and she was to come to the fort for what she wished. And after a time it
came to pass that Sarpy took her to wife as Gale had done. Perhaps that
was in his mind when he looked at Gale with a smile in his eyes; but
Nikumi would not listen to him till she had waited long, and until Sarpy
told her and she heard from others that Gale would never come again. And
she was his faithful wife for many years, occupying always, because of
her inherent dignity and real womanliness, a position high in the
estimation both of the white and the red men. Many tales are told of her
life with Sarpy, how at one time she carried him miles on her back when
he was stricken with fever in the mountains, until she brought him to
aid and safety. Another time when he had given orders that no more goods
should be given her from the post (she was always very liberal to her
relatives and he wished to check it) she quietly picked up two or three
bolts of calico, and walking to the river bank, threw them in; a second
armful followed, and then the enemy capitulated. And still another time
when Sarpy had bought a beautiful black mare, "Starlight," to minister
to the pleasure of a designing English widow, she one day quietly
appeared when the horse was driven round by Sarpy's black servant, and
ordered it taken to the stable, and enforced the order, too. But this is
another story.
In later years, as Sarpy's dominion ceased with the gradual decline of
the fur company, and he spent much of his time in St. Louis, Nikumi
lived with Mary, who had married an Indian like herself, with a mixture
of white blood in his veins, although he was French, and who occupied a
prominent position in one of the tribes to whom was given a distinct
reservation. From this mixture of English, French, and Indian bloods has
arisen a family which stands at the head of their tribe, and one member
who is known throughout this country. It is worthy of notice, too, that
with one exception it has been the women of the family who have shown
the qualities which gave them preÎminence.
Nikumi died March 23, 1888, at the home of her daughter Mary; but her
children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren live to show that
sometimes the mixture of races tends to development of the virtues, and
not, as has been so often said, of the vices of both races.
THE HEROINE OF THE JULES-SLADE TRAGEDY
BY MRS. HARRIET S. MACMURPHY
Our two weeks' ride over Iowa prairies was ended and we had reached our
new home in Nebraska. I sat in the buggy, a child of twelve, with my
three-year-old brother beside me, on the eastern bank of the Missouri
river, while father went down where the ferry boat lay, to make ready
for our crossing.
In the doorway of a log cabin near by stood a young girl two or three
years older than I. We gazed at each other shyly. She was bare-headed
and bare-footed, her cheeks tanned, and her abundant black hair
roughened with the wind, but her eyes were dark and her figure had the
grace of untrammeled out door life. To my girl's standard she did not
appeal, and I had not then the faintest conception of the romance and
tragedy of which she was the heroine.
We gazed at each other until father gave the signal for me to drive down
on the clumsy raft-like boat behind the covered half-wagon half-carriage
that held the other members of our family, which I did in fear and
trembling that did not cease until we had swung in and out as the boat
strained at the rope to which it was attached, the waters of the "Old
Muddy," the like of which I had never seen before, straining and drawing
it down with the current, and a fresh spasm of fear was added as we
reached the far shore and dropped off the boat with a thud down into the
soft bank. We had reached Decatur, our future Nebraska home, adjoining
the Indian reservation with its thousand Omahas.
For a long time I did not know anything further of the girl of the log
cabin by the river side, only that they told us the family were named
Keyou and the men were boatmen and fishermen and ran the ferry. This
first chapter of my little story opened in the spring of 1863.
Six years later my girlhood's romance brought marriage with my
home-coming soldier, who in his first days in the territory of Nebraska
had passed through many of the romantic events that a life among the
Indians would bring, among them clerking in a trading post with one
"Billy" Becksted, now the husband of my maiden of the riverside log
cabin. And Billy and John always continued the comradeship of the free,
happy, prairie hunting life, riding the "buckskin" ponies with which
they began life together, although they came together from very
different walks of life.
And I learned of my husband that "Addie," as we had learned to call her,
young as she was when first I saw her, had been the wife of a Frenchman
named Jules, after whom the town of Julesburg (Colorado) is named, and
his dreadful death at the hands of one Slade was one of the stock
stories of the plains well known to every early settler.
