USA > Nebraska > Nebraska history and record of pioneer days, Vol. VI > Part 6
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But when next morning, timorous and cold, Flushed o'er the east like one who, half-awake, Unfolds a drowsy eye, puts forth an arm, And takes the glimmering prospect of his room,
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The Otoe and the Omaha, well-armed, Banded for fight and swept across the hills- Seeking, not waiting, for the foe. And as Along that green and dewy-gleaming land The level sunrise streamed an amber flood, The very prairie seem to move and slip, As in an earthquake. Host drew near to host, Masses opaque, swart, thundering on fierce steeds, Or running with fleet foot. 'Gainst the low sun Their cold spears glittering like a snow-glazed plain, Brandished with threats and hate. Then with a crash As when in August-storms, among the bluffs Above the Platte, or on its heated plain, Reverberating thunders peal and bound, The fierce tribes met, and each to each with whoop Answered-whoop dire as shriek of hopeless fiends Weltering upon the surges of remorse.
Then deeds of daring might were done, and hosts Battled for sovereign rites, and for the laws Of hospitality. The vanquished asked No quarter; none the victors gave. The war was no pretence, no hollow sham disguised, To gain a footing for diplomacy ; But every blow meant death, and death rejoiced And spread his bloody meshes wide for all. But Sananona, who from far had watched The progress of the battle, and the death Of many warriors saw, turned, sick at heart And moaning in his grief, and sought the tent That hid his bride, Nacoumah. Her he found Engaged in sweet domestic ways, alone In the wide tent. Within his arms her waist He drew, and fondly kissed her beauteous cheek, And wept and said, "Farewell, dear bride, farewell. My time has come; the tribes too long have fought; Too long death ravened on the innocent- And I sole cause of war. But if I die No need of battle or of blood remains. No other family must forever mourn For my offense, or all will curse my name, And in the coming times will haply say, 'He loved himself ; he lived and saw the sun, But had no will to spare the braves who died, No pity on their children or their wives'." And him Nacoumah answered through her tears:
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"Dear, noble heart, go, battle with our friends ; Go do great deeds, and win a name for me. Why speak of death ? The grave is dark and foul- Forgotten soon, and no man loves the grave. Have I no charms? and care you not to see Your prattling children playing at the door Of the dear lodge? O speak no more of death." But he replied: "I am not left to choose Or life or death, the arms of wife and babe, Or the fierce worm. Fate has made choice for me. Through all last night, while you slept at my side, A shadow, with moon-eyes and chilly touch Stood over me, and breathed, in hollow voice, 'Come, Sananona, come; the grave is made, The worm awaits!' But just at morning light A sun-bright figure with a happy face Displaced the bodiless spectre of the night, And told me that to-day my life shall be Far, far away, among the prairie-hills And blooming valleys of the land of souls. I go to meet my fate; but I shall look Athwart the gates of morning year by year, And peer in every coming woman's face, Matron or maiden, hoping e'er for you. Farewell, dear bride, farewell."
So in the long
And painful rapture of a last embrace, They clung with tears and bitter, aching hearts, Till Sananona, summoning his strength, His sweet Nacoumah's fond arms disengaged, Put on the stolid look an Indian wears, And turned away and sought the bloody field. Where fiercest strained the fight he came, and cried, "Hold, Otoes, Omahas, ye warriors brave! No further need is ther of blood and hate. I come to end this cruel war, and save Your women's eyes from tears, your babes from want. Live you, but let me die-mine the war's cause, Mine be its latest wo. But you henceforth Be friends !"
Then from the conflict paused the hosts At gaze, while Sananona, well-beloved By either tribe, fixed in the yielding soil The polished handle of his keen-edged spear,
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And pulled aside his robe, and bared his breast, And fell upon the spear-point. Straight it drove To his brave heart, and the hot blood was seen, And he fell backwards, like a bird that flies Against the wires suspended in mid-air On poles of inland telegraphs, and died. But a wan cloud, that in the midmost heaven Had gathered unperceived in the sun's path, Sent forth a frightful wail of frightened winds And scattered tearful drops, and, from its edge . Sulphureous, whirled a luminous, hissing bolt, Along whose wake the thunder cracked and roared Above the hosts. Great horror fell on all. But the cloud slipped away into thin air, The sweet wild winds sang a sweet song of June, And the sun shone.
