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In the Early Days Along the Overland Trail in
Nebraska Territory, in 1852.
BY
GILBERT L. COLE,
1905.
COMPILED BY MRS. A. HARDY.
Press of
FRANKLIN HUDSON PUBLISHING COMPANY,
KANSAS CITY, MO.
[Illustration: GILBERT L. COLE.]
COPYRIGHT, 1905,
BY GILBERT L. COLE,
BEATRICE, NEB.
TESTIMONIALS.
A true story plainly told, of immense historical value and fascinating
interest from beginning to end.
DR. GEO. W. CROFTS,
Beatrice, Nebraska.
I have read every word of "In the Early Days," written by Mr. Gilbert L.
Cole, with great interest and profit. The language is well chosen, the
word-pictures are vivid, and the subject-matter is of historic value.
The story is fascinating in the extreme, and I only wished it were
longer. The story should be printed and distributed for the people in
general to read.
July 27, 1905.
C. A. FULMER,
_Superintendent of Public Schools_,
Beatrice, Neb.
At a single sitting, with intense interest, I have read the manuscript
of "In the Early Days." It is a very entertaining narrative of
adventure, a vivid portrayal of conditions and an instructive history of
events as they came into the personal experience and under the
observation of the writer fifty-three years ago. An exceedingly valuable
contribution to the too meager literature of a time so near in years,
but so distant in conditions as to make the truth about it seem
stranger than fiction.
REV. N. A. MARTIN,
_Pastor, Centenary M. E. Church_,
Beatrice, Neb.
NEBRASKA STATE HISTORICAL SOCIETY.
LINCOLN, Nebraska, July 28, 1905.
_To whom it may concern_: The manuscript account of the overland trip by
Mr. Gilbert L. Cole of Beatrice, Nebraska, in my opinion is a very
carefully written story of great interest to the whole public, and
particularly to Nebraskans. It reads like a novel, and the succession of
adventures holds the interest of the reader to the end. The records of
trips across the Nebraska Territory as early as this one are very
incomplete, and Mr. Cole has done a real public service in putting into
print so complete a record of these experiences. I predict that it will
find a wide circulation among lovers of travel and of Nebraska history.
Very sincerely,
JAY AMOS BARRETT,
_Curator and Librarian Nebraska
State Historical Society_,
Author of "Nebraska and the Nation";
"Civil Government of Nebraska."
EXECUTIVE CHAMBER,
LINCOLN, Nebraska, July 28, 1905.
_To whom it may concern_: It gives me great pleasure to say that the
publication, "In the Early Days," written by Mr. Gilbert L. Cole, of
Beatrice, Nebraska, is a very interesting and profitable work to read.
It bears upon many subjects of great historical value and no doubt will
prove a very interesting book to all who read it and I take pleasure in
recommending the same.
Very respectfully,
JOHN H. MICKEY,
_Governor_.
_To whom it may concern_: It is with pleasure I write a few words of
commendation for the book written by Mr. Gilbert L. Cole, of Beatrice,
Nebraska, entitled "In the Early Days." It is well prepared and full of
interest from beginning to the end. It is of great value to every
Nebraskan.
_July 28, 1905._
D. L. THOMAS,
_Pastor Grace M. E. Church_,
Lincoln, Neb.
An interesting, thrilling and delightful bit of prairie history hitherto
unwritten and unsung, which most opportunely and completely supplies a
missing link in the stories of the great Westland.
MRS. A. HARDY,
_President Beatrice Woman's Club_,
Beatrice, Neb.
BEATRICE, NEB., July 30, 1905.
I have just read "In the Early Days," by Col. G. L. Cole, and I find it
an interesting and instructive narrative, clothed in good diction and
pleasing style. Few of the Argonauts took time or trouble to make note
of the events of their journey and our California gold episode is
remarkably barren of literature, a fact which makes Col. Cole's book
doubly interesting and valuable.
M. T. CUMMINGS
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I.--Setting up Altars of Remembrance, 13
CHAPTER II.--"God Could Not Be Everywhere,
and so He Made Mothers," 23
CHAPTER III.--"But Somewhere the Master
Has a Counterpart of Each," 32
CHAPTER IV.--Our Prairies are a Book
Whose Pages Hold Many Stories, 41
CHAPTER V.--A Worthy Object Reached For
and Missed is a First Step Toward Success, 51
CHAPTER VI.--"'Tis Only a Snowbank's Tears, I Ween," 58
CHAPTER VII.--We Stepped Over the Ridge
and Courted the Favor of New and Untried Waters, 67
CHAPTER VIII.--We Had No Flag to Unfurl,
but Its Sentiment Was Within Us, 77
CHAPTER IX.--We Listened to Each Other's
Rehearsals, and Became Mutual Sympathizers
and Encouragers, 87
CHAPTER X.--Boots and Saddles Call, 98
CHAPTER XI.--"But All Comes Right in the End," 108
CHAPTER XII.--Each Day Makes Its Own
Paragraphs and Punctuation Marks, 123
INTRODUCTORY.