Billy and Addie after a time drifted away from Decatur down the river
and we lost sight of them.
We, too, left the home town and became residents of Plattsmouth.
One day my husband, returning from a trip in the country said, "I ran
across Billy and Addie Becksted today and they were so glad to see me
that Addie put her arms round me and kissed me, with tears in her eyes."
Later we learned with sorrow that Billy was drinking and then that he
had come down to Plattsmouth and tried to find my husband, who was out
of town and had gone back home and when almost there had taken a dose of
morphine, and they had found him unconscious and dying near their log
cabin under the bluffs half a mile above the Bellevue station. And my
husband really mourned that he had not been at home, perhaps to have
kept good-hearted Billy from his woeful fate. After a time Addie married
Elton, a brother of Billy's, and one Sunday I persuaded my husband to go
down to them in their cabin under the bluffs.
"I have always wanted to get Addie to tell me her story of her life with
Jules," I said.
"I don't believe you can get her to talk about it," said Mac, "she never
speaks of it, Elton says."
We went, and they were delighted to see us, killed the fatted chicken
and gathered for us some of the wild berries that grew in the bluffs,
and then as we sat under the trees with the bluff towering above us, I
asked her for the story of her girlhood's days out on the plains, when
only a single house that sheltered three or four people was her home,
and not another for many miles.
"I was just a child," she said, "and Jules was more like my father than
my husband. But there were few women in the country in those days and
Jules said to my parents that he would take good care of me, and so they
gave me to him, and they went on to Denver. He had a man and his wife to
take care of the place and do the work, and I just did whatever I wanted
to. We were on the great trail to California and Pike's Peak and trains
would come by and purchase supplies from us, so I did not get lonesome.
Jules had had some trouble with a man named Slade a few years before and
had shot Slade, but had taken him to Denver and put him in a hospital
and paid to have him cared for and Slade and he had made it all up, my
husband thought. Slade's ranch was further west and on the other side of
his ranch Jules had another ranch with cattle on, and one day he started
off with two or three men to bring some of the cattle back. He had been
told that Slade had threatened to kill him but he did not believe it,
although he went armed and with good men, he thought. This time he did
not take me along as he had the cattle to drive. When he got near
Slade's place Slade and his gang came down on Jules and his men,
shouting and shooting, drove off Jules' men, took him and carried him to
Slade's ranch. One of Jules' men followed them and saw them tie Jules up
to a great box and then Slade stood a ways off with his rifle and shot
at Jules, just missing his ear or his neck or his hand that was
stretched out and tied; sometimes hitting him just enough to draw the
blood. He kept this up all the rest of the day and then towards night he
fired a shot that killed him. The boys who were with Jules came back to
us and told us what had been done. We were so frightened we did not know
what to do at first, for we expected every minute that Slade and his
gang would come and kill us. They did come the next day and carried off
a lot of the stuff we had in the trading post but did not do any harm to
us. The man and his wife that were with us and the boys then got a team
together and put enough stuff into the wagon to do us until we could get
to Denver. All the rest and the cattle I guess Slade got. Jules had
money in some bank in Denver, he had always said, but we never could
find it. I found my folks and after a while we came back here where we
had lived before we went to Denver."
She told her story in the simplest commonplace manner, but it did not
need any addition of word or gesture to paint on my memory for all time
the pathos beneath.
A girl of fourteen, happy and care-free under the protection of her
father husband one day, putting him in the place of father, and mother,
trusting to him, and suddenly standing beside the rude trading post way
out on the treeless spaces of the trail that seemed to come from
solitude and lead away to it again, and listening to the story of the
frightened cowboy on his broncho whose almost unintelligible words
finally made her understand that her protector, the kind man she had
learned to love, had died a death so horrible it would make the
strongest man shudder. And with only three or four frightened,
irresponsible people to save her, perhaps from a similar or worse fate?
But the women of the plains had but little childhood, and must act the
part that came to them no matter what it might be.