Then to the Omahas Shosguscan said: "Why do we stand at war? The end I sought is reached; due penalty Exacted from the insubordinate. Had I myself for Sananona's fault Awarded punishment, his life, no doubt, Would be untouched. But now I do rejoice That he, by his own act, before you all His blame confesses and my sentence spares. In after years when these vast hosts are gone, And other warriors roam these flowery plains, It shall be told by many an evening fire, For youth's instruction, how this young man brought Two peaceful tribes to fearful chance of war. And compassed his own death by headlong lust That mocked at duty. Sananona's name Shall then be synonym of scorn of law, Of disobedience. So others all, By his sad fate and this brief war forewarned, Shall settle to their places with content, And just authority no more be spurned. Now let the calumet be lit and passed, And Omaha and Otoe be sure friends, As heretofore."
But stout Watonashie, Turning half-way to his own men, replied: "'Twixt me and that fierce wolf can be no peace! What was this Sananona's fault ? His fault -
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He wed a daughter of the Omaha, Nacoumah, whom I, childless, love as well As if she were my own. For this alone- Because he followed where love's instinct led, And prized the natural hunger of the heart As something better than a beast's desire, As all too sacred for another's will To guide or thwart, he lies here dead to-day. But now this crafty chief, Shosguscan, he Who is at blame for all this bloody work, Would point a moral with the young man's name- Victim.of pitiless vengeance-and ourselves Having dishonored by this show of war, From which he gains his end, would pause and smoke The Peace-Pipe in a handsome covenant, And crawl away, himself secure from harm. This must not be. Good friends it shall not be! My arm aches for reprisal, and my will Exacts from battle you disturber's blood. No talk of peace be here !"
Then flew the spears:
The barbed sharp arrows hissed along the air, And the hot hosts strained to death's furious work. As when along the bottoms by the streams In Autumn, when the dense tall grass is dry, Two surging fires, by opposite currents driven, Eat all before them over untold miles, And leave behind them no thick tall spire of grass, Or tough brown weed, but charred black clumps of roots, Unsightly, on the desolated fields, So all day long, through feverish hours of noon, Till the great sun lay low above the hills, The adverse hosts each through the other whirled, And death made brutal havoc, and the field Was black and bloody with the fallen dead. But as the sun, descending, touched the hills, And the last breath of winds that die away With sunset sighed across the world, two chiefs- One Omaha, one Otoe, now the sole Survivors of that brave, infuriate day- Bleeding with many wounds, but black with hate, Drew to each other o'er the slippery field. Then spoke Watonashie: "Shosguscan, fiend, I joy to meet thee thus; come, find thy death;
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And by the evening fire in after times It shall be told their children by the old How Sananona died for hapless love, Forbidden by his chief; and also how The fierce Shosguscan, who held hearts as cheap, And felt no sympathy with others' pain, Destroyed two tribes entire, and died himself And left his carcass to the croaking crows." To him Shosguscan, weary with his wounds, And sick at heart for all his warriors slain, Yet full of wrath, "I know that death is near, Nor would I live, survivor sole and sad Of all I mourn. For them alone I lived : With them 'tis sweet to die. I stood to-day A champion of authority and law, But thou of wilfulness and anarchy. And both have lost. But I would fight again This dreadful fray, and sacrifice, besides, The tender mother and her prattling child, Unconscicous of my thought, rather than yield This cause. I could not brook that each should be And individual law, for turbulence And personal assertion, more than death, I dread. But thou, Watonashie, stand forth ! The hour demands far else than braggart words, For I am proved in battle, and have seen Thy whole tribe fall. Thou, too, shalt die ; the sun Shall never look upon thy face again Living. Now share thy tribesmen's fate !"
As when
Upon the broad, smooth current of a stream, Two iron rams, with long, steel-pointed beaks, Lunge at each other's sides, or sterns, or keels Below the water-line, seeking some place Vulnerable to open to the flood, Or hurl against the iron-plated mail Of their thick sides enormous weight of shot, Or ponderous shell, screaming and glad for death, Till both crushed in their seams by monstrous blows, Settle and sink sudden into depths, And death o'ertakes the crews, and all is still,
The fierce chiefs plied each other with their spears, And, coming closer, drew their fearful knives And grappled in a struggle fierce but short, And fell, close-locked, in death.
