stories of the past--Gray Eagle, the Indian chief, and John Williamson,
the pioneer, talking together, at times, in a tongue that to us was
strange, but to them an echo of a very real past.
The Loup he called Potato Water, because of the many wild potatoes that
formerly grew upon its banks. Horse creek he remembered as Skeleton
Water, the Pawnees one time having fought a band of Sioux on its banks.
They were victorious but lost many warriors. Their own dead they buried,
leaving the bodies of their enemies to decay in the sun. Soon the banks
of the creek were strewn with skeletons and ever after the creek was
known to the Indians as Skeleton Water. The Cedar was known as Willow
creek, Council creek as the Skidi, and the Beaver as the Sandburr.
LOVERS' LEAP
BY MRS. A. P. JARVIS
I pause before I reach the verge
And look, with chilling blood, below;
Some dread attraction seems to urge
Me nearer to the brink to go.
The hunting red men used to force
The buffalo o'er this frightful steep;
They could not check their frantic course;
By following herds pressed down they leap,
Then lie a bleeding, mangled mass
Beside the little stream below.
Their red blood stained the waving grass,
The brook carnation used to flow.
Yet a far more pathetic tale
The Pawnees told the pioneer
Of dusky maid and stripling pale
Who found in death a refuge here.
The youth had been a captive long,
Yet failed to friendly favor find;
He oft was bound with cruel thong,
Yet Noma to the lad was kind.
She was the chieftain's only child,
As gentle as the cooing dove.
Pure was this daughter of the wild;
The pale-face lad had won her love.
Her father, angered at her choice,
Had bid'n her wed a chieftain brave;
She answered with a trembling voice,
"I'd rather lie within my grave."
The day before the appointed eve
When Wactah was to claim his bride,
The maid was seen the camp to leave--
The pale-face youth was by her side.
She led him to this dangerous place
That on the streamlet's glee doth frown;
The sunlight, gleaming on her face,
Her wild, dark beauty seemed to crown.
"Dear youth," exclaimed the dusky maid,
"I've brought thee here thy faith to prove:
If thou of death art not afraid,
We'll sacrifice our lives to love."
Hand linked in hand they looked below,
Then, headlong, plunged adown the steep.
The Pawnees from that hour of woe
Have named the place The Lovers' Leap.
EARLY INDIAN HISTORY
BY MRS. SARAH CLAPP
In 1843 Mr. and Mrs. Lester W. Platt were first engaged in missionary
work among the Pawnees, and in 1857 the government set aside a tract of
land thirty miles by fifteen miles, in the rich prairie soil of Nance
county, for their use; and when the Indian school was established at
Genoa, Mrs. Platt was made matron or superintendent.
My mother taught in this school during the years 1866-67. She found the
work interesting, learned much of the customs and legends of the Pawnees
and grew very fond of that noble woman, Mrs. Platt, who was able to tell
thrilling stories of her experiences during her mission work among the
members of that tribe.
At the time my mother taught in the Genoa school, the Sioux, who were
the greatest enemies of the Pawnees, on account of wanting to hunt in
the same territory, were supposed to be friendly with the settlers, but
drove away their horses and cattle and stole everything in sight,
furnishing much excitement.
My father, Captain S. E. Cushing, accompanied my uncle, Major Frank
North, on a number of expeditions against the hostile Indians, during
the years 1869 until 1877. He was with Major North at the time of the
famous charge on the village of the Cheyennes, when the notorious chief,
Tall Bull, was killed by my uncle.
In 1856, when Frank North came to Nebraska, a young boy, he mingled
fearlessly with the Indians along the Missouri in the region of Omaha,
where our family first settled, learning their mode of warfare and
living, and their language, which he spoke as fluently as his mother
tongue. In 1861 he took a position as clerk and interpreter at the
Pawnee reservation and by 1863 he had become known as a daring scout.
The next year the building of the Union Pacific railroad was started,
and as the work progressed westward the fierce Arapahoes, Cheyennes, and
Sioux began attacking the laborers, until it seemed deadly peril to
venture outside the camps. It was useless to call on the regular troops
for help as the government needed them all to hold in check the armies
of Lee and Johnston. A clipping from the Washington _Sunday Herald_, on
this subject, states that "a happy thought occurred to Mr. Oakes Ames,"
the main spirit of the work. He sent a trusty agent to hunt up Frank
North, who was then twenty-four years old. "What can be done to protect
our working parties, Mr. North?" said Mr. Ames. "I have an idea," Mr.