Afterward she told me more of her strange life with Jules, of his
fatherly, protecting care of her, of his good heart, of the trouble with
Slade, which was Slade's fault in the first place, and it was plain to
see the ideal that had always been cherished way down in her
subconsciousness of the man who played such an eventful but brief part
in her life. It was a wrong, perhaps, but natural feeling to have when I
found by after reading of annals of the plains that Slade died the death
that such a fiendish nature should have suffered.
Addie Becksted still lives in a little cabin down among the hills about
Bellevue, her children and grandchildren about her, and still bears
traces of the beauty that was hers as a girl. She is only about ten
miles distant from Omaha but has not visited it for years.
When I go to see her, as I do occasionally, she puts her arms about me
and kisses me on the cheek. And her still bright brown eyes look the
affection of all the years and events that we have known together.
It is well worth while to have these humble friends who have lived
through the pioneer days with us.
THE LAST ROMANTIC BUFFALO HUNT ON THE PLAINS OF NEBRASKA
BY JOHN LEE WEBSTER
In the autumn of 1872 a group of men, some of whom were then prominent
in Nebraska history, Judge Elmer S. Dundy and Colonel Watson B. Smith,
and one who afterward achieved national fame as an American explorer,
Lieutenant Frederick Schwatka, and another who has since become known
throughout Europe and America as a picturesque character and showman,
Colonel Wm. F. Cody, participated in what proved to be the last romantic
buffalo hunt upon the western plains of the state of Nebraska.
Elmer S. Dundy was a pioneer who had come to Nebraska in 1857. He had
been a member of the territorial legislature for two successive terms;
he was appointed a territorial judge in 1863, and became the first
United States district judge after the admission of the state into the
union. Colonel Watson B. Smith at that time held the office of clerk of
the United States district and circuit courts for the district of
Nebraska. Some years afterward he met a tragic death by being shot
(accidentally or by assassination) in the corridors of the federal
building in the city of Omaha. Colonel Smith was a lovable man, of the
highest unimpeachable integrity and a most efficient public officer.
There was also among the number James Neville, who at that time held the
office of United States attorney and who afterward became a judge of the
district court of Douglas county. He added zest, vim, and spirit by
reason of some personal peculiarities to be mentioned later on.
These men, with the writer of this sketch, were anxious to have the
experience and the enjoyment of the stimulating excitement of
participating in a buffalo hunt before those native wild animals of the
plains should become entirely extinct. To them it was to be a romantic
incident in their lives and long to be remembered as an event of pioneer
days. They enjoyed the luxury of a pullman car from Omaha to North
Platte, which at that time was little more than a railway station at
a division point upon the Union Pacific, and where was also located a
military post occupied by a battalion of United States cavalry.
[Illustration: MEMORIAL FOUNTAIN
Erected in Antelope Park, Lincoln, Nebraska, by Deborah Avery Chapter,
Daughters of the American Revolution, in memory of Mary M. A. Stevens,
First Regent of the Chapter (1896-1898). Dedicated, June 17, 1914. Cost
$300]
Lieutenant Frederick Schwatka, a regular army officer and American
explorer, at one time commanded an arctic expedition in search of traces
of the remains of Dr. Franklin. At another time he was in command of an
exploring expedition of the Yukon river. At another time he commanded an
expedition into the northernmost regions of Alaska in the interest of
the New York _Times_. He also became a writer and the author of three
quite well known books: _Along Alaska's Great River_, _Nimrod in the
North_, and _Children of the Cold_.
At the time of which we are speaking Lieutenant Schwatka was stationed
at the military post at North Platte. He furnished us with the necessary
army horses and equipment for the hunting expedition, and he himself
went along in command of a squad of cavalry which acted as an escort to
protect us if need be when we should get into the frontier regions where
the Indians were at times still engaged in the quest of game and
sometimes in unfriendly raids.
William F. Cody, familiarly known as "Buffalo Bill," who had already
achieved a reputation as a guide and hunter and who has since won a
world reputation as a showman, went along with us as courier and chief
hunter. He went on similar expeditions into the wilder regions of
Wyoming with General Phil Sheridan, the Grand Duke Alexis, and others
quite equally celebrated.
