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CHAPTER V
THRILLING
INCIDENTS OF THE
INDIAN
MASSACRE--A
MAN KILLED NOT
FAR FROM
FORT
KEARNEY--MARTIN
AND HIS BOYS
WOUNDED--FATHER
EUBANKS AND
BOY
KILLED--BILL
AND MISS
EUBANKS
KILLED--MRS.
EUBANKS AND
MISS ROPER
TAKEN
PRISONERS--THEODORE
EULIC, JOE
AND FRED
EUBANKS
KILLED--KENNEDY,
BUTLER, AND
KELLEY MURDERED,
AND OTHER
DEPREDATIONS.
SHALL now turn the
attention of the reader to the Indian depredations along the
stage-line from near where the town of Alexandria now stands, in
Thayer County, as far west as old Fort Kearney, a distance of
nearly one hundred miles.
The Indians first made their presence known
about the fort by stealing horses and killing such men as they
caught away from the fort alone, at the same time keeping at a
safe distance from the soldiers. One day some men from a ranch not
far from the fort went out reconnoitering, to locate the Indians,
and see what they were doing. They had gone but a short
distance
95
into the sandhills when they were surprised by a body of
Indians, and fled for their lives. Most of them, having good
horses, kept a safe distance from the savages; but one unfortunate
man fell far behind. He saw the Indians were shortening the
distance between him and them, and urged his horse to its utmost
speed; but they overtook and shot him. On first being shot he did
not fall from his horse, but called out to the men: "Boys, I'm
shot! For God's sake, don't leave me!" There being so many Indians
who were trying to cut off the retreat of the men, to stop for a
moment to assist their comrade was certain death to all. So they
sped on, and left the unfortunate man to his fate. The savages
surrounded the poor fellow, and shot arrows into him until he fell
from his horse, when they had their own good time in torturing him
to death. The last his comrades saw of him, he was down on his
elbows and knees, and the Indians around, shooting arrows into
him. I have often thought how hard it must have been for those men
to leave their helpless comrade in the hands of such merciless
savages. The next day, when a company of men went out after
the body of the murdered man, they said it looked as if he had
been beaten to death with stones. It seems strange that human
beings can become so depraved and beastlike as these savages are.
But such is the nature of uncivilized man. Hence we see the
importance of carrying the blessed gospel to all men
everywhere.
Another thrilling incident took place not far
from Fort Kearney. This story I take from the man's own mouth of
whom I now write. This man, Mr. Martin by name, and his two little
boys were in the meadow loading hay, when they were surprised by
the Indians coming down upon them like birds of prey. The father
saw them in time to put the two boys on a horse he was leading
behind the wagon, and told them to run to the house for their
lives. He at the same time climbed upon the load of hay, and put
whip to his horses, making them run for dear life. He was soon
overtaken, however. The Indians drew up on each side of the wagon,
and shot arrows at him. Sinking low down into the hay, he was
pretty well protected from them. But one arrow penetrated the hay,
7
and struck him square on the collar bone, inflicting a slight
wound. On seeing he could not save himself by running, he turned
his rifle down upon them, and fired as he ran, when they left him
and went in pursuit of the boys. The little fellows were so
frightened that they left the road and took a more circuitous
route for the house, but were soon overtaken by the Indians, who
came up behind, and shot an arrow into them, pinning them together
as they sat on the horse. In this condition the little fellows
fell to the ground, thinking they were killed. The Indians seemed
to think so, too, and passed on, leaving them without further
molestation.
The father saw them fall from the horse, and
he, too, thought they were killed; so he passed on to the house,
got the rest of his family upon the load of hay, and started for
the neighbors', leaving the little boys, as he supposed, dead, on
the ground where they had fallen. He had not gone more than a
hundred yards from the house when one of his horses fell dead in
the road. On examining the horse, he discovered that an arrow had
been shot into him, penetrating his vitals.
