capability of her ancestors. She deserved great credit for her quick
action in saving one victim from the Claim Club. This Claim Club was an
organization of prominent Omaha business men. John Kelly, a nephew of
Mrs. Wiley's sister, had a claim of one hundred sixty acres near Omaha.
There were four wagonloads of men out looking for him to compel him to
give them the papers showing his right to the land. The late Joseph
Redman, of Omaha, lived near Mrs. Wiley, and when he saw the men coming
for John Kelly he went to Mrs. Wiley and requested her to warn young
Kelly, as she could get past the men, but he could not. Mrs. Redman went
to Mrs. Wiley's house and took care of the three months' old baby and
five other children. John Kelly was working at the carpenter's trade in
Omaha, about three miles south of Mrs. Wiley's. All she had to ride was
a stallion, of which she was afraid, and which had never been ridden by
a woman. She rode slowly until out of sight of the wagonloads of men and
then hit the horse every other jump. She made him run all the way,
passing some Indians on the way, who looked at her wonderingly but did
not try to stop her. After going to several places she finally located
John Kelly. He wanted to go to the ferry, but her judgment was better
and she said they would look for him there the first thing, which they
did. She took him on behind her and rode to the home of Jane Beeson, his
aunt, who put him down cellar and then spread a piece of rag carpet over
the trap door. The Claim Club men were there several times that day to
look for him, but did not search the house. After dark he walked to
Bellevue, twelve miles, and the next morning crossed the Missouri river
on the ferry boat and went to Missouri. When his claim papers were
returned from Washington he returned and lived on his land without any
further trouble. He would have been badly beaten and probably killed had
it not been for Mrs. Wiley's nerve and decision in riding a fractious
horse to warn him of his danger.
While Dr. and Mrs. Wiley resided at Omaha the territorial law-makers
disagreed, part of them going to Florence to make laws and part of them
to Omaha, each party feeling it was the rightful law-making body of the
territory.
In December, 1859, the family crossed the Platte river on the ice and
located on a farm in Cass county, three miles west of the Missouri
river, about three miles southwest of the present town of Murray,
although the old town of Rock Bluffs was their nearest town at that
time. Dr. Wiley and the older children went on ahead with the household
goods and live stock. Mrs. Wiley, with the small children, rode in a
one-horse buggy. She did not know the way and there were no fences or
landmarks to guide her. She had the ague so badly she could hardly drive
the horse. A sack containing $1,800 in gold was tied around her waist.
This was all the money they had, and they intended to use it to build a
house and barn on their new farm. She objected to carrying so much
money, but Dr. Wiley said it was safer from robbers with her than with
him. In spite of her illness and the difficulty in traveling in an
unknown country a distance of thirty-five or forty miles, she reached
the new home safely. She took off the sack of gold, threw it in a
corner, and fell on the bed exhausted. They lived all winter in a log
house of two rooms. There was a floor and roof, but no ceiling, and the
snow drifted in on the beds. Most of the family were sick all winter.
The next summer they built a frame house, the first in that locality,
which caused the neighbors to call them "high toned." Mrs. Wiley bought
a parlor set of walnut furniture, upholstered in green.
General Worth, who had been a congressman, wrote to Washington, D. C.,
and got the commission, signed by Abraham Lincoln, appointing Dr. Wiley
postmaster, the name of the postoffice being Three Groves. They kept the
postoffice eleven years.
They kept the stage station five years. It was the main stop between St.
Joseph and Omaha before the railroad went through. They had from ten to
fifteen people to dinner one coach load. The stage coach was drawn by
four horses, and carried both mail and passengers. The horses were
changed for fresh ones at the Wiley farm. At first the meals were
twenty-five cents; the last two years, fifty cents. This was paid by the
passengers and not included in the stage fare.
Shortly after the discovery of Pike's Peak and gold in Colorado,
freighters, with big freight wagons of provisions drawn by six or eight
oxen, stopped there over night. There were usually twelve men, who slept
on the floor, paying eighteen dollars for supper, breakfast, and
lodging. Mr. McComas and Mr. Majors (father of Col. Thomas J. Majors)
each had freight wagons starting at Nebraska City and taking the
supplies to Denver and Pike's Peak via Fort Kearny, Nebraska. When the
Union Pacific railroad was completed in 1869 the freighters had to sell
their oxen and wagons, as they could not compete with the railroad in
hauling freight.