This Omaha group of amateur buffalo hunters, led by Buffalo Bill and
escorted by Lieutenant Schwatka and his squad of cavalry, rode on the
afternoon of the first day from North Platte to Fort McPherson and there
camped for the night with the bare earth and a blanket for a bed and a
small army tent for shelter and cover.
On the next morning after a rude army breakfast, eaten while we sat
about upon the ground, and without the luxury of a bath or a change of
wearing apparel, this cavalcade renewed its journey in a southwesterly
direction expecting ultimately to reach the valley of the Republican. We
consumed the entire day in traveling over what seemed almost a barren
waste of undulating prairie, except where here and there it was broken
by a higher upland and now and then crossed by a ravine and
occasionally by a small stream of running water, along the banks of
which might be found a small growth of timber. The visible area of the
landscape was so great that it seemed boundless--an immense wilderness
of space, and the altitude added to the invigorating and stimulating
effect of the atmosphere.
We amateurs were constantly in anticipation of seeing either wild
animals or Indians that might add to the spirit and zest of the
expedition. There were no habitations, no fields, no farms. There was
the vast expanse of plain in front of us ascending gradually westward
toward the mountains with the blue sky and sunshine overhead. I do not
recollect of seeing more than one little cabin or one little pioneer
ranch during that whole day's ride. I do know that as the afternoon wore
on those of us who were amateur horsemen were pleased to take our turns
as the opportunity offered of riding in the army wagon which carried our
supplies, and leading our horses.
When the shades of night of the second day had come we had seen many
antelope and now and then heard the cry of the coyote and the wolf but
we had not seen any sign of buffalo, but we did receive information from
some cattlemen or plain wanderers that there was a band of roving
Indians in that vicinity which created in us a feeling of some
anxiety--not so much for our personal safety as that our horses might be
stolen and we be left in these remote regions without the necessary
facilities for traveling homeward.
Our camp for the night was made upon a spot of low ground near the bank
of a small creek which was bordered by hills on either side and
sheltered by a small grove of timber near at hand. The surrounding hills
would cut off the sight of the evening camp fires, and the timber would
obscure the ascending columns of smoke as they spread into space through
the branches of the trees.
The horses were picketed near the camp around the commissary wagon and
Lieutenant Schwatka placed the cavalrymen upon sentinel duty. The night
was spent with some restlessness and sleep was somewhat disturbed in
anticipation of a possible danger, and I believe that all of us rather
anxiously awaited the coming of the morning with the eastern sunlight
that we might be restored to that feeling of security that would come
with freedom of action and the opportunity for "preparedness." When
morning did come we had the pleasure of greeting each other with
pleasant smiles and a feeling of happy contentment. We had not been
molested by the Indians and our military sentinels had not seen them.
On the afternoon of the third day of our march into the wilderness we
reached the farther margin of a high upland of the rim of a plain, where
we had an opportunity of looking down over a large area of bottom land
covered by vegetation and where there appeared to be signs of water.
From this point of vantage we discovered a small herd of browsing
buffalo but so far away from us as to be beyond rifle range. These
animals were apparently so far away from civilization or human
habitation of any kind that their animal instinct gave them a feeling of
safety and security.
We well knew that these animals could scent the approach of men and
horses even when beyond the line of vision. We must study the currents
of the air and plan our maneuvers with the utmost caution if we expected
to be able to approach within any reasonable distance without being
first discovered by them.
We intrusted ourselves to the guidance of Buffalo Bill, whose experience
added to his good judgment, and so skilfully did he conduct our
maneuvers around the hills and up and down ravines that within an hour
we were within a reasonable distance of these wild animals before they
discovered us, and then the chase began. It was a part of the plan that
we should surround them but we were prudently cautioned by Mr. Cody that
a buffalo could run faster for a short distance than our horses.
Therefore we must keep far enough away so that if the buffalo should
turn toward any of us we could immediately turn and flee in the opposite
direction as fast as our horses could carry us.
