meant, but I do know that as we drove home that afternoon, the
cornfields looked as they would in December after the cattle had fed on
them--not a green shred left. The asparagus stems, too, were equally
bare. The onions were eaten down to the very roots. Of the whole garden,
there was, in fact, nothing left but a double petunia, which grandmother
had put a tub over. So ravenous were the pests that they even ate the
cotton mosquito netting that covered the windows.
In a day or two when nothing remained to eat, the grasshoppers spread
their wings and whirred away. Then grandfather said, "We will plant some
beans and turnips, there is plenty of time for them to mature before
frost." Accordingly, he put in the seeds and a timely rain wet them so
that in a very few days they had sprouted and were well up, when on
Monday morning, just two weeks and one day from the time of the first
visitation, a second lot dropped down and breakfasted off grandfather's
beans. It was too late in the season then to plant more.
My mother had quite a flock of turkeys and a number of chickens. They
were almost dazed at the sight of so many perfectly good insects. They
tried to eat them all but had to give up the task. They ate enough,
however, to make themselves sick.
This time I believe the grasshoppers stayed several days. They seemed to
be hunting some good hard ground in which to lay their eggs. The
following spring the warm days brought out millions of little ones,
which a prairie fire later destroyed.
The corn crop having been eaten green and the wheat acreage being rather
small, left many people with nothing to live on during the winter. Many
moved away and many of those who could not get away had to be helped. It
was then that Dawson county people learned that they had good friends in
the neighboring states for they sent carloads of food and clothing to
their less fortunate neighbors.
A good many homesteaders were well-educated, refined people from
Pennsylvania, New York, and elsewhere. They were a very congenial
company and often had social times together. They were for the most part
young people, some with families of young children, others just married,
and some unmarried. I remember hearing my mother tell of a wedding that
she and father attended. The ceremony was performed at a private house
and then the whole company adjourned to a large hall where everybody who
wanted to, danced and the rest watched until the supper was served by
Mr. and Mrs. Johnson in their new hotel. The bride on this occasion was
Miss Addie Bradley and the groom was W. H. Lingle, at one time county
superintendent of public instruction.
For some time after the starting of the town of Plum Creek there was no
church edifice but there was a good sized schoolhouse, and here each
Sunday morning the people for miles around gathered. One Sunday the
Methodist preacher talked to all the people and the next week the
Presbyterian minister preached to the same congregation, until the
courthouse was built, and then the Presbyterians used the courtroom. I
have heard the members say that they received more real good from those
union services than they ever did when each denomination had a church of
its own. The Episcopalians in the community were the most enterprising
for they built the first church, a little brick building that seated one
hundred people. It was very plainly furnished, but it cost fifteen
hundred dollars, due to the fact that the brick was brought from Kearney
and freight rates were high. It stood on the site of the present modern
building and was built in 1874. My grandfather, an ardent Churchman,
often read the service when there was no rector in town.
Speaking of the courthouse reminds me that it was not always put to the
best use. I cannot remember when the following incident occurred, but I
do remember hearing it talked of. A man who lived on the south side of
the Platte river was accused of poisoning some flour that belonged to
another man. He was ordered arrested and two or three men, among them
Charles Mayes, the deputy sheriff, were sent after him. He resisted
arrest and using his gun, killed Mayes. He was finally taken and brought
to town and put into the county jail in the basement of the courthouse.
Mayes had been a very popular man and the feeling was very high against
his slayer, so high, indeed, that some time between night and morning
the man was taken from the jail, and the next morning his lifeless body
was found hanging at the back door of the courthouse.
One of the pleasures of the pioneer is hunting. In the early days there
was plenty of game in Dawson county, buffalo, elk, deer, antelope, jack
rabbits, and several game birds, such as plover, prairie hen, ducks,
geese, and cranes. By the time we arrived, however, the buffalo had been
driven so far away that they were seldom seen. There was plenty of
buffalo meat in the market, however, for hunters followed them and shot
them, mostly for their hides. The meat was very good, always tender and
of fine flavor. My father rushed into the house one day and called for
his revolver. A herd of buffalo was racing across the fields towards the
bluffs on the north. Father and some of the men with him, thought
possibly they might get near enough to shoot one. But although he rode
as fast as his pony could carry him, he could not get close enough and
the herd, once it reached the hills was safe. The poor beasts had been
chased for miles and were weary, but they did not give up. The cows
huddled the calves together and pushed them along and the bulls led the
way. Father learned afterward that his pony had been trained by the
Indians to hunt; and if he had given him the rein and allowed him to go
at it in his own way, he would have gone so close that father could have
shot one. But he did not know this until the buffalo were far away.
