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CHAPTER III
MOVE
TO NEBRASKA--MOVE TO
THE BIG
BLUE
RIVER--OUR
HOUSE--
HUNTING ELK--EXPERIENCE
WITH THE
INDIANS--THE
FIRST
RELIGIOUS MEETINGS
ON THE
BLUE VALLEY
IN BUTLER
COUNTY.
LEAVING Kansas, or the
Kansas Plains, in the year 1862, we moved to Nebraska, where we
have since made our home. Our first stopping-place in the State
was on Salt Creek, in Lancaster County, not far from where the
city of Lincoln now stands. Coming to the country late in the
season, the only work we could find was picking corn for some of
the farmers who had preceded us to this part of the West. After
providing a sufficient supply of grain to carry us and our teams
through the winter, we moved out on the valley of the Big Blue
River, in Butler County, and settled near where the town of
Ulysses now stands. There we took claims, intending the place
should be our future home. The first house we occupied in that
wild country was a trapper's shanty, con-
60
sisting of a hole in the ground, covered with poles, grass, and
dirt. Our company was composed of three men, one woman, and a
child.
Our house being only about ten feet square,
we found it very small quarters for five persons to winter in; but
as the early settlers, in their small houses, could always find
room for one more, we had ample room for any traveler who might
seek shelter under our roof.
Having nothing to do, and living so far from
neighbors, time seemed to move exceedingly slow. However, some of
our time was occupied in hunting the elk and trapping the beaver,
both of which abounded in that locality. In this way we got a
supply of meat to drive away hunger, and furs to keep us warm.
One bright, beautiful day, such as is often
seen in Nebraska, brother Richard and I went in search of game,
thinking to have some sport and also replenish the larder. After
several miles' travel, we discovered a small herd of elks
leisurely feeding on the dry grass. Being so far out on the broad,
open prairie, it was difficult to get within gunshot of them; but
by crawling on the ground like a tortoise for nearly
half a mile, we got near enough to shoot them. By this time
they had all lain down, thus making a very poor target to shoot
at. To make sure of our game, we decided to remain flat on the
ground until some of them should rise. After we had been lying
thus perhaps for an hour, two of them arose to their feet,
stretched themselves, and stood broadside toward us. We fired, and
brought them both to the ground. We were now some eight or ten
miles from home, with the sun nearly down. To leave our game
unguarded during the night was only to abandon it for the wolves
to devour; so it was determined that I should remain on guard
during the night, while my brother went home after the team. You
may be sure I had a lonely time that night; for the hungry wolves
all about me kept up a continual howling, as if they would come
and force me from my post. The next morning, bright and early, we
were on our way home with a good supply of elk meat.
During our stay in that lonely place we found
far more Indians than white men. The former frequently came to our
house, sometimes
for the purpose of begging, and sometimes just for a friendly
call. Some of them were kind and trusty, but a large majority of
them would plunder, steal, and lie. By frequently coming in
contact with them, we learned some of their Indian ways. Among
other things, we learned something about their laws in regard to
married life. They practice polygamy, some of them having two or
more wives. If a young man had no pony, he could have no wife. If
he had one pony, he was entitled to one wife; but if he was the
owner of two or more ponies he could have at least two wives. The
men seemed well pleased with such laws, but the women hated them
with the most bitter hatred. One of the squaws said to a white
man: "Chacl stocok [white man] heap good; he have one
wife. Pawnee [yellow man] no good; he have two wives." A
young chief by the name of Peter Warnxty frequented our place,
often bringing his two wives, who were sisters. Those wives were
so bitter against each other that the husband was compelled to
provide them with separate tents in order to prevent bloodshed,
and possibly the death of one of his wives.
At one time we invited the young chief and
his wives to come and take supper with us. At the appointed time
came Peter and his newlywedded wife, leaving the other at home. We
asked him why he did not bring his other wife. He said, "0, they
won't both go with me at the same time."
The last time those Indians visited our place
we did them many little favors, and they seemed exceedingly
friendly; but on leaving us they stole all the little things they
could get their hands on, and drove off one of our horses. Thus
you see how kindness wrought upon their unenlightened consciences.
Some of the settlers who came to Nebraska still earlier than we
related to us some of their troubles with the "red-skins,"
somewhere, on Salt Creek, in Lancaster County. They said thieving
and murdering bands often passed through that locality, giving the
settlers a great deal of trouble. On one occasion, in the absence
of the family, they broke into a man's house, and gathered up all
the meat he had stored away for the winter, and made off with it.
