USA > Nebraska > Sherman County > Loup City > The trail of the Loup; being a history of the Loup River region > Part 11
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in the bottom of the wagon box was tossed and thrown from side to side as they passed through the prairie dog town, till I feared she would be thrown out, but she only demanded to go faster. In a very few minutes our horses were harnessed to the buggy, provisions and a few of our most precious belongings put in, and I wanted to go fast too, for we also had seen the smoke. Orson said, 'see! there are no Indians in sight, we have plenty of time to get there before dark, and it would kill you to ride like that.' I think we were about forty men, women and children in one room that night. The wagons were arranged in a half circle around the end of the house having the entrance-way and the horses were placed in the corral thus formed. Next, lest the roof be set on fire by burning arrows, all tubs and buckets on the place were brought in filled with water. In the
Clifton Hill, One of the Many Strange Loess Formations in Garfield county.
crowding for standingroom, the water was spilled on the floor, babies cried, dogs barked, horses kicked, men talked very loud-and you can im- agine the rest. All the men had some kind of a weapon, even feeble mind- ed Dick Geary, and the wonder is that no one was shot. Long before morn- ing I was so tired I did not care whether the Indians came or not. There was a bed in the room, only it was taken by babies smaller than I. In sheer exhaustion, I think, I found what I supposed a vacant corner, for I remem- ber that Mrs. Frank Chubbuck gave me a good shaking and warned me that I was sleeping on her baby. (I suppose I owe that baby an apology to this day), so I slipped down by the foot of the bed onto a keg of onions and slept soundly until morning, when we scattered for our several homes."
Now before going any further into our Indian history we should pause for a brief space of time upon a natural phenomenon which came so sudden- ly and was so awful in its effects that those who experienced its visitation will never be able to dismiss it from memory. We refer to the great snow-
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storm which raged with terrible fury through the Valley from April 13 to 16, 1873.
All prairie dwellers have had their experience with the western "bliz- zard," the dreaded winter stormwind of the plains, which is wont to burst into a marrow-chilling fury over the plain but lately bathed in a flood of sunshine, surprising man and beast far from home and shelter, tossing them about with all bearings lost, till chilled to the heart and exhausted they sink dying into the drift, the whistling, howling wind singing their last requiem. Of late years these storms have been less frequent and of shorter duration than in early days when the winds could sweep for hun- dreds of miles over the unbroken prairie. Perhaps the most destructive storm of this kind in Nebraska was the April storm of '73. Easter Sunday, April 13th, was remarkably mild, and gave every promise of coming spring. Plowing and seeding were already well under way and the settlers were rejoicing in renewed outdoor activity. As the day advanced the at- mosphere became murky and early in the afternoon a mild rain began to fall. By nightfall the rain was falling freely. But who could have dreamed of what was in store for the settlements!
Sometime in the early night the wind veered to the northeast and later to the northwest, and burst with a roar over the Valley. The rain became frozen to a fine, powdery snow, which was hurled horizontally through space, stinging and blinding, working its way through the smallest aper- ture, and in a surprisingly short time had filled every cranny and corner in any way exposed. The first shock of the storm left the earth surprised and paralyzed in an enshrouding ice-sheet, which rapidly lost itself in heaping drifts of snow.
Before morning men lay shivering in bed, so intensely cold was it getting; and cattle and horses, where not properly housed, were perishing. Dwelling houses and hay sheds were in many instances entirely buried. In places the settlers were unable to reach their barns and cattle sheds till the third day, and then at the risk of their lives. A few succeeded in feeding their stock a little grain-to get bulky fodder to them was practically out of the question. Heroic measures alone saved the settlements from great loss. Many a farmer saved his domestic animals by bringing them right in- to the house with the family. In the Dane Creek settlement the only loss of any moment befell Adamı T. Morris, a brother-in-law of Sam A. and O. M. Stacy, who the preceding fall had filed on the southeast quarter of section twenty-six, adjoining the townsite of Elyria, and who had just arrived with his family and stock at the George Miller dugout. When the rain began to fall Mr. Morris's best team was sheltered in a new barn built by Nels An- derson on the latter's claim, one-half of a mile distant. When the storm had abated sufficiently to allow the owner to reach them, he found the stable drifted full of snow to the rafters and both animals dead. The fam- ily and the only remaining horse were saved from certain death by George Miller, who had them move from their prairie schooner into his dugout - family, horse and all,
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George W. Larkin, down near Olean, found his shed full of snow on the morning of the first day. With almost superhuman effort he succeeded in extricating his ox-team from the drift. These he then led into the dug- out-the same in which the first county election was held-and for three long days shared his narrow quarters with his bovine friends.
