USA > Nebraska > York County > York County, Nebraska and its people : together with a condensed history of the state, Vol. I > Part 46
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WILLIAM D. PURCELL-From Old Settlers History
William D. Purcell came to York County September, 1870. There was only one frame store. 10x12 feet, here then. He went back to Lincoln to work, not being able to find any land then to homestead. He had two friends who had homesteaded the southwest quarter of section 24, township 11, range 2 west. They relinquished their right in his favor, and he homesteaded it in the spring of 21. Moved out in September into a sod house 10x12. In December, with a foot of ice on the floor, they put down straw with carpet over it and lived very com- fortably, keeping one boarder.
The next spring he built a sod house on his homestead which was 12x24. and lived there through the grasshopper raid and big April blizzard, had a nice field of corn shooting for cars when the grasshoppers came like a great black cloud by night and left it not a foot high. They took everything but sweet pota- toes and rutabagas and potatoes. He had to drive to Lincoln for everything to live on. In the April storm he had to take the cow, chickens and turkeys into the house. However, we were a happy family, one baby was born November 11. 1871.
CHAPTER III
REMINISCENCES OF PIONEERS
COST OF PIONEERING ( MRS. JENNIE STEPHIENS)-REMINISCENCES BY W. E. DAYTON -- RECOLLECTIONS OF A PIONEER PASTOR'S WIFE ( MRS. W. E. MORGAN )-SPEECHI AT OLD SETTLERS PICNIC BY MRS. GEORGE BOWERS-MRS. CAP. J. B. READ-CHRISTIAN HOLOCHI-MONTRAVILLE ROBBINS-REMINISCENCES OF PIONEER DAYS-L. D. STILSON-A. W. WIRT-FACTS FIFTY YEARS AGO-L. J. GANDY-ROSA C. MIC LEL- LAN-STORY OF A YORK COUNTY PIONEER-THEIR FIRST CHRISTMAS IN YORK, BY NUMEROUS CITIZENS.
COST OF PIONEERING
That the early settlers of York County were never molested by the Indian is generally believed. The fear and apprehension which was constantly in the minds of these pioneers added to the loneliness and privation which truly called for brave hearts and strong courage, may not be so well understood.
The following experience may serve to show the cost of pioneer courage as found in one noble woman and is written as a loving tribute to one of the best of mothers.
In January, 1867, James Waddel leased what is known as the Jack Stone Ranch, one of the landmarks of York County's early history. He left a man on the ranch to put in a crop and returned to Wisconsin for his family, wife and seven children. In June of the same year the family came to this temporary home. The husband and part of the family spent the time establishing the permanent home on the Blue River in Hamilton County. It was when the family was thus separated that the following incident occurred.
One July morning the mother and her little group were aroused by two horsemen who sought from her food and rest and brought to her tidings that on the previous day the Sioux Indians had raided the first settlement of the west. Had taken the stock from farmers, killed two boys and carried two young women into captivity.
The men hastened on to carry the news to the capital at Lincoln.
The mother faced this problem. If the Indians followed the trail or freight road she, with her children, was in their path. If instead they followed the stream or West Blue the other members of her family were in danger.
The horsemen advised her to start at once for civilization, because they thought the Sioux would spare no one in this region. She had a team of horses and a pony.
Could she leave without knowing the fate of her loved ones? What she decided after an hour of careful thought, at 11 o'clock, was to place her oldest son. a lad of fifteen years, on the pony with the charge that he should go to the father. The
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boy had been over the trip but once, no road to follow, nothing but the hot July in to guide his path from without and the boyish prompting of great danger from within. With an overwhelming desire to do well his part, he rode over the jde -tretch of prairie.
The agreement was that he should ride to the family home and return by noon the following day. If he did not return, the mother with the remnant of her flock would start toward the eastward to seek a spot where people "could live."
The long vigil of that night is the silent climax of this tale. It is better imagined than described. With the team of horses and wagon drawn flow to the window and the faithful watch dog, brought from the Wisconsin home, her only protector, crouched under the window, she sat by the bedside of her children, in her arm the writer of this sketch, a habe of four works.
"The first hours of darkness brought a heavy electric storm. I have heard my mother ay "that nature expressed and calmed the anguish of her heart as the looked into the face of her first born, a girl just budding into womanhood, and thought could the see her carried away by a band of Indians or rather could ali " her life go out in innocence and purity."
