Over the B. & M.R.R. from Lincoln to McCook, via Wymore, and return via
Hastings.--A description of the Republican and Blue Valleys.--The
Saratoga of Nebraska.
We rested just one delightful week, talking the old days over, making
point lace, stealing the first ripe cherries, and pulling grass for
"Danger"--danger of it biting me or getting away--my prairie dog, which
had found a home in a barrel.
One evening Cousin Andy said:
"I'll give you twenty-five cents for your dog, Pet?"
"Now, Cousin, don't insult the poor dog by such a price. They say they
make nice pets, and I am going to take my dog home for Norval. But that
reminds me I must give it some fresh grass," and away I went, gathering
the tenderest, but, alas! the barrel was empty, and a hole gnawed in
the side told the story.
I wanted to sell the dog then, and would have taken almost any price
for the naughty Danger, that, though full grown, was no bigger than a
Norway rat; but no one seemed to want to buy him.
The weather was very warm, but poor "Wiggins" was left on the parlor
table in the hotel at Plum Creek one night, and in the morning I found
him scalped, and all his prophetic powers destroyed, so we did not know
just when to look out for a storm, but thunder storms, accompanied with
heavy rains, came frequently during the week, generally at night, but
by morning the ground would be in good working order.
Our cousin, A. M. Gardner, formerly of Franklin, Pennsylvania, for
several years was one of the fortunate oil men of the Venango county
field, but a couple of years of adverse fortunes swept all, and leaving
their beautiful home on Gardner's Hill, came west, and are now
earnestly at work building upon a surer foundation.
When I was ready to be off for Wymore, Tuesday, Salt Creek Valley was
entirely covered with water, and even the high built road was so
completely hidden that the drive over it was dangerous, but Cousin Rob
Wilhelm took me as far as a horse could go, and thanks to a high-built
railroad and my light luggage, we were able to walk the rest of the
way. The overflow of Salt Creek Valley is not an uncommon occurrence in
the spring of the year. This basin or valley covers about 500 acres,
and is rather a barren looking spot. In dry weather the salt gathers
until the ground is quite white, and before the days of railroads,
settlers gathered salt for their cattle from this valley. The water has
an ebb and flow, being highest in the morning and lowest in afternoon.
I had been directed to call upon Mr. R. R. Randall, immigration agent
of the B. & M.R.R., for information about southern Nebraska, and
while I waited for the train, I called upon him in his office, on the
third floor of the depot, and told him I had seen northern and central
Nebraska, and was anxious to know all I could of southern Nebraska.
After a few moments conversation, he asked:
"What part of Pennsylvania are you from, Miss Fulton?"
"Indiana county."
"Indeed? why, I have been there to visit a good old auntie; but she is
dead now, bless her dear soul," and straightway set about showing me
all kindness and interest.
At first I flattered myself that it was good to hail from the home of
his "good old auntie," but I soon learned that I only received the same
kindness and attention that every one does at his hands.
"Now, Miss Fulton, I would like you to see all you can of southern
Nebraska, and just tell the plain truth about it. For, remember, that
truth is the great factor that leads to wealth and happiness;" then
seeing me safe aboard the train, I was on my way to see more friends
and more of the state.
A young lady, who was a cripple, shared her seat with me, but her face
was so mild and sweet I soon forgot the crutch at her side. She told me
she was called home by the sudden illness of a brother, who was not
expected to live, and whom she had not seen since in January last.
Poor girl! I could truly sympathize with her through my own experience:
I parted with a darling sister on her fifteenth birthday, and three
months after her lifeless form was brought home to me without one word
of warning, and I fully realized what it would be to receive word of my
young brother, whom I had not seen since in January, being seriously
ill. When her station was reached, the brakeman very kindly helped her
off and my pleasant company was gone with my most earnest wishes that
she might find her brother better.
The sun was very bright and warm, and to watch the country hurt my
eyes, so I gave my attention to the passengers. Before me sat a perfect
snapper of a miss, so cross looking, and just the reverse in expression
from her who had sat with me. Another lady was very richly dressed, but
that was her most attractive feature; yet she was shown much attention
by a number. Another was a mother with two sweet children, but so cold
and dignified, I wondered she did not freeze the love of her little
ones. Such people are as good as an arctic wave, and I enjoy them just
as much. In the rear of the coach were a party of emigrants that look
as though they had just crossed the briny wave. They are the first
foreigners I have yet met with in the cars, and they go to join a
settlement of their own countrymen. Foreigners locate as closely
together as possible.
I was just beginning to grow lonely when an elderly gentlemen whom I
had noticed looking at me quite earnestly, came to me and asked:
"Are you not going to Wymore, Miss?"
"Yes, sir."
"To Mr. Fulton's?"
"Why, yes. You know my friends then?"
"Yes, and it was your resemblance to one of the girls, that I knew
where you were going."
No one had ever before told me that I favored this cousin in looks, but
then there are just as many different eyes in this world as there are
different people.
"I met Miss Emma at the depot a few days ago, and she was disappointed
at the non-arrival of a cousin, and I knew at first glance that you was
the one she had expected."
"You know where they live then?"
"Yes, and if there is no one at the train to meet you, I will see you
to the house."
With this kind offer, Mr. Burch, one of Wymore's bankers went back to
his seat. As I had supposed, my friends had grown tired meeting me when
I didn't come, as I had written to them I would be there the previous
week. But Mr. Burch kindly took one of my satchels, and left me at my
Uncle's door.
"Bless me! here is Pet at last!" and dear Aunt Jane's arms are around
me, and scolding me for disappointing them so often.
"The girls and Ed have been to the depot so often, and I wanted them to
go to-day, but they said they just knew you wouldn't come. I thought
you would surely be here to eat your birthday dinner with us
yesterday."
"Well, Auntie, Salt Valley was overflooded, and I couldn't get to the
depot; so I ate it with cousin Maggie. But that is the way; I come just
when I am given up for good."
Then came Uncle John, Emma, Annie, Mary, Ed, and Dorsie, with his
motherless little Gracie and Arthur. After the first greeting was over,
Aunt said:
"What a blessing it is that Norval got well!"
"Norval got well? Why Aunt, what do you mean?"
"Didn't they write to you about his being so sick?"
"No, not a word."
"Well, he was very low with scarlet fever, but he is able to be about
now."
"Oh! how thankful I am! What if Norval had died, and I away!" And then
I told of the lady I had met that was going to see her brother, perhaps
already dead, and how it had brought with such force the thought of
what such word would be to me about Norval. How little we know what God
in His great loving kindness is sparing us!
I cannot tell you all the pleasure of this visit. To be at "Uncle
John's" was like being at home; for we had always lived in the same
village and on adjoining farms. Then too, we all had the story of the
year to tell since they had left Pennsylvania for Nebraska. But the
saddest story of all was the death of Dorsie's wife, Mary Jane, and
baby Ruth, with malaria fever.
To tell you of this country, allow me to begin with Blue Springs--a
town just one mile east, on the line of the U.P.R.R., and on the
banks of the Big Blue river, which is a beautiful stream of great
volume, and banks thickly wooded with heavy timber--honey locust, elm,
box elder, burr oak, cottonwood, hickory, and black walnut. The trees
and bushes grow down into the very water's edge, and dip their branches
in its waves of blue. This river rises in Hamilton county, Nebraska,
and joins the Republican river in Kansas. Is about 132 miles long.