Austin Terry of the North Loup colony, lost his only span of horses, and Elder Ira Bristol of the same locality, his only cow. Elder Oscar Bab- cock awoke late in the forenoon to find the room in inky darkness. His dugout was entirely snowed under, and only after digging an eight foot tunnel did he find daylight. L. C. Jacobs, the county commissioner, had an unique experience He found it necessary to bring all his stock, horses, cows, pigs and chickens into the one-room dwelling house. To make room for all he rigged quarters for his family up under the rafters, on a sort of a swinging platform. Here they spent several never-to-be-forgotten days.
The great wonder was that the upper Valley escaped with as light a loss as it did. It is almost impossible for us now to conceive of the fury of this storm or to appreciate the amount of snow that fell. Thus John Shel- don of North Loup tells us that canyons forty feet deep were filled with snow to the very top, and that it became hard enough for a man to walk across on the crust. Snow lay in the ravines till late in June.
Farther down the Loup the losses were much more serious. We have already heard how Captain Mix lost practically all his cavalry mounts at Dead Horse Run in Sherman county, and in Howard county which was old- er and had more to lose, conditions were still worse. "Horse stables and cattle corrals were covered with the whirling snow, and there the cattle and horses were obliged to remain without food, for so blinding was the rapid- ly falling snow, driven by the violent winds, that it was impossible that any human being could go to them to care for them. It was almost sure death for anyone to venture out even for a short distance from the house. During the storm nearly one-half the cattle in the county perished.
"Among the settlers, a great deal of suffering was experienced. Sev- eral perished during the storm, the details of whose death is truly sad.
"One of those who died was Miss Lizzie Cooper, who had taught the St. Paul school the previous year. Mr. Cooper was absent in Grand Island on business. The only son was also away. Mrs. Cooper and her two daughters, Lizzie and Emma, were left alone. Lacking fuel, on April 16th, the girls determined to go to a neighbor's for relief. After carefully wrapping Mrs. Cooper in blankets and covering her in bed they started out. The cold was so intense and the snow so blinding they very soon lost their way. Still they struggled bravely on, hoping against hope, that they might reach some habitation and procure relief for their aged mother. Soon they began to be so exhausted that it was almost impossible for them to move. Seeing that there was now no hope of reaching the homes of any of their neighbors, they tried to reach an abandoned dugout in a canvon, which they thought they could find. Pressing on, sometimes stumbling, through the rough lands just off from the Cotesfield road, Lizzie soon drop-
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ped from sheer exhaustion and could go no farther. This was partially un- der the bank of a canyou. Emma did all she could to urge her sister on, but it was impossible for her to move. Lizzie was soon dead. The devoted Emma remained with the dead body of her sister all that day and all night. Being partially protected by the bank above, the suow soon drifted over her, and this saved her life. By continued struggling she managed to keep from smothering. In the morning she left her dead sister to try to find some habitation Half dead and nearly crazed from the effects of grief, hunger and cold, she rushed madly on, hardly knowing what she did. The storm had now abated, but the snow, driven by the heavy winds, made it almost impossible to find the way. As she passed the home of, W. P.
The Original Dowhower Log-house Six Miles North of Ord. Erected in 1872-'73.
Wyman, on the farm of Capt. Munsen, she was seen to be rushing wildly on, sometimes on hands and knees, and sometimes on her feet. So nearly unconscious was she that she passed only a few rods from the house with- out seeing it. She was stopped, taken in and cared for. As soon as the poor girl could speak, she managed to let them know what had befallen her sister, and that her mother was left alone the day before. A party soon organized to go to the relief of Mrs. Cooper.