Ay the storm ceased the little group was aroused by a sound of alarm which frightened the hores. The watch dog barked and growled. One of the children exclaimed, "Oh, there are Bob and father." In the sweet Scotch accent always noticed in time of great earnestnews, the mother answered, "No, children, that's not. Bob, neither is it. your father."
The alarm increased when, with one great bound, the watch dog leaped through the Screened window into the midst of the waiting group crouched at my mother's fert. The found without was the mingling of a growl and a sharp, shrill whi-ile. It became fainter and at last died away, the little group thinking kind providence had caused the red man to pass them by.
The cause of this alarm was not, however, the fierer red skin, but proved to be a wandering wild ammal of the mountain lion family and, so far ay we know, the only one of it- kind that has ever been seen in this country. It killed stock in the settlement and was shot beyond Beaver Crossing the following day. The night watch wore away and with the new day came fresh courage to face life's duties. The midday Jan brought the boy on the pony, the father and the absent members of the family, for the Indian raiders had followed the stream farther to the south.
In the passing years the experience has been rehearsed with many a laugh and joke a to how we met the Indian raida. Yet the experience with its happy ending beard a idence of something of the cost of making this "Our Fair Nebraska," Min. JEG Er. W. STAMMEN, York, Neb.
B. W. E. Dayton, Deceased (Written for the Old Settlers' Boumon)
I came to York County in the spring of 1x21; that is, my parent brought me here I ya a kid in the & days and "Granny Biby," peace to her memory, and that. with the exception of Fick Martin I was the meanest boy on the Blue River. Granny only and the, however, when he didn't want me to "out her a pick of wood " At uch times it was "Elmer, honey, won't you please out old Granny a
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stick or two of wood?" And the wood was always forthcoming, and Granny was always liberal in payment for the same. That in which she paid would not pass with everybody as coin of the realm, but it would with a good many people, and it always did with me. It consisted of liberal twists of "long green terbacker." with an occasional "boughten" piece thrown in.
The humber with which my father built his little house on the homestead was hauled from Lincoln. I remember that the neighbors who lived in soddies and dugouts thought Dayton was putting on too much style with his new frame house. It was a poor affair, compared with the house there now, and with the other houses in York County that have sprung up out of the prairies, but it was home. And that word "home" in the early days meant all the world to hundreds and thousands of hard-working, brave men and women who sat down for the first meal under their own sod and willow brush, and they said the word and it had its full mean- ing. There was no landlord to divide the profits. The roof was their own. And though it was not a very good one. and leaked somewhat, yet it was not long before they made a better one to replace it. No matter how tine the houses may be now, we must always remember the cosy old soddies and dugouts that cradled Nebraska's greatness as a farming and commercial state.
We will always remember the free, cordial life of those days, gone now for an casier, if not a better. Every man's house was his neighbor's. What one lacked was easily and freely made up by another, and the bonds of universal brotherhood were never stronger any place on God's green earth than they were in York County in the good old homesteading days.
A miracle was accomplished when these broad prairies were peopled. The buffalo had hardly disappeared from sight, frightened at the white spread of the prairie schooner's sails, till this trail was turned under by the breaking plow of advancing civilization. Unbroken solitude here today. Tomorrow you passed the same spot and a habitable home was nearly ready for its occupants. Almost before the claim was staked the school district was organized and the teacher employed. justices and peace officers were elected, and the civil law that governed it in the old homes in the East had scarcely time to draw a full breath until it was in perfect operation in the new home. The church and the Sunday school came in with the movers' wagons in a little box under the feed box at the rear end, and it was taken out and set up before camp was pitched. With such men and women composing the nucleus around which was built the population of Nebraska she could not have been other than the great state she is. Her good name and her peaceful character will stand monuments to their enterprise and integrity until men shall move no more.
RECOLLECTIONS OF A PIONEER PASTOR'S WIFE By Mrs. W. E. Morgan
Shall I ever forget my first sight of Nebraska, and my first snill of Nebraska air? We had ridden all day and all night in the close, stuffy sleeper, and about sunrise we arrived at Plattsmouth. Here. as was the custom in those days, the cars were put on the ferry boat. "Vice President." and ferried over the river. We stepped out onto the platform and drew in breath after breath of the glorious. invigorating air, fresh and sweet as if from the plains of Paradise, life-giving as
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the elixir of youth. "Glorious!" I exclaimed. It seemed to me that with every breath I inhaled hope and courage.