PIONEER JUSTICE
BY B. F. KRIER
In the early history of Lexington, Nebraska, as in all western states,
there was no crime committed more reprehensible than that of stealing a
horse. One might kill a man and it would be overlooked or excused, but
the offense of stealing a horse was a crime that nothing could atone for
but the "wiping out" of the thief. And generally when the horse thief
was caught the nearest tree or the upraised end of a wagon tongue was
immediately brought into use as a gallows upon which the criminal was
duly hanged without the formalities of courts or juries. It was amply
sufficient to know that the accused had stolen a horse, and it mattered
but little to whom the horse belonged or whether the owner was present
to take a hand in the execution. The culprit was dealt with in such
manner that he never stole another animal.
This sentiment prevailed among the first settlers of Dawson county, as
was shown in 1871, shortly after the organization of the county. Among
the officials of the county at that time was a justice of the peace, a
sturdy, honest man, who had been a resident of the county several years
before it was organized. One day in 1871 a half-breed Sioux came riding
from the east into Plum Creek (as Lexington was then called). The Indian
stopped in the town and secured a meal for himself and feed for his
horse.
While he was eating, two Pawnee warriors arrived at the station on a
freight train, from the east. They at once hunted up the sheriff, a
broad-shouldered Irishman named John Kehoe, and made complaint that the
half-breed Sioux had stolen a horse from one of them and had the animal
in his possession. Complaint was formally made and a warrant issued for
the half-breed's arrest upon the charge of horse-stealing, the warrant
being issued by the aforesaid justice of the peace.
The Sioux was at once taken in custody by the sheriff and brought before
the justice. One of the Pawnees swore the horse the half-breed rode when
he entered the town was his property, and the other Pawnee upon oath
declared he knew it was. The prisoner denied the statement made by the
Pawnees and vehemently declared the animal was his property; that he
came by it honestly, and that the Pawnee had no title whatever in the
horse.
There was no jury to hear and judge the evidence, and the justice was
compelled to decide the case. He had had some experience with redskins,
and entertained but small regard for any of them, but as the
preponderance of the evidence was against the Sioux, he decided the
latter was guilty, and after a short study of the matter sentenced the
culprit to be hanged.
There were no lawyers in Plum Creek at that time, a condition that has
not existed since, and each side did its own talking. The Sioux at once
filed a vigorous complaint against the sentence, but was ordered by the
court to keep still.
Realizing he had no chance, he became silent, but some of the citizens
who were present and listening to the trial, interposed objections to
the strenuous sentence, and informed the court that "as we are now
organized into a county and have to go by law, you can't sentence a man
to hang fer stealin' a hoss."
This staggered the justice somewhat and he again took the matter under
advisement, and shortly after made the following change in the sentence,
addressing the prisoner as follows "----, Dem laws don't let you get
hanged, vich iss not right. You iss one teef; dat iss a sure ting, and I
shust gif you fifteen minutes to git out of dis state of Newbrasky."
The Pawnee secured possession of the horse, but whether it belonged to
them or not is questionable, and hit the eastern trail for the "Pawnee
house," while the Sioux warrior hastily got himself together and made a
swift hike toward the setting sun and safety.
A GOOD INDIAN
BY MRS. CLIFFORD WHITTAKER
The late John H. MacColl came to Dawson county in 1869 to benefit his
health, but shortly after reaching here he had an attack of mountain
fever, that left his lower limbs paralyzed. The nearest medical aid he
could get was from the army surgeon at Fort McPherson, forty miles to
the west. He made a number of trips to attend Mr. MacColl, and finally
told him that he would never be any better. An old Indian medicine man
happened along about that time and he went to see Mr. MacColl. By
curious signs, gesticulations, and grunts, he made Mr. MacColl
understand that he could cure him and that he would be back the next day
at the rising of the sun. True to his word, he came, bringing with him
an interpreter who explained to Mr. MacColl that the medicine man could
cure him if he would submit to his treatment. Mr. MacColl was desperate
and willing to do almost anything, so he agreed. The patient was
stripped and laid flat on a plank. The medicine man then took a
saw-edged knife and made no less than a hundred tiny gashes all over his
patient's body. This done he produced a queer herb, and began chewing
it. Then he spit it in his hand, as needed, and rubbed it into each tiny
wound. That was all, and in three days Mr. MacColl could stand alone,
and in a week he could walk.
