USA > Nebraska > Collection of Nebraska pioneer reminiscences > Part 16
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There is much to be said in his praise, but I did not intend writing a eulogy, rather to tell of the stories which have come down to me, with which he and my other relatives were so closely connected.
During the many skirmishes and battles fought by the Paw- nees, under Major North, he never lost a man ; moreover, on sev- eral different occasions he passed through such hair-breadth escapes that the Pawnees thought him invulnerable. In one in- stance, while pursuing the retreating enemy, he discovered that his command had fallen back and he was separated from them by over a mile. The enemy, discovering his plight, turned on him. He dismounted, being fully armed, and by using his horse as a breastwork he managed to reach his troops again, though
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his faithful horse was killed. This and many like experiences caused the Pawnees to believe that their revered leader led a charmed life. He never deceived them, and they loved to call him "Little Pawnee Le-Sharo" (Pawnee Chief), and so he was known as the White Chief of the Pawnees.
The coming of the railroad through the state, bringing thou- sands of settlers with household furnishings and machinery for tilling the soil, was of the greatest importance. It was concern- ing the guarding of that right of way that a writer for the Horse World has some interesting memories and devotes an article in a number in February, 1896, to the stories of Colonel W. F. Cody, Major Frank North, Captain Charles Morse, Cap- tain Luther North, Captain Fred Mathews, and my father, Cap- tain S. E. Cushing. The correspondent was under my father, in Company B, during one of the scouting expeditions, when the company was sent to guard O'Fallon's Bluffs, west of Fort Mc- Pherson on the Union Pacific. He tells much more of camp activities and of his initiation into border life than of the skir- mishes or scouting trips. He was fond of horses and tells of a memorable race in which a horse of Buffalo Bill's was beaten by my father's horse "Jack."
My uncle, Captain Luther North, who also commanded a com- pany of scouts at that time, now resides in Omaha.
While yet a boy he freighted between Omaha and Columbus and carried the mail, by pony, during a period when my grand- mother felt that when she bade him good-bye in the morning she might never see him again, so unsettled was the feeling about the Indians. He was intimately acquainted with every phase of Indian life. He knew their pastimes and games, work of the medicine men and magicians, and especially was he familiar with many of their legends. I am happy to have been one of the children who often gathered 'round him to listen to the tales of his own experiences or stories told him by the red men.
One personal experience in the family happened before the building of the railroad, probably in sixty-one or sixty-two. A number of men, accompanied by the wives of two of them, went to put up hay for the government, on land located between Genoa and Monroe. One night the Indians surrounded their camp, presumably to drive away their stock. Naturally the party rebelled, and during the melee which followed Adam
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Smith and another man were killed and one of the women, Mrs. Murray, was wounded but saved herself by crawling away through the tall grass. The recital of this trouble grew in mag- nitude the farther it traveled, until people grew frantic with fear, believing it to mean an uprising of the Sioux. The settlers from Shell creek and all directions, bringing horses, cattle, and even their fowls, together with personal belongings, flocked into the village of Columbus for mutual protection. My mother, then a young girl, describes the first night as one of much con- fusion.
Some of the fugitives were sheltered with friends, others camped in the open. Animals, feeling as strange as did their masters, were bawling or screeching, and no one could sleep, as the greatest excitement prevailed.
"They built a stockade of upright posts about eight feet high, around the town," says my uncle Luther, thinking that as the Indians usually fought on horseback, this would be a great help if not a first-class fort.
They organized a militia company and men were detailed for guard duty and stationed at different points along the stockade, so serious seemed the situation. One night Luther North and two other young men were sent on picket duty outside the stock- ade. They took their horses and blankets and went up west of town about half a mile, to keep an eye on the surrounding coun- try. A Mr. Needham had gone up to his farm (now the John Dawson farm) that day, and did not return until it was getting dark. The guards thought it would be great fun to give him a little scare, so as he approached they wrapped themselves in their blankets, mounted, and rode down under a bank. Just as he passed they came up in sight and gave the Indian war whoop and started after him. He whipped his team into a run; they chased him, yelling at every step, but stopped a reasonable dis- tance from the stockade and then went back. Mr. Needham gave graphic description of how the Indians had chased him, which so upset the entire population that sleep was out of the question that night. Moreover he cautioned his wife in this wise: "Now, Christina, if the Indians come, it is everybody for himself, and you will have to skulk." This remark made by Mr. Needham became a byword, and even down into the next generation was a favorite saying and always provoked a smile.
