election of officers and the organization of Clay county fixing the
date, October 14, 1871. The election was held at the home of Alexander
Campbell, two miles east of Harvard, and fifty-four votes were cast.
Sutton was chosen as the county-seat. F. M. Brown was elected county
clerk; A. K. Marsh, P.O. Norman, and A. A. Corey were elected county
commissioners. When it came to organizing and qualifying the officers,
only one freeholder could be found capable of signing official bonds and
as the law required two sureties, R. G. Brown bought a lot of Luther
French and was able to sign with Luther French as surety on all official
bonds. As the county had no money and no assessments had been made all
county business was done on credit. There was no courthouse and county
business was conducted in the office of R. G. Brown, until February,
1873, when a frame building to be used as a courthouse was completed at
a cost of $1,865. This was the first plastered building in the county
and was built by F. M. Brown.
In May, 1873, a petition for an election to relocate the county seat was
filed, but the motion of Commissioner A. K. Marsh that the petition be
"tabled, rejected and stricken from the files" ended the discussion
temporarily. In 1879 the county-seat was removed to Clay Center. Several
buildings were erected during the fall of 1873 and Sutton became the
center of trade in the territory between the Little Blue and the Platte
rivers.
Melvin Brothers opened the first store in 1873 south of the railroad
tracks, now South Sanders avenue. At that time it was called "Scrabble
Hill."
In 1874 the town was incorporated and a village government organized,
with F. M. Brown as mayor.
Luther French was the first postmaster.
Thurlow Weed opened the first lumber yard.
William Shirley built and run the first hotel.
L. R. Grimes and J. B. Dinsmore opened the first bank.
Pyle and Eaton built and operated the first elevator.
Isaac N. Clark opened the first hardware store.
Dr. Martin V. B. Clark, a graduate of an Ohio medical college, was the
first physician in the county and opened the first drug store in Sutton.
In 1873, during the first term of district court, he was appointed one
of the commissioners of insanity. In 1877 he was elected coroner.
The Odd Fellows hall was the first brick building erected.
The Congregational church, built in 1875, was the first church building
in the county.
William L. Weed taught the first school, beginning January 20, 1872,
with an enrollment of fourteen scholars.
In 1876 the Evangelical Association of North America sent Rev. W.
Schwerin to Sutton as a missionary.
In the early seventies the Burlington railroad company built and
maintained an immigrant house on the corner south of the present Cottage
hotel. This was a long frame building of one room with a cook stove in
either end. Many of the immigrants were dependent upon a few friends who
were located on the new land in the vicinity. Their food consisted
largely of soup made with flour and water; any vegetables they were able
to get were used. Meat was scarce with the immigrants. They had
considerable milk, mostly sour, brought in by their friends. The
immigrants remained here until they found work; most of them moved on to
farms. The house burned about 1880.
In the early days Sutton was a lively business place with all the
features of a frontier town. Now it is a city enjoying the comforts of
modern improvements and refined society.
REMINISCENCES OF CUSTER COUNTY
BY MRS. J. J. DOUGLAS
In July, 1888, I arrived at Broken Bow, which is situated geographically
about the center of the state. That village looked strange to me with
not a tree in sight excepting a few little cuttings of cottonwood and
box elder here and there upon a lawn. After having lived all my life in
a country where every home was surrounded by groves and ornamental shade
trees, it seemed that I was in a desert.
I had just completed a course of study in a normal school prior to
coming to Nebraska, and was worn out in mind and body, so naturally my
first consideration was the climatic condition of the country and its
corresponding effect upon the vegetation. I wondered how the people
stood the heat of the day but soon discovered that a light gentle breeze
was blowing nearly all the time, so that the heat did not seem intense
as it did at my Iowa home.
After I had been in Broken Bow about two weeks I was offered a position
in the mortgage loan office of Trefren and Hewitt. The latter was the
first county clerk of Custer county. I held this position a few weeks,
then resigned to take charge of the Berwyn school at the request of Mr.
