good night".
All cuddled up together,In a little weenty heap,I double up my pillowAnd laugh myself to sleep.I know you will not blame meIf I dream of home so bright—I'll see you in the morningSo now a kind "good night".
All cuddled up together,In a little weenty heap,I double up my pillowAnd laugh myself to sleep.I know you will not blame meIf I dream of home so bright—I'll see you in the morningSo now a kind "good night".
All cuddled up together,
In a little weenty heap,
I double up my pillow
And laugh myself to sleep.
I know you will not blame me
If I dream of home so bright—
I'll see you in the morning
So now a kind "good night".
As there is no room for the muses to visit me here I'll not attempt further poetizing but go to sleep and dream I am snug in my own little bed at home. Glad father and mother do not know where their daughter is seeking rest for to-night.
"Get up, Sims, it's five o'clock and Mrs. S. wants to set the table for breakfast," and I start up, rubbing my eyes, wishing I could sleep longer, and wondering why I hadn't come west long ago, and hadn't always slept on a table?
I only woke once during the night, and as the lamp was left burning, could see that Mrs. R. had found a place for her feet, and all were sound asleep. Empty stomachs, weariness, and dampened spirits are surely three good opiates which, taken together, will make one sleep in almost any position. Do wonder if "Mark" ever slept on an extension table when he was out west? Don't think he did, believe he'd use the dirty floor before he'd think of the table; so I am ahead in this chapter.
Well, the fun was equal to the occasion, and I think no one will ever regret the time spent in the little log house at "Morrison's bridge," and cheerfully paid their $1.75 for their four meals and two nights' lodging, only as we jogged along through the cold next day, all thought they would have had a bite of supper, and not gone hungry to the floor, to sleep.
Monday morning.Cold, cloudy, and threatening more rain. Start about eight o'clock for the Keya Paha, Mr. N. with the Ross ladies ahead, while the walkers stay with our "span of brindles" to help push them up the hill, and I walk to relieve them of my weight.
But we have reached the table-land, and as I have made my impress in the sand and mud of this hill of science, I gladly resume my seat in the wagon with Mrs. Gilman, who is freezing with a blanket pinned on over her shawl. Boo! The wind blows cold, and it sprinkles and tries to snow, and soon I too am almost freezing with all my wraps on, my head well protected with fascinator, hat, and veil. How foolish I was to start on such a trip without good warm mittens. "Let's get back on the trunks, Mrs. G., and turn our backs to the wind." But that is not all sufficient and Mr. L. says he cannot wear his overcoat while walking and kindly offers it to me, and I right willingly crawl into it, and pull it up over my ears, and draw my hands up in the sleeves, and try hard to think I am warm. I can scarcely see out through all this bundling, but I must keep watch and see all I can of the country as I pass along. Yet, it is just the same all the way, with the only variation of, from level, to slightly undulating prairie land. Not a tree, bush, stump, or stone to be seen. Followed the old train road for several miles and then left it, and traveled north over an almost trackless prairie. During the day's travel we met but two parties, both of whom were colonists on their way to Long Pine to take claims in that neighborhood. Passed close to two log houses just being built, and two squads of tenters who peered out at us with their sunburnt faces looking as contented as though they were perfectly satisfied with their situation.
The oxen walked right along, although the load was heavy and the ground soft, and we kept up a steady line of march toward the Keya Paha, near where most of the colonists had selected their claims, and as we neared their lands, the country took on a better appearance.
The wind sweeps straight across, and the misting rain from clouds that look to be resting upon the earth, makes it a very gloomy outlook, and very disagreeable. Yet I would not acknowledge it. I was determined, if possible, to make the trip without taking cold. So Mrs. G. and I kept up the fun until we were too cold to laugh, and then began to ask: "How much farther do we have to go? When will we reach there?" Until we were ashamed to ask again, so sat quiet, wedged down between trunks and a plow, and asked no more questions.
"Oh, joy! Mrs. G., there's a house; and I do believe that is Mrs. Ross with Lizzie and Laura standing at the door. I'll just wave them a signal of distress, and they will be ready to receive us with open arms."
And soon we are safely landed at Mr. J. Newell's door, where a married brother lives. They gave us a kindly welcome, and a good warm dinner. After we had rested, Mr. N. took the ladies three miles farther on to the banks of the Keya Paha river, which is 18 miles from the Niobrara and 48 from Stuart, arriving there about fourP.M.
Mr. and Mrs. John Kuhn, with whom the party expected to make their home until they could get their tents up, received us very kindly, making us feel quite at home.
Mrs. K. is postmistress of Brewer postoffice, and her table was well supplied with good reading matter. I took up a copy of "Our Continent" to read while I rested, and opened directly to a poem by H. A. Lavely:
"The sweetest songs are never sung;The fairest pictures never hung;The fondest hopes are never told—They are the heart's most cherished gold."
"The sweetest songs are never sung;The fairest pictures never hung;The fondest hopes are never told—They are the heart's most cherished gold."
"The sweetest songs are never sung;The fairest pictures never hung;The fondest hopes are never told—They are the heart's most cherished gold."
"The sweetest songs are never sung;
The fairest pictures never hung;
The fondest hopes are never told—
They are the heart's most cherished gold."
They were like a voice directly from the pleasant days of last summer, when the author with his family was breathing mountain air at DuBois City, Pa., when we exchanged poems of our own versing, and Mrs. L. added her beautiful children's stories.