But before they had gone far, the theft was discovered, the alarm
was
given, and the whole community rose up in arms and followed
them in hot pursuit. Overtaking them, they punished them severely,
beating some down with clubs and axes, and giving others a sound
flogging. On another occasion, while the Indians were in the same
locality, and the whites were having trouble with them, during the
night, an old "buck" Indian crawled up into the branches of a
large tree, which almost overshadowed the door of a white man's
house, intending to murder him as soon as he should emerge from
his door in the morning. Unhappily, however, for the would-be
murderer, the first thing the settler did after getting out of
bed, was to look through the window and discover Mr. Indian
sitting on his perch among the branches of the tree. Lifting the
window sufficiently to poke his gun out through the opening, he
fired, leaving one savage less to disturb the quiet of that
neighborhood. After this fatal incident, the Red Men left that
locality in peaceable possession of the white settlers.
After winter had passed with its cold, stormy
winds, and the warm sun had brought new life to earth, we set to
work building houses and
5
making general preparation for the cultivation of the soil on
our claims.
In the summer of 1863 our parents came, and
settled near us, making now eight souls in that lonely place. Our
youngest brother, who came with our parents, composed one of the
number. We were about thirty miles from any other settler, and no
post-office nor trading point nearer than that. Having no
neighbors, and no religious gatherings or Church privileges, we
soon tired of our condition in that then wild and desolate
country. As there was no religious service within reach of us, we
determined to have something of the kind in father's house on
Sunday; and I think I can safely say that the first religious
gathering in that part of Butler County was in the summer of 1863,
when father gathered his own family, at his own residence, to
worship the Lord. I am quite sure that we were, at least, the
first white settlers to sound the praises and glory of God in that
part of the Big Blue Valley. Becoming dissatisfied with our
situation, in the fall of 1863 we all moved to Gage County, near
Beatrice, and left our claims for others who
might come and occupy them. In Gage County we found the white
man's schools and churches. We now began farming in earnest,
looking forward to times of plenty, comfort, and ease; but our
expectations have not yet been realized.
Nebraska, like all other countries, has its
drawbacks. Sometimes we have dry weather, sometimes hot winds, and
sometimes the grasshoppers have eaten us out. All of these things
combined made it doubly hard for the first settlers of Nebraska.
We have seen the grasshoppers coming in clouds, having the
appearance of an approaching snowstorm. Sometimes they poured down
upon us like hail out of a dark storm-cloud, covering the ground
in a few minutes. No one who has not seen the ravages of those
hungry pests can know how destructive they are. We have known of
their alighting on a field of corn nearly a foot high, and taking
a twenty-acre piece in less than three hours' time, leaving it as
bare as though it had never been planted.
Sometimes the dry weather and the ravages of
the 'hoppers occasioned great scarcity and very high prices, and
the homesteaders
were much straitened for food. I have known families who are
now in good circumstances to sit down to a table with but little
more than boiled wheat and potatoes for a meal. I call to mind one
winter in the early days of Gage County, when there was a scant
supply of provisions throughout the country, and about all the
people obtained was drawn with teams from somewhere on the
Missouri River. At the time to which I refer the merchants who
supplied the community with the necessaries of life were very
scantily furnished with provisions, and they sent out teams for a
new supply. Soon after they were gone, there came a heavy
snowfall, blockading the roads and detaining the teams long past
their allotted time. Because of this delay, food became scarce,
and men grew desperate and impatient; and you know that a hungry
man is soon out of patience anyway. After almost giving up the
arrival of the teams in despair, some of the men concluded they
would rather eat coon-meat than starve; so out they sallied for a
coon-hunt, and their efforts were rewarded with three nice coons.
Their game was nicely dressed and as nicely
cooked, and all who were so fortunate as to be permitted to
partake of the feast declared the first coon very good. When they
began to eat the second coon, it was not so good, and the third
was very poor eating indeed. One of the men, in describing his
experience, said, "One coon is very good eating, two coons are not
so good, and I can not go the third coon at all." However, I
should think that a real hungry man might relish even the third
coon.
CHAPTER IV
THE GENERAL SLAUGHTER OF
THE SETTLERS ON
LITTLE BLUE
RIVER IN 1864.