If one is necessary, the only apology I can offer for presenting this
little volume to the public is that it may serve to record for time to
come some of the adventures of that long and wearisome journey, together
with my impressions of the beautiful plains, mountains and rivers of the
great and then comparatively unknown Territory of Nebraska. They were
presented to me fresh from the hand of Nature, in all their beauty and
glory. And by reference to the daily journal I kept along the trail, the
impressions made upon my mind have remained through these long years,
bright and clear.
THE AUTHOR.
IN THE EARLY DAYS ALONG THE OVERLAND TRAIL IN NEBRASKA TERRITORY,
IN 1852.
CHAPTER I.
SETTING UP ALTARS OF REMEMBRANCE.
It has been said that once upon a time Heaven placed a kiss upon the
lips of Earth and therefrom sprang the fair State of Nebraska.
It was while the prairies were still dimpling under this first kiss that
the events related in this little volume became part and parcel of my
life and experience, as gathered from a trip made across the continent
in the morning glow of a territory now occupying high and honorable
position in the calendar of States and nations.
On the 16th day of March, 1852, a caravan consisting of twenty-four men,
one woman (our captain, W. W. Wadsworth being accompanied by his wife),
forty-four head of horses and mules and eight wagons, gathered itself
together from the little city of Monroe, Michigan, and adjacent country,
and, setting its face toward the western horizon, started for the newly
found gold fields of California, where it expected to unloose from the
storage quarters of Nature sufficient of shining wealth to insure peace
and plenty to twenty-five life-times and their dependencies. As is usual
upon such occasions, this March morning departure from home and friends
was a strange commingling of sadness and gladness, of hope and fear, for
in those days whoever went into the regions beyond the Missouri River
were considered as already lost to the world. It was going into the dark
unknown and untried places of earth whose farewells always surrounded
those who remained at home with an atmosphere of foreboding.
Nothing of importance occurred during our travel through the States,
except the general bad roads, which caused us to make slow progress.
Crossing the Mississippi River at Warsaw, Illinois, we kept along the
northern tier of counties in Missouri, which were heavily timbered and
sparsely settled. Bearing south-west, we arrived at St. Joseph,
Missouri, on the first day of May.
The town was a collection of one-story, cheap, wooden buildings, located
along the river and Black Snake Hollow.
The inhabitants appeared to be chiefly French and half-breed Indians.
The principal business was selling outfits to immigrants and trading
horses, mules and cattle. There was one steam ferry-boat, which had
several days crossing registered ahead.
The level land below the town was the camping-place of our colony. After
two or three days at this point, we drove up to the town of Savannah,
where we laid in new supplies and passed on to the Missouri River, where
we crossed by hand-ferry at Savannah Landing, now called Amazonia. Here
we pressed for the first time the soil of the then unsettled plains of
the great West. Working our way through the heavily timbered bottom, we
camped under the bluffs, wet and weary.
We remained here over Sunday, it having been decided to observe the
Sabbath days as a time of rest. We usually rested Wednesday afternoons
also.
Just after crossing the river, we had a number of set-backs; beginning
with the crippling of a wheel while passing through a growth of timber.
As we examined the broken spokes, we realized that they would soon have
to be replaced by new ones, and that the wise thing to do was to provide
for them while in the region of timber; so we stopped, cut jack-oak,
made it into lengths and stored them in the wagon until time and place
were more opportune for wheel-wrighting. This broken wheel proved to be
a hoodoo, as will appear at intervals during the story of the next few
weeks.
In attempting to cross the slough which lies near to and parallel with
the river for a long distance, my team and wagon, leading the others, no
sooner got fairly on to the slough, which was crusted over, than the
wagon sank in clear to its bed, and the horses sank until they were
resting on their bellies as completely as though they were entirely
without legs.
And there we were, the longed-for bluffs just before us, and yet as
unapproachable as if they were located in Ireland. A party of campers,
numbering some fifty or seventy-five, who were resting near by, came to
our relief. The horses were extricated, and, after we had carried the
contents of the wagon to the bluff shore, they drew the wagon out with
cow-teams, whose flat, broad hoofs kept them from sinking. Cow-teams
were used quite extensively in those days, being very docile and also
swift walkers.