He had sent them to me last Christmas time, just after composing them, and now I find them in print away on the very frontier of civilization. How little writers know how far the words they pen for the public to read, will reach out! Were they prophetic for our colonists?
Tuesday, 15th of May, dawned without a cloud, and how bright everything looks when the clouds have rolled away. Why, the poor backward buds look as though they would smile right open. What a change from that of yesterday! Reader, I wish I could tell you all about my May day, but the story is a long one—too long for the pages of my little book.
And now Mrs. Ross and the girls are ready with baskets to go with me to gather what we can find in the way of flowers and leaves along the hillside and valley of the Keya Paha. For flowers we gather blossoms of the wild plum, cherry, and currant, a flower they call buffalo beans, and one little violet. But the leaves were not forgotten, and twigs were gathered of every different tree and bush then in leaf. They were of the box elder, wild gooseberry, and buck bush or snow berry. Visited the spring where Mr. Kuhn's family obtained their water; a beautiful place, with moss and overhanging trees and bushes, and altogether quite homelike. Then to the river where we gathered pebbles of almost every color from the sandy shore. We threw, and threw, to cast a stone on the Dakota side, and when this childish play was crowned with success, after we had made many a splash in the water, we returned to the house where Mr. J. Newell waited for us with a spring wagon, and in which, Lizzie, Laura and I took seats, and were off to visit the Stone Butte, twelve miles west.
Up on the table-land we drove, then down into the valley; and now close to the river, and now up and down over the spurrs of the bluff; past the colonists' tent, and now Mr. N. has invited a Miss Sibolt and Miss Minn to join our maying party.
The bottom land shows a luxuriant growth of grass of last year's growing, and acres of wild plum and choke cherry bushes, now white with blossoms, and so mingled that I cannot tell them apart. If they bear as they blossom, there will be an abundance of both. A few scattered trees, mostly burr or scrub oak and elms are left standing in the valley; but not a tree on the table-land over which the road ran most of the way. The Stone Butte is an abrupt hill, or mound, which stands alone on a slightly undulating prairie. It covers a space of about 20 acres at the base; is 300 feet from base to the broad top; it is covered with white stones that at a distance give it the appearance of a snow capped mountain, and can be seen for many miles. Some say they are a limestone, and when burnt, make a good quality of lime; others that they are only a sand-stone. They leave a chalky mark with the touch, and to me are a curious formation, and look as though they had been boiled up and stirred over from some great mush pot, and fell in a shower of confusion just here, as there are no others to be seen but those on the butte. Oh! what a story they could tell to geologists; tell of ages past when these strange features of this wonderful country were formed! But they are all silent to me, and I can only look and wonder, and turn over and look under for some poor Indian's hidden treasure, but all we found were pieces of petrified wood and bone, a moss agate, and a little Indian dart. Lizzie found a species of dandelion, the only flower found on the butte, and gave it to me, for I felt quite lost without a dear old dandelion in my hand on my May day, and which never failed me before. I have termed them "Earth's Stars," for they will peep through the grassy sod whenever the clouds will allow. It is the same in color, but single, and the leaves different.
We called and hallooed, ah echo coming back to us from, we did not know where; surely not from Raymond's buttes, which we can see quite distinctly, though they are thirty-five miles away. Maybe 'twas a war whoop from a Sioux brave hid among the bluffs, almost four miles to the north, and we took it for an echo to our own voice. The view obtained from this elevated point was grand.
A wide stretch of rolling prairie, with the Keya Paha river to the north. Though the river is but two and one-half miles away, yet the water is lost to view, and we look beyond to the great range of bluffs extending far east and west along its northern banks, and which belong to the Sioux Indian reservation, they are covered with grass, but without shrubbery of any kind, yet on their sides a few gray stones or rocks can be seen even from here. South of the butte a short distance is a small stream called Holt Creek. Near it we can see two "claim takers" preparing their homes; aside from these but two other houses, a plowman, and some cattle are the only signs of life. Mr. N. tells me the butte is on the claim taken by Mr. Tiffiny, and Messrs. Fuller's and Wood's and others of the colony are near. After all the sight-seeing and gathering is done, I sit me down on a rock all alone, to have a quiet think all to myself. Do you wonder, reader, that I feel lonely and homesick, amid scenes so strange and new? Wonder will our many friends of the years agone think of me and keep the day for me in places where, with them, I have gathered the wild flowers and leaves of spring?
But Mr. N. comes up and interrupts me with: "Do you know, Miss Fulton, your keeping a May-day seems so strange to me? Do not think our western girls would think of such a thing!"
"Since you wonder at it, I will tell you, very briefly, my story. It was instituted by mere accident by me in 1871, and I have kept the 15th of May of every year since then in nature's untrained gardens, gathering of all the different flowers and leaves that are in bloom, or have unfolded, and note the difference in the seasons, and also the difference in the years to me.
No happier girl ever sang a song than did I on my first May-day; and the woodland was never more beautiful, dressed in the bright robes of an early spring. Every tree in full leaf, every wild flower of spring in bloom, and I could not but gather of all—even the tiniest.
The next 15th of May, I, by mere happening, went to the woods, and remembering it was the anniversary of my accidental maying of the previous year, I stopped to gather as before; but the flowers were not so beautiful, nor the leaves so large. Then, too, I was very sad over the serious illness of a loved sister.