The other horse being unharnessed, part of
the family were placed on him, the rest going on foot. In this way
they traveled until safely housed with some of their neighbors,
where Mr. Martin told his sad story and spent much of the night in
weeping because of his murdered boys. All the neighbors who could
do so got together to protect themselves and their property from
the bloody hands of the savages. Bright and early the next
morning, a goodly number of well-armed men went to Mr. Martin's
house in search of the bodies of the boys. On reaching the spot
where they were seen to fall from the horse, they saw nothing of
them. Then they ventured into the house, and observed traces of
blood in different places on the floor. They now thought the boys
had either been carried into the house by the Indians, and
concealed somewhere, or that they were not dead, and had
themselves entered, and were somewhere near. On searching the barn
carefully, there, to the astonishment of all and the great joy of
the father, they found them yet alive.
When the boys fell from the horse, the
Indians came so close to them that. they could
hear them talking; but supposing them to be dead, the Indians
passed on, leaving them in the grass. The boys, being greatly
frightened, and at the same time thinking themselves nearly dead,
lay perfectly still until the Indians were gone. When all was so
quiet about them that they dared move, they found that they were
not so near dead as they had supposed. They then arose, and drew
the arrow from their sides, which had only passed through the
clothes and entered the flesh on the sides of their bodies. After
discovering that they were not killed, they went to the house, and
found the family had gone. There they were, all alone, not knowing
whether their folks were dead or alive. It is likely they had
heard their parents say that tobacco was good for a fresh wound;
for they had searched the house, and, finding some of their
father's plug tobacco, had applied it to their wounds. Being
afraid to remain in the house, they went to the sod barn, where
they remained until discovered by the men the next morning. They
heard the men when they first came in search of them, but were so
frightened that they dared not let their whereabouts be known. If
I re-
member correctly, the boys were only seven and eight years old,
and yet they showed a great deal of carefulness as well as
forethought. As formerly stated, this story was told to me by Mr.
Martin himself, and I saw the sear on his collar-bone where he had
been wounded; and I saw the horse that fell dead in the road and
the boys that were shot upon their horse; and I feel sure my story
is true.
Mr. Martin was of German descent, and would
become wonderfully excited when relating his hairbreadth escape.
The last time I saw him he had purchased a large Henry rifle, and
said he should get one for each of his boys, and that they would
shoot every Indian they could get their eyes on.
About this time a little boy was stolen by
the Indians from a family living near Fort Kearney. He was taken
out on the plains not far from Cheyenne City, and sold to the
Government soldiers for a thousand dollars. There is no doubt in
my mind that this kidnaping (sic) was merely a matter of
speculation on the part of the Indians. How the parents of this
boy must have felt, believing their child among the In-
dians, somewhere a captive, or imagining that his little bones
were bleaching on the prairie! How cruel to tear a child from its
mother's bosom in such a way!
I will now continue my unfinished sketch of
the horrible Indian massacre on the Little Blue River route. The
general attack on the line of the massacre was made on Sunday, the
seventh day of August, about four o'clock in the afternoon. As
near as we could tell, the attack was made along the entire line
at the same time and at the very moment the three Indians killed
Mr. Burk at Pawnee Ranch. I have always thought that the attack on
Sunday was providential; for if it had been on any other day,
undoubtedly my brother and I would have been killed,
notwithstanding our well-arranged plans for escape. As previously
stated, we were at daily work near the river, where the Indians
could come under cover of the brush and shoot us before we knew of
their presence. If we had been, like many of the neighboring
farmers, at work on Sunday, in all probability we would have been
killed, as many of them were. As far as I have learned, nearly all
who were out hunt-
ing or making hay on that day were murdered before they could
reach home. This is one page in my experience where I feel sure
that my religion saved my life; not only saved my life, but saved
me from a most horrible death and an eternal hell.
