ON THE WESTERN PLAINS--SOME OF OUR EXPERIENCES
When we reached the other side, we were in Indian territory, or what is
now known as Nebraska, and a short distance north from where Omaha now
is. At this place, uncle Joshua impressed on our minds the danger of an
attack by the Indians and told us to make plenty of bullets and have our
guns well loaded to protect ourselves. Up to this time, I had seen only
two Indians. One of them was a squaw named Gripteth, on this side of the
Wabash River in Warren County, Indiana. The other one I came upon lying
in the grass south of Cainsville, wrapped up in a red blanket. The way
uncle talked I thought that we would have to fight our way through. The
imagination pictured out every bunch of grass or object in the distance
as Indians, but coming closer, we found that we were always
unnecessarily alarmed. The scare over meeting Indians gradually wore
off, and when we came to the Indians, or rather, when they came to us, I
was not as afraid of them as I was of the wolves.
We followed the Indian trail until we came to the Elkhorn River and
there we crossed on a willow brush bridge. These bridges lay flat on the
water and I did not find out how they were fastened to the banks. Before
we reached California, we had crossed over several of them.
We kept a southwest course, following the trail and reached the Platte
River, which we followed on the north side. We had traveled about 200
miles in Nebraska. We heard cannons firing and we knew that we were near
Fort Kearney and that they were celebrating the Fourth of July.
Uncle Joshua, on a fine bay blooded mare which he had brought from
Wisconsin, forded the river after a life and death struggle with the
treacherous quick sands along the banks, and managed, by wading and
swimming the horse, to get across the river.
After arriving on the opposite bank, he waved his hat in token of his
success and started for the fort. He carried with him a seven shot Colts
rifle and a five caliber Colts revolver. When uncle reached Fort
Kearney, as we afterwards learned, he found that the Illinois train had
passed through there two weeks before. Uncle took up the trail and after
following for ten days, he overtook them on the south side of the North
Platte, a short distance on this side of Fort Laramie near the
Wyoming-Nebraska line, at a place called Ash Hollow. The river was
forded and the cattle, sheep and horses were now on the right bank of
the river.
The night after uncle had left the camp, we were camped near the river
on some ground which was level and smooth. Aunt and her two children,
Henry and Ellen, were with her in one of the tents. During the night
there was a heavy rain or water spout. I was lying on the ground with my
boots and coat under my head, and I was awakened by the water which had
partly covered my body. I heard aunt crying and calling: "Where is
Henry? I can't find Henry."
I started to go to her and got into deeper water and realized the water
was raising very fast. I reached aunt, who was holding the little girl
in her arms and she was hysterical about the boy. I heard a splash and
following the direction of the sound in the darkness, I got my hand on
his head and lifted him out of the water. I took aunt and the children
to a covered wagon, where we stayed until morning. The water had raised
until it was two and one-half feet deep, when it began to go down and by
morning it was all gone. We were not able to understand where so much
water came from so quickly or where it had gone, as the river was about
a mile from the camp.
We broke camp and trailed on westward on the north side of the river,
and after several days, we met uncle, who was returning from overtaking
the Illinois train. He had halted them at Ash Hollow, near Fort Laramie.
We finally reached their camp and for the first time after about a
thousand miles' travel, the two trains were united.
It will be remembered that the junction place was to be Independence,
Missouri, but the meeting place turned out to be in the borders of
Wyoming. The two herds made 1500 sheep and 500 cattle and we were on the
borders of the rough and tumble freaks of nature near the foot hills of
the great Rockies.
After we had passed Fort Kearney in the month of July, we saw great
herds of Buffalo going north. At times as we looked across the Platte
River, we could see countless numbers of them and the earth would be
black with them for miles. The droves would travel in "V" shape, with
the leaders at the point. When a drove would cross the river toward us,
it was necessary to use the utmost care in order that our cattle would
not stampede. We would herd our cattle up close and get out with our
guns and by shooting and holloing, we were able to turn the buffalo in a
direction away from our cattle.
We came to high grounds, once, where there was excellent grazing and we
stopped there for the day, to let the cattle and stock take advantage of
the good grass. While we were eating our dinner, two Indians came riding
up, with two of the finest spotted ponies I had ever seen. They got off
and were holding them with a sort of a lariat, as they had no bridles,
when Bart Robins, one of the men with us, made the Indians understand by
signs, that he wanted to ride one of the ponies.
He mounted one of them and rode away to round some of the cattle which
were straying. When Bart first started off, they did not care, but when
they saw him circle away from the main herd, they evidently thought that
he was running away with it, and one of them jumped on the other pony,
fixed an arrow to his bow and started in pursuit. By yelling as loud as
we could, we attracted the attention of Bart and motioned for him to
circle back to camp. By keeping a circle, he kept out of shooting
distance of the bow, and arrived in camp safe, but somewhat frightened
over his experience. The Indians got on their ponies and left.
Two or three days after this incident, a chief and about twenty of his
tribe, came to us and after a pow-wow, they sat down in a row and uncle
understanding the maneuver, had as many of the men sit down facing them,
as there were Indians. The chief lit his tomahock pipe, took a puff,
passed it to uncle, who did the same. The order pursued, was that the
chief would hand it to one of the Indians; the pipe would be returned to
him, and he would hand it to uncle, who would give it to one of the men,
who would return it to uncle, and uncle would give it back to the chief.
The order was maintained until all the men and Indians had a puff at the
pipe. When the program was over, the chief arose and said, "How!" and he
and the Indians took their departure. This was the "pipe of peace" and
meant that they would do us no harm, and we were not to harm them.
Evidently this visit was to clear up the misunderstanding concerning the
pony incident.