All the morning we steamed along the long rolling prairies, and about noon we arrived at the village of Lincoln, then a place of "magnificent distance" and few inhabitants, giving no indication of the busy streets, tall-spired churches, magnifi- cent schools and universities, and flourishing business honses that now fill our capital city.
My brother awaited us with his double-seated "Nebraska surrey." not quite as stylish as the surreys of the present day, but more commodious and useful. Myself and two babies dined at the restaurant around the corner, while my brother and the reverend munched crackers and cheese on a doorstep nearby. (This I learned afterward. I supposed at the time that they were dining at some luxurious hotel.) After refreshing the inner man. we mounted into the Nebraska surrey and started on our journey towards our "home." I don't know what were the sensations of the parson, but I felt like Abraham when he started out to find his Canaan, "Not knowing whither he went." It was a glorious October morning. All over every- thing lay the palpitating mist of the Indian summer, golden in the sunshine. Over our heads beamed the bluest of skies, while around us everywhere stretched the boundless prairie. We seemed to expand and grow tall as we looked out upon the sea of land rising and falling in undulating billows, like the waves of the ocean, while around and above us was the exhilarating air.
Ilere and there appeared little black mounds, which my brother informed us were sod houses, and now and then a group of dark, flitting figures, which they said were antelope. Aside from these, no signs of life appeared. For all that we could see, we were but only lonely voyagers upon the boundless prairie. The reverend gentleman beeame so absorbed in viewing the landscape that he missed the road.
The sun went down; the twilight deepened. One by one the stars peeped out, and still no signs of the little town of Seward, where we had hoped to find supper and a bed. About midnight, however, the hotel came in sight, and we were hos- pitably entertained by the landlord, who gave up his own bed to furnish us a resting place. The landlord was the Mr. Clough who was so deeply involved in the terrible tragedy which happened five years after in this same hotel. We were only too glad to stretch ourselves on a good bed, and we lay down to a dreamless sleep on this our first night in our new Eldorado.
The next morning, bright and early, we resumed our journey under skies as fair, through air as balmy as ever. At noon we stopped for dinner at a half-way house, and here I had my first sight of the interior of a sod house. To say that it was not inspiring would be putting it very mildly. A dirt floor, roof of willows upheld by a big tree for a ridgepole in the center, wooden bunks built around the sides of the walls for beds, and to complete the picture a barefooted woman in a soiled calico dress. My heart was fast going down into the region of my boots, but I ealled up the spirit of my Puritan ancestors. I invoked the Salem witches, from whom I can claim direct deseent, and F set my teeth in grim determination not to be daunted by the first untoward obstacle in my path. We were refreshed by a good dinner of bacon and eggs, coffee and hot biscuits, and continued our journey, to pull up about sundown at the hospitable home of our friends. Mr. and Mrs. Tagg, where we found a good supper and a warm welcome awaiting us. Here was
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a sod house, consisting of three good-sized rooms, a carpeted floor, plastered walls, and many of the comforts, and even luxuries of civilization. Here we rested and visited over Sunday.
On Monday morning I drove over to our claim to see the house which was to be our residence, for a while at least until we should finish a frame house which my brother had already commenced, and which would be ready for occupancy before cold weather. They told us, though, that Nebraska winters were lovely, and that we had nothing to fear from cold or storms.
I found a place about 10x12, half dugout, half sod, a dirt floor, dirt walls, and a shingled roof which slanted to the south. We had two windows, one on the north, which I could only reach by the aid of a chair, the other on the west. Our cabin opened to the south. A sod partition extended through the building, the east half being used as a stable for the horses and cow. My sensations can be better imagined than described as I contemplated the prospect. To add to the cheerful- ness of the outlook, somebody had picked a chicken and left the feathers somewhat promiseuously scattered about. However, we did not stop long to contemplate or moralize, but went vigorously to work to make the cabin habitable. We bestowed our belongings as compactly as possible, to wit: A cook stove, bed, table, and cooking utensils (which for convenience were stowed under the bed). The rest, organ, bureau, etc., were put on the north side of the house and protected with an old wagon cover.
The weather continued delightfully warm and balmy, and we were flattering ourselves that our frame house would soon be ready to occupy.