I cannot tell of all the years, but in '74 I searched for May flowers with tear-dimmed eyes—sister May was dead, and everywhere it was desolate.
'75. "A belated snow cloud shook to the ground" a few flakes, and we gathered only sticks for bouquets, with buds scarcely swollen.
In '81, I climbed Point McCoy near Bellefont, Pa., a peak of the Muncy mountains and a range of the Alleghanys, and looked for miles, and miles away, over mountains and vales, and gathered of flowers that almost painted the mountain side, they were so plentiful and bright.
Last year I gathered the flowers of home with my own dear mother, and shared them with May, by laying them on her grave.
To-day, all things have been entirely new and strange; but while I celebrate it on the wild boundless plains of Nebraska, yet almost untouched by the hand of man, dear father and mother are visiting the favorite mossy log, the spring in the wood, and the moss covered rocks where we children played at "house-keeping," and in my name, will gather and put to press leaves and flowers for me. Ah! yes! and are so lonely thinking of their daughter so far away.
The sweetest flower gathered in all the years was Myrtle—sister Maggie's oldest child—who came to me for a May-flower in '76.
But while the flowers bloomed for my gathering in '81, the grass was growing green upon her grave. And I know sister will not forget to gather and place on the sacred mound, "Auntie Pet's" tribute of love.
Thus it is with a mingling of pleasures and pains, of smiles and tears that I am queen of my maying, with no brighter eyes to usurp my crown, for it is all my own day and of all the days of the year the dearest to me.
"I think, Mr. Newell, we can livegoodlives and yet not make themostof life; our lives need crowding with much that is good and useful; and this is only the crowding in of a day that is very good and useful to me. For on this day I retrospect the past, and think of the hopes that bloomed and faded with the flowers of other years, and prospect the future, and wonder what will the harvest be that is now budding with the leaves for me and which I alone must garner."
After a last look at the wide, wide country, that in a few years will be fully occupied with the busy children of earth, we left "Stone Butte," carrying from its stony, grassy sides and top many curious mementos of our May-day in Nebraska.
Then I went farther north-west to visit the home of a "squaw man"—the term used for Indians who cannot endure the torture of the sun dance, and also white men that marry Indian maidens. On our way we passed a neatly built sod house, in which two young men lived who had lately come from Delaware, and were engaged in stock-raising, and enjoyed the life because they were doing well, as one of them remarked to Mr. N. I tell these little things that those who do not already know, may understand how Nebraska is populated with people from everywhere.
Soon we halted at the noble (?) white man's door, and all but Lizzie ventured in, and by way of excuse asked for a drink orminniein the Sioux language. "Mr. Squaw" was not at home, and "Mrs. Squaw," poor woman, acted as though she would like to hide from us, but without a word handed us a dipper of water from which we very lightly sipped, and then turned her back to us, and gave her entire attention to a bright, pretty babe which she held closely in her arms, and wrapped about it a new shawl which hung about her own shoulders. The children were bright and pretty, with brown, curly hair, and no one would guess there was a drop of Indian blood in their veins. But the mother is only a half-breed, as her father was a Frenchman. Yet in features, at least, the Indian largely predominates. Large powerful frame, dusky complexion, thin straight hair neatly braided into two jet black braids, while the indispensable brass ear drops dangled from her ears. Her dress was a calico wrapper of no mean color or make-up. We could not learn much of the expression of her countenance, as she kept her face turned from us, and we did not wish to be rude. But standing thus she gave us a good opportunity to take a survey of theirtepee. The house was of sod with mother earth floors, and was divided into two apartments by calico curtains. The first was the kitchen with stove, table, benches, and shelves for a cupboard. The room contained a bed covered with blankets, which with a bench was all that was to be seen except the walls, and they looked like a sort of harness shop. The furniture was all of home make, but there was an air of order and neatness I had not expected.
The woman had been preparing kinnikinic tobacco for her white chief to smoke. It is made by scraping the bark from the red willow, then drying, and usually mixing with an equal quantity of natural leaf tobacco, and is said to make "pleasant smoking." Ah, well! I thought, it is only squaws that will go to so much pains to supply their liege lords with tobacco. She can, but will not speak English, as her husband laughs at her awkward attempts. So not a word could we draw from her. She answered our "good bye," with a nod of the head and a motion of the lips. I know she was glad when the "pale faces" were gone, and we left feeling so sorry for her and indignant, all agreeing that any man who would marry a squaw is not worthy of even a squaw's love and labor; labor is what they expect and demand of them, and as a rule, the squaw is the better of the two. Their husbands are held in great favor by those of their own tribe, and they generally occupy the land allowed by the government to every Indian, male or female, but which the Indians are slow to avail themselves of. They receive blankets and clothing every spring and fall, meat every ten days, rations of sugar, rice, coffee, tobacco, bread and flour every week.
Indians are not considered as citizens of the United States, and have no part in our law-making, yet are controlled by them. They are kept as Uncle Sam's unruly subjects, unfit for any kind of service to him. Why not give them whereon to place their feet on an equal footing with the white children and made to work or starve; "to sink or swim; live or die; survive or perish?" What a noble motto that would be for them to adopt!
We then turn for our homeward trip, a distance of fifteen miles, but no one stops to count miles here, where roads could not be better.
