FROM THE KANSAS TO THE PLATTE.
It was the middle of August, before I was ready to leave Fort Riley;
and now a word about my _compagnons du voyage_. These were two, Mr.
J. D. L. of Boston, my well-tried clerk and friend; and Dr. B. E. M.
of New York, then recently Ass't. Editor ---- Magazine. Mr. L. had
been with me for several years in the field and at post; was active,
intelligent, alert; and was as capital a shot, as he was rare a
penman. Dr. M. I knew but slightly; but he came well-recommended, as
a _literateur_ and gentleman, and I was glad to have his company. He
had been considerable of a traveller in Europe, and was now desirous
of crossing the Continent to San Francisco, whence he might go over
to Japan and China. Another gentleman had also talked much of joining
us; but his heart failed him at the last hour, and he preceded us to
California, _via_ the Isthmus.
My inspections at Leavenworth and Riley being completed, we left
Fort Riley just after sunrise Aug. 16th, and soon were fairly afloat
on the Plains, and off for the Pacific. Hitherto the railroad had
still served to connect us with the East. But now we bade good-bye
to cars and locomotives, and did not see them again until we heard
their tramp and whistle two thousand miles away, in the cañon of the
Columbia. "Afloat," I think, is the only right word for the Plains;
because the first impression they give you is that of the sea, so
vast is their extent, and even the wagons that cross them--huge,
lumbering, fore-and-aft vehicles, with from eight to ten yoke of oxen
each--in border parlance are called "Prairie-Schooners."
My orders were to proceed from Fort Riley on the Kaw or Kansas, to
Fort Kearney on the Platte; and, as the shortest and most direct
route, we were now off, across the country, in execution of them. Our
route lay northwest across the high "divide" between the Kansas and
the Platte, through central Kansas; and as there was no stage-line
here, we had to go by ambulance. Neither was there any well-defined
road; but we were told that at Marysville, some sixty miles north,
we could strike the great Overland Route, from Atchison, Mo. and
afterwards travel westward by that. Our "outfit" consisted of one
ambulance for ourselves, one army-wagon for our escort of five
infantry-men, and another for baggage, forage, and rations. Our
friends at Riley knew little about the intervening country, except
that Indians were reported there; and as their cavalry was all out
scouting, could furnish only the infantry escort, as above. Even this
seemed small; but we were all well-armed ourselves; and what with our
repeating rifles and revolvers, few as we were, felt good for fifty
red skins or more, come as they would.
For the first seventy-five miles or so, we were seldom out of sight
of scattered ranches; but long before reaching Fort Kearney--some two
hundred and thirty miles from Riley--they had dwindled away to only
the occasional stage-stations, every ten or twelve miles or so apart.
Along the creeks and streams, we found farms rapidly springing up; but
the "divides" between these were generally barren and withered up.
Oftentimes we could find no water for ten or twelve miles, and wood
was even rarer. Of course, we "camped-out" during the whole trip, and
frequently had to carry our necessary fire-wood fifteen and twenty
miles. In the spring, all these "divides," as well as the bottoms, are
clothed with luxuriant verdure; but in summer, the rainless atmosphere
there sweeps over them, like a sirocco, and everything soon perishes.
At night, we found the air grew rapidly cold, and we shivered under our
blankets; but in the middle of the day, the sun fairly blazed from a
cloudless sky, and I have seldom felt its effects more severely. When
we struck the Overland Route, we found its roadway a mass of impalpable
dust, black and stifling. With the breeze dead-ahead, or athwart our
course, we got along very well; but when it chopped around behind us,
the black prairie soil rose in clouds, and our poor mules suffered
terribly. Two of them, indeed, died outright, from heat and dust,
before reaching the Platte, though we drove very carefully, seldom
averaging over thirty-five miles per day. Evidently this part of Kansas
must grow more trees, and thus secure more rain and moisture, before
these high "divides" or ridges between the Kansas and the Platte will
amount to much for farming purposes.
After a week of travelling like this, our first sight of the Platte,
with its broad and luxuriant bottoms waving with verdure, was
refreshing to the eye. Our jaded animals snuffed the water and grass
afar off, and of their own accord broke into a trot as we neared
them. We struck the river at Valley Ranche, a collection of a dozen
or so sod-houses, some seven or eight miles below Fort Kearney. The
Platte here is a mile or more wide, and looks like a noble stream;
but it is shallow and treacherous with shoals and quicksands, as
well as tainted with alkali, and altogether is about as thorough a
swindle as a river can well be. Its northern bank was still fringed
with cottonwoods, but its southern had scarcely a bush to break the
monotony. Ascending it to Fort Kearney, we found its broad bottoms
literally swarming with countless millions of Plains grasshoppers.
They really covered the ground, a moving army; they filled the
air, coming in all directions, their white wings twinkling like a
snow-squall. Egypt's plague of locusts could scarcely have been
worse, for they swept a broad tract of country clean of everything,
as they moved eastward. We found the settlers complaining of them
bitterly, as the greatest pests of the region, destroying all
vegetation and forbidding all attempts at farming, some seasons. Said
a butternut Missourian, in speaking of them: "The pesky varmints!
They eat up all my corn, and tobacco. And then when I cussed 'em for
it, they coolly sat on the Shanghai-fence thar, and squirted tobacco
juice at me!" But they have been almost as bad in other new states,
at first, and it was thought the advance of our line of settlements
would soon subdue or extirpate them.