IN the fall of 1864 my
brother Richard and I purchased a mowing-machine, and went up the
Little Blue Valley as far as Spring Ranch, in Clay County, where
we contracted to cut forty tons of hay for James Bainter, the
owner of the ranch. We had been there but a few days when it was
rumored that farther west, on the road, the Indians were stealing
horses and killing the travelers on the highway. Being used to
Indian scares, at first we paid no attention to the report. The
country being thinly settled, we knew, if the Indians should make
a raid upon the people, they could take the entire country with
little trouble and loss to themselves.
All the settlements there at that time were
along the Blue River; and from where the town of Alexandria now
stands as far west as Spring
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Ranch the country was occupied only by ranchmen, ranging from
five to ten miles apart. There was a great deal of travel over
this wagon road from St. Joseph to Denver, and still farther west;
and especially at this time of the year it was literally lined
with teams, carrying either emigrants or freight to the Western
market. Notwithstanding there were so many men on the road, they
were poorly prepared to protect themselves if attacked by the
Indians. Among forty or fifty men, probably not more than five or
six pieces of firearms could be found. The men, expecting no
trouble on leaving home, had made no preparation for
self-defense.
Rumors continued coming from the West that
the Indians were committing depredations all along the highway;
and Richard and I, concluding there was danger of an attack at any
time, planned accordingly. We had three horses with us, two of
which we thought were very fleet. Our plan was as follows: We were
making hay up the valley about two miles from the ranch. We
determined that, at the first sight of an Indian, we would mount
the two best horses, and fly for our lives, leaving the third
horse to follow or be captured. Some of the ranchmen thought
there was danger, while others laughed at the idea. On telling our
plan to some of them, they laughed and said, "We will not run if
the Indians do come; for all we have in this world is here, and if
it goes down, we will go with it." You know, some men are good
choppers in time of harvest and good swimmers in the dead of
winter. So with these men. They were exceedingly brave when they
thought there was no danger, but not so brave when danger came, as
the sequel will show.
The Indian excitement somewhat abated, and we
began to feel quite easy. On Sunday, the seventh day of August, we
went down the road about a mile to Pawnee Ranch, which was then
kept by a Mr. Medcalf, and were invited to spend the day. The
forepart of the day was spent in eating melons and in general
conversation. The weather was calm, warm, and beautiful, and there
was a great deal of travel on the road; for the people out here
paid little attention to Sunday. About twelve o'clock, or soon
after, Father Comstock, having come from a ranch not far from old
Fort Kearney, was on
the way to his own home at Oak Grove Ranch, perhaps a distance
of forty miles. Soon after his arrival the women began to prepare
dinner, and the men fell into conversation about the Indians.
About half past three o'clock dinner was called. While the company
were at the table, some remarks were made about the Indians making
a general attack along the road. But as rumors were not so
frightful as in the past, we concluded there was no cause for fear
at the present time. Soon after dinner, and after Father Comstock
had departed, some one chanced to step to the door, and saw three
Indians passing the house on horseback. Rushing to the door, we
saw they were advancing toward a lone man coming up the road with
a load of corn. At a glance we saw they intended to murder him.
Brother and I went with all possible haste to the barn for our
horses, hoping we might rescue and save the man's life. On
entering the barn we found the harness on our horses, which caused
some delay. By the time the harness was stripped from the horses,
and we were mounted and at the house receiving firearms, the
Indians had shot
and were scalping the unfortunate man, who had fallen from his
wagon into the dusty road. As we started from the house, the
savages mounted their ponies, and were off like an arrow. Brother
and I followed them into the hills, and soon lost sight of them.
At first we were able to keep pace with them, and did shorten the
distance between them and ourselves, until we began to climb the
hillside, when they flew away from us like birds. Wheeling about,
we returned, making as good, and perhaps even better, time than
when chasing the Indians; for we thought others might be lying in
ambush, and cut off our retreat. On reaching the wounded man, we
found some of the men from the ranch there, ministering to him as
best they could. On examining the wound, it was discovered that
the ball had entered the back part of his head and come out
through the mouth, inflicting a mortal wound. Notwithstanding his
wound was fatal, he could talk, and seemed quite conscious. Some
of the men knew him, and said, "It is Burk, from Beatrice."