This incident was told to me in 1910 by the sister, Laura MacColl.
FROM MISSOURI TO DAWSON COUNTY IN 1872
BY A. J. PORTER
I left southwest Missouri late in October, 1872, accompanied by my
sister, and journeyed by team via Topeka, Kansas, to Nebraska. We spent
our first night in Nebraska at Fairbury, November 8, 1872. Trains on the
St. Joe and Grand Island railroad had just reached that point.
After visiting a few days with the Carney families near Fairmont we took
the train for Plum Creek (now Lexington) and reached Kearney at 10
o'clock P. M. All rooms being occupied we sat in the office of the hotel
till morning. None of the Union Pacific trains stopped at that place
except to take mail. At 10 o'clock that night we got a train to Plum
Creek, which place we reached at 12 o'clock. There being no hotel we
stayed in the depot until morning, when we found our brother living on a
homestead.
During our stay I filed on land six miles northeast of Plum Creek. The
next April I brought my family by wagon over the same route and reached
Dawson county a month after the noted Easter storm of 1873. At that time
we saw hundreds of hides of Texas cattle, that had perished in the
storm, hanging on fences surrounding the stockyards at Elm Creek.
We remained on our homestead until August, 1876, at which time we came
to Fillmore county and bought the southwest quarter of section eleven in
Madison township, which place we now own.
THE ERICKSON FAMILY
BY MRS. W. M. STEBBINS
Charles J. Erickson left Sweden in 1864 and for two years lived in New
York, Indiana, and Illinois. In 1866 he moved to Fort McPherson,
Nebraska. He worked around the Fort until 1871 when he took a homestead
nine miles east. The next year, he sent to Sweden for his family. They
arrived at McPherson station--now Maxwell--on September 1, 1872. Mr.
Erickson died in April, 1877. The family resided on the old homestead
until 1910, when they moved to Gothenburg, Nebraska. The sons, Frank and
John Erickson, who still reside in Nebraska, unite in the following
statement:
"Coming to this part of the state at so early a date we have been eye
witnesses to the development and transformation of the country from a
bleak, wild prairie covered with blue stem grasses, upon which fed
thousands of buffalo, deer, antelope, and elk. The Indians still
controlled the country and caused us to have many sleepless nights.
"In those early days we always took our guns with us when we went away
from home, or into the field to work. Several times we were forced to
seek shelter in the Fort, or in some home, saving our scalps from the
Indians by the fleetness of our ponies. But how changed now.
"One of our early recollections is the blackened posts and poles along
the old Oregon trail. As we gazed down the trail these looked like
sentinels guarding the way, but we soon learned they were the poles of
the first telegraph line built across Nebraska. It extended from
Nebraska City to Fort Laramie, Wyoming. When the Union Pacific railroad
was built through here--on the north side of the river--in 1866, the
telegraph line followed and the old line on the south side of the Platte
was abandoned. The old poles were of red cedar taken from the caÒons and
were all burned black by the prairie fires. They soon disappeared, being
used by the Indians and the emigrants for firewood. The old trail and
telegraph line crossed our farm and only a few years ago we dug out of
the ground one of the stubs of a cedar telegraph pole about two feet in
diameter and six feet long, and there are still more of these old stubs
in our fields.
"In the early seventies the most prominent ranches in this section were
Upper 96 and Lower 96. These ranches had first been the relay stations
of the old Wells Fargo Express Company. At each of these may be seen
well preserved cedar log buildings still in use built by this company
when they first established their express business across the plains in
the middle of the last century. On the advent of the Union Pacific, the
Wells Fargo Express Company abandoned these stations and they became the
property of the 96 Ranch. Although they have passed through the hands of
several different owners they have always retained their names of Upper
96 ranch and Lower 96 ranch.