The Omaha, Pawnee, and Otoe Indians, when visiting other Indians, would
stop at Dr. Wiley's and ask for things to eat. Sometimes there would be
fifty of them. An old Indian would peer in. If the shade was pulled down
while he was looking in he would call the party vile names. If food was
given him a dozen more Indians would come and ask for something. If
chickens were not given them they helped themselves to all they found
straying around. It would make either tribe angry to ask if they were
going to visit any other tribe. The Pawnees would say, "Omaha no good";
the Omahas would say, "Pawnee no good."
Mrs. Wiley kept a copy of the _Omaha Republican_, published November 30,
1859. The paper is yellow with age, but well preserved, and a few years
ago she presented it to the State Historical Society. It is a four-page
paper, the second and third pages being nearly all advertisements. It
contains a letter written by Robert W. Furnas, ex-governor of Nebraska,
and a long article about the late J. Sterling Morton. This was about the
time Mr. Morton tried to claim the salt basin at Lincoln as a
preÎmption, and wanted to locate salt works there.
Mrs. Wiley always took a great interest in the development of the state;
she attended the State Fair almost every year, spending a great deal of
time looking over the new machinery.
Dr. Wiley died in 1887 and Mrs. Wiley in 1914. Mrs. Wiley lived to the
age of 87 years.
Little Erma Purviance, daughter of Dr. W. E. and Edith E. Purviance, of
Omaha, is a great-granddaughter of Mrs. Wiley, and also a namesake. May
she possess some of the virtue and intelligence of her ancestor.
NOTE: Mrs. Wiley's two daughters, Araminta and Hattie, were
students in the early years at Brownell Hall, then the only means
of obtaining an education, as there were very few public schools.
Some of the children and grandchildren still live on the lands
taken by Dr. and Mrs. Wiley, and have always been among the
well-to-do citizens of Cass county.
Mrs. Edith Erma Purviance, the writer of the foregoing article,
spent most of her girlhood with her grandmother, who sent her to
the State University, where she made good use of her advantages.
Other children of Mrs. Wiley were also university students or
identified with the various schools of the state. Mrs. A. Dove
Wiley Asche, youngest daughter of Mrs. Wiley, now occupies the old
home, out of which so recently went the brave pioneer who made it
of note among the early homes of the territory.--HARRIETT S.
MACMURPHY.
THE BADGER FAMILY
Lewis H. Badger drove with his parents, Henry L. and Mary A. Badger,
from their home in Livingston county, Illinois, to Fillmore county,
Nebraska. They had a covered emigrant wagon and a buggy tied behind.
Lewis was twelve years old October 5, 1868, the day they crossed the
Missouri river at Nebraska City, the nearest railroad station to their
future home. The family stayed with friends near Saltillo while H. L.
Badger came on with the horse and buggy and picked out his claim on the
north side of Fillmore county, it being the northwest quarter of section
2, township 8, range 3, west of the sixth principal meridian.
At that time the claims were taken near the river in order that water
might be obtained more easily, and also to be near the railroad which
had been surveyed and staked out in the southern edge of York county
near the West Blue river.
The Badger family came on to Lincoln, then a mere village, and stopped
there. They bought a log chain, and lumber for a door; the window frames
were hewed from logs. When they reached the claim they did not know
where to ford the river so they went on farther west to Whitaker's and
stayed all night. There they forded the river and came on to the claim
the next morning, October 20, 1868. There they camped while Mr. Badger
made a dugout in the banks of the West Blue river, where the family
lived for more than two years. The hollow in the ground made by this
dugout can still be seen.
In 1870 H. L. Badger kept the postoffice in the dugout. He received his
commission from Postmaster General Creswell. The postoffice was known as
West Blue. About the same time E. L. Martin was appointed postmaster at
Fillmore. Those were the first postoffices in Fillmore county. Before
that time the settlers got their mail at McFadden in York county. Mr.
Badger kept the postoffice for some time after moving into the log house
and after the establishment of the postoffice at Fairmont.
In 1867 the Indians were all on reservations but by permission of the
agents were allowed to go on hunting trips. If they made trouble for the
settlers they were taken back to the reservations. While the Badgers
were living in the dugout a party of about one thousand Omaha Indians
came up the river on a hunting trip. Some of their ponies got away and
ate some corn belonging to a man named Dean, who lived farther down the
river. The man loved trouble and decided to report them to the agent.