When within six miles of Mr. Kuhn's, we stopped by invitation given in the morning, and took tea with Mrs. W., who received us with: "You don't know how much good it does me to have you ladies come!" Then led the way into her sod house, saying, "I wish we had our new house built, so we could entertain you better." But her house was more interesting to us with its floorless kitchen, and room covered with a neat rag carpet underlaid with straw. The room was separated from the kitchen by being a step higher, and two posts where the door would have been had the partition been finished.
The beds and chairs were of home manufacture, but the chairs were cushioned, and the beds neatly arranged with embroidered shams, and looked so comfortable that while the rest of the party prospected without, I asked to lie down and rest, and was soon growing drowsy with my comfortable position when Mrs. W. roused me with: "I cannot spare your company long enough for you to go to sleep. No one knows how I long for company; indeed, my very soul grows hungry at times for society."
Poor woman! she looked every word she spoke, and my heart went right out to her in pity, and I asked her to tell us her experience.
I will quote her words and tell her story, as it is the language and experience of many who come out from homes of comfort, surrounded by friends, to build up and regain their lost fortunes in the West. Mrs. W's. appearance was that of a lady of refinement, and had once known the comforts and luxuries of a good home in the East. But misfortunes overtook them, and they came to the West to regain what they had lost. Had settled there about three years before and engaged in stock raising. The first year the winter was long and severe, and many of their cattle died; but were more successful the succeeding years, and during the coming summer were ready to build a new house, not of sod, but of lumber.
"We had been thinking of leaving this country, but this colony settling here will help it so much, and now we will stay."
Her books of poems were piled up against the plastered wall, showing she had a taste for the beautiful.
After a very pleasant couple of hours we bade her good-bye, and made our last start for home. The only flowers found on the way were the buffalo beans and a couple of clusters of white flowers that looked like daisies, but are almost stemless. On our way we drove over a prairie dog town, frightening the little barkers into their underground homes.
Here and there a doggie sentinel kept his position on the roof of his house which is only a little mound, barking with a fine squeaky bark to frighten us away and warn others to keep inside; but did we but turn toward him and wink, he wasn't there any more.
Stopped for a few moments at the colony tent and found only about six of the family at home, including a gentleman from New Jersey who had joined them.
The day had been almost cloudless and pleasantly warm, and as we finished our journey it was made thrice beautiful by the setting sun, suggesting the crowning thought: will I have another May-day, and where?
Wednesday was pleasant, and I spent it writing letters and sending to many friends pressed leaves and flowers and my maying in Nebraska.
The remainder of the week was bright; but showery. "Wiggins" was kept hanging on a tree in the door yard, to be consulted with about storms, and he generally predicted one, and a shower would come. We did so want the rain to cease long enough for the river to fall that we might cross over on horse-back to the other side and take a ramble over the bluffs of Dakota, and perhaps get a sight of a Sioux. As it kept so wet the colonists did not pitch their tents, and Mr. Kuhn's house was well filled with weather stayed emigrants.
Mr. and Mrs. Morrison, Mrs. Taylor, and Will came Tuesday. They had not come to any stopping place when darkness settled upon them Saturday night and the ladies slept in the buggy, and men under the wagon. When daylight came they found they were not far from the first house along the way where they spent Sunday. Monday they went to the Niobrara river and stopped at the little house at the bridge; and Tuesday finished the journey. Their faces were burnt with the sun and wind; but the ladies dosed them with sweet cream, which acted admirably. Mr. Taylor returned his horses to their former owner, bought a team of oxen, and left Stuart on Monday, but over-fed them, and was all the week coming with sick oxen. Mr. Barnwell's oxen stampeded one night and were not found for over a week. Such were the trials of a few of the N.M.A.C.
Perhaps you can learn from their experiences. I have already learned that, if possible, it is best to have your home selected, and a shelter prepared, and then bring your family and household goods. Bring what you really need, rather than dispose of it at a sacrifice. Do not expect to, anywhere, find a land of perpetual sunshine or a country just the same as the one you left. Do not leave Pa. expecting to find the same old "Keystone" in Nebraska; were it just the same you would not come. Expect disappointments and trials, and do not be discouraged when they come, and wish yourself "back to the good old home." Adopt for your motto, "Whatothershave doneIcan do." Allow me to give you Mr. and Mrs. K.'s story; it will tell you more than any of the colonists can ever tell, as they have lived through the disadvantages of the first opening of this country. Mr. K. says: "April of '79 I came to this country to look up a home where I could have good cattle range. When we came to this spot we liked it and laid some logs crosswise to look like a foundation and mark the spot. Went further west, but returned and pitched our tent; and in a week, with the help of a young man who accompanied us, the kitchen part of our house was under roof. While we worked at the house Mrs. K. and our two girls made garden. We then returned thirty-five miles for our goods and stock, and came back in May to find the garden growing nicely. Brought a two months' supply of groceries with us, as there was no town nearer than Keya Paha, thirty miles east at the mouth of the river; there in fact, was about the nearest house.
"Ours was the first house on the south side of the river, and I soon had word sent me by Spotted Tail, Chief of the Sioux, to get off his reservation. I told the bearer of his message to tell Mr. Spotted Tail, that I was not on his land but in Nebraska, and on surveyed land; so to come ahead. But was never disturbed in any way by the Indians, whose reservation lay just across the river. They often come, a number together, and want to trade clothing and blankets furnished them by the government, giving a blanket for a mere trinket or few pounds of meat, and would exchange a pony for a couple quarts of whisky. But it is worth more than a pony to put whisky into their hands, as it is strictly prohibited, and severely punished by law, as it puts them right on the war-path.