"When they arrived at the house they found she was gone. Looking for her on the road they frequently found pieces of clothing, and all the indi- cations that the woman had pushed on, frequently falling from exhaustion, and then recovering her strength had again struggled on. In a short time, her dead body was found, partially covered with snow and stark and stiff. It is supposed that on the day the girls started out she became alarmed at their protracted absence and started to look for them, and soon perished
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With a mother's guiding counsels and an older sister's love so suddenly withdrawn, Emma has since led a sad and lonely life."
But the above were not the only lives lost in this terrible and long- to-be-rememered storm. Dillon Haworth and his family, consisting of his wife and two children, were living on a pleasant farm that they were just opening up on Spring Creek. Becoming frightened at the long continuance of the storm they started, it is supposed, to find a neighbor's house. At all events the dead bodies of the entire family, except the babe, one half year old, were found dead the next day after the storm some distance apart. The babe was the only one found alive, and she was clasped to her mother's breast.
Such, in brief, was the April storm of '73, a storm which the hard- iest of the old timers cannot recount without an involuntary shudder.
Indians and Grasshoppers.
CHAPTER IX.
"The Lord only knows which harmed the poor settlers the more. the prowling Red-skins who were wont to sally forth from the hills and uplands or the green imps of satan the grasshoppers. which pounced upon us in bewildering hordes-both literally took the bread out of our mouths."-An Old Pioneer.
T HE SUMMER of '73 was a busy season in the settlements. White- topped prairie schooners with their quota of brawny homeseekers were now common sights in the valley. Everywhere were there signs of settlement.
The older colonies steadily grew outward, and the space between them was steadily becoming smaller, till indeed farm-places occupied the river course in a continuous chain from Scotia to Willow Springs at the mouth of Jones' Canyon, and were even pushing beyond The Forks into the unor- ganized territory. From St. Paul and Loup City settlers were pushing northward along the Middle Loup and settling that part of Valley county. Early in '73 the foundations of Brownville, or Arcadia were laid and an in- teresting community, whose history will be chronicled in later pages, took its beginning.
Much prairie was broken during the months of April, May and June, and quite a large acreage of sod corn planted The "back-setting" of the previous season was sown with small grain, or planted with corn and pota- toes. Considered as a whole the yield was fair; and this was indeed fortu- nate for disastrous years were even now to come upon the settlements.
The summer passed away peacefully enough. The prowling Indian for some reason steered clear of the Valley, and had not since the Sioux Creek Fight molested any of the farmsteads. Fall and beautiful Indian summer came, and still no signs of him. But with the setting in of winter In- dian signs became numerous. And hunters and trappers began to encoun- ter small parties in the hills east of the river. Soon bands returning from unsuccessful raids upon the Pawnees, driven by hunger, openly entered the settlements, begging and stealing. This led to another fight, the most memorable in our frontier history-the so-called Battle of Pebble Creek. George McAnulty who was one of the chief actors in this tragic fray recounts the causes and chief points of interest thus : "During the spring and summer of '73, quite a number of settlers, attracted by the great beauty
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of the valley at that point, and by the fertility of its soil, took claims in what was called the Goodenow settlement. the writer-then a boy of twenty-one-being one of the number, had homesteaded the land now known as the Jas. Barr farm, near Burwell. On the east side of the river the settlement extended up as far as the old town of Willow Springs, or as it was known then, "the mouth of Jones' Canyon." The settlers were all more or less afraid of the wandering bands of Indians, that from time to time passed near the valley on their way to the Pawnee reservation, but as month after month passed in safety it seemed as if the Sioux had decid- ed not to favor us with any further visits. This feeling of security was sud- denly dispelled.
"On the evening of Jan. 18, 1874, a cold, stormy Sunday afternoon, with the wind driving the snow in blinding sheets over the wild, unbrok- en prairie, in a lull in the storm, some hunters of which the writer was one, beheld a large party of Indians surrounding the residence of Richard McClimans, near Willow Springs. Mr. MeClimans' family at that time, consisted of himself, his parents and his brother Newton, and that home was one of great hospitality, Mrs. McClimans being noted for her kindness of heart, extending to all a sincere welcome which was never lost on a weary traveller. But on this occasion the good lady's hospitality was sadly abused. The Indians dismounted, crowded into the house and pro- ceeded to hold high carnival. They devoured everything eatable in the house and were even then far from satisfied. They prowled around the place like so many wolves, eating everything they could find, finally kill ing all the chickens within reach. And at that time chickens were very valuable on the frontier. At last, about three o'clock in the afternoon, without any friendly thanks for what they had received, they left the McClimans ranch, and to the relief of the family started up the river.