Beatrice was our home town, not far from our farm. So I
thought
Mr. Burk would recognize me, and said to him, "Mr. Burk, do you
know me?" After learning my name, he said, "Yes, I do."
The poor fellow fell from his wagon, and lay
there wallowing in the dust, moaning with pain. When he fell from
the wagon, his team took fright and ran to the ranch. Brother and
I took his horses, hitched them to our wagon, and, with the help
of other men, brought him to the house. After getting him into the
wagon, he insisted that we should not move him until he was dead,
begging us to let him alone.
He was cared for the very best under the
circumstances. But we knew he must die, and that soon. just before
the going down of the sun his spirit took its flight. Only three
days before this awful deed this man left his wife and children,
expecting to return to them in a short time. But they will never
see him on this side of eternity; for he is still sleeping in his
lonely grave by the roadside. In all probability, it was more than
a week before his family knew of their loss. There being no
coffin, and nothing out of which to make one, he was wrapped
in
his own blankets, and laid away to await the resurrection,
where all things shall be made right.
We were now thoroughly aroused and on guard.
All the available guns were taken from their dusty racks, where
they had lain unused for weeks. They were cleaned, scoured, and
put in order for immediate use. Looking for an attack any moment,
we therefore made every possible preparation for defense. After
all things were ready for a bloody conflict, we retired for the
night. He who has lain and watched for and expected an attack from
the bloodthirsty tribes may know something of our anxiety that
night. Morning came, bright, clear, and beautiful, with no sign of
the enemy anywhere, though we thought they were somewhere
near.
After an early breakfast, we returned to
Spring Ranch, and, after packing away some of Mr. Bainter's
things, we loaded a wagon with provisions and bedding; and all
moved down to Pawnee Ranch, where Mr. Burk was killed and buried.
We hoped to collect enough men at this place to protect the women
and children
of the two ranches, and possibly save some of our property. We
remained there all that day, preparing for another attack, but as
yet had seen no Indians excepting those who murdered Mr. Burk.
Up to this time we had heard nothing of the
ranchmen on either side of us, not knowing whether they were
killed, and we left alone, or whether we were the only ones
disturbed.
Monday night came, bringing no report from
abroad, and leaving us to watch and wait in dread suspense. When
night came, we set a guard, that we might not be caught
unprepared, should the enemy approach in the darkness. There being
but few pieces of firearms in the company, the women gathered up
all the axes, pitchforks, and, possibly, broomsticks, and brought
them into the house, to be used in case of a close combat. The
guard had been out on post but a short time, when bang! went his
revolver; and the next moment he came bounding pellmell into the
house, causing us to fly to arms ready for the conflict. Seeing no
enemy, we inquired of him what he saw. He said he saw nothing, but
heard a cracking in the brush.
There were loose cattle about the ranch,
which, more than likely, made the noise that frightened him from
his post. The poor fellow was so badly scared that he had fired a
shot from his revolver, and ran, leaving his gun standing by a
tree. By the way, this was one of those men who was so brave that
he would not run if the Indians should come, but was the first to
run, and that, too, when there were no Indians near. To our joy,
Monday night passed without our being molested by the savages.
Morning came, seemingly with more than usual beauty and
loveliness, but brought us no news as to the condition of those
around us, and we began to think that all the other people on the
road were murdered.
Shortly after breakfast some four or five of
us mounted our horses to ascertain the condition of the
surrounding country, and, if possible, the whereabouts of the
Indians. We had gone not more than two hundred yards when my
brother Richard's horse was frightened at the guns, and became
unmanageable. Not being allowed to run, he reared up so far that
he fell backward. As the horse and rider came to the
ground, Richard's gun struck the ground with such force that
its contents were discharged into one of his legs. The ball,
entering the front part of his leg, passed between the thigh-bone
and the main artery inside his thigh. His leg being bent as in a
sitting position, the ball passed through the upper part of the
limb, entered the calf of the leg, passed through, and lodged so
near the surface of the instep that it was taken out with a
jack-knife. He was taken back to the house, and his wounds were
dressed according to our best knowledge. Mr. Bainter, who had had
some experience in dressing wounds in the War of the Rebellion,
took him in charge, and did all any one could have done tinder the
circumstances. The bullet that passed through his leg was a
half-ounce ball, and did fearful execution where it went, though,
for some cause, it broke no bones, and barely missed the large
artery inside his thigh, which, if it had been cut, would have
caused his death in ten minutes. There was a hole in the upper
part of his leg that, in dressing, we found room to draw a large
silk handkerchief through.