"The next winter a mail route was established, and our house was made Burton post-office, afterwards changed to Brewer. It was carried from Keya Paha here and on to the Rose Bud agency twice a week. After a time it was dropped, but resumed again, and now goes west to Valentine, a distance of about sixty miles.
"The nearest church and school was at Keya Paha. Now we have a school house three miles away, where they also have preaching, the minister (M.E.) coming from Keya Paha."
Mrs. K. who is brave as woman can be, and knows well the use of firearms, says: "I have stayed for a week at a time with only Mr. K.'s father, who is blind and quite feeble, for company. Had only the lower part of our windows in then, and never lock our doors. Have given many a meal to the Indians, who go off with a "thank you," or a grunt of satisfaction. They do not always ask for a meal, but I generally give them something to eat as our cattle swim the river and graze on reservation lands. Anyway, kindness is never lost. My two daughters have gone alone to Keya Paha often. I have made the trip without meeting a soul on the way.
"The latch string of our door has always hung out to every one. The Indians would be more apt to disturb us if they thought we were afraid of them."
It was a real novelty and carried me back to my grandmother's days, to "pull the string and hear the latch fly up" on their kitchen door.
Their house, a double log, is built at the foot of the bluff and about seventy rods from the river, and is surrounded by quite a grove of burr oak and other trees. They came with twelve head of cattle and now have over eighty, which could command a good price did they wish to sell.
Thus, with sunshine and showers the week passes quickly enough, and brought again the Sabbath bright and clear, but windy. A number of us took a walk one and one-half miles up the valley to the colony tent; went by way of a large oak tree, in the branches of which the body of an Indian chief had been laid to rest more than four years ago. From the bleached bones and pieces of clothing and blanket that were yet strewn about beneath the tree, it was evident he had been of powerful frame, and had been dressed in a coat much the same as a soldier's dress coat, with the usual decoration of brass buttons. Wrapped in his blanket and buffalo robe, he had been tied with thongs to the lower limbs, which were so low that the wolves had torn the body down.
When we reached the tent under which they had expected to hold their meetings and Sabbath-school, we found it, like many of their well-meant plans, now flat on the ground. It had come down amid the rain and wind of last night on the sleepers, and we found the tenters busy with needles trying to get it in order for pitching. None busier prodding their finger ends than was Mr. Clark.
"What have you been doing all this time, Mr. C.?" I asked.
"What have I been doing? Why it has just kept me busy to keep from drowning, blowing away, freezing, and starving to death. It is about all a man can attend to at one time. Haven't been idling any time away, I can tell you."
We felt sorry for the troubles of the poor men, but learned this lesson from their experience—never buy a tent so old and rotten that it won't hold to the fastenings, to go out on the prairies of Nebraska with; it takes good strong material to stand the wind.
In the afternoon we all went up on to the table-land to see the prairies burn. A great sheet of flame sweeping over the prairie is indeed a grand sight, but rather sad to see what was the tall waving grass of last year go up in a blaze and cloud of smoke only to leave great patches of blackened earth. Yet it is soon brightened by the new growth of grass which could not show itself for so long if the old was not burnt.
Some say it is necessary to burn the old grass off, and at the same time destroy myriads of grasshoppers and insects of a destructive nature, and also give the rattlesnake a scorching. While others say, burning year after year is hurtful to the soil, and burns out the grass roots; also that decayed vegetation is better than ashes for a sandy soil.
These fires have been a great hindrance to the growth of forest trees. Fire-brakes are made by plowing a number of furrows, which is often planted in corn or potatoes. I fancy I would have a good wide potato patch all round my farm if I had one, and never allow fire on it. To prevent being caught in a prairie fire, one should always carry a supply of matches. If a fire is seen coming, start a fire which of course will burn from you, and in a few minutes after the fire has passed over the ground, it can be walked over, and you soon have a cleared spot, where the fire cannot reach you.
Monday, 21st.Bright and pleasant, and Mr. K. finishes his corn planting.
A DESCRIPTION OF THE COUNTRY IN WHICH THE COLONY LOCATED.
As this is to be my last day here, I must tell you all there is yet to be told of this country. There are so many left behind that will be interested in knowing all about the country their friends have gone to, so I will try to be very explicit, and state clearly all I have learned and seen of it. Allow me to begin with the great range of bluffs that closely follow the north side of the river. We can only see their broken, irregular, steep, and sloping sides, now green with grass, on which cattle are grazing—that swim the river to pasture off the "Soo" (as Sioux is pronounced) lands. The reservation is very large, and as the agency is far west of this, they do not occupy this part much, only to now and then take a stroll over it.
The difference between a hill and a bluff is, that a bluff is only half a hill, or hill only on one side. The ground rises to a height, and then maintains that height for miles and miles, which is called table-land. Then comes the Keya Paha river, which here is the dividing line between Dakota and Nebraska. It is 125 miles long. At its mouth, where it empties into the Niobrara, it is 165 feet wide. Here, thirty-five miles north-west, it is about 75 feet wide, and 6 feet deep. The water flows swiftly over its sandy bed, but Mr. K. says "there is rock bottom here." The sand is very white and clean, and the water is clear and pleasant to the taste.