"The caÒons leading into the hills from the south side of the river are
named from the early ranches along the valley near the mouths of the
caÒons; Conroy from Conroy's ranch, Jeffrie from Jeffrie's ranch, Gilman
from Gilman's ranch, and Hiles from Hiles' ranch. An exception to the
above is the Dan Smith caÒon which is named after Dan Smith in memory of
the tragedy with which his name is connected. Dan Smith and wife were
working at the Lower 96 ranch in 1871. Mrs. Smith wished to attend a
ball to be given by the officers at Fort McPherson and wanted her
husband to go with her, but he being of a jealous disposition refused to
go. She mounted her horse and started to go alone when he called to her
to come back and take his gun to protect herself from the Indians. She
turned around and started back toward him. He drew his gun and fired,
killing her instantly. She was buried at the Lower 96 ranch and until a
few years ago her grave was kept green. After shooting his wife, Dan
Smith mounted her horse and rode away into the hills to the south. The
soldiers at the Fort twenty-five miles away were notified and the next
day they came to hunt for the murderer. They surrounded him in a caÒon
in the hills and there shot him to death leaving his body a prey for
buzzards and wolves. The caÒon to this day is called Dan Smith CaÒon and
through it is the main road leading from Gothenburg to Farnam,
Nebraska."
THE BEGINNINGS OF FREMONT
BY SADIE IRENE MOORE
Fremont was named for John C. Fremont, who was a candidate against
Buchanan for president. The first stakes were set August 23, 1856, the
boundaries being finished three days later. "The first habitation of any
sort, was constructed of poles surrounded by prairie grass. It was built
and owned by E. H. Barnard and J. Koontz, in 1856, and stood upon the
site of the present Congregational church." In the autumn of 1856,
Robert Kittle built and owned the first house. A few weeks later his
house was occupied by Rev. Isaac E. Heaton, wife and two daughters, who
were the first family to keep house in Fremont. Alice Flor, born in the
fall of 1857, was the first child born in Fremont. She is now Mrs.
Gilkerson, of Wahoo. The first male child born in Fremont was Fred
Kittle. He was born in March, 1858, and died in 1890. On August 23,
1858, occurred the first marriage. The couple were Luther Wilson and
Eliza Turner. The first death was that of Seth P. Marvin, who was
accidentally drowned in April, 1857, while crossing the Elkhorn seven
miles northeast of Fremont. The Marvin home was a mile and a quarter
west of Fremont and this house was the rendezvous of the parties who
laid out Fremont. Mr. Marvin was one of the town company.
The first celebration of the Fourth of July was in 1857. Robert Kittle
sold the first goods. J. G. and Towner Smith conducted the first regular
store. In 1860, the first district school was opened with Miss McNeil
teacher. Then came Mary Heaton, now Mrs. Hawthorne. Mrs. Margaret
Turner, followed by James G. Smith, conducted the first hotel situated
where the First National bank now is. This was also the "stage house,"
and here all the traders stopped en route from Omaha to Denver. In the
evening the old hotel resounded with the music of violin and the sound
of merry dancing. Charles Smith conducted a drug store where Holloway
and Fowler now are. A telegraph line was established in 1860. The first
public school was held in a building owned by the Congregational
church at the corner of Eighth and D streets. Miss Sarah Pneuman, now
Mrs. Harrington, of Fremont, was the teacher. When court convened,
school adjourned, there being no courthouse. In three years the school
had grown from sixteen to one hundred pupils, with three teachers. The
first public schoolhouse was built at the corner of Fifth and D streets.
In 1866 the Union Pacific was built. The first bank was established in
1867. The _Tribune_, the first newspaper, was published July 24, 1868.
"The Central School" was built in 1869 and the teacher, in search of
truant boys, would ascend to the top, where with the aid of field glass,
she could see from the Platte to the Elkhorn. Today, can be seen on the
foundations of this old landmark, the marks of slate pencils, which were
sharpened by some of our middle aged business men of today.
[Illustration: MONUMENT AT FREMONT, NEBRASKA, MARKING THE OVERLAND
EMIGRANT TRAILS OR CALIFORNIA ROAD
Erected by Lewis-Clark Chapter, Daughters of the American Revolution]
Mrs. Cynthia Hamilton, of Fremont, gives an interesting account of the
early days. In June, 1857, she, with her husband, Mr. West, their
daughter, Julia, Mrs. West's brother, the late Wilson Reynolds, and Mrs.