Here under the bluffs over-hanging the Missouri, we completed our
organization, for it was not only necessary that every man go armed, but
also each man knew his special duty and place. W. W. Wadsworth, a brave
and noble man, was by common consent made captain. Four men were
detailed each night to stand guard, two till 1 o'clock, when they were
relieved by two others, who served till daylight.
Monday morning came, and at sunrise we started on the trail that led up
the hollow and on to the great plains of Kansas and Nebraska. The day
was warm and bright and clear. The sight before us was the most
beautiful I had ever seen. Not a tree nor an obstacle was in sight; only
the great rolling sea of brightest green beneath us and the vivid blue
above. I think it must have been just such a scene as this that inspired
a modern writer to pen those expressive and much admired lines:
"I'm glad the sky is painted blue
And the grass is painted green,
And a lot of nice fresh air
All sandwiched in between."
Sky, air, grass; what an abundance of them! in all the pristine splendor
of fifty-three years ago, was ours upon that spring morning. This, then,
was the land which in later years was called the "Great American
Desert." I have now lived in Nebraska for a quarter of a century and
know whereof I speak when I say that in those days the grass was as
green and luxuriant as it is today; the rivers were fringed with willow
green as they are today; the prairie roses, like pink stars, dotted the
trail sides through which we passed; and, later on, clumps of golden-rod
smiled upon us with their sun-hued faces; the rains fell as they have
been falling all these years, and several kinds of birds sang their
praises of it all. This was "the barren, sandy desert," as I saw it more
than half a hundred years ago.
Perhaps right here it will be well to ask the reader to bear in mind the
fact that the boundary lines of Nebraska in 1852, were different from
the boundary lines of today. They extended many miles farther south, and
so many miles farther west, that we stepped out of Nebraska on to the
summit of the Sierra Nevada Mountains into California.
It was at this stage of our journey, that, in going out, very early in
the morning to catch my horse, I noticed ahead of me something sticking
up above the grass. Stepping aside to see what it might be, I found a
new-made grave; just a tiny grave; at its head was the object I had
seen--a bit of board bearing the inscription,
"Our only child,
Little Mary."
How my heart saddened as I looked upon it! The tiny mound seemed bulging
with buried hopes and happiness as the first rays of a new sun fell
across it, for well I knew that somewhere on the trail ahead of us there
were empty arms, aching hearts, and bitter longings for the baby who was
sleeping so quietly upon the bosom of the prairie.
The first Indians we saw were at Wolf Creek, where they had made a
bridge of logs and brush, and charged us fifty cents per wagon to pass
over it. We paid it and drove on, coming northwest to the vicinity of
the Big Blue River, at a point near where Barneston, Gage County, is now
located.
As a couple of horsemen, a comrade and myself, riding in advance, came
suddenly to the Big Blue, where, on the opposite bank stood a party of
thirty or forty Indians. We fell back, and when the train came up a
detail was made of eight men to drive the teams and the other sixteen
were to wade the river, rifles in hand.
In making preparations to ford the river, Captain Wadsworth, as a
precaution of safety, placed his wife in the bottom of their wagon-bed,
and piled sacks of flour around her as a protection in case of a fight.
Being one of the skirmish line, I remember how cold and blue the water
was, and that it was so deep as to come into our vest pockets. We walked
up to the Indians and said "How," and gave some presents of copper cents
and tobacco. We soon saw that they were merely looking on to see us ford
the stream. They were Pawnees, and were gaily dressed and armed with
bows and arrows. We passed several pipes among them, and, seeing that
they were quiet, the train was signalled, and all came through the ford
without any mishap, excepting, that the water came up from four to six
inches in the wagon-bed, making the ride extremely hazardous and
uncomfortable for Mrs. Wadsworth, who was necessarily drawn through the
water in an alarming and nerve-trying manner. But she was one of the
bravest of women, and in this instance, as in many others of danger and
fatigue before we reached our journey's end, she displayed such courage
and good temper, as to win the admiration of all the company. The sacks
of flour and other contents of the wagons were pretty badly wet, and,
after we were again on the open prairie, we bade the Indians good-bye,
and all hands proceeded to dismount the wagons, and spread their
contents on the grass to dry.
An "Altar of remembrance," is sure to be established at each of these
halting places along life's trail. A company of kin-folk and
neighbor-folk hitting the trail simultaneously, having a common goal and
actuated by common interests, are drawn wonderfully close together by
the varied incidents and conditions of the march, and, at the spots
thus made sacred, memory never fails to halt, as in later life it makes
its rounds up and down the years. Not fewer in number than the stars,
which hang above them at night, are the altars of remembrance, which
will forever mark the line of immigration and civilization from east to
west across our prairie country.