Soon after learning how wickedly the people
along the Little Blue were living, I said, "I am surprised that
the Lord allows them to live here and prosper as they do." Here,
as everywhere else, some good, honorable men were found, but none
of them were religious, or seemed to care for religion at all. But
a short time after expressing my surprise about their prospering
under such circumstances, they were all either killed or driven
from their homes, and most of their property destroyed.
On Sunday, the day of the general raid,
Father Comstock, who called at Pawnee Ranch for dinner, as
previously stated, continued his journey homeward to Oak Grove. He
had scarcely disappeared in the distance when three Indians were
seen riding with all possible speed toward Mr. Burk, whom they
killed. Mr. Comstock had gone but a few miles down the river
to a place called the Narrows, near the mouth of Elk Creek,
when he was suddenly surprised at finding by the roadside, dead
and scalped, a well-known girl by the name of Eubanks, and Bill
Eubanks, her brother, lying dead on a sandbar in the river. Here
leaving the road, Father Comstock passed on to the high prairie,
and in this way reached home without molestation. On coming near
his own house, he rode out upon a hill northwest of the place,
where he could look down, and see if all was right. One of the
hired men at the ranch saw him coming, and, supposing him to be an
Indian, drew his large Henry rifle to shoot him, but for some
cause did not fire; so the old gentleman was saved from losing his
life by the hand of a friend.
On the same evening, Father Eubanks and one
of his boys, about twelve years old, were riding down the river in
an ox-cart to visit Joe Eubanks, when the Indians came upon and
killed them, mutilating their bodies in a most fearful manner, and
scalping the boy from ear to ear. As the old gentleman was bald,
his head was not disturbed. Leaving their bodies in the road, they
shot the oxen full of arrows, which those
suffering animals carried nearly a week before they were found
and relieved.
On that fatal and eventful evening, Miss
Laura Roper, Bill Eubanks's wife, and a Miss Eubanks, were out
hunting wild grapes, when the Indians made a raid on their house.
The women were just a short distance from home, and Bill Eubanks
and a little boy were at the house alone. Hearing a noise at the
house, the girls looked in that direction, and saw Mr. Eubanks
running up the river toward them, closely followed by the Indians.
The house was a little below the Narrows, and Bill ran from there
to the Narrows and attempted to cross the river, when he was
overtaken, shot, and left lying on the sandbar in the river. When
he fell, he was not far from the girls, who were hid in the brush.
What a heart-rending scene for Mrs. Eubanks as she looked from her
hiding-place and saw her husband fall beneath the savage hand of
the Red Man.
The women were well concealed even from the
keen eyes of the savages, and but for Mrs. Eubanks's little child,
which she had with her, crying when it saw the Indians coming
towards
them, they, in all probability, would have escaped the
murderers altogether. The crying of the child having revealed
their whereabouts, they were seized and taken down to the river
where the husband's body lay, and ordered to mount ponies which
the Indians had brought for them to ride. It is evident that the
capturing of these women and the subsequent selling of them to the
Government was a prearranged plan of the Indians for the sole
purpose of getting money. When the girls were ordered to mount the
ponies, Mrs. Eubanks and Miss Roper obeyed, but Miss Eubanks
refused, and was struck dead with their tomahawks, and almost the
entire scalp taken, leaving but little hair on the back part of
her head. The little boy at the house with Bill Eubanks was
wounded and ran up a draw about twenty rods east of the spot where
the girl and Bill were killed. How long he lay there alone,
suffering the agonies of death, no one ever knew. One week later,
his little remains were found lying in the grass in a state of
decomposition. Laura Roper, Mrs. Eubanks, and her little boy were
taken from the side of the dead girl, carried across the river
past the
murdered man on the sandbar, and hurried across the plains to
the mountains. Laura showed considerable bravery during her
captivity, and bore up under her afflictions so well that the
Indians said she was "heap brave squaw," and treated her kindly.
