USA > Nebraska > Collection of Nebraska pioneer reminiscences > Part 3
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A PIONEER NEBRASKA TEACHER
BY MRS. ISABEL ROSCOE
In 1865, B. S. Roscoe, twenty-two years of age, returned to his home in Huron county, Ohio, after two years' service in the civil war. He assisted his father on the farm until 1867, when he was visited by F. B. Barber, an army comrade, a homesteader in northwestern Nebraska. His accounts of the new country were so attractive that Mr. Roscoe, who had long desired a farm of his own, decided to go west.
He started in March, 1867, was delayed in Chicago by a snow blockade, but arrived in Omaha in due time. On March 24, 1867, Mr. Roscoe went to Decatur via the stage route, stopping for dinner at the Lippincott home, called the halfway house be- tween Omaha and Decatur. He was advised to remain in De- catur for a day or two for the return of B. W. Everett from Maple Creek, Iowa, but being told that Logan creek, where he wished to settle, was only sixteen miles distant, he hired a horse and started alone. The snow was deep with a crust on top but not hard enough to bear the horse and rider. After going two miles through the deep snow he returned to Decatur. On March 26 he started with Mr. Everett, who had a load of oats and two dressed hogs on his sled, also two cows to drive. They took turns riding and driving the cows. The trail was hard to fol- low and when they reached the divide between Bell creek and the Blackbird, the wind was high and snow falling. They missed the road and the situation was serious. There was no house, tree, or landmark nearer than Josiah Everett's, who lived near the present site of Lyons, and was the only settler north of what is now Oakland, where John Oak resided. They abandoned the sled and each rode a horse, Mr. Everett trying to lead the way, but the horse kept turning around, so at last he let the animal have its way and they soon arrived at Josiah Everett's home- stead shanty, the cows following.
The next day Mr. Roscoe located his homestead on the bank of Logan creek. A couple of trappers had a dugout near by
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which they had made by digging a hole ten feet square in the side of the creek bank and covering the opening with brush and grass. Their names were Asa Merritt and George Kirk.
Mr. Roscoe then returned to Decatur and walked from there to Omaha, where he filed on his claim April 1, 1867. The ice on the Missouri river was breaking though drays and busses were still crossing. Mr. Roscoe walked across the river to Council Bluffs and then proceeded by train to Bartlett, Iowa, intending to spend the summer near Brownville, Nebraska. In August he returned to his homestead and erected a claim shanty. The following winter was spent working in the woods at Tie- town. In the winter of 1869 fifty dollars was appropriated for school purposes in Everett precinct and Mr. Roscoe taught school for two months in his shanty and boarded around among the patrons.
EXPERIENCES OF A PIONEER WOMAN
BY MRS. ELISE G. EVERETT
On December 31, 1866, in a bleak wind I crossed the Missouri river on the ice, carrying a nine months' old baby, now Mrs. Jas. Stiles, and my four and a half year old boy trudging along. My husband's brother, Josiah Everett, carried three-year-old Eleanor in one arm and drove the team and my husband was a little in advance with his team and wagon containing all our possessions. We drove to the town of Decatur, that place of many hopes and ambitions as yet unfulfilled. We were enter- tained by the Herrick family, who said we would probably re- main on Logan creek, our proposed home site, because we would be too poor to move away.
On January 7, 1867, in threatening weather, we started on the last stage of our journey in quest of a home. Nestled deep in the prairie hay and covered with blankets, the babies and I did not suffer. The desolate, wind-swept prairie looked uninviting but when we came to the Logan Valley, it was beautiful even in that weather. The trees along the winding stream, the grove, now known as Fritt's grove, gave a home-like look and I decided I could be content in that valley.
We lived with our brother until material for our shack could be brought from Decatur or Onawa, Iowa. Five grown people and seven children, ranging in ages from ten years down, lived in that small shack for three months. That our friendship was unimpaired is a lasting monument to our tact, politeness, and good nature.