I cannot do better than to give you Mr. Tyler's story as he gave it to
us. He is a hale, hearty man of 82 years, yet looks scarce 70; and just
as genteel in his bearing as though his lot had ever been cast among
the cultured of our eastern cities, instead of among the early settlers
of Nebraska, as well as with the soldiers of the Mexican war. He says:
"In 1859 I was going to join Johnston's army in Utah, but I landed in
this place with only fifty cents in my pocket, and went to work for J.
H. Johnston, who had taken the first claim, when the county was first
surveyed and organized. About the only settlers here at that time were
Jacob Poof, M. Stere, and Henry and Bill Elliott, for whom Bill creek
is named. The houses were built of unhewn logs.
"Soon after I came there was talk of a rich widow that was coming among
us, and sure enough she did come, and bought the first house that had
been built in Blue Springs (it was a double log house), and opened the
first store. But we yet had to go to Brownville, 45 miles away, on the
Missouri river for many things, as the 'rich widow's' capital was only
three hundred dollars. Yet, that was a great sum to pioneer settlers.
Indeed, it was few groceries we used; I have often made pies out of
flour and water and green grapes without any sugar; and we thought them
quite a treat. But we used a good deal of corn, which was ground in a
sheet-iron mill that would hold about two quarts, and which was nailed
to a post for everybody to use.
"Well, we thought we must have a Fourth of July that year, and for two
months before, we told every one that passed this way to come, and tell
everybody else to come. And come they did--walking, riding in ox
wagons, and any way at all--until in all there was 150 of us. The
ladies in sunbonnets and very plain dresses; there was one silk dress
in the crowd, and some of the men shoeless. Everyone brought all the
dishes they had along, and we had quite a dinner on fried fish and corn
dodgers. For three days before, men had been fishing and grinding corn.
The river was full of catfish which weighed from 6 to 80 pounds. We
sent to Brownville, and bought a fat pig to fry our fish and dodgers
with. A Mr. Garber read the Declaration of Independence, we sang some
war songs, and ended with a dance that lasted until broad daylight.
Very little whiskey was used, and there was no disturbance of any kind.
So our first 'Fourth' in Blue Springs was a success. I worked all
summer for fifty cents per day, and took my pay in corn which the widow
bought at 30 cents per bushel. I was a widower, and--well, that corn
money paid our marriage fee in the spring of '60. One year I sold 500
bushels of corn at a dollar per bushel to travelers and freighters, as
this is near the old road to Ft. Kearney. With that money, I bought 160
acres of land, just across the river, in '65, and sold it in '72 for
$2,000. It could not now be bought for $5,000.
"The Sioux Indians gave us a scare in '61, but we all gathered together
in our big house (the widow's and mine), and the twelve men of us
prepared to give them battle; but they were more anxious to give battle
to the Otoe Indians on the reservation.
"The Otoe Indians only bothered us by always begging for 'their poor
pappoose.' My wife gave them leave to take some pumpkins out of the
field, and the first thing we knew, they were hauling them away with
their ponies.
"Our first religious service was in '61, by a M.E. minister from
Beatrice. Our first doctor in '63. We received our mail once a week
from Nebraska City, 150 miles away. The postmaster received two dollars
a year salary, but the mail was all kept in a cigar box, and everybody
went and got their own mail. It afterward was carried from Mission
Creek, 12 miles away, by a boy that was hired to go every Sunday
morning. The U.P.R.R. was built in '80.
"My wife and I visited our friends in Eastern Pennsylvania, and
surprised them with our genteel appearance. They thought, from the life
we led, we would be little better than the savages. My brothers wanted
me to remain east, but I felt penned up in the city where I couldn't
see farther than across the street, and I told them: 'You can run out
to New York, Boston, Philadelphia, and around in a few hours, but how
much of this great country do you see? No, I will go back to my home on
the Blue.' I am the only one of the old settlers left, and everybody
calls me 'Pap Tyler.'"
I prolonged my visit until the 5th of July that I might see what the
Fourth of '83 would be in Blue Springs. It was ushered in with the boom
of guns and ringing of bells, and instead of the 150 of '59, there were
about 4,000 gathered with the bright morning. Of course there were old
ladies with bonnets, aside, and rude men smoking, but there was not
that lack of intelligence and refinement one might expect to find in a
country yet so comparatively new. I thought, as I looked over the
people, could our eastern towns do better? And only one intoxicated
man. I marked him--fifth drunken man I have seen since entering the
state. The programme of the day was as follows:
SONG--_The Red, White, and Blue_.
DECLARATION OF INDEPENDENCE--Recited by Minnie Marsham, a miss of
twelve years.
SONG--_Night Before the Battle_.
TOAST--_Our Schools_. Responded to by J. C. Burch.
TOAST--_Our Railroads_. Rev. J. M. Pryse.
MUSIC--By the band.
TOAST--_Our Neighbors_. Rev. E. H. Burrington.
Rev. H. W. Warner closed the toasting with, "How, When, and Why," and
with the song, "The Flag Without a Stain," all adjourned for their
dinners.
Mr. and Mrs. Tyler invited me to go with them, but I preferred to eat
my dinner under the flag with a stain--a rebel flag of eleven stars and
three stripes--a captured relic of the late war that hung at half mast.
In afternoon they gathered again to listen to "Pap Tyler" and Pete Tom
tell of the early days. But the usual 4th of July storm scattered the
celebrators and spoiled the evening display of fire-works.
WYMORE
Is beautifully located near Indian Creek and Blue River. It was almost
an undisturbed prairie until the B. & M.R.R. came this way in the
spring of '81, and then, Topsy-like, it "dis growed right up out of the
ground," and became a railroad division town. The plot covers 640
acres, a part of which was Samuel Wymore's homestead, who settled here
sixteen years ago, and it does appear that every lot will be needed.
One can scarce think that where but two years ago a dozen little
shanties held all the people of Wymore, now are so many neatly built
homes and even elegant residences sheltering over 2,500. To tell you
what it now is would take too long. Three papers, three banks, a neat
Congregational church; Methodists hold meetings in the opera hall,
Presbyterians in the school-house; both expect to have churches of
their own within a year; with all the business houses of a rising
western town crowded in. A fine quarry of lime-stone just south on
Indian Creek which has greatly helped the building up of Wymore. The
heavy groves of trees along the creeks and rivers are certainly a
feature of beauty. The days were oppressively warm, but the nights cool
and the evenings delightful. The sunset's picture I have looked upon
almost every evening here is beyond the skill of the painter's brush,
or the writer's pen to portray. Truly "sunset is the soul of the day."
It is thought that in the near future Wymore and Blue Springs will
shake hands across Bill creek and be one city. Success to the shake.
The Otoe Indian reservation lies but a mile south-east of Wymore. It is
a tract of land that was given to the Otoe Indians in 1854, but
one-half was sold five years ago. It now extends ten miles north and
south, and six and three-fourths miles east and west, and extends two
miles into Kansas. I will quote a few notes I took on a trip over it
with Uncle John, Annie, and Mary.