After a captivity of about three months she was taken near Denver,
and sold to the Government for a good sum of money. Mrs. Eubanks
took her afflictions very hard, and was not so well treated as
Laura. After she had been in captivity a while the Indians
frequently whipped her little boy, just to make her cry. After
four long months of prison life among the Indians, she and her
little boy were taken to Fort Phil Kearney, and traded to the
whites. The Indians told the whites that they were of a friendly
tribe, and had bought the prisoners of the Cheyennes, and brought
them to get their money of the white man and set them free;
whereupon the Government paid them a large sum, and let them go.
It was reported that the Indians who brought Mrs. Eubanks in and
sold her, were the same that had captured her, and they boasted
among other Indians that they not only intended to sell her
to the Government, but to capture others, and trade them for
the flour and ponies of the white man. They even tried to
recapture Mrs. Eubanks before getting out of the Indian country,
and came so near as to fire into the coach in which she was riding
homeward.
Among the many outrageous acts committed
along the road at this perilous time, was that of completely
wrecking a train of about forty wagons at Little Blue Station,
where the men had camped for dinner. The cattle were turned out
upon the grass to graze; but the few mules in the train were kept
close to the camp. While the men were preparing their meal, the
Indians came down upon them, and drove off all their oxen. A few
wagons were then unloaded by the owners' throwing out flour,
whisky, and brandy barrels to the ground. To these wagons
muleteams were hitched, and the men fled for their lives. After
they had evacuated the camp, leaving behind their entire stock of
goods, the Indians returned and burned the wagons, cut holes into
the barrels and kegs that contained any kind of liquid, and let
the contents pour upon the ground. Though there were some barrels
of
whisky, a little flour, and some silverware, they left them
unmolested. Thousands of dollars were destroyed in a few moments
of time.
Below we give a pen-picture of the murderous
deeds perpetrated near Kiowa Ranch. A boy by the name of Theodore
Eulic came from a farm some two miles above Kiowa, with butter to
sell. On returning home in the afternoon the Indians from the
hills dropped down upon him, shot him from his horse, and took his
scalp. A bullet had passed through his body, and arrows were still
fast in him when found. About the same time that this boy started
for home, Joe and Fred Eubanks and John Palmer crossed the river
near Kiowa for the purpose of raking up newly-mown hay and looking
for a good place to mow the next day. Fred mounted the rake, and
went to work raking hay; Joe mounted his pony, and went down the
river in search of grass; while Palmer returned to the house for
water. Joe went on down the river below the ranch, where the
Indians shot him, took his pony, and fled. Some of the men about
the ranch saw them going off with Joe's pony, but were not
prepared to follow them. Mr. Eubanks's wife was at the
ranch, almost within calling distance of him, but no one but
the Father above knew where he was. Those who afterwards found his
body thought he must have lived a considerable length of time
after being wounded. While raking hay, the Indians came upon Fred,
killed him, took his horse, and fled into the hills. When Mr.
Palmer returned with a jug of water, he found him lying beside his
rake, dead and scalped. A man named Kennedy, who lived on the
river above Kiowa, in Nuckolls County, a short distance from the
county-line, was also killed. He and a boy about fourteen years of
age were living in a cabin where the hills and the river come
nearly together. Mr. Kennedy was killed in the house, but by some
means the boy succeeded in making his escape, and afterwards
proved himself quite a hero, which shall be noticed further
on.