The Indians were afraid of being sent back to the reservation so the
chief, Prairie Chicken, his brother, Sammy White, and seventeen of the
other Indians came into the dugout and asked Mr. Badger to write a
letter to the agent for them stating their side of the case. This he did
and read it to Sammy White, the interpreter, who translated it for the
other eighteen. It proved satisfactory to both Indians and agent.
In August, 1869, while Mr. Badger was away helping a family named
Whitaker, who lived up the river, to do some breaking, the son, Lewis,
walked to where his father was at work, leaving Mrs. Badger at home
alone with her four-year-old daughter. About four o'clock it began to
rain very hard and continued all night. The river raised until the water
came within eighteen inches of the dugout door. The roof leaked so that
it was almost as wet inside as out. Mr. Badger and Lewis stayed at the
Whitaker dugout. They fixed the canvas that had been the cover of the
wagon over the bed to keep Grandmother Whitaker dry and the others sat
by the stove and tried to keep warm, but could not. The next morning the
men paddled down the rived to the Badger dugout in a wagon box. The
wagon box was a product of their own making and was all wood, so it
served the purpose of a boat.
It should be explained that the reason the roofs of the dugouts and log
houses leaked was because of the material used in their construction.
Shingles were out of the question to these settlers of small means
living one hundred miles from the railroad. There were plenty of trees
near the river, so the settlers hewed out logs for ridge poles, then
placed willow poles and brush across for a support. On top of that they
put dirt and sod. When it rained the water naturally soaked through. The
roof would leak for several days after a big rain.
The next dwelling place of the Badger family was a log house built on
the south half of the quarter section. For some time they lived in the
log house and kept their stock in the dugout stable on the river bank.
Thus they were living during the great April storm of 1873, which lasted
for three days. All of the draws and ravines, even the river, were
packed full of snow that was solid enough to hold a man up. There was
very little snow on the level, it all being in drifts in the low places.
The Badgers had a corn field between the log house and the river. While
the storm raged Lewis wrapped himself in a blanket, and by following the
rows of corn made his way to the dugout stable and fed the horses corn
once each day. It was impossible to give them water.
Henry L. Badger was commissioned by Governor Butler the first notary
public in Fillmore county. Later he was appointed by acting Governor
James, registrar of voters for the election to be held April 21, 1871,
to elect officers for the new county. At that election he was elected
both county clerk and county surveyor.
In the late sixties when the county was first settled the country
abounded in buffalo, deer, antelope, elk, prairie chickens, wild geese,
ducks, and turkeys. The muddy stream known as West Blue river was clear
and the fish found in it were not of the same variety as those caught
now. Wild plums grew in abundance along the river bank and were much
larger and of finer quality than the wild plums of today. In those days
glass jars for canning were not as plentiful as now, so they picked the
plums late in the fall, put them in a barrel and poured water over them
and kept them for winter use.
Lewis Badger tells of going on buffalo hunts with his father and seeing
herds of thousands of the big animals, and driving for ten hours through
the herd. He has now an old silver half dime that he found in an
abandoned stage station on the Oregon trail, when on a buffalo hunt.
In early days the settlers did lots of trapping. The Indians were
frequent visitors and one time an Indian went with Mr. Badger and his
son to look at their traps. In one trap they found a mink. Mr. Badger
remarked that they got a mink in that same trap the day before. The
Indian said, "Him lucky trap." The Indian would not steal but he wanted
the lucky trap, so the next day that trap was gone and another in its
place. The Indian seemed to get the best of the bargain for it is a fact
that they never caught a thing in the trap he left.
Sammy and Luke White, brothers of chief Prairie Chicken of the Omahas,
frequently visited the early settlers. Sammy could talk English and was
a good interpreter. He told of a big Indian battle in the western part
of the state wherein the Sioux and Cheyenne, and Omahas, Otoes, Poncas,
and Pawnees all took part and fought for two days and only killed two
Indians. His brother, Prairie Chicken, killed one of the Indians and
scalped him in the midst of the battle. For that act of bravery he was
made a chief. After telling the story of his brother, when asked about
himself, Sammy very modestly said, "Me 'fraid, me run."
On one of Mr. Badger's hunting trips he killed a deer. When it was
dressed Lewis was sent to the Whitaker dugout with a quarter of the
meat. An Indian, Pawnee Jack, happened to be there at the time and it
stormed so they had to keep him all night, much to their disgust.
Evidently he enjoyed their hospitality, especially the venison, for when
they started him on the next morning he inquired where the "papoose"
lived that brought the "buckskin," meaning the venison. They told him
and he made straight for the Badger dugout and the "buckskin." It
stormed so they were forced to keep him there two nights before sending
him on.