The banks are fringed with bushes, principally willow. The valley on the south side is from one-fourth to one and one half-miles wide, and from the growth of grass and bushes would think the soil is quite rich. The timber is pine, burr oak, and cottonwood principally, while there are a few cedar, elm, ash, box elder and basswood to be found. The oak, elm, and box elder are about all I have seen, as the timber is hid in the canyons. Scarcely a tree to be seen on the table-lands. Wild plums, choke cherries, and grapes are the only fruits of the country. No one has yet attempted fruit culture. The plums are much the same in size and quality as our cultivated plums. They grow on tall bushes, instead of trees, and are so interwoven with the cherry bushes, and in blossom so much alike, I cannot tell plum from cherry bush. They both grow in great patches along the valley, and form a support for the grape vines that grow abundantly, which are much the same as the "chicken grapes" of Pennsylvania. I must not over-look the dwarf or sand-hill cherry, which, however, would not be a hard matter, were it not for the little white blossoms that cover the crooked little sticks, generally about a foot in height, that come up and spread in every direction. It is not choice of its bed, but seems to prefer sandy soil. Have been told they are pleasant to the taste and refreshing.
Then comes the wild gooseberry, which is used, but the wild black currants are not gathered. Both grow abundantly as does also the snowberry, the same we cultivate for garden shrubbery. Wild hops are starting up every where, among the bushes and ready to climb; are said to be equally as good as the poled hops of home.
"Beautiful wild flowers will be plenty here in a couple of weeks," Mrs. K. says, but I cannot wait to see them. The most abundant, now, is the buffalo bean, of which I have before spoken, also called ground plum, and prairie clover: plum from the shape of the pod it bears in clusters, often beautifully shaded with red, and prairie clover from the flower, that resembles a large clover head in shape, and often in color, shading from a dark violet to a pale pink, growing in clusters, and blooming so freely, it makes a very pretty prairie flower. It belongs to the pulse order, and the beans it bears can be cooked as ordinary beans and eaten—if at starvation point. Of the other flowers gathered mention was made on my May-day.
Mr. K. has a number of good springs of water on his farm, and it is easily obtained on the table-land. It cannot be termed soft water, yet not very hard.
About one-half of the land I am told is good tillable land, the other half too sandy for anything but pasture lands. Soil is from eighteen inches to two feet deep.
I will here quote some of the objections to the country offered by those who were not pleased. Time only can tell how correct they are. "It is too far north. Will never be a general farming or fruit growing country. Summer season will be too short for corn to ripen. Too spotted with sand hills to ever be thickly settled. Afraid of drouth. Too far from railroad and market, and don't think it will have a railroad nearer soon. Those Sioux are not pleasant neighbors. Winters will be long and cold." But all agree that it is a healthy country, and free from malaria. Others say, "Beautiful country. Not as cold as in Pennsylvania. Of course we can raise fruit; where wild fruit will grow tame fruit can be cultivated. Those sand hills are just what we want; no one will take them, and while our cattle are grazing on them, we will cultivate our farms." We feel like quoting a copy often set for us to scribble over when a little girl at school, with only a little alteration. "Many men of many minds, many lands of many kinds"—to scatter over—and away some have gone, seeking homes elsewhere.
Those who have remained are getting breaking done, and making garden and planting sod corn and potatoes, which with broom corn is about all they can raise on new ground the first summer. Next will come the building of their log and sod shanties, and setting out of their timber culture, which is done by plowing ten acres of ground and sticking in cuttings from the cottonwood, which grows readily and rapidly.
There are a few people scattered over the country who have engaged in stock raising, but have done little farming and improving. So you see it is almost untouched, and not yet tested as to what it will be as a general farming country. Years of labor and trials of these new-comers will tell the story of its worth.
I sincerely hope it will prove to be all that is good for their sake! I hide myself away from the buzz and hum of voices below, in the quiet of an upper room that I may tell you these things which have been so interesting to me to learn, and hope they may be interesting to read.
But here comes Lizzie saying, "Why, Sims, you look like a witch hiding away up here; do come down." And I go and take a walk with Mrs. K. down to see their cattle corral. The name of corral was so foreign I was anxious to know all about it. It is a square enclosure built of heavy poles, with sheds on the north and west sides with straw or grass roof for shelter, and is all the protection from the cold the cattle have during the winter. Only the milk cows are corraled during the summer nights. A little log stable for the horses completes the corral, while of course hay and straw are stacked near. Then she took me to see a dugout in the side of a hill, in a sheltered ravine, or draw, and surrounded by trees. It is not a genuine dugout, but enough of the real to be highly interesting to me. It was occupied by a middle-aged man who is Mr. K.'s partner in the stock business, and a French boy, their herder. The man was intelligent, and looked altogether out of place as he sat there in the gloom of the one little room, lighted only by a half window and the open door, and, too, he was suffering from asthma. I asked: "Do you not find this a poor house for an asthmatic?"
"No, I do not find that it has that effect; I am as well here as I was before I came west."
The room was about 10×12, and 6 feet high. The front of the house and part of the roof was built of logs and poles, and the rest was made when God made the hill. They had only made the cavity in which they lived, floor enough for the pole bed to stand on.
To me it seemed too lonely for any enjoyment except solitude—so far removed from the busy throngs of the world. But the greater part of the stockman's time is spent in out-door life, and their homes are only retreats for the night.