North answered. "If the authorities at Washington will allow me to
organize a battalion of Pawnees and mount and equip them, I will
undertake to picket your entire line and keep off other Indians.
"The Pawnees are the natural enemies of all the tribes that are giving
you so much trouble, and a little encouragement and drill will make them
the best irregular horse you could desire."
This plan was new but looked feasible. Accordingly Mr. Ames went to
Washington, and, after some effort, succeeded in getting permission to
organize a battalion of four hundred Pawnee warriors, who should be
armed as were the U.S. cavalry and drilled in such simple tactics as the
service required, and my uncle was commissioned a major of volunteers
and ordered to command them. The newspaper clipping also says: "It would
be difficult to estimate the service of Major North in money value."
General Crook once said, in speaking of him, "Millions of government
property and hundreds of lives were saved by him on the line of the
Union Pacific railroad, and on the Nebraska, Wyoming, and Montana
frontiers."
There is much to be said in his praise, but I did not intend writing a
eulogy, rather to tell of the stories which have come down to me, with
which he and my other relatives were so closely connected.
During the many skirmishes and battles fought by the Pawnees, under
Major North, he never lost a man; moreover, on several different
occasions he passed through such hair-breadth escapes that the Pawnees
thought him invulnerable. In one instance, while pursuing the retreating
enemy, he discovered that his command had fallen back and he was
separated from them by over a mile. The enemy, discovering his plight,
turned on him. He dismounted, being fully armed, and by using his horse
as a breastwork he managed to reach his troops again, though his
faithful horse was killed. This and many like experiences caused the
Pawnees to believe that their revered leader led a charmed life. He
never deceived them, and they loved to call him "Little Pawnee Le-Sharo"
(Pawnee Chief), and so he was known as the White Chief of the Pawnees.
The coming of the railroad through the state, bringing thousands of
settlers with household furnishings and machinery for tilling the soil,
was of the greatest importance. It was concerning the guarding of that
right of way that a writer for the _Horse World_ has some interesting
memories and devotes an article in a number in February, 1896, to the
stories of Colonel W. F. Cody, Major Frank North, Captain Charles Morse,
Captain Luther North, Captain Fred Mathews, and my father, Captain S. E.
Cushing. The correspondent was under my father, in Company B, during one
of the scouting expeditions, when the company was sent to guard
O'Fallon's Bluffs, west of Fort McPherson on the Union Pacific. He tells
much more of camp activities and of his initiation into border life than
of the skirmishes or scouting trips. He was fond of horses and tells of
a memorable race in which a horse of Buffalo Bill's was beaten by my
father's horse "Jack."
My uncle, Captain Luther North, who also commanded a company of scouts
at that time, now resides in Omaha.
While yet a boy he freighted between Omaha and Columbus and carried the
mail, by pony, during a period when my grandmother felt that when she
bade him good-bye in the morning she might never see him again, so
unsettled was the feeling about the Indians. He was intimately
acquainted with every phase of Indian life. He knew their pastimes and
games, work of the medicine men and magicians, and especially was he
familiar with many of their legends. I am happy to have been one of the
children who often gathered 'round him to listen to the tales of his own
experiences or stories told him by the red men.
One personal experience in the family happened before the building of
the railroad, probably in sixty-one or sixty-two. A number of men,
accompanied by the wives of two of them, went to put up hay for the
government, on land located between Genoa and Monroe. One night the
Indians surrounded their camp, presumably to drive away their stock.
Naturally the party rebelled, and during the melee which followed Adam
Smith and another man were killed and one of the women, Mrs. Murray, was
wounded but saved herself by crawling away through the tall grass. The
recital of this trouble grew in magnitude the farther it traveled, until
people grew frantic with fear, believing it to mean an uprising of the
Sioux. The settlers from Shell creek and all directions, bringing
horses, cattle, and even their fowls, together with personal belongings,
flocked into the village of Columbus for mutual protection. My mother,
then a young girl, describes the first night as one of much confusion.