We will now picture the horrible scene
enacted at Oak Grove, where the Comstock boys so nobly and bravely
defended themselves and loved ones from the torturing hands of a
cruel and bloody foe. As stated before, Father Comstock was not
present when the raid was made upon his home, but some of his
boys, then young
men, were. Two men, named Butler and Kelley, were at the ranch
at this time; but why, I do not know. When the Indians came to the
house, Butler and Kelley went to the door to talk with them. They
seemed quite friendly, and said they were Pawnees, and were
hunting horses; but the men knew they were Cheyennes, and told
them so. When too late to save themselves, the unfortunate men saw
that the Indians intended mischief, and turned to go into the
house, but were both shot in the back with arrows. An arrow lodged
in Mr. Kelley's body, with one end protruding from his back and
the other from his breast. An arrow passed through Mr. Butler's
body, and fell on the ground in front of him. When the two men
were shot the family started upstairs as Butler fell dead at the
foot of them. Mr. Kelley made his way upstairs with the family,
handed his revolver to Harry Comstock, and said, "Here, Harry,
take this and fight to the last;" then, pulled the arrow from his
body with his own hands, and died in a few minutes. The boys
punched holes through the house and fired upon the Indians until
they were glad to fly for their lives..
In the meantime a boy by the name of George
Hunt, and a man whose name I did not learn, were herding horses on
the banks of the river for Mr. Comstock. The Indians came to them,
and appeared very friendly until they beard the report of a
distant gun, which seemed to be a signal for them to commence
their cruel and bloody work. One of them struck the man with a
knife, and another snatched his gun from him a large Henry rifle
and shot him with five or six arrows; they wounded George in the
leg with a revolver, and left both for dead. While the Indians
were catching the loose horses their victims arose, went to the
river, and escaped under cover of the bank. The man finally died
from his wounds, but the boy recovered, having only a flesh wound.
The day after the raid, Mr. Comstock took his family and a few
household effects, and left his home, thinking the Indians might
return and murder them all. In a day or two after leaving, the
Indians did return, and burned the house with all its contents.
The bodies of Kelley and Butler having been left in the house,
they too were consumed by the flames. Next day after the raid, Bob
Emery, a coach-driver,
came to Kiowa Station on his way to Fort Kearney. When he was
told of the cruel murders along the line, and that he had better
not venture any farther, he said he was used to the Indians; he
had driven among them before when they were hostile, and shouldn't
back down for them now. When the men saw that he was determined to
go, as many of them as the coach would hold climbed into it and on
top of it, and went with him. Bob had four good horses, and drove
bravely forward until reaching the place where Kennedy was killed.
As he was in the act of driving down the hill into the valley
where he could not have turned, he saw the heads of about forty
Indians in the brush below, lying in ambush. He wheeled his horses
in the nick of time at a place where he had just sufficient room
to move around, and get back into the road. While he was turning
the Indians sprang from their hiding-place in hot pursuit. It was
now a race for life. Bob was a cool-headed, steady-nerved fellow,
and an excellent driver; so he whipped his horses into a keen run,
with forty Indians after him, firing at the coach. The men on top
of the coach kept them at a distance by
8
holding their guns in position ready to shoot. The Indians
seemed very careful about rushing into danger, and dared not come
close enough to do much harm. Among those on top of the coach
helping to keep the Indians at bay was the fourteen-year-old boy
who was with Kennedy when killed.
The race started in Nuckolls County. After
running about half a mile, the coach crossed the county line into
Thayer County, the Indians after it, yelling and shooting at every
jump. In the race one horse stumbled and nearly fell, which caused
some alarm, for at first it was thought a ball had struck him.
While the Indians were firing at the coach and the lead was flying
around like hall, Bob put the "bud" to his horses, at the same
time holding a steady rein to keep them in the road. The chase
continued probably for about two miles and a half, with some of
the Indians on each side of the coach, and others behind, firing
and yelling as they ran. When the Indians saw they were defeated
and gave up the chase, they turned aside and shot a number of
cattle that were near by.