This put an end to our reconnoitering
that
day, and left us in greater suspense than before. Here was my
brother, so badly wounded that we almost despaired of his life;
and, while he was lying here helpless, we expected the Indians to
come upon us at any moment.
After Richard was cared for and made as
comfortable as possible under the existing circumstances, parties
brought us the sad intelligence of a general massacre all along
the road for eighty miles or more. We learned that the people for
forty miles on either side of us were either killed, captured, or
driven from their homes, and we--a mere handful of men, with a few
women and children--were surrounded by the hostile "red-skins,"
who were thirsting for our blood. There was no time to lose; we
must prepare for emergencies. This we did by rolling loaded wagons
around and in front of the house, thus forming very good
breastworks. After all things were ready for a mortal combat, we
had only to wait further developments. News of the most horrible
murders on the road, both east and west of us, kept coming in all
the forenoon. Some of the ranchmen who had escaped the murderers
came to us for protection,
thereby strengthening our forces. Before night men had gathered
from all sides of us, until we were about forty strong. No signs
of Indians were seen until near four o'clock in the afternoon, at
which time smoke was seen arising high in the air from the burning
buildings down the road. Soon after seeing the smoke in the
distance, two Indians were seen coming up the road, leisurely
riding along as if they were innocent travelers intending to harm
no one. There had come to us a man from California, whom we called
"California Joe." He said, if we would let him take his choice of
horses from the barn, he would go out and see what those fellows
wanted; for by this time many of the stage-horses had been run in
for protection, and there was a goodly number to choose from.
Making his selection, he mounted and rode out toward the Indians,
at the same time saying, "I will show you fellows how to fight
Indians." He had gone probably not more than four hundred yards
when, all at once, like magic, Indians sprang up all around him,
coming from the hills and brush, where they were lying in ambush
for him or for any other foolish man who might
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dare to venture from the ranch. Their intentions were to cut
off his retreat, and have their own sport in murdering him. But
they were not quick enough; and he passed between them as they
were closing in upon him from all sides. Since that event I have
always thought that, if white men had so completely surrounded an
Indian as they did him, he would have been literally riddled, to
pieces with bullets. They seemed to have ridden within fifteen
feet of him, and fired; yet he made his escape, and reached the
ranch with only a flesh wound in the muscle of the arm above the
elbow. On returning to the house he was n't half so brave as when
he left it. Not knowing how badly he was wounded, the men sprang
to his assistance, only to learn that he was more frightened than
hurt. With the combined fright and pain he nearly swooned away,
and probably would have swooned away altogether but for the timely
aid of a brave woman, who came to his rescue and led him away to
bed. Never did any one show more bravery and presence of mind in
time of imminent danger than some of the women at this critical
hour. While the Indians were in
sight, coming towards the ranch, some of the women were busily
engaged molding rifle-balls for the men, thus making ready for the
fray. The reader may be sure that this was a trying time for me.
Here was my helpless brother to be cared for, the Indians
defiantly coming on to attack the ranch, and we knew not whether
there were hundreds or thousands of them. Seeing the savages, I
went to my brother, and told him they were coming. After inquiring
how many there were, he said, "If they should overcome you, and
you can save your life by flight, do n't stop for me, but fly at
once." I told him I should never leave, but would stay with him to
the last, as any kindly brother would have done. We determined
that, if we were overcome, to spend our lives as dearly as
possible, and die together. To us this was an exceedingly trying
time; but we took it to the Lord, and asked him to help us. In the
hour of extreme peril we found it good to look to the Lord for
help.
When the Indians were first seen coming up
the road, there was great excitement at the ranch. I well remember
one poor, wicked fel-
low who, at the sight of the Indians, cried like a child. While
the enemy approached, we were posting guards around the house.