Some of the fugitives were sheltered with friends, others camped in the
open. Animals, feeling as strange as did their masters, were bawling or
screeching, and no one could sleep, as the greatest excitement
prevailed.
"They built a stockade of upright posts about eight feet high, around
the town," says my uncle Luther, thinking that as the Indians usually
fought on horseback, this would be a great help if not a first-class
fort.
They organized a militia company and men were detailed for guard duty
and stationed at different points along the stockade, so serious seemed
the situation. One night Luther North and two other young men were sent
on picket duty outside the stockade. They took their horses and blankets
and went up west of town about half a mile, to keep an eye on the
surrounding country. A Mr. Needham had gone up to his farm (now the John
Dawson farm) that day, and did not return until it was getting dark. The
guards thought it would be great fun to give him a little scare, so as
he approached they wrapped themselves in their blankets, mounted, and
rode down under a bank. Just as he passed they came up in sight and gave
the Indian war whoop and started after him. He whipped his team into a
run; they chased him, yelling at every step, but stopped a reasonable
distance from the stockade and then went back. Mr. Needham gave graphic
description of how the Indians had chased him, which so upset the entire
population that sleep was out of the question that night. Moreover he
cautioned his wife in this wise: "Now, Christina, if the Indians come,
it is everybody for himself, and you will have to skulk." This remark
made by Mr. Needham became a byword, and even down into the next
generation was a favorite saying and always provoked a smile. The young
guards had no fear whatever of marauding Indians, and, blissfully
unaware of the commotion they had aroused, went back up the road to a
melon patch, ate a sufficient amount of the luscious fruit, picketed
their horses, wrapped themselves in their blankets, and lay them down to
pleasant dreams. The next morning they rode into town and reported no
red men in sight. After a few weeks, when there was no further evidence
of trouble from the savages, the people gradually dispersed to their
homes and farms which were, by that time, much in need of attention.
[Illustration: MRS. OREAL S. WARD
Ninth State Regent, Nebraska Society, Daughters of the American
Revolution. 1909-1910]
THE BLIZZARD OF 1888
BY MINNIE FREEMAN PENNEY
On January 12, 1888, the states of Nebraska and South Dakota were
visited by a blizzard so fierce and cruel and death-dealing that
residents of those sections cannot speak of it even now without an
involuntary shudder.
The storm burst with great suddenness and fury, and many there were who
did not live to tell the story of their suffering. And none suffered
more keenly than did the occupants of the prairie schoolhouses. Teachers
and pupils lost their lives or were terribly maimed. The great storm
indicated most impressively the measure of danger and trial that must be
endured by the country school teacher in the isolated places on the
frontier.
Three Nebraska country school teachers--Loie Royce of Plainfield, Etta
Shattuck of Holt county, and Minnie Freeman of Mira Valley, were the
subjects of much newspaper writing.
Miss Royce had nine pupils. Six went home for luncheon and remained on
account of the storm. The three remaining pupils with the teacher stayed
in the schoolhouse until three o'clock. Their fuel gave out, and as her
boarding house was but fifteen rods away, the teacher decided to take
the children home with her.
In the fury of the storm they wandered and were lost. Darkness came, and
with it death. One little boy sank into the eternal silence. The brave
little teacher stretched herself out on the cold ground and cuddled the
two remaining ones closer. Then the other little boy died and at
daylight the spirit of the little girl, aged seven, fluttered away,
leaving the young teacher frozen and dumb with agony. Loie Royce "hath
done what she could; angels can do no better." Miss Royce lost both feet
by amputation.
Etta Shattuck, after sending her children home (all living near) tried
to go to her home. Losing her way, she took refuge in a haystack, where
she remained, helpless and hungry Friday, Saturday, and Sunday,
suffering intensely and not able to move. She lived but a short time
after her terrible experience.
Minnie Freeman was teaching in Mira Valley, Valley county. She had in
her charge seventeen pupils. Finding it impossible to remain in the
schoolhouse, she took the children with her to her boarding place almost
a mile from the schoolhouse.