Charles Randall, the county superintendent. Berwyn was a village
situated about ten miles east of Broken Bow. It consisted of one general
merchandise store, a postoffice, depot, and a blacksmith shop. I shall
never forget my first impression on arriving at Berwyn very early on
that September morning. It was not daylight when the train stopped at
the little depot, and what a feeling of loneliness crept over me as I
watched that train speed on its way behind the eastern hills! I found my
way to the home of J. O. Taylor (who was then living in the back end of
his store building) and informed him that I was the teacher who had come
to teach the school and asked him to direct me to my boarding place.
Being a member of the school board, Mr. Taylor gave me the necessary
information and then sent his hired man with a team and buggy to take
me a mile farther east to the home of Ben Talbot, where I was to stay.
The Talbot home was a little sod house consisting of two small rooms. On
entering I found Mrs. Talbot preparing breakfast for the family. I was
given a cordial welcome, and after breakfast started in company with
Mrs. Talbot's little girl for the schoolhouse. The sense of loneliness
which had taken possession of me on my way to this place began to be
dispelled. I found Mrs. Talbot to be a woman of kind heart and generous
impulses. She had two little girls, the older one being of school age. I
could see the schoolhouse up on the side of a hill. It was made of sod
and was about twelve by fifteen feet. The roof was of brush and weeds,
with some sod; but I could see the blue sky by gazing up through the
roof at almost any part of it. I looked out upon the hills and down the
valley and wondered where the pupils were to come from, as I saw no
houses and no evidence of habitation anywhere excepting Mr. Talbot's
home. But by nine o'clock about twelve children had arrived from some
place, I knew not where.
I found in that little, obscure schoolhouse some of the brightest and
best boys and girls it was ever my good fortune to meet. There soon
sprang up between us a bond of sympathy. I sympathized with them in
their almost total isolation from the world, and they in turn
sympathized with me in my loneliness and homesickness.
On opening my school that first morning, great was my surprise to learn
how well those children could sing. I had never been in a school where
there were so many sweet voices. My attention was particularly directed
to the voices of two little girls as they seemed remarkable for children
of their years. I often recall one bright sunny evening after I had
dismissed school and stood watching the pupils starting out in various
directions for their homes, my attention was called to a path that led
down the valley through the tall grass. I heard singing and at once
recognized the voices of these two little girls. The song was a favorite
of mine and I could hear those sweet tones long after the children were
out of sight in the tall grass. I shall never forget how charmingly
sweet that music seemed to me.
I soon loved every pupil in that school and felt a keen regret when the
time came for me to leave them. I have the tenderest memory of my
association with that district, though the school equipment was meager
and primitive. After finishing my work there I returned to Broken Bow
where I soon accepted a position in the office of J. J. Douglass, clerk
of the district court. Mr. Douglass was one of the organizers of Custer
county and was chosen the first clerk of the court, which position he
held for four years. I began my work in this office on November 16,
1888, and held the position till the close of his term.
During this time many noted criminal cases were tried in court, Judge
Francis G. Hamer of Kearney being the judge. One case in which I was
especially interested was the DeMerritt case, in which I listened to the
testimony of several of my pupils from the Berwyn district. Another
far-famed case was the Haunstine case, in which Albert Haunstine
received a death sentence. To hear a judge pronounce a death sentence is
certainly the most solemn thing one can imagine. Perhaps the most trying
ordeal I ever experienced was the day of the execution of Haunstine. It
so happened that the scaffold was erected just beneath one of the
windows of our office on the south side of the courthouse. As the nails
were being driven into that structure how I shuddered as I thought that
a human being was to be suspended from that great beam. Early in the
morning on the day of the execution people from miles away began to
arrive to witness the cruelest event that ever marred the fair name of
our beloved state. Early in the day, in company with several others, I
visited the cell of the condemned man. He was busy distributing little
souvenirs he had made from wood to friends and members of his family. He
was pale but calm and self-composed. My heart ached and my soul was
stirred to its very depth in sympathy for a fellow being and yet I was
utterly helpless so far as extending any aid or consolation. The thought
recurred to me so often, why is it men are so cruel to each
other--wolfish in nature, seeking to destroy their own kind? And now the
thought still comes to me, will the day ever dawn when there will be no
law in Nebraska permitting men to cruelly take the life of each other to
avenge a wrong? I trust that the fair name of Nebraska may never be
blotted again by another so-called _legal_ execution.