Although most painfully familiar to every early settler, no pioneer
story is complete without the grasshoppers. They came in herds and
droves and ate every green thing. For days great clouds of them passed
over. The next year they hatched out in great numbers and flew away
without hurting anything. Mr. Badger had a nice young orchard that he
had planted and tended. The grasshoppers ate the leaves off the trees
and as it was early in August they leaved out again and were frozen so
they died. Snakes feasted on the hoppers. Since seeing a garter snake at
that time just as full of grasshoppers as it could possibly be, Lewis
Badger has never killed a snake or permitted one to be killed on his
farm. He declared that anything that could make away with so many
grasshoppers should be allowed to live. Many people asked for and
received the so-called "aid for grasshopper sufferers." In this section
of the country it seemed absolutely unnecessary as there had been
harvested a good crop of wheat, previous to the coming of the hoppers.
In 1871 the railroad was built through the county. That season Lewis
Badger sold watermelons, that he had raised, to the construction gang at
work on the road. The town of Fairmont was started the same year. In
those days the settlers would walk to town. It was nothing unusual for
Mr. and Mrs. Badger and Lewis to walk to Fairmont, a distance of six
miles.
When the Badger family settled on their claim, they planted a row of
cottonwood trees around it. These trees have made a wonderful growth. In
1911 part of them were sawed into lumber. There are two especially large
cottonwood trees on the farm. One measures twenty-six feet in
circumference at the base and nineteen feet around five feet above the
ground and runs up forty feet before it begins to branch out. The other
is thirty-three feet around the base but branches into three trees four
feet above the ground.
Mrs. H. L. Badger was a witness of the first wedding in the county, that
of Wm. Whitaker and Sabra Brumsey, which took place June 28, 1871. The
ceremony was performed by the first county judge, Wm. H. Blaine, who
stayed all night at the Badger home and attended the wedding the next
day.
Mrs. H. L. Badger died January 11, 1894, and Mr. Badger July 21, 1905.
The son Lewis and family still own and farm the old homestead.
FIRST WHITE SETTLER IN FILLMORE COUNTY
The first settlement in Fillmore county, Nebraska, was made in 1866 by
Nimrod J. Dixon, a native of Pennsylvania. He was married to Lydia
Gilmore, who had previously filed on a homestead adjoining his. Mr. and
Mrs. Dixon continued to reside on their homestead until they moved to
Fairmont, Nebraska, where they are now living, having lived on the farm
forty years.
Mr. and Mrs. Dixon were married February 28, 1867, at the home of Mrs.
Dixon's father, Elias Gilmore, near Blue Vale. Mr. Dixon got the license
at Nebraska City. From that time until the summer of 1868 they were the
only settlers in the county and were seven or eight miles from the
nearest neighbor.
In relating her experiences Mrs. Dixon said: "I was afraid to stay
alone, so when Mr. Dixon had to go away I went with him or my sisters
stayed with me. At that time we had to go to Milford for flour and
twenty-five miles to get a plow-lay sharpened. At such times Mr. Dixon
would stay at my father's home near Blue Vale and help them two or three
days with their breaking, in return for which one of the boys would come
and help him.
"The Indians visited us frequently and I was afraid of them. One time a
number of them came and two entered the dugout and asked for flour. We
gave them as much as we could spare, but they could see the flour
sitting on a bench behind the door and wanted more. We refused, but they
became very insistent, so much so that Mr. Dixon grabbed a black-snake
whip that hung on the wall and started toward them. This show of
resistance was all that was necessary. It proved to the Indians that Mr.
Dixon was not afraid of them, so they gave him powder and shot to regain
his friendship.
"An Indian came in one day and gave me a lot of beads, then he wanted
flour, which we gave him. He took it and held it out to me, saying,
'Squaw cook it, squaw cook it!' This I refused to do, so he said, 'Give
me the beads, give me the beads.'
"My baby, Arthur, born January 9, 1869, was the first white child born
in Fillmore county. I recall one time that I was home alone with the
baby. An Indian came in and handed me a paper that said he had lost a
pony. I assured him that we had seen nothing of the pony. He saw a new
butcher knife that was lying on the table, picked it up, and finally
drew out his old knife and held it toward me, saying, 'Swap, swap!' I
said, 'Yes,' so he went away with my good knife.