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THE WEEPING WATER Photo by Addison E. Sheldon, 1907.
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By this the rim Of western hills, in the cold, wasting light, Grew indiscriminate; but up the east Hung, in gray peaceful depths, the full-orbed moon. Utterly silent was the field of death. So then the women, who from far had marked The waning battle as their heroes fell, And heard the shouts of triumph and the moans Of men death-stricken fainter grow and cease, Warned by the ominous stillness of the eve, Stole, timid, with all orphaned youths and maids And infants hushed, as by a ghostly fear, Across that dreadful field of moon-lit death, Searching for husbands, brothers, sons. As when a mother doe, with spotted fawn, Hides by a runnel in some cool, blue glen, While the brave stag climbs out on some near hill, Observant of the huntsman and the hounds, But, venturing too far, a stealthy shot Reaches his vitals, and he turns and flies, Bleeding, and falls before his mate, and dies. But she and the weak fawn smell o'er his wounds, And lick his face, and moan, and from their eyes, Lustrous and large, fall piteous tears, so then, When all their slain had found and turned them o'er, And knew the light might never break again In kindled glances from death-faded eyes, They sat them down through lingering, painful hours Of the dim night, and, without utterance, wept.
But when the moon, down her accustomed path Descending, touched the west, He who o'errules Particular troubles to the general good, And pities all, and knows the loyal worth Of true wives' tears, and tears of children-such As weep a father slain-He, pitying, sent A sympathetic shudder through the earth, And the dead warriors sank to graves of calm. But all the tears of children and of wives, In a green hollow of the lonely hills He gathered in a fountain, that the sun Dries not in the summer heats, but crystal pure O'erbrims and murmurs through the changing year, Forever on it flows, that gentle stream, Fountained by tears, and glides among the hills- Ne-hawka-in a valley of its own,
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And passes happy homes, and smiling farms, And rolling meadows spotted o'er with flocks That drink its sweet cool waters; and so on Past groves of leafy hickory, and beneath Low painted bridges, rumbling to a team, It moves a broadening current, swelled by rains Or the chill ooze of Spring-dissolving snows, And mirrors back the splendors of the sun, And the cold moon, and the wide stream of stars, Until, at length, it lingers at the marge Of the untamable Missouri flood, As loath to mingle its love-hallowed tears With that fierce sandy rage; then looks its last On the sweet heavens by passing day or night, And sinks beneath the yeasty, boiling waves, Whose like for might and fury earth has not.
Thomas Marsh died near Tekamah, October 19, 1923, aged 65. He came with his parents from Indiana by the ox team and covered wagon route in 1865 to the farm where he died. His home was a headquarters for geese and duck hunters for many years. His hospitality was un- bounded and his memory a tender one to all who knew him.
" Pioneers to Nebraska were many of them dreamers, perhaps all of them. The prevailing type of dream was a home with trees, and flowers and children and friends. Not all of these dreams were realized in com- pletion. - There were also some pipe dreams. Blair for many years had for one of its notable buildings a large square building erected by an early settler named Carson. His dream was to equip this building with a wind mill which would render all kinds of mechanical service. The windmill was never installed, but the odd looking building remained there for nearly fifty years until it was torn down this fall.
The Women's Club, at Geneva, gave an historical exhibit in Oc- tober, 1923. It was a very remarkable collection, including not only many colonial relics, but ancient articles from Germany, England, Czechoslovakia and a rifle made sixty years ago by a pioneer of Fill- more county, used in hunting buffalo.
Mrs. Ellen Pierson celebrated her 93rd birthday at Bethany, Oc- tober 20, 1923. She and her husband homesteaded, in 1869, five miles south of Bennett.
W. H. Stringfield died, at Humboldt, October 27, 1923, aged 83. He came to Richardson county in 1861 and for years operated one of the old custom mills on the Nemaha River, which ground grain for one sixth toll, and was kept busy day and night throughout the year.
Mrs. Mary Yule died, at Los Angeles, October 16, 1923. She was formerly Mrs. Burke and one of the pioneer settlers in Jefferson county. Her husband was a pony express driver on the Overland Route. He was later killed by the Indians while going to Fairbury with a load of corn.