It was during the time I was in that office the first commencement of
the Broken Bow high school was held, the class consisting of two
graduates, a boy and a girl. The boy is now Dr. Willis Talbot, a
physician of Broken Bow, and the girl, who was Stella Brown, is now the
wife of W. W. Waters, mayor of Broken Bow.
We moved our office into the new courthouse in January, 1890. Soon after
we saw the completion of the mammoth building extending the entire
length of the block on the south side of the public square called the
Realty block. The Ansley Cornet band was the first band to serenade us
in the new courthouse.
Mr. Douglass completed his term of office as clerk of the district court
on January 7, 1892, and two weeks later we were married and went for a
visit to my old home in Iowa. Soon after returning to Broken Bow we
moved to Callaway. I shall never forget my first view of the little city
of which I had heard so much, the "Queen City of the Seven Valleys."
After moving to Callaway I again taught school and had begun on my
second year's work when I resigned to accept a position in the office of
the state land commissioner, H. C. Russell, at Lincoln, where I remained
for two years. During the time I was in that office Mr. Douglass was
appointed postmaster at Callaway, so I resigned my work in Lincoln and
returned home to work in the postoffice. We were in this office for
seven years, after which I accepted a position in the Seven Valleys
bank. After a year I again took up school work and have been engaged in
that ever since. We have continued to reside at Callaway all these years
and have learned to love the rugged hills and glorious sunshine. The
winds continue to blow and the sands beat upon our pathway, but we would
not exchange our little cottage in the grove for a palace in the far
East.
AN EXPERIENCE
BY MRS. HARMON BROSS
An experience through which I passed in northwestern Nebraska in the
early days comes to my mind very frequently.
When the railroad first went through that region to Chadron, Mr. Bross
was general missionary for the Northwest, including central Wyoming and
the Black Hills country.
When we first visited Chadron it was a town of white tents, and we
occupied a tent for several days. Then the tent was needed for other
purposes and Mr. Bross suggested that we find lodging in a building in
process of erection for a hotel. The frame was up and enclosed, the
floors laid, but no stairs and no division into rooms. The proprietor
said we could have a bed in the upper room, where there were fifty beds
side by side. He would put a curtain around the bed. As that was the
only thing to do, we accepted the situation and later I climbed a ladder
to the upper floor.
The bed in one corner was enclosed with a calico curtain just the size
of the bed. I climbed on, and prepared the baby boy and myself for
sleep. As I was the only woman in the room, and every bed was occupied
before morning by two men, the situation was somewhat unique. However, I
was soon asleep.
About three o'clock I was awakened by the stealthy footsteps of two men
on the ladder. They came to the bed at the foot of the one we occupied,
and after settling themselves to their satisfaction began discussing the
incidents of the night. As they were gamblers, the conversation was a
trifle strange to a woman.
Soon in the darkness below and close to the side of the building where
we were, rang out several pistol shots with startling distinctness.
One man remarked, in a calm, impersonal tone, "I prefer to be on the
ground floor when the shots fly around like that." The remark was not
especially reassuring for a mother with a sleeping baby by her side.
As no one in the room seemed to be disturbed, and as the tumult below
soon died away, I again slept, and awakened in the morning none the
worse for the experience of the night.
[Illustration: MRS. ANDREW K. GAULT
Third Vice-President General from Nebraska, National Society, Daughters
of the American Revolution. Elected 1913]
LEGEND OF CROW BUTTE
BY DR. ANNA ROBINSON CROSS
The early history of Crawford and its environment is replete with tales
of Indian scares; the pioneer settlers banding themselves together and
arming for protection against possible Indian raids, all presenting
lurid material for the most exciting stories, if one could gather the
accurate data.
The legend of Crow Butte is one of the most thrilling, and at the same
time the most important, of the many tales told by the old settlers
around the winter fireside.