Left Wymore eight o'clock, drove through Blue Springs, crossed the Blue
on the bridge above the mill where the river is 150 feet wide, went six
miles and crossed Wild Cat creek, two miles south and crossed another
creek, two miles further to Liberty, a town with a population of 800,
on the B. & M.R.R., on, on, we went, going north, east, south, and
west, and cutting across, and down by the school building of the
agency, a fine building pleasantly located, with quite an orchard at
the rear. Ate our lunch in the house that the agent had occupied.
A new town is located at the U.P.R.R. depot, yet called "the Agency."
It numbers twelve houses and all built since the lands were sold the
30th of last May. Passed by some Indian graves, but I never had a
"hankering" for dead Indians, so did not dig any up, as so many do. I
felt real sorry that the poor Indian's last resting place was so
desecrated. The men, and chiefs especially, are buried in a sitting
posture, wrapped in their blankets, and their pony is killed and the
head placed at the head of the grave and the tail tied to a pole and
hoisted at the foot; but the women and children are buried with little
ceremony, and no pony given them upon which to ride to the "happy
hunting-ground."
This tribe of Indians were among the best, but warring with other
tribes decreased their number until but 400 were left to take up a new
home in the Indian Territory.
The land is rolling, soil black loam, and two feet or more deep; in
places the grass was over a foot high. From Uncle's farm we could see
Mission and Plum creeks, showing that the land is well watered. The sun
was very warm, but with a covered carriage, and fanned with Nebraska
breezes we were able to travel all the day. Did not reach home until
the stars were shining.
For the benefit of others, I want to tell of the wisest man I ever saw
working corn. I am sorry I cannot tell just how his tent was attached
to his cultivator, but it was a square frame covered with muslin, and
the ends hanging over the sides several inches which acted as fans;
minus a hat he was taking the weather cool. Now I believe in taking
these days when it says 100° in the shade, cool, and if you can't take
them cool, take them as cool as you can any way. My thermometer did not
do so, but left in the sun it ran as high as it could and then boiled
over and broke the bulb.
There were frequent showers and one or two storms, and though they came
in the night, I was up and as near ready, as I could get, for a
cyclone. Aunt Jane wants me to stay until a hot wind blows for a day or
two, almost taking one's breath, filling the air with dust, and
shriveling the leaves. But I leave her, wiping her eyes on the corner
of her apron, while she throws an old shoe after me, and with Gracie
and Arthur by the hand, I go to the depot to take the 4:45 P.M.
train, July 5th.
I cried once when I was bidding friends good bye, and had the rest all
crying and feeling bad, so I made up my mind never to cry again at such
a time if it was possible. I did not know that I would ever see these
dear friends again, but I tried to think I would, and left them as
though I would soon be back; and now I am going farther from home and
friends.
Out from Wymore, past fields of golden grain already in the sheaf, and
nicely growing corn waving in the wind. Now it is gently rolling, and
now bluffy, crossing many little streams, and now a great grassy
meadow. But here is what I wrote, and as it may convey a better idea of
the country, I will give my notes just as I took them as I rode along:
ODELL,
A town not so large by half as Wymore. Three great long corn cribs, yet
well filled. About the only fence is the snow fence, used to prevent
the snow from drifting into the cuts. Grass not so tall as seen on the
Reservation. Here are nicely built homes, and the beginners' cabins
hiding in the cosy places. Long furrows of breaking for next year's
planting. The streams are so like narrow gullies, and so covered with
bushes and trees that one has to look quick and close to see the dark
muddy water that covers the bottom.
DILLER,
A small town, but I know the "Fourth" was here by the bowery or dancing
platforms, and the flags that still wave. Great fields of corn and
grassy stretches. Am watching the banks, and I do believe the soil is
running out, only about a foot until it changes to a clay. Few homes.
INDIAN CREEK.
Conductor watching to show me the noted "Wild Bill's" cabin, and now
just through the cut he points to a low log cabin, where Wild Bill
killed four men out of six, who had come to take his life, and as they
were in the wrong and he in the right, he received much praise, for
thus ridding the world of worse than useless men, and so nobly
defending government property, which they wanted to take out of his
hands. There is the creek running close to the cabin, and up the hill
from the stream is the road that was then the "Golden Trail," no longer
used by gold seekers, pony-express riders, stage drivers, wild Indians,
and emigrants that then went guarded by soldiers from Fort Kearney. The
stream is so thickly wooded, I fancy it offered a good hiding place,
and was one of the dangerous passes in the road; but here we are at
ENDICOTT,
A town some larger than those we have passed. Is situated near the
centre of the southern part of Jefferson county. Now we are passing
through a very fine country with winding streams. I stand at the rear
door, and watch and write, but I cannot tell all.
REYNOLDS,
A small town. Low bluffs to our left, and Rose creek to the right. Good
homes and also dug-outs. Cattle-corrals, long fields of corn not so
good as some I have seen. The little houses cling close to the
hillsides and are hemmed about with groves of trees. Wild roses in
bloom, corn and oats getting smaller again; wonder if the country is
running out? Here is a field smothered with sunflowers: wonder why
Oscar Wilde didn't take a homestead here? Rose creek has crossed to the
left; what a wilderness of small trees and bushes follow its course! I
do declare! here's a real rail fence! but not a staken-rider fence.
Would have told you more about it, but was past it so soon. Rather poor
looking rye and oats. Few fields enclosed with barb-wire. Plenty of
cattle grazing.
HUBBELL.
Four miles east of Rose creek; stream strong enough for mill power;
only one mile north of Kansas. Train stops here for supper, but I shall
wait and take mine with friends in Hardy. Hubbell is in Thayer county,
which was organized in 1856. Town platted in '80, on the farm of
Hubbell Johnston; has a population of 450. A good school house. I have
since learned that this year's yield of oats was fifty to seventy-five,
wheat twenty to thirty, corn thirty to seventy-five bushels per acre in
this neighborhood. I walked up main street, with pencil and book in
hand, and was referred to ---- ---- for information, who asked--
"Are you writing for the _Inter Ocean_?"
"No, I am not writing for any company," I replied.
"I received a letter from the publishers a few days ago, saying that a
lady would be here, writing up the Republican Valley for their
publication."
I was indeed glad, to know I had sisters in the same work.
We pass Chester and Harbine, and just at sunset reach Hardy, Nuckolls
county. I had written to my friend, Rev. J. Angus Lowe, to meet "an old
schoolmate" at the train. He had grown so tall and ministerial looking
since we had last met, that I did not recognize him, and he allowed me
to pass him while he peered into the faces of the men. But soon I heard
some one say, "I declare, it's Belle Fulton," and grasping my hand,
gives me a hearty greeting. Then he led me to his neat little home just
beyond the Lutheran church, quite a nicely finished building that
points its spire heavenward through his labors.
The evening and much of the night is passed before I have answered all
the questions, and told all about his brothers and sisters and the
friends of our native village. The next day he took his wife and three
little ones and myself on a long drive into Kansas to show me the
beauties of the "Garden of the West."