"About half a mile above McClimans' was the home of the trappers, and who of the old settlers do not remember the trappers, as they were called. Their house was a red cedar one, strongly built. At this partic- ular time, Cy. Haney, Bill Wirtz, the Sawyer boys, the Baker boys, Charley White (Buckskin Charley) and Marion Littlefield were out on a hunting and trapping trip, leaving Steve Chase alone at home; and just at the time of the Indian visit he was getting some wood in the canyon, a quar- ter of a mile from the house. The writer, from the opposite side of the river, saw the redskins break open the house and take possession. Know- ing the boys were away from home, I ran to Bob Hill's house and told him to come with me to see what they were after. We crossed the river on the ice and were nearly through the willows on the east side, when we saw them leaving the shanty, taking with them everything of any value, skins worth perhaps a hundred dollars and all the clothing and provisions. It was a rich find for the rascals and they lost no time in making off with the booty. When we were within four hundred yards of the house the last Indian came out, his arms full of blankets and coats. Just as he was trying to mount his pony I fired at him. The ball must have whizzed too close for
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comfort, for he dropped his load, jumped on his pony and soon overtook his party. When we reached the house we found it completetly looted : not a thing they could carry off remained. About this time Steve Chase came with his wood. He was a picture of righteous indignation when he found what had occurred during his short absence. Late that night the rest of the boys returned home. They reported having seen Indians on Pebble Creek, three miles up the valley, where they had gone into camp. The Indians took a cow from Harry Colby's farm on their way and were having a royal feast.
"A meeting was held that night at the trapper's shanty, and it was de- cided that I should notify settlers on the south side of the river as far down as the Post settlement, which I accordingly did, making the trip from M. B. Goode- now's to David Post's and return in about three hours. Unfortunately "Happy Jack" was not at home, being in camp about thirty miles up the river, where his traps were set. No one slept in the frontier settlement that night for it was known that in the morning the Indians would be asked to return all the stolen goods and pay for the property taken and destroyed, and if they re- fused, then, large as the party was- about forty in number - it would mean a fight, even though we could muster George McAnulty of Scotia, as He Appeared only sixteen men.
when he came to the Loup in 1873
"The next morning, Jan. 19, 1874, was the coldest morning of that year, but in spite of this bright and early we were on the way to Pebble Creek, under the command of Charley White or as we knew him best, "Buckskin Charley." Just at dawn we were within three hundred yards of the big "tepee." Cautioning the men to keep silent, White entered the camp and demanded the return of the prop- erty. Here White no doubt made a mistake. He found the redskins breakfasting on the remnants of their last night's feast, and in no humor for compromise. Charley, who knew a little Sioux jargon, talked with the chief, who emerged from the tepee, took a cartridge from his belt, held it above his head, summoned his followers, and standing in their midst in the gray light of the morning uttered the Sioux war chief's battle cry, always terrible in its character. Many a time since I have heard that same peculiar chant, but never when it sounded more awe-inspiring. We now saw that it was impossible to avert trouble. White rejoined his little command and ordered them to seek shelter under the bank of the Loup river. The Indians opened fire as we reached the bank. It was promplty returned, aud for ten minutes the roar of musketry was
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like that in other days experienced at Rosebud Creek, the lonely bluffs of the Loup echoing the sharp crack of the rifles of white men and red en- gaged in mortal combat. It was soon discovered that owing to the extreme cold the shells were sticking in our guns, retarding our fire; and right here I must mention what I believe was the coolest act I ever saw a man do in time of extreme danger. Steve Chase, a little in advance of the rest
A Second View of Jones' Canyon.
of us, finding the cartridge stuck in his gun, sat down and cooly opening his pocket knife, proceeded to pick the shell out while the bullets flew so thickly around him that to this day it is a mystery to what strange provi- dence he owed his escape.