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The young guards had no fear whatever of marauding Indians, and, blissfully unaware of the commotion they had aroused, went back up the road to a melon patch, ate a sufficient amount of the luscious fruit, picketed their horses, wrapped themselves in their blankets, and lay them down to pleasant dreams. The next morning they rode into town and reported no red men in sight. After a few weeks, when there was no further evidence of trouble from the savages, the people gradually dispersed to their homes and farms which were, by that time, much in need of attention.
MRS. OREAL S. WARD
Ninth State Regent, Nebraska Society, Daughters of the American Revolution. 1909-1910
THE BLIZZARD OF 1888 BY MINNIE FREEMAN PENNEY
On January 12, 1888, the states of Nebraska and South Dakota were visited by a blizzard so fierce and cruel and death-dealing that residents of those sections cannot speak of it even now with- out an involuntary shudder.
The storm burst with great suddenness and fury, and many there were who did not live to tell the story of their suffering. And none suffered more keenly than did the occupants of the prairie schoolhouses. Teachers and pupils lost their lives or were terribly maimed. The great storm indicated most impres- sively the measure of danger and trial that must be endured by the country school teacher in the isolated places on the frontier.
Three Nebraska country school teachers - Loie Royce of Plainfield, Etta Shattuck of Holt county, and Minnie Freeman of Mira Valley, were the subjects of much newspaper writing.
Miss Royce had nine pupils. Six went home for luncheon and remained on account of the storm. The three remaining pupils with the teacher stayed in the schoolhouse until three o'clock. Their fuel gave out, and as her boarding house was but fifteen rods away, the teacher decided to take the children home with her.
In the fury of the storm they wandered and were lost. Dark- ness came, and with it death. One little boy sank into the eternal silence. The brave little teacher stretched herself out on the cold ground and cuddled the two remaining ones closer. Then the other little boy died and at daylight the spirit of the little girl, aged seven, fluttered away, leaving the young teacher frozen and dumb with agony. Loie Royce "hath done what she could; angels can do no better." Miss Royce lost both feet by amputation.
Etta Shattuck, after sending her children home (all living near) tried to go to her home. Losing her way, she took refuge in a haystack, where she remained, helpless and hungry Friday,
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Saturday, and Sunday, suffering intensely and not able to move. She lived but a short time after her terrible experience.
Minnie Freeman was teaching in Mira Valley, Valley county. She had in her charge seventeen pupils. Finding it impossible to remain in the schoolhouse, she took the children with her to her boarding place almost a mile from the schoolhouse.
Words are useless in the effort to portray that journey to the safe shelter of the farmhouse, with the touching obedience of the children to every word of direction - rather felt than heard, in that fierce winding-sheet of ice and snow. How it cut and almost blinded them! It was terrible on their eyes. They beat their way onward, groping blindly in the darkness, with the visions of life and death ever before the young teacher respon- sible for the destiny of seventeen souls.
All reached the farmhouse and were given a nice warm supper prepared by the hostess and the teacher, and comfortable beds provided.
Minnie Freeman was unconscious of anything heroic or un- usual. Doing it in the simple line of duty to those placed in her care, she still maintains that it was the trust placed in the Great Spirit who guides and cares for His own which led the little band -
"Through the desert and illimitable air,
Lone wandering, but not lost."
AN ACROSTIC
Written to Miss Minnie Freeman in 1888 by Mrs. Ellis of St. Paul, Nebraska. Mrs. Ellis was then seventy-eight years old - now deceased
'Midst driving winds and blinding snows,
Impending dangers round her close;
No shelter from the blast and sleet,
No earthly help to guide her feet.
In God alone she puts her trust,
Ever to guide the brave and just.
Fierce and loud the awful storm,
Racking now her slender form, Eager to save the little band
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THE BLIZZARD OF 1888
Entrusted to her guiding hand. Marshalled her host, see, forth she goes And falters not while tempest blows; Now God alone can help, she knows.
See them falling as they go; Angry winds around them blow. Is there none to hear their cry ? Now her strength will almost fail; Tranquil, she braves the fearful gale.
Preeminent her name shall stand, A beacon light o'er all the land, Unrivalled on the page of time; Let song and story swell the chime.