The New Year snow was the forerunner of heavier ones, until the twenty-mile trip to Decatur took a whole day, but finally materials for the shack were on hand. The last trip extended to Onawa and a sled of provisions and two patient cows were brought over. In Decatur, B. S. Roscoe was waiting an oppor- tunity to get to the Logan and was invited to "jump on." It was late, the load was heavy, and somewhere near Blackbird creek the team stuck in the drifts. The cows were given their
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liberty, the horses unhooked, and with some difficulty the half frozen men managed to mount and the horses did the rest - the cows keeping close to their heels; and so they arrived late in the night. Coffee and a hot supper warmed the men sufficiently to catch a few winks of sleep - on bedding on the floor. A break- fast before light and they were off to rescue the load. The two frozen and dressed porkers had not yet attracted the wolves, and next day they crossed the Logan to the new house.
A few days more and the snowdrifts were a mighty river. B. W. was a sort of Crusoe, but as everything but the horses and cows- and the trifling additional human stock - was strewn around him, he suffered nothing but anxiety. Josiah drove to Decatur, procured a boat, and with the aid of two or three trappers who chanced to be here, we were all rowed over the mile-wide sea, and were at home!
Slowly the water subsided, and Nebraska had emerged from her territorial obscurity (March 1, 1867) before it was possible for teams to cross the bottom lands of the Logan.
One Sunday morning I caught sight of two moving figures emerging from the grove. The dread of Indian callers was ever with me, but as they came nearer my spirits mounted to the clouds -for I recognized my sister, Mrs. Andrew Everett, as the rider, and her son Frank leading the pony. Their claim had been located in March, but owing to the frequent and heavy rains we were not looking for them so soon. The evening before we had made out several covered wagons coming over the hills from Decatur, but we were not aware that they had already ar- rived at Josiah's. The wagons we had seen were those of E. R. Libby, Chas. Morton, Southwell, and Clements.
A boat had brought my sister and her son across the Logan - a pony being allowed to swim the stream but the teams were obliged to go eight miles south to Oakland, where John Oak and two or three others had already settled, and who had thrown a rough bridge across.
Before fall the Andrew Everett house (no shack) was habit- able - also a number of other families had moved in on both sides of the Logan, and it began to be a real neighborhood.
One late afternoon I started out to make preparations for the night, as Mr. Everett was absent for a few days. As I opened the door two Indians stood on the step, one an elderly
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man, the other a much-bedecked young buck. I admitted them ; the elder seated himself and spoke a few friendly words, but the smart young man began immediately to inspect the few furnish- ings of the room. Though quaking inwardly, I said nothing till he spied a revolver hanging in its leather case upon the wall and was reaching for it. I got there first, and taking it from the case I held it in my hands. At once his manner changed. He protested that he was a good Indian, and only wanted to see the gun, while the other immediately rose from his chair. In a voice I never would have recognized as my own, I informed him that it was time for him to go. The elder man at last escorted him outside with me as rear guard. Fancy my feelings when right at the door were ten or more husky fellows, who seemed to propose entering, hut by this time the desperate courage of the arrant coward took possession of me, and I barred the way. It was plain that the gun in my hand was a surprise, and the earnest entreaties of my five-year-old boy "not to shoot them" may also have given them pause. They said they were cold and hungry ; I assured them that I had neither room nor food for them - little enough for my own babies. At last they all went on to the house of our brother, Andrew Everett. I knew that they were foraging for a large party which was encamped in the grove. Soon they came back laden with supplies which they had obtained, and now they insisted on coming in to cook them, and the smell of spirits was so unmistakable that I could readily see that Andrew had judged it best to get rid of them as soon as possible, thinking that they would be back in camp by dark, and the whiskey, which they had obtained between here and Fremont, would have evaporated. But it only made them more insistent in their demands and some were looking quite sullen. At last a young fellow, not an Indian - for he had long dark curls reaching to his shoulders - with a strategic smile asked in good English for a "drink of water." Instead of leaving the door, as he evidently calculated, I called to my little boy to bring it. A giggle ran through the crowd at the expense of the strat- egist but it was plain they were growing ugly. Now the older Indian took the opportunity to make them an earnest talk, and though it was against their wishes, he at last started them to- ward the grove. After a while Frank Everett, my nephew, who had come down to bolster up my courage, and the children went
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to bed and to sleep, but no sleep for me; as the gray dawn was showing in the east, a terrific pounding upon the door turned my blood to ice. Again and again it came, and at last I tiptoed to the door and stooped to look through the crack. A pair of very slim ankles was all that was visible and as I rose to my feet, the very sweetest music I had ever heard saluted me, the neigh of my pet colt Bonnie, who had failed to receive her ac- customed drink of milk the previous evening and took this man- ner of reminding me.