The Republican river leaves Nebraska a little west of Hardy, and we
cross it a mile south. The water of the river is clear and sparkling,
and has a rapid flow. Then over what is called "first bottom" land,
with tall, waving grass, and brightened with clusters of flowers. The
prettiest is the buffalo moss, a bright red flower, so like our
portulacca that one would take its clusters for beds of that flower.
While the sensitive rose grows in clusters of tiny, downy balls, of a
faint pink, with a delicate fragrance like that of the sweet brier.
They grow on a low, trailing vine, covered with fine thorns; leaves
sensitive. I gathered of these flowers for pressing.
Now we are on second bottom land. Corn! Corn! It makes me tired to
think of little girls dropping pumpkin seeds in but one row of these
great fields, some a mile long, and so well worked, there is scarcely a
weed to be seen. Some are working their corn for the last time. It is
almost ready to hang its tassel in the breeze. The broad blades make
one great sea of green on all sides of us. Fine timber cultures of
black walnut, maple, box elder, and cottonwood. Stopped for dinner with
Mrs. Stover, one of Mr. Lowe's church people. They located here some
years ago, and now have a nicely improved home. I was shown their milk
house, with a stream of water flowing through it, pumped by a
wind-mill. Well, I thought, it is not so hard to give up our springs
when one can have such conveniences as this, and have flowing water in
any direction.
I was thankful to my friends for the view of the land of "smoky
waters," but it seemed a necessity that I close my visit with them and
go on to Red Cloud, much as I would liked to have prolonged my stay
with them. Mr. Lowe said as he bade me good-bye: "You are the first one
who has visited us from Pennsylvania, and it does seem we cannot have
you go so soon, yet this short stay has been a great pleasure to us." I
was almost yielding to their entreaties but my plans were laid, and I
_must_ go, and sunset saw me off.
All the country seen before dark was very pretty. Passing over a bridge
I was told: "This is Dry Creek." Sure enough--sandy bed and banks,
trees, bushes and bridge, everything but the water; and it is there
only in wet weather.
I have been told of two streams called Lost creeks that rise five miles
north-west of Hardy, and flow in parallel lines with each other for
several miles, when they are both suddenly lost in a subterranean
passage, and are not seen again until they flow out on the north banks
of the Republican.
So, reader, if you hear tell of a Dry Creek or Lost Creek, you will
know what they are.
SUPERIOR
Is a nicely built town of 800 inhabitants, situated on a plateau. The
Republican river is bridged here, and a large mill built. I did not
catch the name as the brakeman sang it out, and I asked of one I
thought was only a mere school boy, who answered: "I did not
understand, but will learn." Coming back, he informs me with much
emphasis that it is Superior, and straightway goes off enlarging on
the beauties and excellences of the country, and of the fossil remains
he has gathered in the Republican Valley, adding: "Oh! I _just love_
to go fossiling! Don't you _love_ to go fossiling, Miss?"
"I don't know, I never went," I replied, and had a mind to add, "I know
it is just too _lovely_ for _anything_."
It was not necessary for him to say he was from the east, we eastern
people soon tell where we are from if we talk at all, and if we do not
tell it in words our manners and tones do. New Englanders, New Yorkers,
and Pennamites all have their own way of saying and doing things. I
went to the "Valley House" for the night and took the early train next
morning for McCook which is in about the same longitude as Valentine
and North Platte, and thus I would go about the same distance west on
all of the three railroads.
I will not tell of the way out, only of my ride on the engine. I have
always greatly admired and wondered at the workings of a locomotive,
and can readily understand how an engineer can learn to love his
engine, they seem so much a thing of life and animation. The great
throbbing heart of the Centennial--the Corliss engine, excited my
admiration more than all the rest of Machinery Hall; and next to the
Corliss comes the locomotive. I had gone to the round house in Wymore
with my cousins and was told all about the engines, the air-brakes, and
all that, but, oh, dear! I didn't know anything after all. We planned
to have a ride on one before I left, but our plans failed. And when at
Cambridge the conductor came in haste and asked me if I would like a
ride on the engine, I followed without a thought, only that my long
wished for opportunity had come. Not until I was occupying the
fireman's seat did I think of what I was doing. I looked out of the
window and saw the conductor quietly telling the fireman something that
amused them both, and I at once knew they meant to give me "a mile a
minute" ride. Well I felt provoked and ashamed that I had allowed my
impulsiveness to walk me right into the cab of an engine; but I was
there and it was too late to turn back, so to master the situation I
appeared quite unconcerned, and only asked how far it was to Indianola.
"Fourteen miles," was the reply.
Well, the fireman watched the steam clock and shoveled in coal, and the
engineer never took his eyes off the track which was as straight as a
bee-line before us, and I just held on to the seat and my poke hat, and
let them go, and tried to count the telegraph poles as they flew by the
wrong way. After all it was a grand ride, only I felt out of place.
When nearing Indianola they ran slow to get in on time, and when they
had stopped I asked what time they had made, and was answered, eighteen
minutes. The conductor came immediately to help me from the cab and as
he did so, asked:
"Well, did they go pretty fast?"
"I don't know, did they?" I replied.
I was glad to get back to the passenger coach and soon we were at
McCook.
After the train had gone some time I missed a wrap I had left on the
seat, and hastily had a telegram sent after it. After lunching at the
railroad eating house, I set about gathering information about the
little "Magic City" which was located May 25th 1882, and now has a
population of 900. It is 255 miles east of Denver, on the north banks
of the Republican river, on a gradually rising slope, while south of
the river it is bluffy. It is a division station and is nicely built up
with very tastily arranged cottages. Only for the newness of the place
I could have fancied I was walking up Congress street in Bradford,
Pennsylvania. Everything has air of freshness and brightness. The first
house was built in June, '82.
I am surprised at the architectural taste displayed in the new towns of
the west. Surely the east is becoming old and falling behind. It is
seldom a house is finished without paint; and it is a great help to the
appearance of the town and country, as those who can afford a frame
house, build one that will look well at a distance.
Pipes are now being laid for water works. The water is to be carried
from the river to a reservoir capable of holding 40,000 gallons and
located on the hill. This is being done by the Lincoln Land Company at
a cost of $36,000. It has a daily and weekly paper, The McCook
_Tribune_, first issued in June, '82. The printing office was then
in a sod house near the river, then called Fairview post-office, near
which, about twenty farmers had gathered. The B. & M.R.R. was completed
through to Colorado winter of '82. Good building stone can be obtained
from Stony Point, but three miles west. McCook has its brick kiln as
has almost all the towns along the way. Good clay is easily obtained,
and brick is cheaper than in the east.
From a copy of the Daily _Tribune_, I read a long list of business
firms and professional cards, and finished with, "_no saloons_."
The Congregationalists have a fine church building. The Catholics
worship in the Churchill House, but all other denominations are given
the use of the Congregational church until they can build. I called
upon Rev. G. Dungan, pastor of the Congregational church. He was from
home, but I was kindly invited by his mother, who was just from the
east, to rest in their cosy parlor. It is few of our ministers of the
east that are furnished with homes such as was this minister of McCook.
I was then directed to Mrs. C. C. Clark, who is superintendent of the
Sunday school, and found her a lady of intelligence and refinement. She
told of their Sabbath school, and of the good attendance, and how the
ladies had bought the church organ, and of the society in general.