Some were hid in the weeds, and some in the barn. When the
invaders began firing at the house, a man by the name of Joe Roper
climbed upon the house to see what they were doing. But the
whizzing balls came flying so close to his head that he concluded
to take a lower position, at least for the time. The day of the
general raid the Indians had taken captive a daughter of his,
which caused him to swear vengeance against them. This incident we
shall notice further on, as we proceed with our narrative. The
Indians saw that we had the advantage of them in our breastworks,
and they dared not venture within rifle range of the house, but
kept at a good distance from us. Being thus far away, they
elevated their guns so high that they shot far above our heads,
hardly aiming low enough to strike the house. Occasionally the
boys from the ranch would send them a volley of lead, to remind
them that we were there and ready for them. The firing on both
sides continued for some time, when the Indians
ceased and mostly disappeared from sight. We conjectured that
they were waiting re-enforcements, or planning an attack. An
Indian, riding a beautiful white pony, was seen circling about on
the far hillside, in order to get the barn between himself and the
house. We supposed he and his companions intended making their way
to the barn, which would give them, as they thought, safe shelter
from our guns and an equal chance in the fight. When we first saw
them coming, we took in the situation, and placed a guard in the
barn, to prevent their getting into it.
The savage on the white pony circled around
until he was behind the barn and sheltered from our guns at the
house. Knowing there was a safe guard in the barn, we laughed to
see the savage steal his way there. The guard saw him coming,
poked his gun through a hole, and waited until he came within a
few rods of the barn, and then touched the trigger. The cap
snapped. The gun missed fire, and away went his game. If ever an
Indian made his pony run, I think that one did. He seemed to fly
like a bird, and his shield sailed behind him like a kite
in the breeze. While he was running for dear life, the boys at
the ranch raised a yell, and sent a volley of bullets after him,
causing him to run, as the boys said, "as if the devil was after
him." We afterwards learned that this white pony was regarded as
the fleetest horse on the plains, and one of the great chiefs rode
it during his successful fighting in a former massacre of the
whites. If the reader likes to hear swearing, he should have been
there to hear that guard when his gun missed fire. He swore much
of the time all that night and all the next day, and, for aught I
know, may be still at it.
The Indians, defeated in securing the barn
for a fortification, tried another scheme. A low bank ran from
near the river, and lay close to the house, behind which they
could creep under cover, and get within easy range of the men
defending the house. But they were soon caught at that trick. One
of our men climbed into the upper part of the house, knocked out a
bit of the chinking, and opened a hole through which to shoot. The
man's wife, being in the company, climbed up beside her husband.
They had been there but a short time when we heard a report
from the man's gun. A moment after the report, the woman poked
her head through the upper floor, and cheerfully cried out, "Jim
has killed one." We were now hopeful, even confident, that we
could hold the fort and repel the enemy. Joy and gladness now
seemed to flash from every countenance. The Indians thought they
could creep up under cover of that bank and shoot the men at the
house, then drop back behind the bank from sight. On raising their
heads high enough to see us, the guard in the upper part of the
house fired into them, bringing some of them closer to the ground,
even lower than when they were creeping there. We could now see,
as we thought, that the Indians were giving up the enterprise; for
they ceased firing, and began to disappear in the brush. For a
short time all was quiet, and there was a great calm. This
deathlike stillness was broken by the frightened cattle running
with all possible speed toward the ranch. We thought the savages
were driving the cattle toward the house, following close behind,
and using them as a shelter from our guns. Preparations were now
made for a hand-to-hand fight.
With our guns presented ready to shoot, we stood our ground,
only to see the cattle come up to the house feathered with arrows.
Then the Indians withdrew, leaving us in possession of the fort.
When they gave up the fight, and could do nothing else, they shot
arrows into the cattle that were feeding upon the common.
After shooting the cattle, they went to
Spring Ranch (Mr. Bainter's house), and fired it and everything
around it that would burn. That was a great loss to Mr. Bainter;
for he kept a general stock of groceries and a large amount of hay
and corn, all of which were burned to ashes. He was only one of
the many that suffered such a loss. Most of the ranches on the
road, for miles each way, were burned to the ground. Before the
Indians burned Liberty Farm Ranch, some of our neighboring men
took a coach, such as was used on the stage-line, and went to the
ranch to save groceries that were in store there. They loaded
their valuables, and started on the return trip, when, in some
unknown way, the things in the coach took fire. Before they were
aware of the fire, they were
startled by pistol reports in quick succession, one after
another. At first they thought the Indians were attacking them,
but soon learned that the firing was inside the coach. Under
extreme excitement they had thrown into the coach drygoods, boxes,
cotton, clothes, matches, and revolvers, all together. The fire
getting beyond control, they lifted the top of the coach from the
running-gears, and let it and its contents burn.