I must stop for a moment to recite a romantic incident which made this
buffalo chase especially picturesque and amusing. Judge Neville had been
in the habit of wearing in Omaha a high silk hat and a full dress coat
(in common parlance a spiketail). He started out on this expedition
wearing this suit of clothes and without any change of garments to wear
on the hunt. So it came about that when this group of amateur buffalo
huntsmen went riding pell-mell over the prairies after the buffalo, and
likewise when pursued by them in turn, Judge Neville sat astride his
running war-horse wearing his high silk hat and the long flaps of his
spiketail coat floating out behind him on the breeze as if waving a
farewell adieu to all his companions. He presented a picture against the
horizon that does not have its parallel in all pioneer history.
It was entirely impossible for us inexperienced buffalo hunters while
riding galloping horses across the plains to fire our rifles with any
degree of accuracy. Suffice it to say we did not succeed in shooting any
buffalo and I don't now even know that we tried to do so. We were too
much taken up with the excitement of the chase and of being chased in
turn. At one time we were the pursuers and at another time we were being
pursued, but the excitement was so intense that there was no limit to
our enjoyment or enthusiasm.
Buffalo Bill furnished us the unusual and soul-stirring amusement of
that afternoon. He took it upon himself individually to lasso the
largest bull buffalo of the herd while the rest of us did but little
more than to direct the course of the flight of these wild animals, or
perhaps, more correctly expressed--to keep out of their way. It did not
take Buffalo Bill very long to lasso the large bull buffalo as his fleet
blooded horse circled around the startled wild animal. When evening came
we left the lassoed buffalo out on the plains solitary and alone,
lariated to a stake driven into the ground so firmly that we felt quite
sure he could not escape. It is my impression that we captured a young
buffalo out of the small herd, which we placed in a corral found in that
vicinity.
On the following morning we went out upon the plains to get the lassoed
buffalo and found that in his efforts to break away he had broken one of
his legs. We were confronted with the question whether we should let the
animal loose upon the prairies in his crippled condition or whether it
would be a more merciful thing to shoot him and put him out of his pain
and suffering. Buffalo Bill solved the vexatious problem by concluding
to lead the crippled animal over to the ranchman's house and there he
obtained such instruments as he could, including a butcher knife, a
hand-saw, and a bar of iron. He amputated the limb of the buffalo above
the point of the break in the bone and seared it over with a hot iron to
close the artery and prevent the animal from bleeding to death. The
surgical operation thus rudely performed upon this big, robust wild
animal of the prairie seemed to be quite well and successfully
performed. The buffalo was then left in the ranchman's corral with the
understanding that he would see it was well fed and watered.
We were now quite a way from civilization and near the Colorado border
line, and notwithstanding our subsequent riding over the hills and
uplands during the following day we did not discover any other buffalo
and those which had gotten away from us on the preceding day could not
be found. During that day we turned northward, and I can remember that
about noon we came to a cattleman's ranch where for the first time since
our start on the journey we sat down to a wooden table in a log cabin
for our noonday meal. During the afternoon we traveled northward as
rapidly as our horses could carry us but night came on when we were
twenty miles or more southwest of Fort McPherson and we found it again
necessary to go into camp for the night, sleeping in the little army
tents which we carried along with us in the commissary wagon.
Colonel Cody on this journey had been riding his own private horse--a
beautiful animal, capable of great speed. I can remember quite well that
Mr. Cody said that he never slept out at night when within twenty miles
of his own home. He declined to go into camp with us but turned his
horse to the northward and gave him the full rein and started off at a
rapid gallop over the plains, expecting to reach his home before the
hour of midnight. It seemed to us that it would be a desolate, dreary,
lonesome and perilous ride over the solitude of that waste of country,
without roads, without lights, without sign boards or guides, but
Buffalo Bill said he knew the direction from the stars and that he would
trust his good horse to safely carry him over depressions and ravines
notwithstanding the darkness of the night. So on he sped northward
toward his home.
On the next day we amateur buffalo hunters rode on to Fort McPherson and
thence to North Platte where we returned our army horses to the military
post with a debt of gratitude to Lieutenant Schwatka, who at all times
had been generous, courteous, and polite to us, as well as an
interesting social companion.
So ended the last romantic and rather unsuccessful buffalo hunt over the
western plains of the state of Nebraska--a region then desolate, arid,
barren, and almost totally uninhabited, but today a wealthy and
productive part of our state.