"You would be surprised to know the refinement and culture to be found
in these newly built western towns. If you will remain with us a few
days, I will take you out into the country to see how nicely people can
and do live in the sod houses and dugouts. And we will also go on an
engine into Colorado. It is too bad to come so near and go back without
seeing that state. Passengers very often ride on the engine on this
road, and consider it a great treat; so it was only through kindness
that you were invited into the cab, as you had asked the conductor to
point out all that was of interest, along the way."
The rainfall this year will be sufficient for the growing of the crops,
with only another good rain. Almost everyone has bought or taken
claims. One engineer has taken a homestead and timber claim, and bought
80 acres. So he has 400 acres, and his wife has gone to live on the
homestead, while he continues on the road until they have money enough
to go into stock-raising.
This valley does not show any sand to speak of until in the western
part of Hitchcock county.
Following the winding course of the Republican river, through the eight
counties of Nebraska through which it flows, it measures 260 miles. The
40th north latitude, is the south boundary line of Nebraska. As the
Republican river flows through the southern tier of counties, it is
easy to locate its latitude. It has a fall of 7 feet per mile, is well
sustained by innumerable creeks on the north, and many from the south.
These streams are more or less wooded with ash, elm, and cottonwood,
and each have their cosy valley. It certainly will be a thickly
populated stretch of Nebraska. The timber, the out crops of limestone,
the brick clay, the rich soil, and the stock raising facilities, plenty
of water and winter grazing, and the mill power of the river cannot and
will not be overlooked. But hark! the train is coming, and I must go.
A Catholic priest and two eastern travelers, returning from Colorado,
are the only passengers in this coach. The seats are covered with sand,
and window sills drifted full. I brush a seat next to the river side
and prepare to write. Must tell you first that my wrap was handed me by
the porter, so if I was not in Colorado, it was.
The prairies are dotted with white thistle flowers, that look like pond
lilies on a sea of green. The buffalo grass is so short that it does
not hide the tiniest flower. Now we are alongside the river; sand-bars
in all shapes and little islands of green--there it winds to the south
and is lost to sight--herds of cattle--corn field--river again with
willow fringed bank--cattle on a sand-bar, so it cannot be quicksand,
or they would not be there long--river gone again--tall willow
grove--wire fencing--creek I suppose, but it is only a brook in width.
Now a broad, beautiful valley. Dear me! this field must be five miles
long, and cattle grazing in it--all fenced in until we reach
INDIANOLA,
one of the veteran towns of Red Willow county. The town-site was
surveyed in 1873, and is now the county seat. Of course its growth was
slow until the advent of the B. & M., and now it numbers over 400
inhabitants. "This way with your sorghum cane, and get your 'lasses'
from the big sorghum mill." See a church steeple, court house, and
school house--great herd of cattle--wilderness of sunflowers turning
their bright faces to the sun--now nothing but grass--corral made of
logs--corn and potatoes--out of the old sod into the nice new
frame--river beautifully wooded--valley about four miles wide from
bluff to bluff--dog town, but don't seem to be any doggies at
home--board fence.
CAMBRIDGE.
Close to the bridge and near Medicine creek; population 500; a flouring
mill; in Furnas county now. The flowers that I see are the prairie rose
shaded from white to pink, thistles, white and pink cactuses, purple
shoestring, a yellow flower, and sunflowers.
Abrupt bluffs like those of Valentine. Buffalo burs, and buffalo
wallows. Country looking fine. Grain good.
ARAPAHOE.
Quite a town on the level valley; good situation. Valley broad, and
bluffs a gradual rise to the table-lands; fields of grain and corn on
their sloping side. This young city is situated on the most northern
point of the river and twenty-two miles from Kansas, and is only forty
miles from Plum creek on the Platte river, and many from that
neighborhood come with their grain to the Arapahoe mills as there are
two flouring mills here. It is the county-seat of Furnas county, was
platted in 1871. River well timbered; corn and oats good; grain in
sheaf; stumps, stumps, bless the dear old stumps! glad to see them!
didn't think any one could live in that house, but people can live in
very open houses here; stakenridered fence, sod house, here is a stream
no wider than our spring run, yet it cuts deep and trees grow on its
banks. River close; trees--there, it and the trees are both gone south.
Here are two harvesters at work, reaping and binding the golden grain.
OXFORD.
Only town on both sides of the railroad, all others are to the north;
town located by the Lincoln land company; population about 400; a
Baptist church; good stone for building near; damming the river for
mills and factories; a creamery is being talked of. Sheep, sheep, and
cattle, cattle--What has cattle? Cattle has what all things has out
west. Guess what! why grass to be sure. Scenery beautiful; in Harlan
county now, and we go on past Watson, Spring Hill, and Melrose, small
towns, but will not be so long.
Here we are at
ORLEANS.
A beautifully situated town on a plateau, a little distance to the
north; excuse, me, please, until I brush the dust from the seat before
me for an old lady that has just entered the car; I am glad to have her
company. Stately elms cast their shadows over a bright little stream
called Elm creek that winds around at the foot of the bluff upon which
the town is built. I like the scenery here very much, and, too, the
town it is so nicely built. It is near the center of the county, and
for a time was the county seat, and built a good court-house, but their
right was disputed, and the county seat was carried to Alma, six miles
east. The railroad reached this point in '80, at which time it had 400
of a population. It has advanced even through the loss of the county
seat. An M.E. College, brick-yard, and grist-mill are some of its
interests. Land rolling; oats ripe; buffalo grass; good grazing land.
Cutting grain with oxen; a large field of barley; good bottom land;
large herds and little homes; cutting hay with a reaper and the old
sod's tumbled in, telling a story of trials no doubt.
ALMA.
Quite a good town, of 700 inhabitants, but it is built upon the
table-land so out of sight I cannot see much of it. But this is the
county seat before spoken of, and I am told is a live town.
That old lady is growing talky; has just sold her homestead near
Orleans for $800, and now she is going to visit and live on the
interest of her money. Came from New York ten years ago with her
fatherless children. The two eastern men and myself were the only
passengers in this car, so I just wrote and hummed away until I drove
the men away to the end of the car where they could hear each other
talking. I am so glad the old lady will talk.
REPUBLICAN CITY.
Small, but pretty town with good surrounding country. Population 400.
Why, there's a wind-mill! Water must be easily obtained or they would
be more plenty.
NAPONEE.
Small town. No stop here. Widespread valley; corn in tassel; grain in
sheaf; wheat splendid. One flour mill and a creamery.
BLOOMINGTON--the "Highland City"--the county seat of Franklin county,
and is a town like all the other towns along this beautiful valley,
nicely located, and built up with beautiful homes and public buildings,
and besides having large brick M.E. and Presbyterian churches, a large
Normal School building, the Bloomington flour mills, a large creamery,
and the U.S. land office. I am told that the Indians are excellent
judges of land and are very loth to leave a good stretch of country,
although they do not make much use of the rich soil. The Pawnees were
the original land-holders of the Republican valley, and I do not wonder
that they held so tenaciously to it. It has surely grown into a grand
possession for their white brothers.