Words are useless in the effort to portray that journey to the safe
shelter of the farmhouse, with the touching obedience of the children to
every word of direction--rather _felt_ than _heard_, in that fierce
winding-sheet of ice and snow. How it cut and almost blinded them! It
was terrible on their eyes. They beat their way onward, groping blindly
in the darkness, with the visions of life and death ever before the
young teacher responsible for the destiny of seventeen souls.
All reached the farmhouse and were given a nice warm supper prepared by
the hostess and the teacher, and comfortable beds provided.
Minnie Freeman was unconscious of anything heroic or unusual. Doing it
in the simple line of duty to those placed in her care, she still
maintains that it was the trust placed in the Great Spirit who guides
and cares for His own which led the little band--
"Through the desert and illimitable air,
Lone wandering, but not lost."
AN ACROSTIC
_Written to Miss Minnie Freeman in 1888 by Mrs. Ellis of St. Paul,
Nebraska. Mrs. Ellis was then seventy-eight years old--now
deceased_
'Midst driving winds and blinding snows,
Impending dangers round her close;
No shelter from the blast and sleet,
No earthly help to guide her feet.
In God alone she puts her trust,
Ever to guide the brave and just.
Fierce and loud the awful storm,
Racking now her slender form,
Eager to save the little band
Entrusted to her guiding hand.
Marshalled her host, see, forth she goes
And falters not while tempest blows;
Now God alone can help, she knows.
See them falling as they go;
Angry winds around them blow.
Is there none to hear their cry?
Now her strength will almost fail;
Tranquil, she braves the fearful gale.
PreÎminent her name shall stand,
A beacon light o'er all the land,
Unrivalled on the page of time;
Let song and story swell the chime.
EARLY DAYS IN NANCE COUNTY
BY MRS. ELLEN SAUNDERS WALTON
In 1872, after passing through a great sorrow, a longing came to me to
enter the missionary field among the Indians. At that time the Pawnee
tribe was located on their reservation, now Nance county, and I was sent
to work among them. It was interesting, at the same time sad and
depressing, to witness the degeneration and savagery of tribal life; and
ofttimes it was seemingly hopeless to civilize and christianize them.
In 1874 the Pawnees were removed by the government to Indian territory,
now Oklahoma, and the reservation was thrown on the market. This became
Nance county, and a new order of things followed. Settlers came to the
little hamlet of Genoa, that had been first settled by the Mormons in
1857, and though later given over to the Indians, it was one of the
oldest towns in Nebraska.
A church was established under the care of the New England
Congregational Mission and Rev. Charles Starbuck was put in charge. A
small farmhouse where travelers could be accommodated, and a few homes
of those who had bought land, comprised the village life. This freedom
from restraint was indeed new to one accustomed to the rush of busy life
in New York. Daily rides over the prairie on my pony were a delight.
It was wonderful how many cultured people drifted into the almost
unknown western country. It was not infrequent to see in humble sod
houses shelves filled with standard books and writings of the best
authors. This was the second wave of population, and though many things
had to be sacrificed that in the old life were considered necessary to
comfort, pioneer life had its happy features. One especially was the
kindly expression of helpfulness in time of sickness or sorrow. The
discomforts and self denials and the longing for dear ones far away grow
dim and faded! only memories of pleasant hours remain. Then came the
third wave of men and women settling all around, bringing fashion and
refining influences, and entertainment of various kinds. Churches,
elevators, banks, and business houses were built and Nance county began
to show the march of civilization and progress. Where first we knew the
flower-gemmed prairie, modern homes spring up and good roads follow the
trails of the Indian and the hunter.
THE PAWNEE CHIEF'S FAREWELL
BY CHAUNCEY LIVINGSTON WILTSE
As I strolled alone, when the day had flown,
Through the once Pawnee reserve,
Where the memories keep of the brave asleep
By the winding Cedar's curve--
Methought the leaves of the old oak trees
'Neath the sheltering hill-range spoke,
And they said: "It's here that hearts knew no fear,
Where arose the Pawnee smoke!
"In the eventide, when all cares subside,
Is the hour the tribe liked best;
When the gold of day crossed the hills away,
And, like those who tried, found rest.
O'er this Lovers' Leap, where now shadows creep,
Strode the chief, in thought, alone--
And he said: 'Trees true, and all stars in view,
And you very winds my own!