The soldiers at Fort Kearney, hearing of our
trouble on the Little Blue, came to our relief. Captain Murphy was
sent out with a company, and instructed to go to Pawnee Ranch and
relieve us. While fleeing from Pawnee Ranch after the battle
there, we met Murphy and his men. When first seen at a distance,
we supposed they were the savages coming to give us another
battle, so we corralled our wagons and teams, and got ready for
the onslaught. But to our joy we soon discovered they were
soldiers coming to our relief. Captain Murphy fell in with some
citizens from Beatrice, among them my brother Edward, who came up
on the Blue to took after the dead as well as the living. After
caring for the dead along the line of the massacre, they went in
pursuit of the invaders and murderers. About eight miles west of
Little Blue Station, two of the scouts were surprised by the
Indians, and their retreat cut off. One of them was an Omaha
Indian, and belonged to Captain Murphy's company. The last seen of
him, he was surrounded by the wild Indians and bravely fighting
for his life. The other scout, named Cline, was one of
my neighbors from Beatrice. He was riding a very fast horse,
and, on discovering that he was surrounded, put whip to his
animal, and got back to the command, but, in his run for life,
lost his cap and gun. This Indian escapade brought on what was
afterwards called the battle of Elk Creek. There seemed to be more
than a thousand Indians attacking Murphy's squad of little more
than a hundred men. Captain Murphy had with him a small cannon,
which he fired upon the Indians, scattering them hither and
thither. At the first shot the cannon was disabled, and the
captain began a retreat. The firing was kept up on both sides for
three or four miles. During the fight old Mr. Blair, a citizen
from the mouth of Sandy Creek, dismounted from his horse, and
fired at an Indian not very far away. At the report of the gun the
Indian, as he thought, fell from his horse, which ran away. As the
grass was very short, Mr. Blair expected to find his dead Indian
on the ground, but could see nothing of him. He then turned his
eyes to the flying pony, and saw the red-skin straighten himself
up on the pony's back. When an Indian sees that he is being shot
at, he will
drop down on the opposite side of his pony and ride in this way
until out of danger. Sometimes he is lashed to the pony, so that,
if he should be killed, his dead body will be carried from the
field.
While the soldiers were retreating, the
Indians kept running around and up the draws, and firing at the
boys as they were crossing the ravine. In crossing a draw, the
horse of Joe Roper--the father of the captured girl, Laura
Roper--was slightly wounded, and the man said some of the flying
lead struck his boot-heel. A wagon-boss whose outfit was captured
by the Indians, determined to kill one; so he gave chase to an
Indian who was close by, and followed him across a ravine. As the
pursuer was crossing the ravine, another Indian, lying in ambush,
shot him in the back with an arrow, and he fell from his horse and
died instantly. The boys obtained his body, took it down to Little
Blue Station, and buried it there. The fight ended shortly after
this incident. The rest of the company retreated in safety, the
wagon-boss and Murphy's scout being the only loss during the
fight. I never knew what became of the scout. It was
reported, however, that, surrounded by Indians as he was, he
succeeded in escaping.
Only those who have been among the Indians,
and seen their bloody work, can know how cruel they are. The Sioux
and Cheyenne Indians would kill and scalp the early pioneer women,
and braid their hair into lariat-ropes and bridle-reins. One of
these ropes was taken from the Sioux Indians about forty years
ago. The early pioneers were so enraged at this cruel work that,
whenever encountering the savage fiends, they would fight with
such courage as to surprise our bravest military men. Sometimes in
the hardest of the battle, when they were greatly outnumbered by
the foe and almost overpowered, some old pioneer would run along
the line, calling out, "Boys, remember the hair lariat! remember
the hair lariat!" Maddened at the thought of the hair of their
mothers, wives, sisters, and daughters being braided into lariats
and bridle-reins, these pioneers would fight with renewed courage
till it seemed as if another avenging army had sprung out of the
earth; and the red-skins were compelled to fly for their
lives.
Women and young girls were often captured and
dragged across the plains to the Rocky Mountains, where they were
sometimes sold to the whites, and sometimes rescued by their
friends. Frequently the attempt to rescue them assured their
falling beneath the savage tomahawk or scalping-knife.