I am so tired, if you will excuse me, reader, I will just write half
and use a dash for the rest of the words cor--, pota--, bush--, tre--,
riv--. Wish I could make tracks on that sand bar! Old lady says "that
wild sage is good to break up the ague," and I have been told it is a
good preventive for malaria in any form. Driftwood! I wonder where it
came from. There, the river is out of sight, and no tre-- or bus--;
well, I am tired saying that; going to say something else. Sensitive
roses, yellow flowers, that's much better than to be talking about the
river all the time. But here it is again; the most fickle stream I have
ever seen! You think you will have bright waters to look upon for
awhile, and just then you haven't.
But, there, we have gone five miles now, and we are at FRANKLIN, a real
good solid town. First house built July, 1879. I never can guess how
many people live in a town by looking at it from a car window. How do I
know how many there are at work in the creamery, flouring mill, and
woolen factory? And how many pupils are studying in the Franklin
Academy, a fine two-story building erected by the Republican Valley
Congregational Association at a cost of $3,500? First term opened Dec.
6, 1881. The present worth of the institution is $12,000, and they
propose to make that sum $50,000. One hundred and seven students have
been enrolled during the present term. And how many little boys and
girls in the common school building? or how many are in their nicely
painted homes, and those log houses, and sod houses, and dug-outs in
the side of the hill, with the stovepipe sticking out of the ground? It
takes all kinds of people to make a world, and all kinds of houses to
make a city. Country good. Fields of corn, wheat, rye, oats, millet,
broom corn, and all _sich_--good all the way along this valley.
RIVERTON.
A small town situated right in the valley. Was almost entirely laid in
ashes in 1882, but Phoenix-like is rising again. Am told the B. & M.
Co. have 47,000 acres of land for sale in this neighborhood at $3.50 to
$10 per acre, on ten years' time and six per cent interest. Great
fields of pasture and grain; wild hay lands; alongside the river now;
there, it is gone to run under that bridge away over near the foot of
the grassy wall of the bluffs. Why, would you believe it! here's the
Republican river. Haven't seen it for a couple of minutes. But it
brings trees and bushes with it, and an island. But now around the
bluffs and away it goes. Reader, I have told you the "here she comes"
and "there she goes" of the river to show you its winding course. One
minute it would be hugging the bluffs on the north side, and then, as
though ashamed of the "hug," and thought it "hadn't ought to," takes a
direct south-western course for the south bluffs, and hug them awhile.
Oh, the naughty river! But, there, the old lady is tired and has
stopped talking, and I will follow her example. Tired? Yes, indeed!
Have been writing almost constantly since I left McCook, now 119 miles
away, and am right glad to hear the conductor call
RED CLOUD!
Hearing that ex-Gov. Garber was one of the early settlers of Red Cloud,
I made haste to call upon him before it grew dark, for the sunbeams
were already aslant when we arrived, and supper was to be eaten. As I
stepped out upon the porch of the "Valley House" there sat a toad;
first western toad I had seen, and it looked so like the toadies that
hop over our porch at home that I couldn't help but pat it with my
foot. But it hopped away from me and left me to think of home. The new
moon of May had hung its golden crest over me in the valley of the
Niobrara, the June moon in the valley of the Platte, and now, looking
up from the Republican valley, the new July moon smiled upon me in a
rather reproving way for being yet further from home than when it last
came, and, too, after all my wishing. So I turned my earnest wishes
into a silent prayer:
"Dear Father, take me home before the moon has again run its course!"
I found the ex-governor seated on the piazza of his cosy cottage,
enjoying the beautiful evening. He received me kindly, and invited me
into the parlor, where I was introduced to Mrs. Garber, a very pleasant
lady, and soon I was listening to the following story:
"I was one of the first men in Webster county; came with two brothers,
and several others, and took for my soldier's claim the land upon which
much of Red Cloud is now built, 17th July, 1870. There were no other
settlers nearer than Guide Rock, and but two there. In August several
settlers came with their families, and this neighborhood was frequently
visited by the Indians, who were then killing the white hunters for
taking their game, and a couple had been killed near here. The people
stockaded this knoll, upon which my house is built, with a wall of
logs, and a trench. In this fort, 64 feet square, they lived the first
winter, but I stayed in my dugout home, which you may have noticed in
the side of the hill where you crossed the little bridge. I chose this
spot then for my future home. I have been in many different states, but
was never so well satisfied with any place as I was with this spot on
the Republican river. The prairie was covered with buffalo grass, and
as buffalo were very plenty, we did not want for meat. There were also
plenty of elk, antelope, and deer.
"In April, '71, Webster county was organized. The commissioners met in
my dug-out. At the first election there were but forty-five votes
polled. First winter there were religious services held, and in the
summer of '71, we had school. Our mail was carried from Hebron, Thayer
county, fifty miles east. The town site was platted in October, '72,
and we named it for Red Cloud, chief of the Indian tribe."
The governor looked quite in place in his elegant home, but as he told
of the early days, it was hard to fancy him occupying a dug-out, and I
could not help asking him how he got about in his little home, for he
is a large man. He laughingly told how he had lived, his dried buffalo
meat hung to the ceiling, and added:
"I spent many a happy day there."
Gov. Silas Garber was elected governor of Nebraska in 1874-6, serving
well and with much honor his two terms. This is an instance of out of a
dugout into the capitol. True nobility and usefulness cannot be hidden
even by the most humble abode.
The home mother earth affords her children of Nebraska is much the same
as the homes the great forests of the east gave to our forefathers, and
have given shelter to many she is now proud to call Nebraska's
children.
When I spoke of returning to the hotel, the governor said:
"We would like to have you remain with us to-night, if you will," and as
Mrs. Garber added her invitation, I readily accepted their kindness,
for it was not given as a mere act of form. I forgot my weariness in
the pleasure of the evening, hearing the governor tell of pioneer days
and doings, and Mrs. G. of California's clime and scenery--her native
state.
The morning was bright and refreshing, and we spent its hours seeing
the surrounding beauties of their home.
"Come, Miss Fulton, see this grove of trees I planted but eight years
ago--fine, large trees they are now; and this clover and timothy; some
think we cannot grow either in Nebraska, but it is a mistake," while
Mrs. G. says:
"There is such a beautiful wild flower blooming along the path, and if
I can find it will pluck it for you," and together we go searching in
the dewy grass for flowers, while the Governor goes for his horse and
phaeton to take me to the depot.
Mrs. G. is a lady of true culture and refinement, yet most unassuming
and social in her manners. Before I left, they gave me a large
photograph of their home. As the Governor drove me around to see more
of Red Cloud before taking me to the depot, he took me by his 14×16
hillside home, remarking as he pointed it out:
"I am sorry it has been so destroyed; it might have yet made a good
home for some one," then by the first frame house built in Red Cloud,
which he erected for a store room, where he traded with the Indians for
their furs. He hauled the lumber for this house from Grand Island, over
sixty miles of trackless prairie, while some went to Beatrice, 100
miles away, for their lumber, and where they then got most of their
groceries.
As we drove through the broad streets, and looked on Red Cloud from
centre to suburb, I did not wonder at the touch of pride with which
Governor Garber pointed out the advance the little spot of land had
made that he paid for in years of service to his country.