It had been a delightful day in November, somewhere about the middle, I believe. The sun had set in a blaze of glory. I woke sometime in the middle of the night to find my bed wet with what felt like snow and the wind was howling as if all the spirits of the storm were turned loose. The morning revealed the fact that our bed was covered with about two inches of snow, our door barricaded by a big drift, and the whirling sleet made it dangerous to venture out. We were in the midst of a genuine Nebraska blizzard. To add to our discomfort we had only green elm to burn, and a scanty supply of that. I wrapped the children in blankets and quilts to keep them even moderately warm. Meanwhile, the parson put on his heavy soldier's overcoat and chinked up the cracks and crevices through which the snow and wind were making rapid inroads.
It was, I believe, three days before the storm cleared so that we could get to Beaver Creek, two miles away, and obtain some decent fuel. Meanwhile we whis- tled to keep our courage up and emulated Mark Tapley, who got jolly in proportion as things grew dark.
We had three blizzards that winter, one after the other, and we began to think that the famous Nebraska winters were a myth. Our baby had not been well all winter, and finally grew so much worse that my husband went about six miles to find the only doctor in the vicinity. Ile came back bringing no doctor, but a bottle of carbolic acid. The doctor said that was all the medicine he had. I thought he might have come at least. I declined to administer the earbolic acid, but happened to remember a simple, old-fashioned remedy which I had on hand, and gave, and then I watched all night in fear and trembling. But with the morning the little fellow seemed better and the danger was averted.
We gave up all hopes of finishing our house before spring, and settled ourselves
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to remain all winter in our little dugout with as good grace as possible. One day, in April. I think it was, my husband started for Lineoln to get a load of lumber for the house. I got a friend to stay with me during his absence, as he would be gone two days. It was a warm, cloudless morning when he started, but by noon the sky was overcast with clouds, and at 4 o'clock it commenced to snow and the wind began to rise. We gathered a supply of fuel, got supper and by 8 o'clock there was a whirling, howling blizzard upon us from the north. We got the children in bed, lett the light burning and put our elothing within reach, not knowing but that before morning we should be without a roof to cover us, for the wind from the north lifted our roof, and all night long it daneed over our heads, and we lay shivering, expecting to be driven out before the blast. Morning found the storm somewhat abated, and we were thankful that a roof still covered us.
My brother had gone east to bring his wife, a New England woman aeeus- tomed to all the luxuries and refinements of the East. The parson went to Lincoln with the lumber wagon to meet them and bring them up to their future home. During his absence my friend and I fixed up the cabin. We put down a rag carpet on the three feet of floor which occupied the center of the eabin, put up white eurtains at the windows and a valance about the bed to conceal the cooking utensils, washed the children's faces and arrayed them in elean gingham gowns, and then prepared what was for us a sumptuous supper. I remember that I had concocted some mince meat out of such odds and ends as I could find, and in lieu of green apples I had used all the extracts and cordials that I had on hand. My brother had assisted at the operation. In fact, he had been chief cook upon the occasion. We considered it a masterpiece. This was my piece de resistance for supper. We also had some canned cherries which I had brought from Illinois, some ginger- bread, molasses, and some fried bacon and warm, light biseuit, with coffee.
We flattered ourselves that we were pretty "swell." But, alas for our expecta- tions, our dirt cabin and fine fixin's failed to impress Mrs. C. She couldn't eat any supper, and evidently considered the "grace" which was said at the table an entirely superfluous affair. The parson himself confessed that as he drove up with his dainty New England freight the little cabin, with the pile of debris and the cow in front, didn't look remarkably inviting.
We finished our house sufficiently to make it habitable that spring, and moved in.
Some time in the spring of 1872 Brother Davis came up to York to hold a quarterly meeting. There had been a freshet, and Father Baker had ferried Brother Davis over Beaver Creek in a sorghum pan. In those days a quarterly meeting was a very important event, and as we were to entertain the elder we of course laid ourselves out in the way of housekeeping. We intended to do things up in style. We had induced the men to put us up the inevitable summer kitchen (sod) so dear to every woman's heart, and were planning on a fine layout in the culinary department. Alas for our hope! The freshet flooded our sod kitchen to the depth of six inches or more and I helped get Brother Davis' Sunday morning breakfast, wading around in my bare feet, in water halfway to my knees. I don't suppose the brother had any idea through how many tribulations we eoncoeted that breakfast of fried chicken, eanned cherries, etc.
It was some time in that same spring that another incident occurred that might have forever put an end to any more pioneering. The snows had been very heavy
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all winter, and the roads were almost impassable. But Sunday dawned warm and pleasant and we were glad to avail ourselves of the chance to take an outing. Mr. Morgan had gone with the horse and buggy to the Bussard school house to hold morning service and Mr. Mellersh, Mrs. Tagg and children, and myself, with two babies, started about noon in the lumber wagon for Father Baker's, where Mr. Morgan was to hold services in the afternoon. We had a lovely drive through the fresh spring air, and arrived at the creek to find the little bridge covered with two feet of water. The bridge was just wide enough for a team and wagon, and one false step would precipitate us all into the water. We noticed Father Baker standing on the opposite side, gesticulating with his arms and evidently shouting to us, but our driver paid no attention, gave the reins to the horses, and almost as if by a miracle we passed safely over. We found Father Baker white with fear. Ile told us that we were the first to pass over the bridge during the flood, and that it was a wonder we were not all tipped over and drowned. I rode baek in the buggy with Mr. Morgan, and we found the draws flooded with water and ice, the water often coming up into the buggy, while the horses went plunging along over the cakes of ice and through torrents of water. We finally reached home in safety, as did the rest of our company, thanks to protecting Providence.
Our larder in those days was not always as well supplied as it might have been. I remember one instance, in particular, where a scarcity of provisions was very embarrassing. I think it was on Tuesday morning. We were then living in our own sod house (quite a residenee, by the way, of which we were very proud). We had a living room, bedroom, pantry, and chamber upstairs which was reached by an adjustable ladder which could be hooked up when not in use. Our parishioners had made a "bee" and laid the sod for ns, and we had a very comfortable house. { remember that on this particular morning I had discovered a bedbug (whisper it not in Gath), and had turned the house out of doors in consequence. About 11 o'clock I ehanced to glance eastward and there, coming over the hill, were a horse and buggy. Oh, my prophetie soul, I knew by the prieking of my thumbs that meant company. Sure enough, three ladies from town had come out to spend the day, one of them from Fairmont and whom I had never met. My first thought was, What have I got to eat? I made a hurried mental inventory of my edibles, and it stood thus: Meat, none; butter, none; fruit, none; vegetables-yes. I did have about one mess of green peas growing in the garden. I had some flour, milk and tea. So we dined off green peas, hot biscuits without butter, and tea. We had plenty of hot water, anyway.
Time wore on and our little church grew and flourished until we were able to put up a church building with the aid of good friends in other denominations. In those days the denominational. lines were very lightly drawn. We were not Meth- odists, Congregationalists, Presbyterians and Baptists, but a unit of Christian people trying to establish a town and county that should be God-fearing, temperate, and a synonym for the highest type of Christianity. I thank God that the work we did was well done, and that always the town of York has stood as a bulwark against the saloon power, and has been a representative town in the state for a broad catholic Christianity.
When we had finished our little church the reverend felt that nobody but Dr. Miner Raymond. of the Northwestern University, was equal to the occasion for the dedicatory exercises. We felt that we were laying big foundations and we
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wanted a big, broad man to lay the corner-stone. Dr. Raymond consented to come, and two other churches secured his services. The reverend and I met him at Fair- mont with "Tod," who was then only a three-months-old baby. I can inform you housekeepers that then and there my troubles began. We were to entertain the doctor, and he was, of course, accustomed to all the luxuries of a Chicago market. Butter was an impossible article. Likewise fresh meat. 1 had no chickens, and the canned fruits which we were able to obtain were not palatable. To add to my distress, the doctor was far from well, the water having disagreed with him, so that his stomach was all out of order. Hence. our fare of fried bacon, eggs and sorghum was all out of the question for him. I think he lived mostly on boiled milk for the first three days of his stay with us. About Friday he felt a little better. and began to manifest a good deal of anxiety about the dedication exercises. The music especially seemed to weigh on his mind. "Have you a choir?" he asked. We con- fessed that we qualified to such an article. In fact we had a good choir and organist, and both would have done credit to an eastern town. But i did not enlighten the doctor. As he seemed to think that "no good thing could come ont of Nazareth," I thought I'd leave him with his own opinion. On Friday evening the doctor insisted that we have a choir practice. So about 9 o'clock we went over to Mrs. Millen's, who lived about a mile away, for a practice. The doctor insisted on accompanying ns, though we would very much have preferred to have left him at home. We arrived rather later and found Mr. and Mrs. Millen in bed. She got up and dressed, however, pulled out the organ from its box in the corner, and we sang a little, while the doctor took a survey of the premises. a sod house, dirt roof, the interior lit by a dim kerosene lamp. Certainly the outlook was not very promising. The next night we left the doctor at home. took our choir down to the church and had a good practice.
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