This was the only time we were ever menaced with actual danger, and many laughable false alarms at last cured me of my fears of a people among whom I now have valued friends.
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RECOLLECTIONS OF WEEPING WATER, NEBRASKA
BY I. N. HUNTER
Mr. and Mrs. L. D. Hunter were pioneer settlers of Nebraska and Weeping Water, coming from Illinois by team. Their first settlement in the state was near West Point in Cuming county where father staked out a claim in 1857. Things went well aside from the usual hardships of pioneer life, such as being out of flour and having to pound corn in an iron kettle with an iron wedge to obtain corn meal for bread. When the bottom of the kettle gave way as a result of the many thumpings of the wedge, a new plan was devised - that of chopping a hole in a log and making a crude wooden kettle which better stood the blows of the wedge. This method of grinding corn was used until a trip could be made with an ox team, to the nearest mill, forty miles distant; a long and tedious trip always but much more so in this particular instance because of the high water in the streams which were not bridged in those days. These were small hard- ships compared to what took place when the home was robbed by Indians. These treacherous savages stripped the premises of all the live stock, household and personal effects. Cattle and chickens were killed and eaten and what could not be disposed of in this way were wantonly destroyed and driven off. Clothing and household goods were destroyed so that little was saved except the clothing the members of the family had on. From the two feather beds that were ripped open, mother succeeded in gathering up enough feathers to make two pillows and these I now have in my home. They are more than a half century old. A friendly Indian had come in advance of the hostile band and warned the little settlement of the approach of the Indians with paint on their faces. His signs telling them to flee were speedily obeyed and in all probability this was all that saved many lives, as the six or seven families had to keep together and travel all night to keep out of the reach of the Indians until the people at Omaha could be notified and soldiers sent to the scene.
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On the arrival of the soldiers the Indians immediately hoisted a white flag and insisted that they were "good Indians."
As no one had been killed by the Indians, it was the desire of the soldiers to merely make the Indians return the stolen prop- erty and stock, but as much property was destroyed, the settlers received very little. A number of the Indians were arrested and tried for robbing the postoffice which was at our home. My parents were the principal witnesses and after the Indians were acquitted, it was feared they might take revenge, so they were advised to leave the country.
With an ox team and a few ragged articles of clothing they started east. When he reached Rock Bluffs, one of the early river towns of Cass county, father succeeded in obtaining work. His wages were seventy-five cents a day with the privilege of living in a small log cabin. There was practically no furniture for the cabin, corn husks and the few quilts that had been given them were placed on the floor in the corner to serve as a place to sleep. Father worked until after Christmas time without having a coat. At about this time, he was told to take his team and make a trip into Iowa. Just as he was about to start, his employer said to him: "Hunter, where's your coat?" The reply was, "I haven't any." "Well, that won't do; you can't make that trip without a coat; come with me to the store." Father came out of the store with a new under coat and over- coat, the first coat of any kind he had had since his home was invaded by the red men. .
An explanation of the purpose of the trip into Iowa will be of interest. The man father worked for was a flour and meat freighter with a route to Denver, Colorado. In the winter he would go over into Iowa, buy hogs and drive them across the river on the ice, to Rock Bluffs, where they were slaughtered and salted down in large freight wagons. In the spring, from eight to ten yoke of oxen would be hitched to the wagon, and the meat, and often times an accompanying cargo of flour, would be start- ed across the plains to attractive markets in Denver.
Father made a number of these trips to Denver as ox driver.
The writer was born at Rock Bluffs in 1860. We moved to Weeping Water in 1862 when four or five dwellings and the little old mill that stood near the falls, comprised what is now our beautiful little city of over 1,000 population.