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1
Indian Summer
None of the literary or the weather sharks knows the origin of the term "Indian Summer." Popular tradition has connected it with the Indians, but in truth the season has no more connection with the Indians than any part of the year. The smoky haze which dwells in the at- mosphere it has been suggested came from Indian fires, but the Indians build fires at all other periods of the year. The origin of the name "Indian Summer" and the particular type of weather which it signifies are the subject of a very learned paper by Dr. De C. Ward of Harvard University in the Journal of the American Philosophical Society at Phil- adelphia. Dr. Ward's paper contains references to practically all of the important printed documents on the subject of Indian Summer, and is recommended to people who wish to know more about the subject. The principal cause of Indian Summer days is the passing from the heat of summer to the cold of winter, making a breathing spell between the two seasons. The storm areas move more slowly, it has become too cold for thunder storms and is yet too warm for snow storms. There is more of the discussion but the above is worth following.
Bows and Arrows
Every red-blooded boy longs to be the owner of a real bow and ar- row. It is a part of primitive man lingering in his system. It clothes him with the insignia of wild nature and makes him once more an animal among the animals. In the renaissance of wild life represented by the boy scout movement there is a large place for the bow and arrow. So the Nebraska Historical Society Museum has frequent calls for the ex- hibition of its bows and arrows and for directions how to make the im- plements. The University of California has just published a thorough, scientific study of bows and arrows written by Saxton Pope. The book is abundantly illustrated and gives description of ancient bows and ar- rows and comparisons of them with American Indian bows and arrows. This book is available for examination and for loan to Nebraskans in- terested in the bow and arrow question. A few interesting facts regard- ing the distances shot by arrows from different bows, the result of care- ful tests in California:
An Osage Indian Bow. 92 yards
An Apache Indian Bow 120 yards
A Black Foot Indian Bow 145 yards
A Cheyenne Indian Bow 165 yards
A Yaqui Indian Bow (from Mexico) 210 yards
An English Long Bow 250 yards
Arrows from the English Long Bow have been sent clear through an inch of solid oak.
The Pennsylvania-Germans
The Historical Society Library has recently come into possession of a nearly complete set of the publications of the Pennsylvania-German Society. This society was founded in 1891, at Lancaster, Pennsylvania. In its more than thirty years of existence it has published twenty-two volumes descriptive of the migration and settlement of Germans to Pennsylvania and neighboring states, a history of the development of the so called Pennsylvania-Dutch people in America, their peculiar dialect, the part they have had in American life. their contribution to American thought and industry, their services in the revolutionary war, civil war and world war, the character of their people and the names of the families who came to America. Each of the European stocks which has settled in America has its own history and its own place in the making of this republic. Certainly among these the Pennsylvania
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German has no reason to be ashamed of his part. The beginnings of the immigrations to Pennsylvania were from the Palatinate, the Rhine provinces of Germany, now occupied by the troops of France and in which there is at present a separatist movement to form an independent republic. These Rhine provinces of German speaking people have suf- fered since the time of Charlemagne from the continual wars between France and Germany. The industrious peasants and mechanics who produced the wealth in these beautiful provinces have endured unspeak- able hardships from the invasion of armies .. When they learned that William Penn had founded a colony in America based upon the principle of peace they eagerly sought to escape from the miseries of the Old World into the wooded wilderness of Pennsylvania. Their immigration began in 1681 and continued at such a rate that the first census of 1790 showed 145,000 people of this stock living in that commonwealth. The Pennsylvania-Dutch have migrated to all the states of the Union and descendants have married freely with the descendants of New England, New York and other colonies. They have been among the most in- dustrious, law abiding, religious and patriotic people of the United States. Thousands of them have served as soldiers in the American Army in each period of our history. The Pennsylvania-Dutch language is an interesting composition of high German, low Dutch and English. In its written form it is not difficult to understand by a person either German or English. In its spoken form it is difficult for either English or German to understand. It has an extensive literature all its own, and that literature will always be an entertainment for the scholar and the sociologist. A single simple stanza may be given from one of its poets: Ihr Pennsylfanisch-deutsche Leut, Ihr brauchet euch net schamme,
Juscht loss der Englisch euch auslache, Mit seine hoochgelerndte Sache- Er lernd euch a'h noch konne; Un's isch en Lerning, net in Bucher, Wan net so hooch, doch juscht so sicher.