EARLY DAYS IN NANCE COUNTY
BY MRS. ELLEN SAUNDERS WALTON
In 1872, after passing through a great sorrow, a longing came to me to enter the missionary field among the Indians. At that time the Pawnee tribe was located on their reservation, now Nance county, and I was sent to work among them. It was in- teresting, at the same time sad and depressing, to wit- ness the degeneration and savagery of tribal life; and ofttimes it was seemingly hopeless to civilize and christianize them.
In 1874 the Pawnees were removed by the government to In- dian territory, now Oklahoma, and the reservation was thrown on the market. This became Nance county, and a new order of things followed. Settlers came to the little hamlet of Genoa, that had been first settled by the Mormons in 1857, and though later given over to the Indians, it was one of the oldest towns in Nebraska.
A church was established under the care of the New England Congregational Mission and Rev. Charles Starbuck was put in charge. A small farmhouse where travelers could be accommo- dated, and a few homes of those who had bought land, com- prised the village life. This freedom from restraint was indeed new to one accustomed to the rush of busy life in New York. Daily rides over the prairie on my pony were a delight.
It was wonderful how many cultured people drifted into the almost unknown western country. It was not infrequent to see in humble sod houses shelves filled with standard books and writings of the best authors. This was the second wave of pop- ulation, and though many things had to be sacrificed that in the old life were considered necessary to comfort, pioneer life had its happy features. One especially was the kindly expression of helpfulness in time of sickness or sorrow. The discomforts and self denials and the longing for dear ones far away grow dim and faded! only memories of pleasant hours remain. Then came the third wave of men and women settling all around,
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bringing fashion and refining influences, and entertainment of various kinds. Churches, elevators, banks, and business houses were built and Nance county began to show the march of civil- ization and progress. Where first we knew the flower-gemmed prairie, modern homes spring up and good roads follow the trails of the Indian and the hunter.
THE PAWNEE CHIEF'S FAREWELL
BY CHAUNCEY LIVINGSTON WILTSE As I strolled alone, when the day had flown, Through the once Pawnee reserve, Where the memories keep of the brave asleep By the winding Cedar's curve - Methought the leaves of the old oak trees 'Neath the sheltering hill-range spoke, And they said : "It's here that hearts knew no fear, Where arose the Pawnee smoke!
"In the eventide, when all cares subside, Is the hour the tribe liked best; When the gold of day crossed the hills away, And, like those who tried, found rest. O'er this Lovers' Leap, where now shadows creep, Strode the chief, in thought, alone - And he said: 'Trees true, and all stars in view, And you very winds my own !
" 'I soon shall pass, like the blades of grass, Where the wandering shadows go; Only leaves will tell what my tribe did well - But you Hearts of Oak - you know ! To those Hunting Grounds that are never found Shall my tribe, in time, depart; Then it will be you to tell who were true, With the dawn-song in their heart!
" 'You will sing a song, with the winds along, How the Pawnee loved these hills! Here he loved to stray, all the wind-glad day - In his heart the wind sings still ! You will whisper, too, how he braved the Sioux, How life's days he did his part;
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Though not understood, how he wished but good, With but love within his heart!
" 'The White Father's call reaches us, and all To his South Wind land we fly,
Yet we fain would stay with you hills alway - It is hard to say good-bye! You, our fatherland, we could once command, We are driven from, so fast ; But you hills alway in our hearts will stay And be with us at the last!
" 'Here we took our stand for our fatherland, Here our sons to manhood grew;
Here their loves were found, where these hills surround - Here the winds sang to them, too! By this Cedar's side, where the waters glide, We went forth to hunt and dream;
Here we felt the spell of you oaks as well, And felt all that love may seem !
" 'Here we felt the pang of the hot wind tang, Here we felt the blizzard's breath;
Here we faced the foe, as the stars all know - Here we saw the face of Death ! Here we braved the wrath of the lightning's path, Here we dared starvation's worst; Here tonight we stand, for our fatherland, Banished from what was ours - first !
" 'Bravely we obey, and will go away ; The White Father wills it so ; But our thoughts will roam to this dawntime home Where our fathers sleep, below! And some shining day, beyond white men's sway, We will meet our long-lost own - Where you singing winds and the dawn begins, One will say, "Come in - come home!"
" 'Just beyond you hills, the Rest Land still Is waiting for us all;
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At earth's sunset hour One will wake each flower, And us home will softly call !