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During the early sixties, many bands of Indians numbering from forty to seventy-five, visited Weeping Water. It was on one of their visits that the writer made the best record he has ever made, as a foot racer. The seven or eight year old boy of today would not think of running from an Indian, but half a century ago it was different. It was no fun in those days to be out hunting cattle and run onto a band of Indians all sitting around in a circle. In the morning the cattle were turned out to roam about at will except when they attempted to molest a field, and at night they were brought home if they could be found. If not the search was continued the next day. Some one was out hunting cattle all the time it seemed. With such a system of letting cattle run at large, it was really the fields that were herded and not the cattle. Several times a day some mem- ber of the family would go out around the fields to see if any cattle were molesting them. One of our neighbors owned two Shepherd dogs which would stay with the cattle all day, and take them home at night. It was very interesting to watch the dogs drive the cattle. One would go ahead to keep the cattle from turning into a field where there might be an opening in the rail fence, while the other would bring up the rear. They worked like two men would. But the family that had trained dogs of this kind was the exception; in most cases it was the boys that had to do the herding. It was on such a mission one day that the writer watched from under cover of some bushes, the passing of about seventy-five Indians all on horseback and traveling single file. They were strung out a distance of almost a mile. Of course they were supposed to be friendly, but there were so many things that pointed to their tendency to be other- wise at times, that we were not at all anxious to meet an Indian no matter how many times he would repeat the characteristic phrase, "Me good Injun." We were really afraid of them and moreover the story was fresh in our minds of the murder of the Hungate family in Colorado, Mrs. Hungate's parents being resi- dents of our vicinity at that time. Her sister, Mrs. P. S. Barnes, now resides in Weeping Water.
Thus it will be seen that many Indian experiences and inci- dents have been woven into the early history of Weeping Water. In conclusion to this article it might be fitting to give the Indian legend which explains how the town received its name of Weep-
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ing Water. The poem was written by my son, Rev. A. V. Hunt- er, of Boston, and is founded on the most popular of the Indian legends that have been handed down.
THE LEGEND OF WEEPING WATER
Long before the white man wandered To these rich Nebraska lands, Indians in their paint and feathers Roamed in savage warlike bands.
They, the red men, feared no hardships; Battles were their chief delights; Victory was their great ambition In their awful bloody fights.
Then one day the war cry sounded Over valley, hill and plain. From the North came dusky warriors, From that vast unknown domain.
When the news had reached the valley That the foe was near at hand, Every brave was stirred to action To defend his home, his land.
To the hills they quickly hastened There to wait the coming foe. Each one ready for the conflict Each with arrow in his bow.
Awful was the scene that followed, Yells and warwhoops echoed shrill.
But at last as night descended Death had conquered; all was still.
Then the women in the wigwams Hearing rumors of the fight, Bearing flaming, flickering torches Soon were wandering in the night.
There they found the loved ones lying Calm in everlasting sleep. Little wonder that the women, Brokenhearted, all should weep.
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Hours and hours they kept on weeping, 'Til their tears began to flow In many trickling streamlets To the valley down below.
These together joined their forces To produce a larger stream
Which has ever since been flowing As you see it in this scene.
Indians christened it Nehawka Crying Water means the same.
In this way the legend tells us Weeping Water got its name.
INCIDENTS AT PLATTSMOUTH BY ELLA POLLOCK MINOR
Mr. and Mrs. Jacob Vallery were living in Glenwood, Iowa, in 1855, when they decided to purchase a store from some In- dians in Plattsmouth. Mr. Vallery went over to transact the bus- iness, and Mrs. Vallery was to follow in a few days. Upon her ar- rival in Bethlehem, where she was to take the ferry, she learned that the crossing was unsafe on account of ice floating in the river. There were two young men there, who were very anxious to get across and decided to risk the trip. They took a letter to her husband telling of the trouble. The next day, accom- panied by these two young men, Mr. Vallery came over after her in a rowboat, by taking a course farther north. The boat was well loaded when they started on the return trip. Some of the men had long poles, and by constantly pushing at the ice they kept the boat from being crushed or overturned.