A rule had been made and understood by the men that there was to be no
quarreling or fighting in the camp. It is unfortunate in camp life,
especially on a trail far west, to have enmity in the camp. Tom Brooks,
who was one of the cooks, was a crabbed fellow. James Greek was an
orphan boy, who had made his home with uncle for several years, and who
one day killed a big buffalo.
In order to preserve the meat, it was put through a process of jerking,
which was to cut it into strips to be dried by the sun or by heating. We
had made a scaffold by putting forked sticks in the ground and by laying
sticks across in them, had made a platform about the fire. After the
fire became a bed of charcoal, the meat was laid on the cross sticks to
roast and dry.
James, who was a good natured chap of eighteen years of age, and having
killed the buffalo, helped himself to a piece of the meat. Tom Brooks
ordered him to put the meat back, which he refused to do, Tom jumping
onto him and beat him, until his face was black with the beating. The
sympathy of the camp was with Jim and Tom lost the respect of the camp
by his bullying disposition. Uncle was restrained from taking a hand in
the matter, as he could not afford to lose any of his helpers.
One day when uncle and aunt rode ahead to pick out a camping place, he
had instructed us to drive the cattle to the left side of the trail as
we were nearing alkali water, which was unfit for the stock to drink. He
had given us wrong instructions, for instead of driving them away from
the danger, we drove them to where they drank the injurious water. As a
result, we lost, with what we had killed for beef, about 250 head of
cattle. If the sheep drank any of the water, they were not affected.
In the herd of cattle we had left, were forty or fifty milk cows, some
of them fresh and we had plenty of milk. The boys all milked except Wm.
Nailor, who could not, but had made arrangements with the other boys to
take his place and he would do some of their work in exchange.
One day, Nailor, who was in the rear of the train, came in late for
dinner. It was customary for every one to have a cup of milk for dinner,
and he held out his cup to Tom, the cook, for his milk. Tom, after the
others had eaten, poured the milk out on the ground and said to Nailor,
"No man who wont milk, can drink milk."
Nailor replied that he had made arrangement for others to milk in his
place and that it was none of Tom's business. Angry words followed and
Tom took a run at Nailor, butting him in the stomach. Nailor was knocked
down, and in falling, his head struck the wheel of a wagon, cutting a
gash in his scalp. This ended the fight and Tom, after this, was meaner
than ever, as he had whipped Nailor, who had some reputation as a
fighter.
It has been over sixty years since these events took place, but I
distinctly remember another of the mean tricks of the cook. Tom had a
way of cutting out of a side of bacon, the best part, leaving the
balance for the family. My aunt spoke to him about it and with an oath,
he told my aunt to attend to her own business. Such insolence was
endured for the time being, but later Tom paid the penalty, the story of
which will be told later.
I remember at one place where we camped late at night, that when we
awoke the next morning, we discovered two graves side by side. Near the
graves was an endgate of a wagon on which was cut with a knife, the
words, "Do not camp here."
Evidently it was a dangerous place to camp on account of the Indians and
the graves were mute testimony of that fact. The graves were lined with
large rocks or bowlders, and over the top there were also rocks to
protect the bodies from wolves. However, the wolves had dug down on one
side deeper than the graves and dislodged some of the rocks and got the
bodies. Some of the human bones were on the ground where the wolves left
them after picking off the flesh.
We followed the headwaters of the North Platte, which flowed to the
east, and leaving this river, we soon arrived at the headwaters of the
Sweet River, whose waters flow westward into the Green River and on
through the Columbia River to the Pacific. If you will take your atlas
and find Fort Laramie on the Platte River, and follow it until you come
to Casper, and then skirt the Rattlesnake hills on the north, you will
reach the Sweet Water River near what is now called Independence Rock
and Slit Rock.
The Sweet River Mountains will be on your south and the Wind Mountains
on the north, as you cross between, through South Pass along the banks
of the beautiful river Sweet Water. We saw the Chimney Rock which stood
out by itself like a chimney after the house had burned. I think that it
must be what is now called Independence Rock, which name is very
appropriate. Also there was the Court House Rock, called that because of
the rooms in it as if someone had cut rooms into the soft rock. There
was the Devil's Gate, which was a massive ridge of rock, through which
the river, some time in the dim past, had apparently drilled, and
through the ages, disposed of the rock above, until a deep and
straight-faced canyon greeted the "Path Finder" of other centuries.
We camped here for a day and others of the camp discovered a beautiful
pool of water jutting out from the river. The water was clear as crystal
and we could see in the water the most beautiful fish that I had ever
seen. They were spotted or speckled and all about the same size--about
twenty inches long. They were the speckled trout so much prized by the
anglers of today.
We took one of uncle's wagon covers, tied a log chain to one side along
the edge; tied a rope on the other side; got some tent poles and tied
them to the end of the cover. We were going to seine this pool of water,
when uncle came down to where we were and wanted to know what we were
doing. We told him that we were going to seine the pool and catch some
of those fine fish.
He said, "You can't catch fish with a wagon cover. You will only tear my
cover to pieces and catch no fish. I don't want my cover torn up. I will
need it."
We told him we would not hurt his wagon cover, but he forbade us using
it. We told him that we had it fixed and we were going to make one haul
any how, and show him we could catch fish with a wagon cover. Uncle got
out of humor, but we did that once as we pleased. We went in with our
seine at the upper end of the pool and dragged down to the lower end,
where there was a nice gravel riffle, a nice place to pull out on the
side. We boys had seined with uncle John's wagon cover in Elkrun in
Ohio, and we understood the business. In the first haul, we had a lot of
the finest kind of fish and uncle's wagon cover was not damaged.
Uncle was so surprised to see such a lot at one drag, that he told the
men to unyoke the oxen, and that they could dress and fry fish the rest
of the day. We caught all the fish they all wanted and as many as they
wanted to take along.