In the early history of the Sioux and Crow Indians, much strife and
ill-feeling was engendered between the two tribes by the stealing of
horses. As no satisfactory settlement could be arranged between them, it
was declared, after a solemn pow-wow, that a decisive battle should be
fought, and the field for the said conflict was chosen on the land east
of the present site of Crawford. The final stand was taken on one of the
peculiar clay formations known as buttes, found in northwestern
Nebraska. These eminences, dividing this section of the country into
valleys and ridges of hills, add very much to the beauty of the
landscape, by their seeming likeness to a succession of battlements and
old castles.
This particular butte, standing like a sentinel about five miles east of
Crawford, rises to a height of nearly three hundred feet on the east
side, and is possible of ascent by gradual elevation on the west side.
It appears to stand distinct and alone, forming a landmark on the
horizon that has guided many a settler and traveler to home and safety.
The writer is one of the number of travelers who, from bitter
experiences in long winter drives over the prairie, has learned to
appreciate the landmark of the old Crow Butte.
The Sioux, having driven the Crows to the top of this butte, thought, by
guarding the path, they could quickly conquer by starving them out.
Under cover of night the Crows decided, after due deliberation, that the
warriors could escape, if the old men of the tribe would remain and
keep up a constant singing. This was done. The young and able-bodied
men, making ropes of their blankets, were let down the steep side of the
butte, while the poor old men kept up a constant wailing for days, until
death, from lack of food and exhaustion, had stilled their voices. As
the singing gradually ceased, the Sioux, while watching, saw white
clouds passing over the butte, having the appearance of large, white
birds with outstretched wings, on which they carried the old men to the
"Happy Hunting Grounds." The Sioux, awed by the illusion, believed it an
omen of peace and declared that forever after there should be no more
wars between the Crows and the Sioux.
Through Capt. James H. Cook, an early settler and pioneer of this
section, who has served as scout and interpreter for the Indians for
years, I have learned that it was near this Crow Butte that the last
great treaty was made with the Indians, in which the whole of the Black
Hills country was disposed of to the white people. According to his
statement, the affair came very nearly ending in a battle in which many
lives might have been lost. The bravery and quick action of a few men
turned the tide in favor of the white people.
The following original poem by Pearl Shepherd Moses is quite appropriate
in this connection:
TO CROW HEART BUTTE
Oh, lofty Crow Heart Butte, uprising toward the sun,
What is your message to the world below?
Or do you wait in silence, race outrun,
The march of ages in their onward flow?
Ye are so vast, so great, and yet so still,
That but a speck I seem in nature's plan;
Or but a drop without a way or will
In this mad rush miscalled the race of man.
In nature's poems you a period stand
Among her lessons we can never read;
But with high impulse and good motive found,
You help us toward the brave and kindly deed.
The winds and sunshine, dawns and throbbing star,
Yield you their message from the ether clear,
While moonlight crowns your brow so calm and fair
With homage kingly as their greatest peer.
A longing fills me as I nightly gaze;
Would I could break your spell of silence vast;
But centuries and years and months and days
Must add themselves again unto the past.
And I can only wish that I were as true,
Always found faithful and as firmly stand
For right as you since you were young and new,
A wondrous product from a mighty hand.
LIFE ON THE FRONTIER
BY JAMES AYRES
_Prairie Covered with Indians_
In July, 1867, a freight train left the old Plum Creek station late one
night for the west. As the company was alarmed for the safety of the
trains, Pat Delahunty, the section boss, sent out three men on a
hand-car over his section in advance of this train. They had gone about
three miles to the bend west of the station when they were attacked by
Indians. This was at a point nearly north of the John Jacobson claim.
There are still on the south side of the track some brickbats near the
culvert. This is the place where the Indians built a fire on the south
side of the track and took a position on the north side. When the
hand-car came along, they fired upon it. They killed one man and wounded
another, a cockney from London, England, and thinking him dead took his
scalp. He flinched. They stuck a knife in his neck but even that did not
kill him. He recovered consciousness and crawled into the high weeds.