Trees and stream, good-bye! Now our parting's nigh ; Know you memory's sweet to me! Though our footsteps go, you may always know You've the heart of each Pawnee!'
"As the chief passed by, stars filled the sky, And the moonlight softest fell - But the night winds said, 'Peace is overhead !' And the hills said, 'All is well !' "
MY TRIP WEST IN 1861
BY SARAH SCHOOLEY RANDALL
In 1857 my brother, Charles A. Schooley, landed at Brown- ville and soon after purchased several tracts of land near there, one being the old home of Church Howe and adjoining the pres- ent site of the village of Howe. Incidentally, my husband's father, N. G. Randall, three years later purchased land within three miles - known later as Bedford.
In 1860, while my brother was visiting his old home, White Deer Valley, near Williamsport, Pennsylvania, the smoldering flames of adventure were kindled in my mind which nothing but a trip west could quench. On March 1, 1861, we left Williams- port by train from Pittsburgh and on arriving there went to the Monongahela hotel, then a magnificent building. Abe Lincoln had just left the hotel, much to our disappointment. After a few days we engaged passage on the Argonaut to St. Louis via the Monongahela, the Ohio, and the Mississippi rivers. Our experiences were varied and exciting enough to meet my expec- tations. During one night we stood tied to a tree and another night the pumps were kept going to keep us from sinking. Small consolation we got from the captain's remark that this was "the last trip for this old hulk." We had ample time for seeing all the important cities along the shore - Cincinnati, Louisville, etc.
Arriving at St. Louis we took passage on a new boat, Sun- shine, and set sail upstream. Perhaps we felt a few pangs of fear as we neared the real pioneer life. We changed boats again at St. Joe and then our trip continued, now up the treacherous Missouri. Every now and then we struck a snag which sent the dishes scurrying from the table. I am reminded that this trip was typical of our lives: floating downstream is easy but up- stream is where we strike the snags.
Of our valued acquaintances met on the trip were Rev. and Mrs. Barrette, the former a Presbyterian minister coming to Brown- ville, and our friendship continued after reaching our destination.
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Arriving in Brownville, we went to the McPherson hotel, where we continued to hear disturbing rumors about the coming civil war.
After a few days we took a carriage and went west ten miles over the beautiful rolling prairies to our ranch. I was charmed with the scene, which was vastly different from the mountains and narrow winding valleys of Pennsylvania, and was deter- mined to stay, though my brother had lost his enthusiasm and gave me two weeks to change my mind. Many a homesick spell I had when I would have very quickly returned to my father's home of peace and plenty, but the danger of travel detained me. I assured my brother that if he would only stay I would be very brave and economical. I only wanted five small rooms plainly furnished and a horse and carriage. When the place was ready we left Brownville in a big wagon, drawn by oxen, and fortified by a load of provisions. When we came in sight of our bunga- low it proved to be a one-room, unpainted and unplastered edi- fice, but I soon overcame that defect by the use of curtains, and as all lived alike then, we were content with our surroundings. Our first callers were three hundred Indians on an expedition. I had been reading extensively about Indians, so knew when I saw their squaws and papooses with them that they were friend- ly - in fact, rather too familiar.
My brother fenced his land and planted it in corn and all kinds of vegetables. The season being favorable there was an abundant crop, both cultivated and wild. The timber abounded with grapes, plums, nuts, etc., and strawberries on the prairies. We had a well of fine water, a good cellar or cave, and a genu- ine "creampot" cow. Instead of a carriage I had a fine saddle horse (afterwards sold to a captain in the army), and how we did gallop over the prairies! One of my escapades was to a neighbor's home ten miles away for ripe tomatoes. In lieu of a sack we tied together the neck and sleeves of a calico wrapper, filled it with the tomatoes, then tied the bottom and balanced it astride the horse in front of me. Going through the tall slough grass in one place near Sheridan, now Auburn, the horse became frantic with heat and flies and attempted to run away. The strings gave way and the tomatoes scattered. Finally the saddle turned and the well-trained horse stopped. An inventory re- vealed one sleeve full of tomatoes remaining.
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MY TRIP WEST IN 1861
Among our near neighbors were Mr. and Mrs. Milo Gates and family, and Mr. and Mrs. Engle. Mrs. Gates's cheerful op- timism made this pioneer life not only possible but enjoyable.