Mrs. Vallery's oldest daughter was the third white child born in the vicinity of Plattsmouth. And this incident happened soon after her arrival in 1855. Mrs. Vallery had the baby in a cradle and was preparing dinner when she heard a knock at the door. Before she could reach it, an Indian had stepped in, and seeing some meat on the table asked for it. She nodded for him to take it, but he seemed to have misunderstood, and then asked for a drink of water. While Mrs. Vallery was getting the drink, he reached for the baby, but she was too quick for him and succeeded in reaching the baby first. He then departed without further trouble.
At one time the Vallerys had a sick cow, and every evening several Indians would come to find out how she was. She seemed to get no better and still they watched that cow. In the course of a week she died, evidently during the night, because the next morning the first thing they heard was the Indians skinning the cow, out by the shed, and planning a "big feed" for that night down by the river.
The late Mrs. Thomas Pollock used to tell us how the Indians
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came begging for things. Winnebago John, who came each year, couldn't be satisfied very easily, so my grandmother found an army coat of her brother's for him. He was perfectly de- lighted and disappeared with it behind the wood pile, where he remained for some time. The family wondered what he was doing, so after he had slipped away, they went out and hunted around for traces of what had kept him. They soon found the clue; he had stuffed the coat in under the wood, and when they pulled it out, they found it was minus all the brass buttons.
Another time one of Mrs. Pollock's children, the late Mrs. Lillian Parmele, decided to play Indian and frighten her two brothers, who were going up on the hill to do some gardening. She wrapped up in cloaks, blankets and everything she could find to make herself look big and fierce, then went up and hid in the hazel brush, where she knew they would have to pass. Pretty soon she peeked out and there was a band of Indians coming. Terrified, she ran down toward her home, dropping pieces of clothing and blankets as she went. The Indians seeing them, ran after her, each one anxious to pick up what she was drop- ping. The child thinking it was she they were after, let all her belongings go, so she could run the better and escape them. After that escapade quite a number of things were missing about the house, some of them being seen later at an Indian camp near by.
FIRST THINGS IN CLAY COUNTY
BY MRS. CHARLES M. BROWN
The first settler of Clay county, Nebraska, was John B. Wes- ton, who located on the Little Blue, built a log hut in 1857 and called the place Pawnee Ranch. It became a favorite stopping place of St. Joe and Denver mail carriers.
The first settler of Sutton was Luther French who came in March, 1870, and homesteaded eighty acres. Mr. French sur- veyed and laid out the original townsite which was named after Sutton, Massachusetts. His dugout and log house was built on the east bank of School creek, east of the park, and just south of the Kansas City and Omaha railroad bridge. Traces of the excavation are still visible. The house was lined with brick and had a tunnel outlet near the creek bottom for use in case of an Indian attack. Among his early callers were Miss Nellie Hen- derson and Capt. Charles White who rode in from the West Blue in pursuit of an antelope, which they captured.
Mrs. Wils Cumming was the first white woman in Sutton. She resided in the house now known as the Mrs. May Evans (deceased) place. Part of this residence is the original Cum- ming home.
At this time the population of Sutton consisted of thirty-four men and one woman. In the spring of 1871, F. M. Brown, who was born in Illinois in 1840, came to Nebraska and settled on a homestead in Clay county, four miles north of the present site of Sutton. At that time Clay county was unorganized terri- tory, and the B. & M. railroad was being extended from Lincoln west.
September 11, 1871, Governor James issued a proclamation for the election of officers and the organization of Clay county fixing the date, October 14, 1871. The election was held at the home of Alexander Campbell, two miles east of Harvard, and fifty-four votes were cast. Sutton was chosen as the county seat. F. M. Brown was elected county clerk; A. K. Marsh, P. O. Nor- man, and A. A. Corey were elected county commissioners. When
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it came to organizing and qualifying the officers, only one free- holder could be found capable of signing official bonds and as the law required two sureties, R. G. Brown bought a lot of Luther French and was able to sign with Luther French as surety on all official bonds. As the county had no money and no assessments had been made all county business was done on credit. There was no courthouse and county business was con- ducted in the office of R. G. Brown, until February, 1873, when a frame building to be used as a courthouse was completed at a cost of $1,865. This was the first plastered building in the county and was built by F. M. Brown.
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