"'I soon shall pass, like the blades of grass,
Where the wandering shadows go;
Only leaves will tell what my tribe did well--
But you Hearts of Oak--you know!
To those Hunting Grounds that are never found
Shall my tribe, in time, depart;
Then it will be you to tell who were true,
With the dawn-song in their heart!
"'You will sing a song, with the winds along,
How the Pawnee loved these hills!
Here he loved to stray, all the wind-glad day--
In his heart the wind sings still!
You will whisper, too, how he braved the Sioux,
How life's days he did his part;
Though not understood, how he wished but good,
With but love within his heart!
"'The White Father's call reaches us, and all
To his South Wind land we fly,
Yet we fain would stay with you hills alway--
It is hard to say good-bye!
You, our fatherland, we could once command,
We are driven from, so fast;
But you hills alway in our hearts will stay
And be with us at the last!
"'Here we took our stand for our fatherland,
Here our sons to manhood grew;
Here their loves were found, where these hills surround--
Here the winds sang to them, too!
By this Cedar's side, where the waters glide,
We went forth to hunt and dream;
Here we felt the spell of you oaks as well,
And felt all that love may seem!
"'Here we felt the pang of the hot wind tang,
Here we felt the blizzard's breath;
Here we faced the foe, as the stars all know--
Here we saw the face of Death!
Here we braved the wrath of the lightning's path,
Here we dared starvation's worst;
Here tonight we stand, for our fatherland,
Banished from what was ours--first!
"'Bravely we obey, and will go away;
The White Father wills it so;
But our thoughts will roam to this dawntime home
Where our fathers sleep, below!
And some shining day, beyond white men's sway,
We will meet our long-lost own--
Where you singing winds and the dawn begins,
One will say, "Come in--come home!"
"'Just beyond you hills, the Rest Land still
Is waiting for us all;
At earth's sunset hour One will wake each flower,
And us home will softly call!
Trees and stream, good-bye! Now our parting's nigh;
Know you memory's sweet to me!
Though our footsteps go, you may always know
You've the heart of each Pawnee!'
"As the chief passed by, stars filled the sky,
And the moonlight softest fell--
But the night winds said, 'Peace is overhead!'
And the hills said, 'All is well!'"
MY TRIP WEST IN 1861
BY SARAH SCHOOLEY RANDALL
In 1857 my brother, Charles A. Schooley, landed at Brownville and soon
after purchased several tracts of land near there, one being the old
home of Church Howe and adjoining the present site of the village of
Howe. Incidentally, my husband's father, N. G. Randall, three years
later purchased land within three miles--known later as Bedford.
In 1860, while my brother was visiting his old home, White Deer Valley,
near Williamsport, Pennsylvania, the smoldering flames of adventure were
kindled in my mind which nothing but a trip west could quench. On
March 1, 1861, we left Williamsport by train from Pittsburgh and on
arriving there went to the Monongahela hotel, then a magnificent
building. Abe Lincoln had just left the hotel, much to our
disappointment. After a few days we engaged passage on the _Argonaut_ to
St. Louis via the Monongahela, the Ohio, and the Mississippi rivers. Our
experiences were varied and exciting enough to meet my expectations.
During one night we stood tied to a tree and another night the pumps
were kept going to keep us from sinking. Small consolation we got from
the captain's remark that this was "the last trip for this old hulk." We
had ample time for seeing all the important cities along the
shore--Cincinnati, Louisville, etc.
Arriving at St. Louis we took passage on a new boat, _Sunshine_, and set
sail upstream. Perhaps we felt a few pangs of fear as we neared the real
pioneer life. We changed boats again at St. Joe and then our trip
continued, now up the treacherous Missouri. Every now and then we struck
a snag which sent the dishes scurrying from the table. I am reminded
that this trip was typical of our lives: floating downstream is easy but
upstream is where we strike the snags.
Of our valued acquaintances met on the trip were Rev. and Mrs. Barrette,
the former a Presbyterian minister coming to Brownville, and our
friendship continued after reaching our destination. Arriving in
Brownville, we went to the McPherson hotel, where we continued to hear
disturbing rumors about the coming civil war.