We then climbed the hill that I might have a last view of sunset on the Keya Paha. I cannot tell you of its beauty, as I gaze in admiration and wonder, for sun, moon, and stars, have all left their natural course, or else I am turned all wrong.
Tuesday.Another pleasant day. Mrs. K., whom I have learned to regard as a dear friend, and I, take our last walk and talk together, going first to the grave of a granddaughter on the hill, enclosed with a railing and protected from the prairie wolves by pieces of iron. Oh! I thought, as I watched the tears course down Mrs. K's. cheek as she talked of her "darling," there is many a sacred spot unmarked by marble monument on these great broad plains of Nebraska. "You see there is no doctor nearer than Keya Paha, and by the time we got him here he could do her no good." Another disadvantage early settlers labor under.
Then to the river that I might see it flow for the last time, and gather sand and pebbles of almost every color that mingle with it. I felt it was my last goodbye to this country and I wished to carry as much of it away in my satchel and in memory as possible.
We then returned to the house, and soon Mr. Newell who was going to Stuart, came, and with whom I had made sure of a passage back. Mrs. K. and all insisted my stay was not near long enough, but letters had been forwarded to me from Stuart from brother C. asking me to join him. And Miss Cody, with whom I had been corresponding for some time, insisted on my being with her soon; so I was anxious to be on my way, and improved the first opportunity to be off. So, chasing Lizzie for a kiss, who declared, "I cannot say good-bye to Sims," and bidding them all a last farewell, with much surface merriment to hide sadness, and soon the little group of friends were left behind.
I wonder did they see through my assuming and know how sorry I was to part from them?—Mrs. K., who had been so kind, and the colony people all? I felt I had an interest in the battle that had already begun with them. Had I not anticipated a share of the battle and also of the spoils when I thought of being one with them. I did feel so sorry that the location was such that the majority had not been pleased, and our good plans could not be carried out.
It was not supposed as night after night the hall was crowded with eager anxious ones, that all would reach the land of promise. But even had those who come been settled together there would have been quite a nice settlement of people.
The territory being so spotted with sand hills was the great hindrance to a body of people settling down as the colony had expected to, all together as one settlement. One cannot tell, to look over it, just where the sandy spots are, as it is all covered with grass. They are only a slight raise in the ground and are all sizes, from one to many acres.
One-half section would be good claimable land, and the other half no good. In some places I can see the sand in the road that drifts off the unbroken ground. We stopped for dinner at Mr. Newell's brother's, whose wife is a daughter of Mr. Kuhn's, and then the final start is made for the Niobrara. The country looks so different to me now as I return over the same road behind horses, and the sun is bright and warm. The tenters have gone to building log houses, and there are now four houses to be seen along the way. Am told most of the land is taken.
We pass close to one of the houses, where the husband is plowing and the wife dropping seed corn; and we stop for a few minutes, that I may learn one way of planting sod corn. The dropper walks after the plow and drops the corn close to the edge of the furrow, and it comes up between the edges of the sod. Another way is to cut a hole in the sod with an ax, and drop the corn in the hole, and step on it while you plant the next hill—I mean hole—of corn.
One little, lone, oak tree was all the tree seen along the road, and not a stone. I really miss the jolting of the stones of Pennsylvania roads. But strewed all along are pebbles, and in places perfect beds of them. I cannot keep my eyes off the ground for looking at them, and, at last, to satisfy my wishing for "a lot of those pretty pebbles to carry home," Mr. N. stops, and we both alight and try who can find the prettiest. As I gather, I cannot but wonder how God put these pebbles away up here!
Reader, if all this prairie land was waters, it would make a good sized sea, not a storm tossed sea but water in rolling waves. It looks as though it had been the bed of a body of water, and the water leaked out or ran down the Niobrara river, cutting out the canyons as it went, and now the sea has all gone to grass.
Mr. N. drives close to the edge of an irregular series of canyons that I may have a better view.
"I do wish you would tell me, Mr. N., how these canyons have been made?"
"Why, by the action of the wind and water."
"Yes, I suppose; but looks more like the work of an immense scoop-shovel, and all done in the dark; they are so irregular in shape, size, and depth."
Most that I see on this side of the river are dry, grassy, and barren of tree or bush, while off on the other side, can be seen many well filled with burr oak, pine, and cedar.
Views such as I have had from the Stone Butte, along the Keya Paha, on the broad plains, and now of the valley of the Niobrara well repays me for all my long rides, and sets my mind in a perfect query of how and when was all this wonderful work done? I hope I shall be permitted to some day come again, and if I cannot get over the ground any other way, I will take another ride behind oxen.
Several years ago these canyons afforded good hiding places for stray(?) ponies and horses that strayed from their owners by the maneuvering of "Doc." Middleton, and his gang of "pony boys," as those who steal or run off horses from the Indians are called. But they did not confine themselves to Indian ponies alone, and horses and cattle were stolen without personal regard for the owner.
But their leader has been safe in the penitentiary at Lincoln for some time, and the gang in part disbanded; yet depredations are still committed by them, which has its effect upon some of the colonists, who feel that they do not care to settle where they would be apt to lose their horses so unceremoniously. A one-armed traveler, who took shelter from the storm with a sick wife on the island, had one of his horses stolen last week, which is causing a good deal of indignation. Their favorite rendezvous before the band was broken was at "Morrison's bridge," where we spent the rainy Sabbath. Oh, dear! would I have laid me down so peacefully to sleep on the table that night had I known more of the history of the little house and the dark canyons about?