Now, my dear readers, if you think that the
early settlers were too hard on the murderers of their wives and
daughters, you undoubtedly would change your mind if called to
pass through a like experience. If you could have witnessed one of
the early battles in the far West, you would have been struck with
wonder at seeing an old, gray-haired man in front of the battle,
struggling hand to hand with the savage foe, his white locks
waving in the air as he fought more like a lion than an old man.
Perhaps you would say, "0, he is too bloodthirsty. He gluts his
vengeance on these poor, ignorant people." But on learning that
his daughter is a captive, and that he is fighting to save his
child, believing that if she is not rescued in this struggle,
before another day she may be tied to a burning stake,
and cruelly tortured to death in the flames, then you will say,
"If my daughter were a captive, I would fight as he does." I have
fought by the side of a father whose daughter was then a captive
among the Indians, and, witnessing his desperate courage, could
imagine something of his feelings as he thought of his dear
child.
OUR
TRIP UP THE
LITTLE BLUE
RIVER AFTER THE
RAID--SOME
REMARKS ON
THE WAY THE
GOVERNMENT
CONTROLS THE
INDIANS.
AFTER the Indian
troubles were passed, and we thought there was no more danger, my
brother Edward and I went up the Blue River as far as Spring Ranch
to bring home the mower we had left there when we fled from the
Indians. After passing through the little town of Meridian, near
where the Big Sandy empties into the Little Blue River, in Thayer
County, we found the country vacated as far west as Fort Kearney.
Nearly all the ranches along the road had been burned to ashes,
and the property totally destroyed. At some of the ranches we
could see where the Indians had gone into the houses, killed the
inmates, smashed the dishes to pieces, ripped open the bed-ticks,
and scattered the feathers in every direction. We saw the ruins of
the large freight-train that was wrecked at
121
Little Blue Station. Here we found whisky, molasses, and
kerosene barrels, mostly empty, their contents having been poured
upon the ground. There were tons of crockery-ware of the best
quality, all broken to pieces in one large pile. A quantity of
flour and a little silverware were left undisturbed. Part of the
silverware we carried home, and I suppose it is yet in possession
of some of the family. The whole country was indeed a desolate
region. Where a few weeks before might be seen life, activity, and
progress, now death supremely reigned. Only a few days in the past
at most of these ranches on the Blue, the husband, wife, and
children were living happily together; and now some of them were
dead, while others were prisoners, dragged across the plains by
the murderers of their loved ones.
Passing up the river as far as Spring Ranch,
we found the mower in the hay-field where we had left it. Hitching
it to our wagon, we returned to Pawnee Ranch, and camped for the
night. Seeing what appeared to be fresh Indian signs, we were
somewhat startled, and thought we had again got into close
quarters, and in all probability would have to fight our way out.
If
the Indians were still in the country we felt sure that I we
were very unsafely surrounded.
Taking our horses two or three hundred yards
from the house, we attached them to the lariat-ropes, and lay down
by them, thinking that, if Indians should come during the night,
the horses would scent them, and give us warning in time for
self-defense. We had been there but a short time, when, sure
enough, the horses gave the expected signal, by throwing up their
heads and snorting, that danger was nigh. Turning our eyes in the
direction the horses were looking, we saw the enemy, which
appeared to be an Indian on horseback. Making sure our guns were
ready for service, we lay down with our faces to the ground, and,
with presented guns, awaited the approach of the foe. Our plan was
that when the horseman should come within a few rods of us, we
would call him to halt, and if he did not obey at once, we would
fire upon him. The enemy came slowly forward, thus giving us a
good chance to be well prepared for mortal combat. He drew closer
and closer, until we thought it about time to call him to halt,
when, to our astonishment as well as joy, we dis-
covered that our enemy was an old, poor, lame mule, which had
been left there alone to die. Notwithstanding the harmlessness of
this poor mule, we were just as badly frightened as if the Indians
were upon us. We soon arrived home in safety, leaving the Little
Blue Country to the Indians, so far as we were concerned.