When the B. & M.R.R. reached Red Cloud in '79, it was a town of 450
inhabitants; now it numbers 2,500. It is the end of a division of the
B. & M. from Wymore, and also from Omaha; is the county seat of Webster
county, and surrounded by a rich country--need I add more?
AMBOY.
A little station four miles east of Red Cloud; little stream, with
bushes; and now we are crossing Dry Creek; corn looks short.
COWLES.
Beautiful rolling prairie but no timber; plenty of draws that have to
be bridged; shan't write much to-day for you know it is Sunday, and I
feel kind of wicked; wonder what will happen to me for traveling
to-day; am listening to those travelers from the east tell to another
how badly disappointed they were in Colorado. One who is an asthmatic
thinks it strange if the melting at noon-day and freezing at night will
cure asthma; felt better in Red Cloud than any place. Other one says he
wouldn't take $1,000 and climb Pike's Peak again, while others are more
than repaid by the trip. A wide grassy plain to the right, with homes
and groves of trees.
BLUE HILL.
A small town; great corn cribs; a level scope of country. O, rose, that
blooms and wastes thy fragrance on this wide spread plain, what is thy
life? To beautify only one little spot of earth, to cheer you travelers
with one glance, and sweeten one breath of air; mayhap to be seen by
only one out of the many that pass me by. But God sowed the seed and
smiles upon me even here.
Bloom, little flower, all the way along,
Sing to us travelers your own quiet song,
Speak to us softly, gently, and low,
Are they well and happy? Flowers, do you know?
Excuse this simple rhyme, but I am so homesick.
This country is good all the way along and I do not need to repeat it
so often. Nicely improved farms and homes surrounded by fine groves of
trees. I see one man at work with his harvester; the only desecrator of
the Sabbath I have noticed, and he may be a Seventh day Baptist.
AYR
Was but a small town, so we go on to HASTINGS, a town of over 5,000
inhabitants, and the county seat of Adams county. Is ninety-six miles
west from Lincoln, and 150 miles west of the Missouri river. The B. &
M.R.R. was built through Hastings in the spring of 1872, but it was not
a station until the St. Joe and Denver City R.R. (now the St. Joe &
Western Division of the U.P.R.R.) was extended to this point in the
following autumn, and a town was platted on the homestead of W.
Micklin, and named in honor of T. D. Hastings, one of the contractors
of the St. Jo. & D.C.R.R. A post-office was established the same year,
the postmaster receiving a salary of one dollar per month. Now, the
salary is $2,100 per annum, and is the third post-office in the state
for business done. It is located on a level prairie, and is nicely
built up with good houses, although it has suffered badly from fires. I
notice a good many windmills, so I presume water runs deep here. The
surrounding country is rich farming land, all crops looking good.
Harvard, Sutton, Grafton, Fairmont, Exeter, Friend, and Dorchester, are
all towns worthy of note, but it is the same old story about them all.
I notice the churches are well attended.
A poor insane boy came upon the train, and showed signs of fight and,
as usual, I beat a retreat to the rear of the car, but did not better
my position by getting near a poor, inebriated young man, in a drunken
stupor. I count him sixth, but am told he came from Denver in that
condition, so I will give Colorado the honor (?) of the sixth count. I
cannot but compare the two young men: The one, I am told, was a good
young man, but was suddenly robbed of his reason. If it was he that was
intoxicated, I would not wonder at it. I never could understand how any
one in their right mind could deliberately drag themselves down to such
a depth, and present such a picture of sin and shame to the world as
this poor besotted one does. Everyone looks on him with contempt, as he
passes up the aisle for a drink; but expressions of pity come from all
for the one bereft of reason, and I ask, Which of the two is the most
insane? But I don't intend to preach a temperance sermon if it is
Sunday.
CRETE.
Quite a pretty town half hid among the trees that line the Big Blue
river. The valley of the Blue must be very fertile, as every plant,
shrub, and tree shows a very luxuriant growth. Crete is surely a cosy
retreat. The Congregational church of the state has made it a centre
of its work. Here are located Doane College and the permanent grounds
of the N.S.S.A.A.
LINCOLN.
Well, here I am, and no familiar face to greet me. I asked a lady to
watch my baggage for me, while I hastened to the post-office, and when
I returned the train was gone and the depot closed. I stood looking
through the window at my baggage inside, and turning my mind
upside-down, and wrongside out, and when it was sort of crosswise and I
didn't know just what to do, I asked of a man strolling around if he
had anything to do with the depot. "No. I am a stranger here, and am
only waiting to see the ticket agent." After explaining matters to him
I asked him to "please speak to the ticket agent about that baggage for
me," which he readily promised to do, and I started to walk to my
friends, expecting to meet them on the way. After going some distance I
thought I had placed a great deal of confidence in a stranger, and had
a mind to turn back, but the sun was melting hot, and I kept right on.
After I had gone over a mile, I was given a seat in a carriage of one
of my friends' neighbors, and was taken to their door, and gave them
another surprise, for they thought I had made a mistake in the date, as
they were quite sure no train was run on that road on Sunday.
_Monday._ Mr. Gardner went for my baggage, but returned without
it, and with a countenance too sober for joking said: "Well, your
baggage is not to be found, and no one seems to know anything about
it."
"Oh! Pet," Maggie said, "I am so sorry we did not go to meet you, for
this would not have happened. What did you leave?" "Everything I had."
"Your silk dress too?" "Yes, but don't mention that; money would
replace it, but no amount could give me back my autograph album and
button string which is filled and gathered from so many that I will
never again see; and all my writings, so much that I could never
replace. No, I _must_ not lose it!" And then I stole away and went
to Him whom I knew could help me. Some may not, but I have faith that
help is given us for the minor as well as the great things of life, and
as I prayed this lesson came to me--How alarmed I am over the loss of a
little worldly possessions, and a few poems and scraps of writing, when
so much of the heavenly possession is lost through carelessness, and
each day is a page written in my life's history that will not be read
and judged by this world alone, but by the Great Judge of all things.
And, too, it is manuscript that cannot be altered or rewritten.
I would not allow myself to think that my baggage was gone for good,
nor would I shed one tear until I was sure, and then, if gone, I would
just take a good cry over it, and--but won't I hug my dusty satchels if
I only get hold of them again, and never, never be so careless again. I
supposed the stranger whom I had asked to speak to the ticket agent for
me had improved the opportunity I gave him to secure it for his own.
So it was a rather hopeless expression that I wore, as Cousin Maggie
took me to the city in the afternoon. The day was away up among the
nineties, and we could not go fast. I thought, never horse traveled so
slow, and felt as though I could walk, and even push to make time. But
I kept quiet and didn't even say "Get up, Nellie!" I suppose a mile a
minute would have been slow to me then. When at last I reached the
depot my first thought was to go right to Mr. Randall with my trouble,
but was told he was about to leave on the train. I peered into the
faces of those gathered about the depot, but failing to find him, I
turned to look at the sacred spot where I had last seen may baggage,
little dreaming that I would find it, but there it all was, even my
fan. "Oh dear, I am _so_ glad!" and I fussed away, talking to my
satchels, and telling them how glad I was to see them, and was about to
give them the promised "great big hug," when I found I was attracting
attention, and turning to an elderly lady I asked her to please watch
my baggage for a few moments. How soon we forget our good promises to
do better.--I hastened to Mr. Randall's office, found him without a
thought of going away. I first told him how much I was pleased with the
Republican valley, and then about my baggage.