The fight at Pawnee Ranch began about four
o'clock in the afternoon, and continued until the shades of night
were falling around us, when the savages left us, with only one
wounded from their guns. This was California Joe, who had shown us
how to fight Indians; and, but for his foolhardiness, he might not
have been hurt.
The night after the battle at the ranch a
strong guard was posted. I took a station, and at the same time
had the care of my brother, who was so badly wounded that we found
it necessary to bathe his leg at least every ten minutes with cold
water to keep down the fever. We were in great suspense all night
long, thinking
the Indians were only awaiting re-enforcements, and would
return with redoubled force, and give us another battle.
Never was daylight hailed with greater joy
than when the morning light streamed in upon us at that time.
Sunrise found us hurriedly preparing to evacuate the post (ranch).
But how could we fly with the sick and wounded? There was my
brother, dangerously injured, and California Joe shot through the
arm. Besides these wounded men, a woman in the company had given
birth to a child when the Indians were making their first attack
on the ranch. There was one stage-coach in the company, into which
California Joe and the sick woman were placed. After admitting
women to care for the sick, there was no room in the coach for my
brother, and, that being the only spring wagon of any kind in the
entire outfit, the remaining choice was to put my brother into a
lumber wagon, and thus carry him, though it should take his life,
of which we were afraid.
We had a wonderfully exciting time in getting
ready to leave. Men who, before the Indians came, said, "We will
die beside our prop-
erty," were now the most anxious to get away and leave
everything, that they might save themselves. The men who, in the
thickest of the fight, were calm and thoughtful, now lost all
control of themselves, and hardly knew what they were doing. When
the wagon was ready for my brother, the men were so excited I
could hardly get any one to help me lift him into it. We would
speak to some one to help, who would say, "Yes, in just a minute;"
and that was the last we would see of him. Before the procession
was ready to move, we prevailed on two or three to help put him
into the wagon. We then pulled out for Fort Kearney, some forty
miles away. The day's march for the fort was a trying time to me.
The jolting of the wagon over the rough ground caused my brother
to suffer excruciating pain nearly all the way, and we could
travel only at a very slow pace, while the other teams went off in
a sweeping trot, leaving us far in the rear and an easy prey for
the savages, should they come upon us.
Besides caring for the team and keeping a
constant lookout for Indians, I was required to bathe my brother's
leg about every ten minutes.
In this way we traveled that long distance,
most of the time alone. We do n't wish to make it appear that
those men intended to be unkind, but merely to show they were so
excited that they did not realize how unkindly they were
acting.
For forty long miles, through the scorching
sun and burning sand, the sick and wounded were carried without
the slightest injury, excepting the pain given my brother while
riding. The ranchmen where we stopped for the night were glad to
entertain us for the sake of our company. Before the Indian
excitement a night's lodging at this same ranch would have cost us
at least one dollar each. The following morning the company, who
together had fled from Pawnee Ranch, separated, some going east
down the Platte River, and others going on farther west. I
remained at Fort Kearney to care for my brother, whom we had sent
there the night before, after we had stopped for the night.
On going to the hospital at the fort, I found
Richard well cared for and doing well; so I engaged to work there
as a nurse, and remained
until he was nearly able to be taken home. When he was so far
recovered that the doctor thought he might be safely removed, I
determined to go home and get a spring-wagon in which he could be
carried with ease and safety. Putting a cover on a light
spring-wagon, another brother and I went back to the fort after
him. On our homeward journey all was well until the evening of the
first day after leaving the fort. Darkness overtook us before
finding a good camping-place, and we were traveling at a rapid
gait, when, all at once, we saw what we thought to be hundreds of
Indians coming towards us on the run. It would be folly to say we
were not frightened. If any man's hair ever stood on end from
fright, I should think ours were perfectly erect at that time.
Stopping the team to prepare for the worst that might come upon
us, we noticed the Indians halted also. On taking a more careful
survey of the situation, we discovered that the supposed Indians
were only a cluster of tall weeds in the distance.
Weeds are just as frightful as anything else
when you really think they are savages swoop-
ing down upon you for your scalp. When a person is on the
lookout for an enemy, he is almost sure to find something
frightful. The third day after leaving the fort, we reached home
in safety, where we rested unmolested, while others out West
continued to suffer captivity and death from the hands of the Red
Men.
© 2001 for NEGenWeb by Pam Rietsch, Ted &
Carole Miller