Reynolds, reached the few dwellings then comprising Fremont, after an
eighteen or nineteen days trip in moving wagons from Racine, Wisconsin.
They first stopped at the house of Robert Kittle, corner Military and
Broad streets. This house was made from trees grown on the bluffs
southwest of town, and had a red cedar shingle roof, the shingles shaved
from logs floated down the Platte. After two days, they all moved to a
log house in "Pierce's Grove." While living here, Mrs. Hamilton tells of
hearing a great commotion among the tinware and upon investigation,
found it was caused by a huge snake. In August of the same year they
moved to their homestead, northwest of town, on the Rawhide. It is now
known as the Rohr place. Here they remained two years. In winter the men
made trips to the river for wood, and the women must either accompany
them or remain at home, alone, far from another house. Thus, alone one
day, she saw a large band of Indians approaching. The chief, picking up
an axe from the wood pile, placed it under the window where she sat,
indicating that she must take care of it, else some one might steal it.
He then led his band northward. During all the residence on the
homestead the three members of the family suffered continually from
ague. In the fall of 1859, Mrs. West and her child returned to
Wisconsin, where they remained ten months. During her absence, Mr. West
became a trader with the Indians and once in Saunders county as he was
selling a quantity of meat on a temporary counter, the Indians became
rather unruly. His white companions fled, and Mr. West seizing a club,
went among the Indians, striking them right and left. For this, they
called him a brave and ever afterwards called him "Buck Skadaway,"
meaning curly hair. When Mrs. West returned from Wisconsin, she came
down the Mississippi and up the Missouri to Omaha, then a small town.
From there they drove to Fremont, with horse and buggy, via Florence.
Mr. West now bought a cottonwood house, battened up and down. It
consisted of two rooms, and stood on the site of the present residence
of Thad Quinn. Wilson Reynolds bought two lots on the south side of
Sixth street near the West home for twenty-five cents. Here he built a
house made partly of black walnut taken from the banks of the Platte. In
this house, was born our present postmaster, B. W. Reynolds. Mrs.
Hamilton relates that the Indians were frequent callers at her home, one
even teaching her to make "corn coffee," "by taking a whole ear of corn,
burning it black and then putting it in the coffee pot." Food consisted
of vegetables, which were grown on the prairie sod, prairie chickens,
small game, and corn bread. Butter was twenty-five cents a pound. Syrup
was made by boiling down watermelon. Boiled beans were mashed to a pulp
and used as butter. "Everything was high and when the money and supplies
which we bought were exhausted it was hard to get more." Screens were
unknown and the flies and mosquitoes were terrible. In the evenings
everyone would build a smudge so that they could sleep. Not a tree was
to be seen except those on the banks of the streams. Tall prairie grass
waved like the ocean and prairie fires were greatly feared. Everyone
began setting out trees at once.
"In those days Broad street was noted as a racing road for the Indians
and now it is a boulevard for automobiles," says Mrs. Hamilton. "Yes,"
she continued, "I well remember the Fourth of July celebration in 1857.
There were about one hundred people in attendance. Miss McNeil was my
little girl's first teacher and Dr. Rhustrat was our first physician."
In 1861, after a short illness, Mr. West died. He was buried beside his
infant daughter in the cemetery, which at that time stood near the
present brewery. The bodies were afterward removed to Barnard's
cemetery and later to Ridge. The following year, Mrs. West, with her
daughter, Julia, returned to her parents at Racine, Wisconsin, where she
remained for many years. In 1876, as the wife of William Hamilton she
returned and made her home on one of her farms near the stockyards.
Twenty-five years ago this place was sold for $100 per acre while the
old homestead northwest of town brought $25 per acre in 1875. After
selling the south farm she and Mr. Hamilton, who died a few years ago,
bought the present home on Broad street. Everyone should honor the early
settlers, who left their eastern homes, endured hardships and privations
that a beautiful land might be developed for posterity. They should be
pensioned as well as our soldiers. And we, of the younger generation,
should respect and reverence their memory.
A GRASSHOPPER STORY
BY MARGARET F. KELLY