Nebraska has many thousand descendants of this sturdy Pennsyl- vania-Dutch stock. Some of the best known families in the settlement and development of the state bear the Pennsylvania-Dutch names. It will be a matter of interest for these Nebraskans to know that the Historical Society has these volumes in its library which may aid them in acquiring a better knowledge of their ancestors in America.
HISTORICAL NOTES
The Hartington News comments upon the list of historical sites in that county as given by the year book of the Nebraska Society of the Sons of the American Revolution, and urges that citizens there study the data and locate the sites of important points connected with the early time history. It will be found that the shores of the Missouri river are rich in the many camp sites, council points and other important historical events .-
October 26, was Pioneer Day at Yankton, participated in by many Nebraska settlers. A pageant representing the old time voyagers up the Missouri river was given with great effect .-
The Syracuse Journal recalls that forty years ago the republican County Committee of that county ordered forty thousand republican tickets printed, dividing the job between the five republican newspapers in the county. Present day voters are thus reminded of a system of furnishing ballots unknown to many of them. The editor of this mag-
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azine well remembers receiving an order for his share of republican county tickets in Madison county nearly forty years ago and of wait- ing two years for his pay .-
The editor of this magazine has a vivid recollection of West Point, in Cuming county, in the early eighties, and the wagon shop maintained by Mr. Larson. This wagon shop was one of several manufacturing in- dustries located at West Point immediately following its first settlement. West Point was the first small sized city of Nebraska to start develop- ment as a manufacturing center. A remarkable group of enterprising men placed its name upon the map and for a number of years it ap- peared that the town was to attain great distinction in the field of manufacturing. Discriminating railroad rates and new business methods ` changed all this, centering in the larger cities of Nebraska the hopes of these founders of small manufacturing towns. There is room for a splen- did story upon the industrial development of our state in the early manu- facturing period.
The 75th anniversary of the Chicago & Northwestern Railroad was celebrated at Chicago, October 24, 1923. It was made a great occasion by the managers of that great railroad as it justly should be. Nearly all of the great railroad lines of the West are developing a historical department for the purpose of preserving remarkable events in the history of these railroads using them for advertising purpose and serving the general cause of historical record .-
Old Nursery Hill was a station on the steam wagon road between Nebraska City and Salt Creek. Pioneers who traveled by stage or ox team over this road in the sixties and seventies will never forget Nursery Hill. It was a picturesque little group of houses on the sidehill looking out over a valley. The chief feature of the landscape was the big, wide overland trail winding its way from the Missouri river to the Rocky mountains. The writer of this paragraph has promised himself for many years to revisit this historical stage station and see whether the picture of the place as he saw it with the child's eye more than fifty years ago can fit into the present landscape. One of the oldest pioneers of Otoe county, Mrs. Kate Hedges, who settled near Nursery Hill in 1861, passed away October 20, at the age of. 85. She had lived more than sixty years in that community. An intelligent, well-read woman, a lover of nature, a good neighbor, a true wife and mother. Can any picture of pioneer life be more complete and satisfying than the one merely outlined in this paragraph ?
At Schuyler the Bohman Opera House, an old land mark dating back to 1875, has been sold and will be torn down. In the early period it was used as a public hall as well as a local theatre. It was the scene of many stormy political gatherings, as well as the development of the Bohemian theatre brought by the settlers from the Old World along with other artistic acquisitions, to the prairies of Nebraska and made a means of entertainment and dramatic development through the early period of our history.
A skull supposed to be the skull of a Sioux Indian was found in the Republican river near Franklin, in October. Mr. Chas. H. Davis, of that locality, is the old settler, who relates from a Sioux Indian the story of a battle between the Omaha and Pawnee on one side and the Sioux on the other, in which a number of the Sioux were killed along the bank and in the Republican river, which was then high.
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Thomas Gerrard died at Schuyler, October 19, aged 84. He home- steaded in 1870 five miles north and one mile west of Schuyler, and was one of the well known and influential citizens of that county for 53 years. His six grown sons acted as pallbearers at his funeral.
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