"Why, child! did you go away and leave it here?"
"Yes, I did; and I have left it again in care of a real dressy old
lady, and must go and see to it."
When I reached the waiting room the old lady and baggage were both
gone. Turning to my cousin, who had just entered, I asked:
"Maggie Gardner, what did you do with that baggage?"
"Nothing; I did not know you had found it."
Then, addressing a couple who sat near, I said:
"I do wish you would tell me where that baggage went to."
"The conductor carried it away."
"Where did he go to?"
"I don't know, Miss."
Dear me; helped the old lady aboard with my baggage, I thought.
"Why, what's the matter now, Miss Fulton?" asked Mr. Randall, who had
followed me. "What's gone?"
"Why, my baggage; it's gone again."
"Well, that's too bad; but come with me and perhaps we may find it in
here." And we entered the baggage room just in time to save Gov.
Garber's house from blowing away (the picture), but found the rest all
carefully stored. Twice lost and twice found; twice sad and twice glad,
and a good lesson learned.
The Burlington and Missouri River Railroad first began work at
Plattsmouth, on the Missouri river, in 1869, and reached Lincoln July
20, 1870. From Lincoln it reaches out in six different lines. But this
table will give a better idea of the great network of railroads under
the B. & M. Co.'s control. The several divisions and their mileage are
as follows:
Pacific Junction to Kearney 196
Omaha line 17
Nebraska City to Central City 150
Nebraska City to Beatrice 92
Atchison to Columbus 221
Crete to Red Cloud 150
Table Rock to Wymore 38
Hastings to Culbertson 171
Denver Extension 244
Kenesaw cut-off to Oxford 77
Chester to Hebron 12
DeWitt to West Line 25
Odell to Washington, Kan. 26
Nemaha to Salem 18
The Burlington and Missouri River Railroad, being a part of the
C.B. & Q. system, forms in connection with the latter road the famous
"Burlington Route," known as the shortest and quickest line between
Chicago and Denver, and being the only line under one management,
tedious and unnecessary delays and transfers at the Missouri river are
entirely avoided.
P. S. Eustis of Omaha, Neb., who is very highly spoken of, stands at
the head of the B. & M.R.R. as its worthy General Passenger Agent,
while R. R. Randall of Lincoln, Neb., Immigration Agent B. & M.R.R.
Co., of whom I have before spoken, will kindly and most honestly direct
all who come to him seeking homes in the South Platte country. His
thorough knowledge of the western country and western life, having
spent most of his years on the frontier, particularly qualifies him for
this office.
MILFORD.
"The Saratoga of Nebraska." So termed for its beautiful "Big Blue"
river, which affords good boating and bathing facilities, its wealth of
thick groves of large trees, and the "dripping spring," that drips and
sparkles as it falls over a rock at the river bank. As before, Mr.
Randall had prepared my way, and a carriage awaited me at the depot. I
was conveyed to the home of Mr. J. H. Culver, where I took tea. Mrs.
Culver is a daughter of Milford's pioneer, Mr. J. L. Davison, who
located at M. in 1864, and built the first house. He built a mill in
'66, and from the mill, and the fording of the river at this point by
the Mormons, Indians, and emigrants, was derived the name for the town
that afterward grew up about him.
Through the kindness of the Davison family our stay at Milford was made
very pleasant. Riding out in the evening to see the rich farming land
of the valley, and in the morning a row on the river and ramble through
the groves that have been a resting-place to so many weary travelers
and a pleasure ground for many a picnic party. Indeed, Milford is the
common resort for the Lincoln pleasure parties. It is twenty miles due
west of the capital, on the B. & M.R.R., which was built in 1880. Mr.
Davison told of how they had first located on Salt Creek, near where is
now the city of Lincoln, but was then only wild, unbroken prairies.
Finding the "Big Blue" was a better mill stream, he moved his stakes
and drove them deep for a permanent home on its banks. He first built a
log house, and soon a frame, hauling his lumber from Plattsmouth. A
saw-mill was soon built on the "Blue," and lumber was plenty right at
hand. The ford was abandoned for a bridge he built in '66, and to his
flouring-mill came grain for a hundred miles away, as there was none
other nearer than Ashland. This being the principal crossing-place of
the Blue, all the vegetables they could raise were readily sold. Mrs.
Culver told of selling thirty-five dollars' worth of vegetables from
her little garden patch in one week, adding: "We children were
competing to see who could make the most from our garden that week, and
I came out only a few dollars ahead of the rest."
Mrs. D. told of how with the aid of a large dog, and armed with a
broom, she had defended a neighbor's daughter from being carried away
captive by a band of Indians. The story of their pioneering days was
very interesting, but space will not allow me to repeat it.
In the morning I was taken through three very pretty groves. One lies
high on a bluff, and is indeed a pretty spot, named "Shady Cliff." Then
winding down canyon Seata, _little_ canyon, we crossed the River to the
Harbor, an island which is covered with large cottonwood, elm, hickory,
and ash, and woven among the branches are many grapevines--one we
measured being sixteen inches in circumference--while a cottonwood
measured eighteen feet in circumference. Surely it has been a harbor
where many weary ones have cast anchor for a rest. Another grove, the
Retreat, is even more thickly wooded and vined over, and we found its
shade a very pleasant retreat on that bright sunny morning. But
pleasanter still was the row of a mile down the river to the "Sparkling
Springs."
Reader, go ask Professor Aughey about the rocks over which this spring
flows. All I can tell you is, it looks like a great mass of dark clay
into which had been stirred an equal quantity of shells of all sizes,
but which had decayed and left only their impression on the hardened
rock.
The river is 100 feet wide and has a rock bottom which makes it fine
for bathing in, and the depth and volume of water is sufficient for the
running of small steamers. School was first held in Mr. Davison's house
in '69. The first church was erected by the Congregational society in
'69. First newspaper was established in '70, by J. H. Culver, and
gained a state reputation under the name of the "Blue Valley _Record_."
Rev. H. A. French began the publication of the "_Congregational News_"
in '78.
The "Milford _Ozone_" is the leading organ of the day, so named for the
health-giving atmosphere that the Milfordites enjoy.
A post-office was established in '66, J. S. Davison acting as
postmaster. Mail was received once a week from Nebraska City, via
Camden. The mail was distributed from a dry goods box until in '70, J.
H. Culver was appointed postmaster, and a modern post-office was
established.
The old mill was destroyed by fire in '82, and is now replaced by a
large stone and brick building costing $100,000, and has a capacity of
300 barrels per day. The population of Milford is about 600. We cross
the iron bridge that now spans the river to the east banks and take a
view of the new town of EAST MILFORD laid out on an eighty acre plot
that borders on the river and gradually rises to the east. It is a
private enterprise to establish a larger town on this particularly
favored spot, where those who wish may have a home within easy reach of
the capital and yet have all the beauty and advantage of a riverside
home. I could scarcely resist the temptation to select a residence lot
and make my home on the beautiful Blue, the prettiest spot I have yet
found in Nebraska.