After five months, my brother joined the army and went south as a captain ; was several times promoted, and stayed all through the war. A year after I went back to Brownville to stay until the war was over, and there made many valued acquaintances : Senator Tipton's sister, Mrs. Atkinson, Judge Wheeler, H. C. Lett, the McCrearys, Hackers, Whitneys, Carsons, Dr. Guin, Furnas, Johnson, etc. About this time the citizens gave a party for the boys who enlisted, and there I met E. J. Randall, whom I married soon after he returned from the army. Of the four Randall brothers who enlisted one was killed, one wounded, and one taken prisoner. Two of them still live, Dr. H. L. Randall of Aurora, forty-seven years a practicing physician in Nebraska and at one time surgeon at the Soldiers' Home, Grand Island ; and A. D. Randall of Chapman, Nebraska, who enlisted at the age of sixteen and served all through the war.
After a college course of four years my husband entered the ministry and served for twenty-five years in Nebraska, except for one year of mission work at Cheyenne, Wyoming. The itinerant life is not unlike the pioneer life and brought with it the bitter and sweet as well, but the bitter was soon forgotten and blessed memories remain of the dear friends scattered all over the state of Nebraska, and indeed to the ends of the earth.
Dr. Wharton said when paying his tribute to my departed husband, "He still lives on in the lives of those to whom he has ministered." Our children are Charles H. Randall of Los An- geles, California, member of congress, and Mrs. Anna Randall Pope of Lincoln, Nebraska.
STIRRING EVENTS ALONG THE LITTLE BLUE BY CLARENDON E. ADAMS
Painting a Buffalo
The following narrative of Albert Bierstadt's visit to what is now Nuckolls county, Nebraska, was told to me by Mr. E. S. Comstock, a pioneer of the county. Mr. Comstock made his first settlement in this county at Oak Grove, in 1858, and was in charge of the Oak Grove ranch when this incident took place.
In 1863 Mr. Bierstadt returned from the Pacific coast via the Overland stage route, which was then conducted by Russell, Majors & Waddell, the pioneer stage and pony expressmen of the plains. Arriving at Oak Grove ranch, Mr. Bierstadt and his traveling companion, a Mr. Dunlap, correspondent of the New York Post, decided to stop a few days and have a buffalo hunt. In company with E. S. Comstock, his son George, and a neigh- bor by the name of Eubanks, who was killed by the Indians the next year, they proceeded to the Republican Valley and eamped the first night in the grove on Lost creek, now known as Lincoln Park. The following morning the party proceeded up the river to the farm now owned by Frank Schmeling. Here they discov- ered a large herd of buffalo grazing along the creek to the west and covering the prairies to the north for several miles. Mr. Comstock says that it was one of the largest herds of buffalo he had ever encountered and that Mr. Bierstadt became greatly excited and said, "Now, boys, is our time for fun. I want to see an enraged wounded buffalo. I want to see him so mad that he will bellow and tear up the ground." Mr. Comstock said they arranged for the affray : Mr. Bierstadt was to take his posi- tion on a small knoll to the east of the herd, fix himself with his easel so that he could sketch the landscape and the grazing bison, and when this was done the wounding of one of the buf- falo bulls was to take place.
Bierstadt was stationed on a small knoll in plain view of the herd; Mr. Eubanks was stationed in a draw near Bierstadt, in
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order to protect him from the charges of the buffalo, if neces- sary. George Comstock was to select a buffalo bull from the herd and wound him and then tantalize him by shaking a red blanket at him until he was thoroughly enraged, then he was to give him another wound from his rifle and lead out in the direc- tion of Mr. Bierstadt.
The wounded buffalo became furious and charged Comstock's horse repeatedly, but Comstock, being an expert horseman, evaded the fierce charges and was all the time coming nearer to Bierstadt. When within about three hundred yards Comstock whirled his horse to the side of the maddened monster. As a buffalo does not see well out of the side of his eyes on account of the long shaggy hair about the face, Comstock was lost to his view. The infuriated animal tossed his head high in air and the only thing he saw was Bierstadt. Onward he rushed toward the artist, pawing the ground and bellowing furiously. Bier- stadt called for help and took to his heels. The buffalo struck the easel and sent it in splinters through the air. Onward he rushed after the fleeing artist, who was making the best time of his life. Mr. Comstock said he was running so fast that his coat tails stuck so straight out that you could have played a game of euchre on them. The buffalo was gaining at every jump.
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