The freight came and fell into the trap. While the Indians were breaking
into the cars of the wrecked freight, the Englishman made his escape,
creeping a mile to the north. As soon as morning came, Patrick Delahunty
with his men took a hand-car and went to investigate. Before they had
gone half a mile they could see the Indians all around the wreck. Each
one had a pony. They had found a lot of calico in one car and each
Indian had taken a bolt and had broken one end loose and was unfolding
it as he rode over the prairie. Yelling, they rode back and forth in
front of one another with calico flying, like a Maypole dance gone mad.
When they saw the section men with guns, they broke for the Platte river
and crossed it due south of where Martin Peterson's house now stands.
The section men kept shooting at them but got no game. They found that a
squaw-man had probably had a hand in the wrecking of the train for the
rails had been pried up just beyond the fire. The smoke blinded the
engineer and he ran into the rails which were standing as high as the
front of the boiler. The engineer and the fireman were killed. The
engine ran off the track, but the cars remained on the rails. The
Indians opened every car and set fire to two or three of the front ones.
One car was loaded with brick. The writer got a load of these brick in
1872 and built a blacksmith forge. Among the bricks were found pocket
knives, cutlery, and a Colt's revolver.
The man who had been scalped came across the prairie toward the section
men. They thought he was an Indian. His shirt was gone and his skin was
covered with dried blood. They were about to shoot when Delahunty said,
"Stop, boys," for the man had his hands above his head. They let him
come nearer and when he was a hundred yards away Delahunty said, "By
gobs, it's Cockney!" They took him to the section house and cared for
him. He told them these details. After this event he worked for the
Union Pacific railroad at Omaha. Then he went back to England. The
railroad had just been built and there was only one train a day.
_Wild Turkeys and Wild Cats_
Tom Mahum was the boss herder for Ewing of Texas and had brought his
herd up that summer and had his cattle on Dilworth's islands until he
could ship them to Chicago. He bantered me for a turkey hunt, and we
went on horseback up Plum creek. He was a good shot and we knew we would
get game of some kind. We followed the creek five miles, when we scared
up a flock of turkeys. They were of the bronze kind, large and heavy. We
got three, and as we did not find any more, we took the tableland for
the Platte. As we came down a pocket we ran into a nest of wildcats.
There were four of them. One cat jumped at a turkey that was tied to
Tom's saddle. That scared his horse so that it nearly unseated him, but
he took his pistol and killed the cat. I was afraid they would jump at
me. They growled and spit, and I edged away until I could shoot from my
pony, and when twenty-five yards away I slipped in two cartridges and
shot two of the cats. The fourth one got away and we were glad to let it
go. We took the three cats to town, skinned them, and sold the pelts to
Peddler Charley for one dollar. Tom talked about that hunt when I met
him in Oregon a few years ago.
_A Scare_
On another occasion, Perley Wilson and I took a hunt on the big island
south of the river where there were some buffalo. The snow was about
eight inches deep and we crossed the main stream on the ice. Before we
got over, I saw a moccasin track and showed it to Wilson. He said we had
better get out. "No," said I, "let us trail it and find where it goes."
It took us into a very brushy island. Wilson would go no further, but I
took my shotgun, cocked both barrels, and went on but with caution for
fear the Indian would see me first. I got just half way in, and I heard
a "Ugh!" right behind me. The hair on my head went straight up. I was
scared, but I managed to gasp, "Sioux?" "No, Pawnee. Heap good Indian."
Then he laughed and I breathed again. I asked, "What are you doing
here?" "Cooking beaver," he replied, and led the way to his fire. He had
a beaver skinned hanging on a plum tree and he had a tin can over the
fire, boiling the tail. I returned to Wilson and told him about it. He
said, "It is no use to try to sneak up on an Indian in the brush, for he
always sees you first." I could have shot the Indian, as he only had a
revolver, but that would have been cowardly as he had the first drop on
me and could have had my scalp. We got home with no game that day.
PLUM CREEK (LEXINGTON), NEBRASKA
BY WM. M. BANCROFT, M.D.