"The Indians now divided, half of them crawling along to our rear, protected by a little ridge running parallel with the river. They saw we had the advantage of a perfect protection from their bullets. While we
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were under the bank we could return their fire without exposing ourselves. It was to get better range at us, that they divided. The first we knew of their intentions we were greeted by a volley from the southeast. At this juncture Marion Littlefield arose to fire. He exposed his head to the enemy and just as he pressed the trigger of his needle gun there was an answering report and he fell dead on the bank of the river. The shot that killed him was almost the last of the fight. The Indians withdrew. What loss they had sustained we never knew, but that they lost several men was nearly certain. With heavy hearts we raised our dead comrade and carried him further down the river to a place of safety. Here we kindled a fire to warm our guns, expecting every moment to be again attacked by the now invisible savages. Mr. McClimans' wagon now arrived, arrangements hav- ing been made that we should have some supplies sent out to us in the field. The body of Littlefield was carried back to the settlement in this wagon, accom- panied by White and Haney. The rest of us went back to the battleground, but no Indians were to be seen. We dis- patched two of their ponies left ou the field terribly wounded. Abont nine o'clock we returned to McClimans' ranch. In a little while reinforcements came, but it was decided not to follow the Indians, as by this time they had a fair start.
"Thus ended the Pebble Creek fight. Tom Hemmett as He Looked back in the Seventies. The next day a sad party passed down the valley, the friends of Marion Little- field taking his body to his home near Sutton, Neb. He was a prom- ising young man, only 21 years of age, and a favorite with all his friends. His death was a fearful blow to his parents and relatives and the sad affair cast a gloom over the whole settlement for a long time."
The summer of '74 was blessed with an abundance of rain and warm weather. Corn grew rank and was surprisingly forward for the season of the year. The small grain too gave promise of exceptional yield. Farmers in the Valley were beginning to make preparations for harvesting and housing the crop which should at once place them in easy circumstances, when a calamity as complete as it was unexpected with one fell stroke de- stroyed all their calculations and for a time left them stunned and almost broken in spirit. It came in the shape of one of the plagues of ancient Egypt. and it is doubtful whether the Nile-dwellers could have felt greater dismay at the sudden down pouring of this curse than did the Loup-dwellers when-the "grasshoppers" came.
Nothing perhaps in the natural history of our state has excited more
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general interest than the migrating locust. The particular species former- Jy such a pest in our part of the country is the Rocky Mountain locust (Melanoplus spretus), and is native to the dry plateau-lands of the Rocky Mountains, lying between latitude 43 degrees and 53 degrees north. Its permanent habitat, according to the United States Entomological Com- mission of 1877, covered an area of about 300,000 square miles. "The most favorite breeding places in this area were the river bottoms and the up- lands or the grassy regions among the mountans." Whenever the weather conditions were favorable they hatched here in astonishingly large numbers. And the favoring conditions were exceptional dryness and warmtb. In the early days two such dry seasons were sure to bring on a locust migra- tion. During the last twenty years, however, the character of these early breeding grounds has been greatly changed. "Settlment and agriculture have so restricted the permanent haunts in Montana, Idaho and Colorado that the danger from future incursions is very slight. Indeed the locust has practically been driven beyond the borders of the United States, and now breeds freely only in portions of British Columbia."
After the insects hatch cut in the spring it takes about seven weeks before they reach a mature state. They go through five moultings and after the last, acquire wings. Their appetite becomes voracious, and as they are most numerous in hot and dry seasons when vegetation is seant, it takes but a short time for this to become exhausted. It is now that they manifest their peculiar instmets. With a common impulse they take to wing, swarming in a southeasterly direction. They usually rise between 8 and 10 o'clock in the morning and continue their flight till the middle of the afternoon, when they come down to feed. A fall in temperature or a head wind suddenly precipitates them to the ground in great numbers. They move not so much in sheets as in great columns from one to five thousand feet thick, resembling great fleecy clouds propelled onward by some strong but hidden agency. Moving, as we have stated, in a south- easterly direction, those that leave their breeding grounds in southern Montana and Colorado in spring will reach Nebraska in July, while those from northern Montana and Canada do not appear till August or September.
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