"The worst fright I ever did have was not from Indians. My sister Minnie
was with me and we were out of salt. Mr. Dixon said he would go across
the river to Whitaker's and borrow some. We thought that he wouldn't be
gone long so we stayed at home. While he was away a cloud came up and it
began to rain. I never did see it rain harder. The river raised, and the
water in the ravine in front of the dugout came nearly to the door. The
roof leaked so we were nearly as wet indoors as we would have been out.
The rain began about four o'clock in the afternoon. It grew dark and Mr.
Dixon did not return. We thought that he would certainly be drowned in
trying to cross the river. While we were in this state of suspense, the
door burst open and a half-clad woman rushed in, saying, 'Don't let me
scare you to death.' I was never so frightened in my life, and it was
some time before I recognized her as my neighbor, Mrs. Fairbanks.
"Mr. and Mrs. Fairbanks had gone to Whitaker's, who were coopers, to get
some barrels fixed for sorghum, and left the children at home. When it
rained they thought they must try to cross the river and get to their
children. Mr. Dixon came with them. At first they tried to ride horses
across, but the one Mrs. Fairbanks was riding refused to swim and threw
her into the water, so she had to swim back. They were all excellent
swimmers, so they started again in a wagon box which those on land tried
to guide by means of a line. With the aid of the wagon box and by
swimming they succeeded in getting across. That was in the fall of 1869.
"The only time I ever saw a buffalo skinned was when a big herd stayed a
week or more on the south side of the river. Kate Bussard and I stood on
the top of the dugout and watched the chase, and after they killed one
we went nearer and watched them skin it."
Mr. Dixon took his claim without seeing it. In October, 1866, he went
to the land office and learned that he could then take a homestead of
one hundred and sixty acres but the new law would soon go into effect
providing that settlers could only homestead eighty acres. Mr. Dixon was
afraid that he could not go and see the claim and get back to Nebraska
City and file on it in time to get one hundred and sixty acres. In
telling about it Mr. Dixon says, "I thought it would, indeed, be a poor
quarter section that would not have eighty acres of farm land, so I took
my chances.
"In the year 1868, the first year that we had any crops planted, it
almost forgot to rain at all. The barley was so short that it fell
through the cradle. There were no bridges so we had to ford the river.
It was hard to haul much of a load across because the wagon would cut
into the mud on the two banks while the sandy river bottom would stand a
pretty good load. That difficulty I overcame by making bundles or
sheaves of willow poles and placing them at the two banks and covering
them with sand. Later the settlers made a bridge across the river near
the homestead of H. L. Badger. This has ever since been known as the
'Badger Bridge.' The first bridge was made of logs which we procured
along the river.
"I was making a hayrack of willow poles at the time of the total eclipse
of the sun. It began to grow dark, the chickens went to roost, and it
seemed that night was coming on.
"The year 1869 was rainy and we raised good crops and fine potatoes that
season. That was the year they were driving Texas cattle up to eat the
northern grass and then ship them east over the Union Pacific railroad.
The cattle stampeded, so they lost many of them and we saw them around
for a year or more.
"My first buffalo hunt was in 1867. The country seemed to be covered
with great herds and the Indians were hunting them. Twenty of us started
out with five wagons. There were Jake and Boss Gilmore, Jim Johnson, and
myself in one wagon. We had only about three days' supplies with us,
expecting to get buffalo before these were exhausted, but the Indians
were ahead of us and kept the buffalo out of our range. Our party
crossed the Little Blue at Deweese. Beyond there we found carcasses of
buffalo and a fire where the Indians had burned out a ranch. Realizing
that it was necessary for us to take precautions, we chose Colonel
Bifkin our leader and decided to strike another trail and thus avoid the
Indians if possible. We traveled toward the Republican river but found
no track of either buffalo or Indians, so we turned around and followed
the Indians. By that time our food supply was exhausted, but by good
luck we shot two wild turkeys.
"We were soon following the Indians so closely that we ate dinner where
they ate breakfast and by night we were almost in sight of them. We
thought it best to put out a guard at night. My station was under a
cottonwood tree near a foot-log that crossed a branch of the Little
Blue. I was to be relieved at eleven o'clock. I heard something coming
on the foot-log. I listened and watched but it was so dark that I could
see nothing, but could hear it coming closer; so I shot and heard
something drop. Colonel Bifkin, who was near, coming to relieve me,
asked what I was shooting at. 'I don't know, perhaps an Indian; it
dropped,' I replied. We looked and found merely a coon, but it did good
service as wagon grease, for we had forgotten that very necessary
article.