On leaving Riley, we had anticipated some good shooting _en route_;
but game generally proved rare, or else quite shy. Prairie-chickens
or grouse abounded until we got beyond the settlements, when they
disappeared almost entirely. They are a timid bird, and hard to
approach on foot; but on horseback or in a wagon you may get close
upon them very easily. Feeding in the grass or reeds, in small flocks,
at the first sound they pop their heads up erect, as if inviting the
sportsman to crack away at them. This we did continually from an
ambulance or behind it, and seldom went into camp the first few days
without prairie-chickens enough for all. We expected to see deer and
buffalo, but were unable to catch sight of even one, being too far
east yet. As we approached the Platte, we saw a solitary antelope,
gazing at us from a distant bluff; but when we drew nearer he wheeled
about and dashed quickly out of sight among its sand-hills. Doves
and cow-birds appeared in quite considerable numbers when we struck
the Overland Route, and, of course, the crow or buzzard also--the
omnipresent scavenger of the Plains. Our first prairie-dogs turned up
on the Little Blue, just beyond Thompson's. Here was quite a village
of the little fellows, with their sentinels duly out; but as we came
nearer, the alarm was sounded, and soon "whisk" went a hundred tails,
as they plunged head downwards into their holes. A few noses peeped
cautiously out as we drove by; but the most of their dogships continued
_perdu_. Just above one hole a diminutive owl still stood guard in
the deepening twilight, and the settlers insisted that the old yarn
about the prairie-dog, the owl, and the rattlesnake being tenants in
common--all keeping house in one and the same hole--is really true.
We overheard our teamsters (all old Plainsmen) disputing about this
one night, around their camp-fire, as we lay awake; but their final
conclusion, and the weight of frontier testimony, seemed to be in favor
of this Happy Family.
Of Indians we heard a great deal, but saw none. Rumors of them
increased as we moved north and west; but, if about, they gave us a
wide berth. At Virginia Station, about half way, the station-keeper
reported the Pawnees in force on the Little Blue; and at Big Sandy
the last stage-driver through from Fort Kearny reported Fort Reno
taken, Fort Laramie besieged and Kearny itself in danger. He said,
one settler had already been lanced and killed on the Little Blue;
that the Pawnees there--six hundred lodges strong--were moody and
hostile; and, as our party was too small for effective resistance
advised our return. Further on we found ranches here and there
abandoned, with the crops left growing; and one day we descried a
solitary horseman in the distance galloping rapidly towards us, that
we were sure must be a red skin. But as he came nearer he proved to
be a settler's half-grown boy, who had been up the road several miles
helping a neighbor move. He, too, had heard "Big Injun" stories, but
said his people did not mind them much. These reports, at first,
I confess, were rather startling, as we had no idea of losing our
scalps; but as our safe advance day by day exploded one after another
of them, we soon became quite skeptical on the Indian question.
The chief effect was to increase our prudence and vigilance. We
looked well to our arms morning and evening, and seldom halted, even
briefly, without posting a guard. In due time we reached and passed
the valley of the Little Blue without seeing a Pawnee--they had all
gone off a fortnight before to the Republican and Smoky Hill to hunt
buffalo--and finally arrived at Fort Kearny in safety. There they
laughed at the idea of Indians south or east of them, but confessed
to ugly reports about Reno and Laramie. Ultimately, as we got farther
west, these also proved false; and our conclusion as to Big Injun
stories in general, was not very favorable.
The few settlers along the route consisted chiefly of New Englanders,
with a goodly sprinkling of Germans. They generally had milk and eggs
to sell, but seldom butter or vegetables. We camped one night on
Fancy Creek, near a Mr. Segrist's, where we got tomatoes and onions,
as well as eggs and milk; and as we had shot several prairie-chickens
during the day, we supped luxuriously. Our mess-kit was rather
a primitive affair, not much to speak of, and our cook quite a
worthless fellow, as it turned out; but L. developed a talent that
way very surprising, and so we got along comfortably. This Segrist
himself was quite a character in his way. A Pennsylvania Dutchman by
birth, he was bred in Indiana, but emigrated to Fancy Creek during
the Kansas troubles, to help save the territory to freedom. Squatting
on a quarter-section there, he first built himself a log-cabin, and
then subsequently enlarged and improved this by a "lean-to;" now
he had just completed a good two-story stone house, of magnesian
limestone, and aspired to luxury. He had flocks and herds well about
him; he was a hearty, cheery man, not afraid of hard work, nor a
spice of danger; and, it was plain to be seen, would soon be a rich
man, if he kept on. Of course, he was a Republican in politics, and
took the St. Louis _Westliche Post_.
On Wild-Cat Creek, the first day out from Fort Riley, we struck a Mr.
Silvers, who proved to be a minister of the United Brethren. He had
a half-section of land there, and his son-in-law as much more just
adjoining. They were both living in rude shanties put up by themselves,
but seemed happy and contented. During the war, he had sent one son
to the army, and when Price invaded Kansas he himself shouldered his
Plains rifle, and marched to the defence of Lawrence and Topeka. When
at home, he worked upon his farm; but he had a frontier circuit,
with preaching places a hundred miles in every direction, which took
him away most of the time. He seemed to be a veritable missionary,
looking up the lost sheep scattered along the Border, and we bade him
God-speed. His "gude wife" gave us a bowl of buttermilk fresh from the
churn, and we paid her in the latest eastern newspapers.