But the house has another keeper, and nothing remains but the story of other days to intimidate us now, and we found it neat and clean, and quite inviting after our long ride.
After supper I went out to take a good look at the Niobrara river, orRunning Water. Boiling and surging, its muddy waves hurried by, as though it was over anxious to reach the Missouri, into which it empties. It has its source in Wyoming, and is 460 miles long. Where it enters the state, it is a clear, sparkling stream, only 10 feet wide; but by the time it gathers and rushes over so much sand, which it keeps in a constant stir, changing its sand bars every few hours, it loses its clearness, and at this point is about 165 feet wide. Like the Missouri river, its banks are almost entirely of a dark sand, without a pebble. So I gathered sand again, and after quite a search, found a couple of little stones, same color of the sand, and these I put in my satchel to be carried to Pennsylvania, to help recall this sunset picture on the "Running Water," and, for a more substantial lean for memory I go with Mr. N. on to the island to look for a diamond willow stick to carry home to father for a cane. The island is almost covered with these tall willow bushes. The bridge was built about four years ago. The piers are heavy logs pounded deep into the sand of the river bed, and it is planked with logs, and bushes and sod. It has passed heavy freight trains bound for the Indian Agency and the Black Hills, and what a mingling of emigrants from every direction have paid their toll and crossed over to find new homes beyond! Three wagons pass by this evening, and one of the men stopped to buy milk from Mrs. Slack "to make turn-over cake;" and made enquiry, saying:
"Where is that colony from Pennsylvania located? We would like to get near it."
It is quite a compliment to the colony that so many come so far to settle near them; but has been quite a hindrance. Long before the colony arrived, people were gathering in and occupying the best of the land, and thus scattering the little band of colonists. Indeed the fame of the colony will people this country by many times the number of actual settlers it itself will bring.
Mrs. S. insists that I "give her some music on the organ," and I attempt "Home sweet, home," but my voice fails me, and I sing "Sweet hour of prayer," as more befitting. Home for me is not on the Niobrara, and in early morn we leave it to flow on just as before, and we go on toward Stuart, casting back good-bye glances at its strangely beautiful valley. The bluffs hug the river so close that the valley is not wide, but the canyons that cut into the bluffs help to make it quite an interesting picture.
There is not much more to be told about the country on the south side of the river. It is not sought after by the claim-hunters as the land on the north is. A few new houses can be seen, showing that a few are persuaded to test it.
The grass is showing green, and where it was burnt off on the north side of the valley, and was only black, barren patches a little more than a week ago, now are bright and green. A few new flowers have sprung up by the way-side. The sweetest in fragrance is what they call the wild onion. The root is the shape and taste of an onion, and also the stem when bruised has quite an onion smell; but the tiny, pale pink flower reminds me of the old May pinks for fragrance. Another tiny flower is very much like mother's treasured pink oxalis; but is only the bloom of wood sorrel. It opens in morning and closes at evening, and acts so much like the oxalis, I could scarcely be persuaded it was not; but the leaves convinced me.
I think the setting sun of Nebraska must impart some of its rays to the flowers, that give them a different tinge; and, too, the flowers seem to come with the leaves, and bloom so soon after peeping through the sod. The pretty blue and white starlike iris was the only flower to be found about Stuart when I left.
We have passed a number of emigrant wagons, and—"Oh, horror! Mr. Newell, look out for the red-skins!"
"Where, Miss Fulton, where?"
"Why there, on the wagon and about it, and see, they are setting fire to the prairie; and oh dear! one of them is coming toward us with some sort of a weapon in his hand. Guess I'll wrap this bright red Indian blanket around me and perhaps they will take me for a 'Soo' and spare me scalp."
Reader I have a mind to say "continued in the next" or "subscribe for the Ledger and read the rest," but that would be unkind to leave you in suspense, though I fear you are growing sleepy over this the first chapter even, and I would like to have some thrilling adventure to wake you up.
But the "Look out for the red skins," was in great red letters on a prairie schooner, and there they were, men with coats and hats painted a bright red, taking their dinner about a fire which the wind is trying to carry farther, and one is vigorously stamping it out. Another, a mere boy with a stick in his hand, comes to inquire the road to the bridge "where you don't have to pay toll?" Poor men, they look as though they hadn't ten cents to spare. So ends my adventure with the "red skins." But here comes another train of emigrants; ladies traveling in a covered carriage, while the horses, cattle, people, and all show they come from a land of plenty, and bring a goodly share of worldly goods along.
They tell Mr. N. they came from Hall county, Nebraska, where vegetation is at least two weeks ahead of this country, but came to take up government land. So it is, some go with nothing, while others sell good homes and go with a plenty to build up another where they can have the land for the claiming of it.
The sun has not been so bright, and the wind is cool and strong, but I have been well protected by this thick warm Indian blanket, yet I am not sorry when I alight at Mr. Skirvings door and receive a hearty welcome, and "just in time for a good dinner."
THE COLONISTS' FIRST SUMMER'S WORK AND HARVEST.
It would not do to take the colonists to their homes on the frontier, and not tell more of them.
I shall copy from letters received. From a letter received from one whom I know had nothing left after reaching there but his pluck and energy, I quote: