Over the Sioux City & Pacific R.R. from Valentine to the Missouri
Valley.--A visit to Ft. Niobrara.
I was advised to go to Valentine, the present terminus of the S.C. &
P.R.R., and also to visit Fort Niobrara only a few miles from
Valentine, as I would find much that was interesting to write about.
Long Pine was also spoken of as a point of interest, and as Mr.
Buchanan, Gen. Pass. Agt. of the road, had so kindly prepared my way by
sending letters of introduction to Lieut. Davis, quartermaster at the
Fort, and also to the station agent at Valentine, I felt I would not
give it up as others advised me to, as Valentine is considered one of
the wicked places of Nebraska, on account of the cow-boys of that
neighborhood making it their head-quarters.
I had been so often assured of the respect the cow boys entertain for
ladies, that I put aside all fears, and left on a freight train, Friday
evening, May 25th, taking Mrs. Peck, a quiet middle-aged lady with me
for company. Passenger trains go through Stuart at night, and we
availed ourselves of the freight caboose in order to see the country by
daylight. A quiet looking commercial agent, and a "half-breed" who
busies himself with a book, are the only passengers besides Mrs. Peck
and I. There is not much to tell of this country. It is one vast plain
with here a house, and there a house, and here and there a house, and
that's about all; very little farming done, no trees, no bushes, no
nothing but prairie.
There, the cars jerk, jerk, jerk, and shake, shake, shake! Must be
going up grade! Mrs. P. is fat, the agent lean and I am neither; but we
all jerk, shake and nod. Mrs. P. holds herself to the chair, the agent
braces himself against the stove, and I--well I just shake and laugh.
It isn't good manners, I know, but Mrs. P. looks so frightened, and the
agent so queer, that my facial muscles will twitch; so I hide my face
and enjoy the fun. There, we are running smooth now. Agent remarks that
his wife has written him of a terrible cyclone in Kansas City last
Sunday. Cyclone last Sunday! What if it had passed along the Niobrara
and upset the little house with all aboard into the river. One don't
know when to be thankful, do they?
Newport and Bassett are passed, but they are only mere stations, and
not worthy the name of town. The Indian has left our company for that
of the train-men, and as Mrs. P.'s husband is a merchant, and she is
prospecting for a location for a store, she and the agent, who seems
quite pleasant, find plenty to talk about. There, puffing up grade
again! and the jerking, nodding and shaking begins. Mrs. P. holds her
head, the agent tries to look unconcerned, and as though he didn't
shake one bit, and I just put my head out of the window, and watch the
country.
Saw three antelope running at a distance; are smaller than deer.
The land is quite level, but we are seldom out of sight of sand-hills
or bluffs. Country looks better and more settled as we near Long Pine,
where several of the colonists have located, and I have notified them
of our coming, and there! I see a couple of them coming to the depot to
meet us. As the sun has not yet hid behind the "Rockies," we proposed a
walk to Long Pine creek, not a mile away. The tops of the tallest trees
that grow along it, tower just enough above the table-land to be seen
from the cars; and as we did not expect to stop on our return, we made
haste to see all we could. But by the time we got down to the valley it
was so dark we could only see enough to make us very much wish to see
more. So we returned disappointed to the hotel, to wait for the regular
passenger train, which was not due until about midnight. The evening
was being pleasantly passed with music and song, when my eyes rested
upon a couple of pictures that hung on the wall, and despite the
company about me, I was carried over a bridge of sad thoughts to a home
where pictures of the same had hung about a little bed, and in fancy I
am tucking little niece "Myrtle" away for the night, after she has
repeated her evening prayer to me, and I hear her say:
"Oh! auntie! I forgot to say, "God bless everybody."
The prayer is repeated, good-night kisses given, and "Mollie doll"
folded close in her arms to go to sleep, too. But the sweet voice is
silent now, "Mollie" laid away with the sacred playthings, the playful
hands closer folded, and the pictures look down on me, far, so far from
home; and I leave the singers to their songs while I think.
To add to my loneliness, Mrs. P. says she is afraid to venture to
Valentine, and I do not like to insist, lest something might occur, and
the rest try to persuade me not to go. I had advised Lieut. Davis of my
coming, and he had written me to telephone him on my arrival at the
depot, and he would have me conveyed to the Fort immediately.
But better than all, came the thought, "the Lord, in whose care and
protection I left home, has carried me safe and well this far; cannot I
trust Him all the way?" My faith is renewed, and I said:
"You do not need to go with me, Mrs. P., I can go alone. The Lord has
always provided friends for me when I was in need of them, and I know
He will not forsake me now."
Mrs. P. hesitated, but at last, gathering strength from my confidence,
says:
"Well, I believe I will go, after all."
"Almost train time," the landlady informs us, and we all go down to the
depot to meet it. The night is clear and frosty, and the moon just
rising.
The train stopped for some time, and we talked of colony matters until
our friends left us, insisting that we should stop on our return, and
spend Sunday at Long Pine.
I turn my seat, and read the few passengers. Just at my back a fat,
fatherly looking old gentleman bows his head in sleep. That gentleman
back of Mrs. P. looks so thoughtful. How attentive that gentleman
across the aisle is to that aged lady! Suppose she is his dear old
mother!
"Why there is 'Mr. Agent!' and there--well, I scarcely know what that
is in the back seat." A bushy head rests against the window, and a pair
of red shoes swings in the aisle from over the arm of the seat. But
while I look at the queer picture, and wonder what it is, it spits a
great splash of tobacco juice into the aisle, and the query is solved,
it's only a man. Always safe in saying there is a man about when you
see tobacco juice flying like that. Overalls of reddish brown, coat of
gray, face to match the overalls in color, and hair to match the coat
in gray, while a shabby cap crowns the picture that forms our
background.
Mr. Agent tells the thoughtful man a funny story. The old lady wakes
up, and the fatherly old gent rouses.
"You ladies belong to the colony from Pennsylvania, do you not?" he
asked.
"I am a member of the colony," I replied.
"I am glad to have an opportunity to enquire about them; how are they
getting along?"
I gave him all the information I could, and soon all were conversing as
lonely travelers will, without waiting for any ceremonial introductions.
But soon "Ainsworth" is called out, and the agent leaves us with a
pleasant "good evening" to all. The elderly man proves to be J. Wesley
Tucker, Receiver at the United States Land office, at Valentine, but
says it is too rough and bad to take his family there, and tells
stories of the wild shooting, and of the cow-boy. The thoughtful man is
Rev. Joseph Herbert, of Union Park Seminary, Chicago, who will spend
his vacation in preaching at Ainsworth and Valentine, and this is his
first visit to Valentine, and is the first minister that has been bold
enough to attempt to hold services there. He asks; "Is the colony
supplied with a minister? The superintendent of our mission talks of
sending one to them if they would wish it."
"They have no minister, and are feeling quite lost without preaching,
as nearly all are members of some church, and almost every denomination
is represented; but I scarcely know where services could be held; no
church and no school house nearer than three miles."
"Oh! we hold services in log or sod houses, anywhere we can get the
people together."
I then spoke of my mission of writing up the history of the colony, and
their settling, and the country they located in, and why I went to
Valentine, and remarked:
"I gathered some very interesting history from----"
"Well if you believe all old ---- tells you, you may just believe
everything," came from the man in the back-ground, who had not ventured
a word before, and with this he took a seat nearer the rest of us, and
listened to Mr. T. telling of the country, and of the utter
recklessness and desperation of the cow-boys; how they shot at random,
not caring where their bullets flew, and taking especial delight in
testing the courage of strangers by the "whiz of the bullets about
their ears."
"Is there any place where I can stop and go back, and not go on to
Valentine," I asked.
"No, Miss, you are bound for Valentine now;" and added for comfort
sake, "no danger of you getting shot, _unless_ by _mere accident_. They
are very respectful to ladies, in fact, are never known to insult a
lady. Pretty good hearted boys when sober, but when they are on a
spree, they are as _wild_ as _wild_ can be;" with an ominous shake of
his head.
"Do you think they will be on a spree when I get there?"
"Can't say, indeed; _hope not_."
"A man came not long ago, and to test his courage or see how high he
could jump, they shot about his feet and cut bullet holes through his
hat, and the poor fellow left, not waiting to pick up his overcoat and
baggage. A woman is carrying a bullet in her arm now where a stray one
lodged that came through the house.
After this bit of information was delivered, he went into the other car
to take a smoke. I readily understood it was more for his own amusement
than ours that he related all this, and that he enjoyed emphasizing the
most important words. The gentlemen across the aisle handed me his card
with:
"I go on the same errand that you do, and visit the chaplain of the
Fort, so do not be alarmed, that gentleman was only trying to test your
courage."
I read the card: P. D. McAndrews, editor of Storm Lake _Tribune_,
Storm Lake, Iowa. The minister looked interested, but only remarked:
"I fear no personal harm, the only fear I have is that I may not be
able to do them as much good as others of more experience could."
I thought if any one needed to have fear, it was he, as his work would
be among them. Mrs. P. whispered:
"Oh! isn't it awful, are you alarmed?"
"Not as much as I appear to be, the gentleman evidently enjoyed teasing
us, and I enjoyed seeing him so amused. We will reach there after
sunrise and go as soon as we can to the Fort; we will not stop to learn
much of Valentine, I know all I care to now."
The stranger, who by this time I had figured out as a pony boy--I
could not think what else would give him such a countenance as he
wore--changed the subject with:
"That man," referring to Judge T., "don't need to say there is no
alkali along here, I freighted over this very country long before this
railroad was built, and the alkali water has made the horses sick many
a time. But I suppose it is wearing out, as the country has changed a
good bit since then; there wasn't near as much grass growing over these
sand hills then as there is now."
Then by way of an apology for his appearance, remarked:
"I tell you freighting is hard on a man, to drive day after day through
all kinds of weather and sleep out at night soon makes a fellow look
old. I look to be fifty, and I am only thirty-five years old. My folks
all live in Ohio, and I am the only one from the old home."
Poor man! I thought, is that what gives you such a hardened expression;
and I have been judging you so harshly.
"The only one from the old home," had a tone of sadness that set me to
thinking, and I pressed my face close to the window pane, and had a
good long think all to myself, while the rest dropped off to sleep. Is
there not another aboard this train who is the only one away from the
old home? And all alone, too. Yet I feel many dear ones are with me in
heart, and to-night dear father's voice trembled as he breathed an
evening benediction upon his children, and invokes the care and
protection of Him who is God over all upon a daughter, now so far
beyond the shelter of the dear old home; while a loving mother whispers
a fervent "amen." By brothers and sisters I am not forgotten while
remembering their own at the altar, nor by their little ones; and in
fancy I see them, white robed for bed, sweetly lisping, "God bless
auntie Pet, and bring her safe home." And ever lifting my own heart in
prayer for protection and resting entirely upon God's mercy and
goodness, I go and feel I am not _alone_. Had it not been for my
faith in the power of prayer, I would not have undertaken this journey;
but I thought as I looked up at the bright moon, could one of your
stray beams creep in at mother's window, and tell her where you look
down upon her daughter to-night, would it be a night of sleep and rest
to her? I was glad they could rest in blissful ignorance, and I would
write and tell them all about it when I was safe back. Of course I had
written of my intended trip, but they did not know the character of
Valentine, nor did I until I was about ready to start. But I knew Mr.
Buchanan would not ask me to go where it was not proper I should go. So
gathering all these comforting thoughts together, I rested, but did not
care to sleep, for--
Oh, moon! 'tis rest by far more sweet,
To feast upon thy loveliness, than sleep.
Humming Ten thousand (or 1,500) miles away, Home, sweet home, and the
Lord's Prayer to the same air, I keep myself company.
It was as bright and beautiful as night could be. The broad plains were
so lit up I could see far away over a rolling prairie and sand-hills
glistening in the frosty air; while many lakelets made a picture of
silvery sheen I had never looked upon before. The moon peeped up at me
from its reflection in their clear waters, and I watched it floating
along, skipping from lakelet to lakelet, keeping pace alongside as
though it, too, was going to preach in or write up Valentine, and was
eager to be there with the rest of us. It was a night too lovely to
waste in sleep, so I waked every moment of it until the sun came up and
put the moon and stars out, and lit up the great sandy plains, with a
greater light that changed the picture to one not so beautiful, but
more interesting from its plainer view.
It is beyond the power of my pen to paint the picture of this country
as I saw it in the early morning light, while standing at the rear door
of the car. Through sand-cuts, over sand-banks, and now over level
grassy plains. The little rose bushes leafing out, ready to bloom, and
sticking out through the sandiest beds they could find. Where scarcely
anything else would think of growing were tiny bushes of sand-cherries,
white with blossoms. It seemed the picture was unrolled from beneath
the wheels on a great canvas while we stood still; but the cars fairly
bounded over the straight, level road until about six o'clock, when
"Valentine," rings through the car, and Judge Tucker cautioned me to
"get ready to die," and we land at Valentine. He and Rev. Herbert went
to breakfast at a restaurant (the only public eating house, meals 50
cents), and Mr. McAndrew, his mother, Mrs. P., and I went into the
depot, and lost no time in telephoning to the Fort that there were four
passengers awaiting the arrival of the ambulance, and then gathered
about the stove to warm. Finding there was little warmth to be had from
it, Mrs. P. and I thought we would take a walk about the depot in the
bright sun. But I soon noticed a number of men gathered about a saloon
door, and fearing they might take my poke hat for a target, I told Mrs.
P. I thought it was pleasanter if not warmer inside. I seated myself
close to that dear old Scotch lady, whom I felt was more of a
protection to me than a company of soldiers would be. All was quiet at
first, but as there is no hotel in Valentine, the depot is used as a
resting place by the cow-boys, and a number of them came in, but all
quiet and orderly, and only gave us a glance of surprise and wonder.
Not one bold, impudent stare did we receive from any one of them, and
soon all fears were removed, and I quietly watched them. One whom I
would take to be a ranch owner, had lodged in the depot, and came down
stairs laughing and talking, with an occasional profane word, of the
fun of the night before. He was a large, red-faced young looking man,
with an air of ownership and authority; and the boys seemed to go to
him for their orders, which were given in a brotherly sort of way, and
some were right off to obey. All wore leather leggings, some trimmed
with fur; heavy boots, and great spurs clanking; their leather belt of
revolvers, and dirk, and the stockman's sombrero. Some were rather fine
looking in features, but all wore an air of reckless daring rather than
of hardened wickedness. One who threw himself down to sleep on an
improvised bed on the seats in the waiting room, looked only a mere boy
in years, rather delicate in features, and showed he had not been long
at the life he was now leading; and it was evident he had once known a
better life.
Another, equally as young in years, showed a much more hardened
expression; yet he, too, looked like a run-away from a good home.
One poor weather-beaten boy came in and passed us without turning his
head, and I thought him an old gray-headed man, but when I saw his face
I knew he could not be more than twenty-five. He seemed to be a general
favorite that was about to leave them, for, "I'm sorry you are going
away, Jimmie," "You'll be sure to write to us, Jimmie, and let us know
how you get along down there," and like expressions came from a number.
I did not hear a profane word or rough expression from anyone,
excepting the one before spoken of. I watched them closely, trying to
read them, and thought: "Poor boys! where are your mothers, your
sisters, your homes?" for theirs is a life that knows no home, and so
often their life has a violent ending, going out in the darkness of a
wild misspent life.
As the ambulance would not be there for some time, and I could not
think of breakfasting at the restaurant, Mrs. P. and I went to a store
and got some crackers and cheese, on which we breakfasted in the depot.
Then, tired and worn out from my night of watching, and all fear
banished, I fell asleep with my head resting on the window-sill; but
was soon aroused by Rev. Herbert coming in to ask us if we wished to
walk about and see the town.
The town site is on a level stretch of land, half surrounded by what
looks to be a beautiful natural wall, broken and picturesque with gray
rocks and pine trees.
It is a range of high bluffs that at a distance look to be almost
perpendicular, that follow the north side of the Minnechaduza river, or
Swift Running water, which flows south-east, and is tributary to the
Niobrara. The river is so much below the level of the table-land that
it can not be seen at a distance, so it was only a glimpse we obtained
of this strange beauty. But for your benefit we give the description of
it by another whose time was not so limited. "The view on the
Minnechaduza is as romantic and picturesque as many of the more visited
sights of our country. Approaching it from the south, when within about
100 yards of the stream the level plain on which Valentine is built is
broken by numerous deep ravines with stately pines growing on their
steep sides. Looking from the point of the bluffs, the stream flowing
in a serpentine course, and often doubling upon itself, appears a small
amber colored rivulet. Along the valley, which is about one-half mile
wide, there are more or less of pine and oak. The stumps speak of a
time when it was thickly wooded. The opposite banks or bluffs, which
are more than 100 feet higher than those on the south, are an
interesting picture. There are just enough trees on them to form a
pretty landscape without hiding from view the rugged cliffs on which
they grow. The ravines that cut the banks into sharp bluffs and crags
are lost to view in their own wanderings."
Valentine, I am told, is the county seat of Cherry county, which was
but lately organized. Last Christmas there was but one house on the
town site, but about six weeks ago the railroad was completed from
Thatcher to this point, and as Thatcher was built right amid the sand
banks near the Niobrara river, the people living there left their sandy
homes and came here; and now there is one hardware, one furniture, and
two general stores; a large store-house for government goods for the
Sioux Indians, a newspaper, restaurant, and five saloons, a hotel and
number of houses in course of erection, also the United States land
office of the Minnechaduza district, that includes the government land
of Brown, Cherry, and Sioux counties. In all I counted about
twenty-five houses, and three tents that served as houses. But this is
not to be the terminus of the Sioux City and Pacific Railroad very
long, as it, too, is "going west," just where is not known.
About eight o'clock a soldier boy in blue came with the ambulance, and
returning to the depot for my satchel and ulster, which I had left
there in the care of no one, but found all safe, our party of four bade
Rev. Herbert good-bye and left him to his work with our most earnest
wishes for his success. He had already secured the little restaurant,
which was kept by respectable people, to hold services in.
From Valentine we could see Frederick's peak, and which looked to be
but a short distance away. When we had gone about two miles in that
direction the driver said if we were not in haste to reach the fort he
would drive out of the way some distance that we might have a better
view of it; and after going quite a ways, halted on an eminence, and
then we were yet several miles from it. It is a lone mound or butte
that rears a queerly capped point high above all other eminences around
it. At that distance, it looked to be almost too steep to be climbed,
and crowned with a large rounding rock. I was wishing I could stop over
Sunday at the fort, as I found my time would be too limited, by even
extending it to Monday, to get anything like a view, or gather any
information of the country. But Mrs. P. insisted on returning that
afternoon rather than to risk her life one night so near the Indians.
The ride was interesting, but very unpleasant from a strong wind that
was cold and cutting despite the bright sun. I had fancied I would see
a fort such as they had in "ye olden times"--a block house with
loop-holes to shoot through at the Indians. But instead I found Fort
Niobrara more like a pleasant little village of nicely built houses,
most of them of adobe brick, and arranged on three sides of a square.
The officers' homes on the south side, all cottage houses, but large,
handsomely built, and commodious. On the east are public buildings,
chapel, library, lecture room, hall for balls and entertainments, etc.
Along the north are the soldiers' buildings; eating, sleeping, and
reading rooms; also separate drinking and billiard rooms for the
officers and privates.
The drinking and playing of the privates, at least are under
restrictions; nothing but beer is allowed them, and betting is
punished. On this side is the armory, store-houses of government goods,
a general store, tailor, harness, and various shops. At the rear of the
buildings are the stables--one for the gray and another for the sorrel
horses--about one hundred of each, and also about seventy-five mules.
The square is nicely trimmed and laid out in walks and planted in small
trees, as it is but four years since the post, as it is more properly
termed, was established. It all looked very pleasant, and I asked the
driver if, as a rule, the soldiers enjoyed the life. He answered that
it was a very monotonous life, as it is seldom they are called out to
duty, and they are only wishing the Indians would give them a chance at
a skirmish. The privates receive thirteen dollars per month, are
boarded and kept in clothing. Extra work receives extra pay; for
driving to the depot once every day, and many days oftener, he received
fifteen cents per day. Those of the privates who marry and bring their
wives there--and but few are allowed that privilege--do so with the
understanding that their wives are expected to cook, wash, or sew for
the soldiers in return for their own keeping.
After a drive around the square, Mr. McA. and mother alighted at the
chaplain's, and Mrs. P. and I at Lieutenant G. B. Davis', and were
kindly received by both Mr. and Mrs. Davis, but the Lieutenant was soon
called away to engage in a cavalry drill, or sham battle; but Mrs. D.
entertained us very pleasantly, which was no little task, as I never
was so dull and stupid as I grew to be after sitting for a short time
in their cosy parlor. How provoking to be so, when there was so much of
interest about me, and my time so limited.
Mrs. D. insisted on my lying down and taking some rest, which I gladly
consented to do, providing they would not allow me to sleep long. I
quickly fell into a doze, and dreamt the Indians were coming over the
bluffs to take the fort, and in getting away from them I got right out
of bed, and was back in the parlor in less than ten minutes.
Mrs. D. then proposed a walk to some of the public buildings; but we
were driven back by a gust of wind and rain, that swept over the bluffs
that hem them in on the north-west, carrying with it a cloud of sand
and dust. The clouds soon passed over, and we started over to see the
cavalry drill, but again were driven back by the rain, and we watched
the cavalrymen trooping in, after the battle had been fought, the greys
in one company, and sorrels in another.
There were only about 200 soldiers at the post. The keeping up of a
post is a great cost, yet it is a needed expense, as the knowledge of
the soldiers being so near helps to keep the Indians quiet. Yet I could
not see what would hinder them from overpowering that little handful of
soldiers, despite their two gatling guns, that would shoot 1,000
Indians per minute, if every bullet would count, if they were so
disposed. But they have learned that such an outbreak would be
retaliated by other troops, and call down the indignation of their sole
keeper and support--"Uncle Sam."
We were interested in hearing Lieut. Davis speak in words of highest
praise of Lieut. Cherry, whose death in 1881 was so untimely and sad,
as he was soon to bear a highly estimable young lady away from near my
own home as a bride, whom he met at Washington, D.C., in '79, where he
spent a portion of a leave of absence granted him in recognition of
brave and conspicuous services at the battle of the Little Big Horn,
known as Custer's massacre. He was a graduate of West Point, was a
brave, intelligent, rising young officer. Not only was he a good
soldier, but also a man of upright life, and his untimely and violent
death brought grief to many hearts, and robbed the world of a good man
and a patriot. As the story of his death, and what it led to is
interesting, I will briefly repeat it:
Some time before this event happened, there were good grounds for
believing that there was a band formed between some of the soldiers and
rough characters about the fort to rob the paymaster, but it became
known, and a company was sent to guard him from Long Pine. Not long
after this a half-breed killed another in a saloon row, near the fort,
and Lieut. Cherry was detailed to arrest the murderer. Lieut. C. took
with him a small squad of soldiers, and two Indian scouts. When they
had been out two days, the murderer was discovered in some rock
fastnesses, and as the Lieutenant was about to secure him, he was shot
by one of the soldiers of the squad by the name of Locke, in order to
let the fugitive escape. The murderer of Lieut. C. escaped in the
confusion that followed, but Spotted Tail, chief of the Sioux Indians,
who held the lieutenant in great esteem, ordered out a company of spies
under Crow Dog, one of his under chiefs, to hunt him down. They
followed his trail until near Fort Pierre, where they found him under
arrest. They wanted to bring him back to Fort Niobrara, but were not
allowed to. He was tried and paid the penalty of life for life--a poor
return for such a one as he had taken.
He was evidently one of the band before mentioned, but ignorant of this
the lieutenant had chosen him to be a help, and instead was the taker
of his life.
When Crow Dog returned without the murderer of Lieut. C., Spotted Tail
was very angry, and put him under arrest. Soon after, when the Indians
were about to start on their annual hunt, Spotted Tail would not let
Crow Dog go, which made the feud still greater. In the fall, when
Spotted Tail was about to start to Washington to consult about the
agency lands, Crow Dog had his wife drive his wagon up to Spotted
Tail's tepee, and call him out, when Crow Dog, who lay concealed in the
wagon, rose up and shot him, and made his escape, but was so closely
followed that after three days he came into Fort Niobrara, and gave
himself up. He has been twice tried, and twice sentenced to death, but
has again been granted a new trial, and is now a prisoner at Fort
Pierre.
The new county is named Cherry in honor of the beloved lieutenant.
While taking tea, we informed Lieut. Davis that it was our intention to
return on a combination train that would leave Valentine about 3
o'clock. Finding we would then have little time to reach the train, he
immediately ordered the ambulance, and telephoned to hold the train a
half hour for our arrival, as it was then time for it to leave. And
bidding our kind entertainers a hasty good bye, we were soon on our
way. Although I felt I could not do Fort Niobrara and the strange
beauty of the surrounding country justice by cutting my visit so short,
yet I was glad to be off on a day train, as the regular passenger train
left after night, and my confidence in the cow-boys and the rough
looking characters seen on the street, was not sufficiently established
by their quiet demeanor of the morning to fancy meeting a night train.
The riddled sign-boards showed that there was a great amount of
ammunition used there, and we did not care to have any of it used on
us, or our good opinion of them spoiled by a longer stay, and, too, we
wanted to have a daylight view of the country from there to Long Pine.
So we did not feel sorry to see the driver lash the four mules into a
gallop. At the bridge, spanning the Niobrara, we met Rev. Herbert and a
couple of others on their way to the fort, who told us they thought the
train had already started; but the driver only urged the mules to a
greater speed, and as I clung to the side of the ambulance, I asked:
"Do mules ever run off?"
"Sometimes they do."
"Well, do you think that is what these mules are doing now?"
"No, I guess not."
And as if to make sure they would, he reached out and wielded the long
lash whip, and we understood that he not only wished to make the train
on time, but also show us how soldier boys can drive "government
mules." The thought that they were mules of the "U.S." brand did not
add to our ease of mind any, for we had always heard them quoted as the
very worst of mules.
Mrs. P. shook her head, and said she did believe they were running off,
and I got in a good position to make a hasty exit if necessary, and
then watched them run. After all we enjoyed the ride of four and a half
miles in less than 30 minutes, and thanked the driver for it as he
helped us into the depot in plenty of time for the train.
Mr. Tucker brought us some beautiful specimens of petrified wood--chips
from a petrified log, found along the Minnechaduza, as a reminder of
our trip to Valentine. Several cow-boys were in the depot, but as quiet
as in the morning.
I employed the time in gathering information about the country from Mr.
T. He informed me there was some good table-land beyond the bluffs,
which would be claimed by settlers, and in a couple of years the large
cattle ranches would have to go further west to find herding ground.
They are driven westward just as the Indians and buffalo are, by the
settling up of the country.
Valentine is near the north boundary of the state, is west of the 100th
meridian, and 295 miles distant from the Missouri river.
When about ready to start, who should come to board the train but the
man whom I thought must be a pony boy.
"Oh, Mrs. P.! that bad man is going too, and see! We will have to
travel in only a baggage car!"
"Well, we cannot help ourselves now. The ambulance has started back,
and we cannot stay here, so we are compelled to go."
Mr. T. remarked:
"He does look like a bad man; but don't you know you make your own
company very often, and I am assured you will be well treated by the
train-men, and even that bad-looking man; and to help you all I can, I
will speak to the conductor in your behalf.
The two chairs of the coach were placed at our use, while the conductor
and stranger occupied the tool-chest. One side-door was kept open that
I might sit back and yet have a good view. Mrs. P., not in the least
discomforted by our position, was soon nodding in her chair, and I felt
very much alone.
"Where music is, his Satanic majesty cannot enter," I thought, and as I
sat with book and pencil in hand, writing a few words now and then, I
sang--just loud enough to be heard, many of the good old hymns and
songs, and ended with, "Dreaming of home." I wanted to make that man
think of "home and mother," if he ever had any. Stopping now and then
to ask him some question about the country in the most respectful way,
and as though he was the only one who knew anything about it, and was
always answered in the most respectful manner.
I sat near the door, and was prepared to jump right out into a
sand-bank if anything should happen; but nothing occurred to make any
one jump, only Mrs. P., when I gave her a pinch to wake her up and
whisper to her "to please keep awake for I feel dreadful lonely."
Well, all I got written was:
Left Valentine about 3:30 in a baggage and mail car, over the sandy
roads, now crossing the Niobrara bridge 200 feet long, 108 feet high;
river not wide; no timber to be seen; now over a sand fill and through
a sand cut 101 feet deep, and 321 feet wide at top, and 20 at bottom.
Men are kept constantly at work to remove the sand that drifts into the
cuts.
THATCHER, seven miles from V., a few faces peer up at the train from
their dug-out homes, station house, and one 8×10 deserted store-house
almost entirely covered with the signs, "Butter, Vegetables, and Eggs,"
out of which, I am told, thousands of dollars' worth have been sold.
Think it must have been canned goods, for old tin fruit cans are strewn
all around.
To our right is a chain of sand hills, while to the left it is a level
grassy plain. The most of these lakelets, spoken of before, I am told,
are only here during rainy seasons. Raining most of the time now.
ARABIA, one house, and a tent that gives it an Arabic look.
WOOD LAKE, one house. Named from a lakelet and one tree. Some one
has taken a claim here, and built a sod house. Beyond this there is
scarcely a house to be seen.
JOHNSTOWN, two houses, a tent, and water tank. Country taking on a
better appearance--farm houses dotting the country in every direction.
Country still grows better as we near Ainsworth, a pretty little town,
a little distance to the left. Will tell you of this place again.
Crossing the Long Pine Creek, one mile west of Long Pine town, we reach
Long Pine about six o'clock.
Mrs. P. says she does not care to go the rest of the way alone, so I
have concluded to stop there over Sabbath. I feel like heaping praises
and thanks upon these men who have so kindly considered our presence.
Not even in their conversation with each other have I noticed the use
of one slang or profane word, and felt like begging pardon of the
stranger for thinking so wrongly of him.
Allow me to go back and tell you of Ainsworth:
Ainsworth is located near Bone creek, on the homestead of Mrs. N. J.
Osborne, and Mr. Hall. It is situated on a gently rolling prairie,
fifteen miles south of the Niobrara river, sand hills four miles south,
and twelve miles west. Townsite was platted August, 1882, and now has
one newspaper, two general stores, two hardware stores, two lumber
yards, two land offices, two livery stables, one drug store, one
restaurant, and a millinery, barber, blacksmith shop, and last of all
to be mentioned, two saloons. A M.E. church is organized with a
membership of thirteen.
I would take you right over this same ground, reader, after a lapse of
seven months, and tell you of what I have learned of Ainsworth, and its
growth since then.
Brown county was organized in March, 1883, and Ainsworth has been
decided as the county seat, as it is in the centre of the populated
portion of the county. But the vote is disputed, and contested by the
people of Long Pine precinct, so it yet is an undecided question.
Statistics of last July gave $43,000 of assessed property; eight
Americans to one foreigner. I quote this to show that it is not all
foreigners that go west.
"The population of Ainsworth is now 360; has three banks, and a number
of business houses have been added, and a Congregational church (the
result of the labor of Rev. Joseph Herbert, during his vacation
months), a public building, and a $3,000 school house.
"Claims taken last spring can now be sold for from $1,000 to $1,500. A
bridge has been built across the Niobrara, due north of Ainsworth.
There is a good deal of vacant government land north of the river,
yet much of the best has been taken, but there are several thousand
acres, good farm and grazing land, yet vacant in the county. There is a
continual stream of land seekers coming in, and it is fast being taken.
The sod and log 'shanties,' are fast giving way to frame dwellings, and
the face of the country is beginning to assume a different appearance.
Fair quality of land is selling for from three to ten dollars per acre.
"The weather has been so favorable (Dec. 11, '83) that farmers are
still plowing. First frost occurred Sept. 26th. Mr. Cook, of this
place, has about 8,000 head of cattle; does not provide feed or shelter
for them during the winter, yet loses very few. Some look fat enough
for market now, with no other feed than the prairie grass.
"School houses are now being built in nearly all the school districts.
The voting population of the county at last election was 1,000. I will
give you the production of the soil, and allow you to judge of its
merit: Wheat from 28 to 35 bushels per acre; oats 50 to 80 bushels per
acre; potatoes, weighing 3-1/2 pounds, and 400 bushels per acre;
cabbage, 22 pounds----"
This information I received from Mr. P. D. McAndrew, who was so
favorably impressed with the country, when on his visit to Fort
Niobrara, that he disposed of his _Tribune_ office, and returned,
and took a claim near the Stone Butte, of which I have before spoken,
and located at Ainsworth.
I would add that Valentine has not made much advancement, as it is of
later birth, and the cow-boys still hold sway, verifying Mr. Tucker's
stories as only too true by added deeds of life-taking.
You may be interested in knowing what success Rev. Herbert had in
preaching in such a place. He says of the first Sabbath: "Held services
in the restaurant at ten a.m., with an audience of about twenty. One
saloon keeper offered to close his bar, and give me the use of the
saloon for the hour. All promised to close their bars for the time, but
did not. The day was very much as Saturday; if any difference the
stores did a more rushing business. As far as I was privileged to meet
with the cow-boys, they treated me well. They molest those only who
join them in their dissipations, and yet show fear of them. No doubt
there are some very low characters among them, but there is chivalry
(if it may so be called) that will not brook an insult to a lady. Many
of them are fugitives from justice under assumed names; others are
runaways from homes in the eastern states, led to it by exciting
stories of western life, found in the cheap fiction of the times, and
the accounts of such men as the James boys. But there are many who
remember no other life. They spend most of their time during the summer
in the saddle, seldom seeing any but their companions. Their nights are
spent rolled in their blankets, with the sky for their roof and sod for
a pillow. They all look older than their years would warrant them in
looking."
LONG PINE.
After supper I walked out to see the bridge across the Long Pine creek
of which I have before spoken. But I was too tired to enjoy the scenery
and see it all, and concluded if the morrow was the Sabbath, there
could be no harm in spending a part of it quietly seeing some of
nature's grandeur, and returned to the Severance House and retired
early to have a long night of rest. There is no bar connected with this
hotel, although the only one in town, and a weary traveler surely rests
the better for its absence.
The morning was bright and pleasant, and Mrs. H. L. Glover, of Long
Pine, Mr. H. L. Hubletz, and Mr. L. A. Ross, of the colony, and myself
started early for the bridge.
It is 600 feet in length, and 105 feet high. The view obtained from it
is grand indeed. Looking south the narrow stream is soon lost to view
by its winding course, but its way is marked by the cedar and pine
trees that grow in its narrow valley, and which tower above the
table-land just enough to be seen. Just above the bridge, from among
the rocks that jut out of the bank high above the water, seven distinct
springs gush and drip, and find their way down the bank into the stream
below, mingling with the waters of the Pine and forming quite a deep
pool of clear water. But like other Nebraska waters it is up and away,
and with a rush and ripple glides under the bridge, around the bluffs,
and far away to the north, until it kisses the waters of the Niobrara.
We can follow its course north only a little way farther than we can
south, but the valley and stream is wider, the bluffs higher, and the
trees loftier.
It is not enough to view it at such a distance, and as height adds to
grandeur more than depth, we want to get right down to the water's edge
and look up at the strangely formed walls that hem them in. So we cross
the bridge to the west and down the steep bank, clinging to bushes and
branches to help us on our way, until we stop to drink from the
springs. The water is cool and very pleasant to the taste. Then stop on
a foot bridge across the pool to dip our hands in the running water,
and gather a memento from its pebbly bed. On the opposite shore we view
the remains of a deserted dugout and wondered who would leave so
romantic a spot. Then along a well worn path that followed the stream's
winding way, climbing along the bluff's edges, now pulling ourselves up
by a cedar bush, and now swinging down by a grape-vine, we followed on
until Mrs. G. remarked: "This is an old Indian path," which sent a cold
wave over me, and looking about, half expecting to see a wandering
Sioux, and not caring to meet so formidable a traveler on such a narrow
pathway, I proposed that we would go no farther. So back to the bridge
and beyond we went, following down the stream.
Some places the bluffs rise gradually to the table-land and are so
grown with trees and bushes one can scarce tell them from Pennsylvania
hills; but as a rule, they are steep, often perpendicular, from
twenty-five to seventy-five feet high, forming a wall of powdered sand
and clay that is so hard and compact that we could carve our initials,
and many an F. F. I left to crumble away with the bluffs.
Laden with pebbles gathered from the highest points, cones from the
pine trees, and flowers from the valley and sand hills, I went back
from my Sabbath day's ramble with a mind full of wonder and a clear
conscience. For had I not stood before preachers more powerful and no
less eloquent than many who go out well versed in theology, and, too,
preachers that have declaimed God's wonderful works and power ever
since He spake them into existence and will ever be found at their post
until the end.
But how tired we all were by the time we reached Mrs. G.'s home, where
a good dinner was awaiting our whetted appetites! That over, Mr. H.
stole out to Sunday School, and Mr. R. sat down to the organ. But soon
a familiar chord struck home to my heart, and immediately every mile of
the distance that lay between me and home came before me.
"Homesick?" Yes; so homesick I almost fainted with the first thought,
but I slipped away, and offered up a prayer: my only help, but one that
is all powerful in every hour and need.
Mr. Glover told us of a Mrs. Danks, living near Long Pine, who had come
from Pennsylvania, and was very anxious to see some one from her native
state, and Mr. Ross and I went to call on her, and found her in a large
double log house on the banks of the Pine--a very pretty spot they
claimed three years ago. Though ill, she was overjoyed to see us, and
said:
"I heard of the colony from Pennsylvania, and told my husband I must go
to see them as soon as I was able. Indeed, I felt if I could only see
some one from home, it would almost cure me!"
It happened that Mr. R. knew some of her friends living in Pittsburgh,
Pennsylvania, and what a treat the call was to all of us! She told us
of their settling there, and how they had sheltered Crow Dog and Black
Crow, when they were being taken away as prisoners. How they, and the
few families living along the creek, had always held their Sabbath
School and prayer meetings in their homes, and mentioned Mr. Skinner, a
neighbor living not far away, who could tell us so much, as they had
been living there longer, and had had more experience in pioneering.
And on we went, along the creek over a half mile, to make another call.
We found Mr. and Mrs. Skinner both so kind and interesting, and their
home so crowded with curiosities, which our limited time would not
allow us to examine, that we yielded to their solicitation, and
promised to spend Monday with them.
We finished the doings of our Sabbath at Long Pine by attending M.E.
services at the school house, held by Rev. F. F. Thomas.
_Monday_--Spent the entire day at the "Pilgrim's Retreat," as the
Skinner homestead is called, enjoying its romantic scenery, and best of
all, Mrs. S.'s company. The house is almost hid by trees, which are
leafing out, but above the tree tops, on the other side of the creek,
"Dizzy Peak" towers 150 feet high from the water's edge. White Cliffs
are several points, not so towering as Dizzy Peak. Hidden among these
cliffs are several canyons irregular in shape and size.
Mrs. S. took me through a full suite of rooms among these canyons; and
"Wild Cat gulch," 400 feet long, so named in honor of the killing of a
wild cat within its walls by Adelbert Skinner, only a year ago, was
explored. White Cliffs was climbed, and tired out, we sat us down in
the "parlor" of the canyons, and listened to Mrs. S.'s story of her
trials and triumphs. There, I know Mrs. S. will object to that word,
"triumph," for she says: "God led us there to do that work, and we only
did our duty."
We enjoyed listening to her story, as an earnest, christian spirit was
so plainly visible through it all, and we repeat it to show how God can
and will care for his children when they call upon him.
MRS. I. S. SKINNER'S STORY.
"My husband had been in very poor health for some time, and in the
spring of 1879, with the hope that he would regain not only his health,
but much he had spent in doctoring, we sought a home along the
Niobrara. Ignorant of the existence of the "pony-boy clan," we pitched
our tent on the south side of the river, about a mile from where
Morrison's bridge has since been built; had only been there a few days,
when a couple of young men came, one by the name of Morrison, and the
other "Doc Middleton," the noted leader of the gang of horse-thieves
that surrounded us, but who was introduced as James Shepherd; who after
asking Mr. S. if he was a minister, requested him to come to the little
house across the river (same house where I slept on the table) and
perform a marriage ceremony. On the appointed evening Mr. S. forded the
river, and united him in marriage with a Miss Richards.
The room was crowded with armed men, "ready for a surprise from the
Indians," they said, while the groom laid his arms off while the
ceremony was being performed. Mr. S., judging the real character of the
men, left as soon as his duty was performed.
About a month after this, a heavy reward was offered for the arrest of
Doc. Middleton, and two men, Llewellyn and Hazen by name, came to
Middleton's tent that was hid away in a canyon, and falsely represented
that they were authorized to present some papers to him, the signing of
which, and leaving the country, would recall the reward. His wife
strongly objected, but he, glad to so free himself--and at that time
sick--signed the papers; and then was told there was one more paper to
sign, and requested to ride out a short way with them.
He cheerfully mounted his pony and rode with them, but had not gone far
until Hazen fell behind, and shot several times at him, badly wounding
him. He in turn shot Hazen three times and left him for dead.
This happened on Sunday morning, so near our tent that we heard the
shooting. Mr. S. was soon at the scene, and helped convey Hazen to our
tent, after which Llewellyn fled. Middleton was taken to the "Morrison
house." There the two men lay, not a mile apart. The one surrounded by
a host of followers and friends, whose lives were already dark with
crime and wickedness, and swearing vengeance on the betrayer of their
leader, and also on anyone who would harbor or help him. The other,
with only us two to stand in defiance of all their threats, and render
him what aid we in our weakness could. And believing we defended a
worthy man, Mr. S. declared he would protect him with his life, and
would shoot anyone who would attempt to force an entrance into our
tent. Fearing some would persist in coming, and knowing he would put
his threats into execution if forced to it, I went to the brow of the
hill and entreated those who came to turn back.
When at last Mr. Morrison said he would go, woman's strongest weapon
came to my help; my tears prevailed, and he too turned back, and we
were not again disturbed.
Our oldest boy, Adelbert, then 13 years old, was started to Keya Paha
for a physician, and at night our three other little boys, the youngest
but two years old, were tucked away in the wagon, a little way from the
tent, and left in the care of the Lord, while Mr. S. and I watched the
long dark night through, with guns and revolvers ready for instant
action.
Twice only, when we thought the man was dying, did we use a light, for
fear it would make a mark at long range. We had brought a good supply
of medicine with us, and knowing well its use, we administered to the
man, and morning came and found him still living.
Once only did I creep out through the darkness to assure myself that
our children were safe.
Monday I went to see Middleton, and carried him some medicine which he
very badly needed.
After night-fall, Adelbert and the doctor came, and with them, two men,
friends of Hazen, whom they met, and who inquired of the doctor of
Hazen's whereabouts. The doctor after assuring himself that they were
his friends, told them his mission, and brought them along, and with
their help Hazen was taken away that night in a wagon; they acting as
guards, the doctor as nurse, and Mr. S. as driver.
Hazen's home was in the south-east part of the state; and they took him
to Columbus, then the nearest railway point. It was a great relief when
they were safely started, but I was not sure they would be allowed to
land in safety. Mr. S. would not be back until Thursday, and there I
was, all alone with the children, my own strength nothing to depend on
to defend myself against the many who felt indignant at the course we
had pursued.
The nearest neighbor that we knew was truly loyal, lived fifteen miles
away. Of course I knew the use of firearms, but that was not much to
depend upon, and suffering from heart disease I was almost prostrated
through the trouble. Threats were sent to me by the children that if
Mr. S. dared to return, he would be shot down without mercy, and
warning us all to leave as quickly as possible if we would save
ourselves. I was helpless to do any thing but just stay and take
whatever the Lord would allow to befall us. I expected every night that
our cattle would be run off, and we would be robbed of everything we
had. One dear old lady, who lived near, stayed a couple of nights with
us, but at last told me, for the safety of her life she could not come
again, and urged me to go with her to her home.
"Oh, Sister Robinson," I cried, "you _must not_ leave me!" and then the
thought came, how very selfish of me to ask her to risk her own life
for my sake, and I told her I could stay alone.
When we were coming here, I felt the Lord was leading us, and I could
not refrain from singing,
"Through this changing world below,
Lead me gently, gently, as I go;
Trusting Thee, I cannot stray,
I can never, never lose my way."
And my faith and trust did not fail me until I saw Mrs. R. going over
the hill to her home, and my utter loneliness and helplessness came
upon me with so much force, that I cried aloud, "Oh, Lord, why didst
you lead us into all this trouble?" But a voice seemed to whisper,
"Fear not; they that are for thee are more than they that are against
thee." and immediately my faith and trust were not only renewed, but
greatly strengthened, and I felt that I dwelt in safety even though
surrounded by those who would do me harm. It was not long until Mrs. R.
came back, saying she had come to stay with me, for after she got home
she thought how selfish she had acted in thinking so much of her own
safety, and leaving me all alone. But I assured her my fears were all
dispelled, and I would not allow her to remain.
Yet I could not but feel uneasy about Mr. S., and especially as the
appointed time for his return passed, and the time of anxious waiting
and watching was lengthened out until the next Monday.
On Sunday a company of soldiers came and took "Doc" Middleton a
prisoner. His term in the penitentiary will expire in June, and I do
hope he has learned a lesson that will lead him to a better life; for
he was rather a fine looking man, and is now only thirty-two years old.
(I will here add that Middleton left the penitentiary at the close of
his term seemingly a reformed man, vowing to leave the West with all
his bad deeds behind.)
Llewellyn received $175 for his trouble, and Hazen $250 for his death
blow, for he only lived about a year after he was shot. I must say we
did not approve of the way in which they attempted to take Middleton.
We did not locate there after all this happened, but went eight miles
further on, to a hay ranch, and with help put up between four and five
hundred tons of hay. We lived in constant watching even there, and only
remained the summer, and came and homesteaded this place, which we
could now sell for a good price, but we do not care to try life on the
frontier again.
In praise of the much talked-of cow-boys, I must say we never
experienced any trouble from them, although many have found shelter for
a night under our roof; and if they came when Mr. S. was away, they
would always, without my asking, disarm themselves, and hand their
revolvers to me, and ask me to lay them away until morning. This was
done to assure me that I was safe at their hands.
I repeat her story word for word as nearly as possible, knowing well I
repeat only truth.
And now to her collection of curiosities--but can only mention a few:
One was a piece of a Mastodon's jaw-bone, found along the creek, two
feet long, with teeth that would weigh about two pounds. They unearthed
the perfect skeleton, but as it crumbled on exposure to the air, they
left it to harden before disturbing it; and when they returned much had
been carried away. The head was six feet long, and tusks, ten feet, of
which they have a piece seven inches in length, fifteen inches in
circumference, and weighs eight pounds, yet it was taken from near the
point. Mrs. S. broke a piece off and gave to me. It is a chalky white,
and shows a growth of moss like that of moss agate. She has gathered
from around her home agates and moss agates and pebbles of all colors.
As she handed them to me one by one, shading them from a pink topaz to
a ruby, I could not help touching them to my tongue to see if they did
not taste; they were so clear and rich-looking.
It seemed odd to see a chestnut burr and nut cased as a curiosity. But
what puzzled me most was a beaver's tail and paw, and we exhausted our
guessing powers over it, and then had to be told. She gave it to me
with numerous other things to carry home as curiosities.
There are plenty of beaver along the creek, and I could scarcely be
persuaded that some naughty George Washington with his little hatchet
had not felled a number of trees, and hacked around, instead of the
beaver with only their four front teeth.
The timber along the creek is burr oak, black walnut, white ash, pine,
cedar, hackberry, elm, ironwood, and cottonwood. I was sorry to hear of
a saw mill being in operation on the creek, sawing up quite a good deal
of lumber.
Rev. Thomas makes his home with Mr. Skinner, and from him I learned he
was the first minister that held services in Long Pine, which was in
April, '82, in the railroad eating house, and has since held regular
services every two weeks. Also preaches at Ainsworth, Johnstown,
Pleasant Dale, and Brinkerhoff; only seventy of a membership in all.
Well, the pleasantest day must have an end, and after tea, a swing
between the tall oak trees of their dooryard, another drink from the
spring across the creek, a pleasant walk and talk with Miss Flora
Kenaston, the school-mistress of Long Pine, another look at Giddy Peak
and White Cliffs, and "Tramp tramp, tramp," on the organ, in which Mr.
S. joined, for he was one of the Yankee soldier boys from York state,
and with many thanks and promises of remembrance, I leave my
newly-formed friends, carrying with me tokens of their kindness, but,
best of all, fond memories of my day at "Pilgrim's Retreat."
But before I leave on the train to-night I must tell you of the
beginning of Long Pine, and what it now is. The town was located in
June, '81. The first train was run the following October. Mr. T. H.
Glover opened the first store. Then came Mr. H. J. Severance and
pitched a boarding tent, 14×16, from which they fed the workmen on the
railroad, accommodating fifty to eighty men at a meal. But the tent was
followed by a good hotel which was opened on Thanksgiving day. Now
there is one bank, two general stores, one hardware, one grocery, one
drug, and one feed store, a billiard hall, saloon, and a restaurant.
Population 175.
From a letter received from C. B. Glover, written December 15, I glean
the following:
"You would scarcely recognize Long Pine as the little village you
visited last May. There have been a good many substantial buildings put
up since then. Notably is the railroad eating house, 22×86, ten
two-story buildings, and many one-story. Long Pine is now the end of
both passenger and freight division. The Brown County bank has moved
into their 20×40 two-story building; Masonic Hall occupying the second
story. The G.A.R. occupying the upper room of I. H. Skinner's
hardware, where also religious services are regularly held.
Preparations are being made for a good old fashioned Christmas tree.
The high school, under the able management of Rev. M. Laverty, is
proving a success in every sense of the word. Mr. Ritterbush is putting
in a $10,000 flouring mill on the Pine, one-half mile from town, also a
saw mill at the same place. The saw mill of Mr. Upstill, on the Pine,
three-fourths mile from town, has been running nearly all summer sawing
pine and black walnut lumber. Crops were good, wheat going thirty
bushels per acre, and corn on sod thirty. Vegetables big. A potato
raised by Mr. Sheldon, near Morrison's bridge, actually measured
twenty-four inches in circumference, one way, and twenty and one-half
short way. It was sent to Kansas to show what the sand hills of
north-western Nebraska can produce. Our government lands are fast
disappearing, but by taking time, and making thorough examination of
what is left, good homesteads and pre-emptions can be had by going back
from the railroad ten, fifteen, and twenty miles.
"The land here is not all the same grade, a portion being fit for
nothing but grazing. This is why people cannot locate at random. Timber
culture relinquishments are selling for from $300 to $1,000; deeded
lands from $600 to $2,000 per 160 acres. Most of this land has been
taken up during the past year.
"I have made an estimate of the government land still untaken in our
county, and find as follows:
"Brown county has 82 townships, 36 sections to a township, 4 quarters
to a section, 11,808 quarter sections. We have about 1,500 voters.
Allowing one claim to each voter, as some have two and others none, it
will leave 10,308 claims standing open for entry under the homestead,
pre-emption, and timber culture laws.
"Long Pine is geographically in the center of the county, and fifteen
miles south of the Niobrara river. Regarding the proposed bridge across
the river, it is not yet completed; think it will be this winter."
From an entirely uninterested party, and one who knows the country
well, I would quote: "Should say that perhaps one-third of Brown county
is too sandy for cultivation; but a great portion of it will average
favorably with the states of Michigan and Indiana, and I think further
developments will prove the sand-hills that so many complain of, to be
a good producing soil."
Water is good and easily obtained.
The lumber and trees talked of, are all in the narrow valley of the
creek, and almost completely hid by its depth, so that looking around
on the table-land, not a tree is to be seen. All that can be seen at a
distance is the tops of the tallest trees, which look like bushes. Long
Pine and Valentine are just the opposite in scenery.
The sand-hills seen about Long Pine, and all through this country, are
of a clear, white sand.
But there, the train is whistling, and I must go. Though my time has
been so pleasantly and profitably spent here, yet I am glad to be
eastward bound.
Well, I declare! Here is Mr. McAndrew and his mother on their way back
from Valentine, and also the agent, Mr. Gerdes, who says he was out on
the Keya Paha yesterday (Sunday) and took a big order from a new
merchant just opening a store near the colony.
Mr. McA. says they had a grand good time at the Fort, but not so
pleasant was the coming from Valentine to-night, as a number of the
cow-boys seen at the depot Saturday morning are aboard and were
drinking, playing cards, and grew quite loud over their betting. As he
and his mother were the only passengers besides them, it was very
unpleasant. The roughest one, he tells me, was the one I took for a
ranch owner; and the most civil, the one I thought had known a better
life. And there the poor boy lay, monopolizing five seats for his sole
use, by turning three, and taking the cushions up from five, four to
lie on, and one to prop up the back of the middle seat. It is a gift
given only to cow-boys to monopolize so much room, for almost anyone
would sooner hang themselves to a rack, than ask that boy for a seat;
so he and his companions are allowed to quietly sleep.
How glad we are to reach Stuart at last, and to be welcomed by Mrs.
Wood in the "wee sma'" hours with: "Glad you are safe back."
Stuart at the opening of 1880 was an almost untouched prairie spot, 219
miles from Missouri Valley, Iowa; but in July, 1880, Mr. John Carberry
brought his family from Atkinson, and they had a "Fourth" all to
themselves on their newly taken homestead, which now forms a part of
the town plat, surveyed in the fall of '81; at that time having but two
occupants, Carberry and Halleck. In November, the same year, the first
train puffed into the new town of Stuart, so named, in honor of Peter
Stuart, a Scotchman living on a homestead adjoining the town-site on
the south.
Reader, do you know how an oil town is built up? Well, the building up
of a town along the line of a western railroad that opens up a new,
rich country, is very much the same. One by one they gather at first,
until the territory is tested, then in numbers, coming from everywhere.
But the soil of Nebraska is more lasting than the hidden sea of oil of
Pennsylvania, so about the only difference is that the western town is
permanent. Temporary buildings are quickly erected at first, and then
the substantial ones when time and money are more plenty.
So "stirring Stuart" gathered, until we now count one church (Pres.),
which was used for a school room last winter, two hotels, two general
stores, principal of which is Mr. John Skirving, two hardware and farm
implement stores, one drug store, two lumber yards, a harness and
blacksmith shop, and a bank.
Not far from Stuart, I am told, was an Indian camping ground, which was
visited but two years ago by about a hundred of them, "tenting again on
the old camp ground." And I doubt not but that the winding Elkhorn has
here looked on wilder scenes than it did on the morning of the 27th of
April, '83, when the little party of 65 colonists stepped down and out
from their homes in the old "Keystone" into the "promised land," and
shot at the telegraph pole, and missed it. But I will not repeat the
story of the first chapter.
Now that the old year of '83 has fled since the time of which I
have written, I must add what improvements, or a few at least, that
the lapse of time has brought to the little town that can very
appropriately be termed "the Plymouth rock of the N.M.A.C."
From The Stuart _Ledger_ we quote: The Methodists have organized
with a membership of twenty-four, and steps have been taken for the
building of a church. Services now held every alternate Sunday by Rev.
Mallory, of Keya Paha, in the Presbyterian church, of which Rev. Benson
is pastor. Union Sunday school meets every Sunday, also the Band of
Hope, a temperance organization. A new school house, 24×42, where over
60 children gather to be instructed by Mr. C. A. Manville and Miss
Mamie Woods. An opera house 22×60, two stories high, Mrs. Arter's
building, 18×24, two stories. Two M.D.'s have been added, a dentist,
and a photographer. It is useless to attempt to quote all, so will
close with music from the Stuart Cornet Band. From a letter received
from "Sunny Side" from the pen of Mrs. W. W. Warner, Dec. 24:
"Population of Stuart is now 382, an increase of 70 within the last two
months. Building is still progressing, and emigrants continue to come
in their 'schooners.'
"No good government land to be had near town. Soil from one to three
feet deep. First frost Oct. 11. First snow, middle of November, hardly
enough to speak of, and no more until 22d of December."
But to return to our story. My "Saratoga" was a "traveling companion";
of my own thinking up, but much more convenient, and which served as
satchel and pillow. For the benefit of lady readers, I will describe
its make-up. Two yards of cloth, desired width, bind ends with tape,
and work corresponding eyelet holes in both ends, and put on pockets,
closed with buttons, and then fold the ends to the middle of the cloth,
and sew up the sides, a string to lace the ends together, and your
satchel is ready to put your dress skirts, or mine at least, in full
length; roll or fold the satchel, and use a shawl-strap. I did not want
to be burdened and annoyed with a trunk, and improvised the above, and
was really surprised at its worth as a traveling companion; so much can
be carried, and smoother than if folded in a trunk or common satchel;
and also used as a pillow. This with a convenient hand-satchel was all
I used. These packed, and good-byes said to the remaining colonists,
and the dear friends that had been friends indeed to me, and kissing
"wee Nellie" last of all, I bid farewell to Stuart.
The moon had just risen to see me off. Again I am with friends. Mr.
Lahaye, one of the colonists, was returning to Bradford for his family.
Mrs. Peck and her daughter, Mrs. Shank, of Stuart, were also aboard.
Of Atkinson, nine miles east of Stuart, I have since gleaned the
following from an old schoolmate, Rev. A. C. Spencer, of that place:
"When I came to Atkinson, first of March, '83, I found two stores, two
hotels, one drug store, one saloon, and three residences. Now we have a
population of 300, a large school building (our schools have a nine
month's session), M.E. and Presbyterian churches, each costing about
$2,000, a good grist mill, and one paper, the Atkinson _Graphic_,
several stores, and many other conveniences too numerous to mention.
Last March, but about fifty voters were in Atkinson precinct; now about
500. There has been a wonderful immigration to this part of Holt county
during the past summer, principally from Illinois, Wisconsin, and Iowa,
though quite a number from Ohio, Pennsylvania, and New York. Six miles
east of this place, where not a house was to be seen the 15th of last
March, is now a finely settled community, with a school house, Sunday
school, and preaching every two weeks. Some good government lands can
be had eight to twenty-five miles from town, but will all be taken by
next May. Atkinson is near the Elkhorn river, and water is easily
obtained at 20 to 40 feet. Coal is seven to ten dollars per ton."
I awoke at O'Neill just in time to see all but seven of our crowded
coach get off. Some coming even from Valentine, a distance of 114
miles, to attend Robinson's circus--but shows are a rarity here. The
light of a rising sun made a pleasing view of O'Neill and surrounding
country: the town a little distance from the depot, gently rolling
prairie, the river with its fringe of willow bushes, and here and there
settlers' homes with their culture of timber.
O'Neill was founded in 1875 by Gen. O'Neill, a leader of the Fenians,
and a colony of his own countrymen. It is now the county seat of Holt
county, and has a population of about 800. Has three churches,
Catholic, Presbyterian, and M.E.; community is largely Catholic. It has
three papers, The _Frontier_, Holt County _Banner_, both republican,
and O'Neill _Tribune_, Democratic, and three saloons. It is about a
mile from the river. Gen. O'Neill died a few years ago in Omaha.
Neligh, the county seat of Antelope county, is situated near the
Elkhorn, which is 100 to 125 feet wide, and 3 to 6 feet deep at this
point. The town was platted Feb., 1873, by J. D. Neligh. Railroad was
completed, and trains commenced running Aug. 29, '80. Gates college
located at Neligh by the Columbus Congregational Association, Aug. '81.
U.S. land office removed to Neligh in '81. M.E. church built in '83.
County seat located Oct. 2, '83. Court house in course of erection, a
private enterprise by the citizens.
I quote from a letter received from J. M. Coleman, and who has also
given a long list of the business houses of Neligh, but it is useless
to repeat, as every department of business and trade is well
represented, and is all a population of 1,000 enterprising people will
bring into a western town.
To write up all the towns along the way would be but to repeat much
that has already been said of others, and the story of their added
years of existence, that has made them what the frontier towns of
to-day will be in a few years. Then why gather or glean further?
The valley of the Elkhorn is beautiful and interesting in its bright,
new robes of green. At Battle Creek, near Norfolk, the grass was almost
weaving high.
It was interesting to note the advance in the growth of vegetation as
we went south through Madison, Stanton, Cuming and Dodge counties.
That this chapter may be complete, I would add all I know of the road
to Missouri Valley--its starting point--and for this we have Mr. J. R.
Buchanan for authority.
There was once a small burg called DeSoto, about five miles south of
the present Blair, which was located by the S.C. & P.R.R. company in
1869, and named for the veteran, John I. Blair, of Blairstown, New
Jersey, who was one of the leading spirits in the building of the road.
Blair being a railroad town soon wholly absorbed DeSoto. The land was
worth $1.25 per acre. To-day Blair has at least 2,500 of a population;
is the prosperous county seat of Washington county. Land in the
vicinity is worth from $25.00 to $40.00 per acre. The soil has no
superior; this year showed on an average of twenty-five bushels of
wheat per acre, and ordinarily yields sixty to eighty bushels of corn.
Land up the Elkhorn Valley five years ago was $2.50 to $8.00 per acre,
now it is worth from $12.00 to $30.00.
The S.C. & P.R.R. proper was built from Sioux City, Iowa, and reached
Fremont, Nebraska, in 1868. It had a small land grant of only about
100,000 acres. The Fremont, Elkhorn Valley and Missouri River Railroad
was organized and subsequently built from Fremont to Valentine, the
direct route that nature made from the Missouri river to the Black
Hills.
As to the terminus of this road, no one yet knows. Whether, or when it
will go to the Pacific coast is a question for the future. The Missouri
river proper is about 2,000 feet wide. In preparing to bridge it the
channel has been confined by a system of willow mattress work, until
the bridge channel is covered by three spans 333 feet each or 1,000
feet. The bridge is 60 feet above water and rests on four abutments
built on caissons sank to the rock fifty feet beneath the bed of the
river. This bridge was completed in November, 1883, at a cost of over
$1,000,000.
But good-bye, reader; the conductor says this is Fremont, and I must
leave the S.C. for the U.P.R.R. and begin a new chapter.