Much has been said and written about the
abuse and the civilizing of the Red Man. Many claim that the
Indians have been unmercifully treated by the white people of
America, which I wish to show is not altogether true. I am frank
to admit that some Indian traders, and possibly some early
settlers, have woefully cheated them, yet not more than thousands
of our own people have been wronged by the same class of men. One
great cry is, that the poor, helpless Indian has been driven from
his home and his hunting-grounds, and shoved to the Far West,
where it is almost impossible for him to live without stealing.
Has not the Government bought and paid for these lands? Surely it
has in most cases, if not in all, where the Indians have been
removed from them. They have nothing, then, to complain of from
that source.
If the Indians had settled on and cultivated
these lands, they need not have left them; for the Government
would have neither driven them away nor compelled them to sell,
except such as they did not occupy. The good Lord never intended
that this fertile soil should remain idle, and produce nothing. If
the Red Men would neither cultivate nor sell these wild lands, I
contend that, after offering them a reasonable compensation, the
Government had a right to take and use them. As they saw fit to
sell these lands rather than to cultivate them, it was the duty of
the Government to buy, and send its citizens to them. Much of my
life has been spent on the border settlement near the Indians, so
I know whereof I speak. As a general rule, the frontier settlers
have used the Indians well, many times giving them something to
eat when they had scarcely enough for their own children. They
have fed them when hungry, and when cold have taken them into
their houses and warmed them, not unfrequently compensated by
having their property stolen and members of their family murdered.
Many of the frontier settlers have done more towards feeding
the
hungry Indians than thousands of our wealthy people will do
toward feeding the poor white beggars at their own doors.
Frequently a squad of big hungry Indians have come to our house,
staid over night, were given all they could eat, and the next
morning were sent on their way rejoicing, without costing them a
cent; and hundreds of other families did the same thing. I know of
no people in the world who have had so much done for them as the
American Indians, both by the Government and individuals. For
proof of what I say, consult the Indian Bureau, where you may
learn what the Government has been and is doing for them.
The sources from which the money for Indian
education is obtained are Congressional appropriations, treaty
interests and funds, and the treasuries of religious bodies which
maintain Indian missions. This money was received and distributed
among the uncivilized Indian in 1886-7 as follows: Receipts from
the Government for general support, $912,625; support of 770
students at various institutions, $126,040; buildings, current
appropriations, $134,750; unexpended appropriation, $19,804;
transportation
pf pupils, $28,000; purchases of live stock, $10,000; treaty
interest and other funds, $163,700. Total from the Government,
$1,394,919. Expenditures by Government: For boarding and day
schools and pupils, $1,095,380; building sites and repairs,
$76,080; live stock, $8,500; transportation of pupils, $2,400.
Total by Government, $1,203,960. By the State of New York, $9,122;
by American Missionary Association for schools and Church work,
$47,921; by the Society of Friends, $21,729. Grand total,
$1,282,732. The total Government appropriations for the Indians in
1789, from March 4, 1788, to June 30, 1789, was, $2,422,902.30. In
recent years it was, in 1885, $6,552,425; in 1886, $6,099,158; in
1889, $6,249,303.
Thus the reader may see how the Government is
providing for the "poor, neglected Indians." Before I leave this
subject, I wish to say something in regard to the civilizing of
the Red Man; for I think thousands of dollars have been needlessly
expended for this purpose. if our Government had pursued a proper
course toward the Indians, they would not have committed one-half
the depredations traced to them,
nor needed one-half the money that has been expended for them,
and many more of them would have been civilized, and now in a
prosperous condition. I do not wish to set myself up against the
Government officials in regard to the controlling of the Indians,
but I feel sure that the Government has not adopted the wisest
plan to accomplish what it desired to do.
In the first place, the most successful way
to develop man, intellectually, morally, and financially, is to
throw him on his own resources, and thus give him something to do.
You may take some of our brightest boys, and give them all they
need to eat and wear, and plenty of money to spend in idleness.
Let them raise their children in the same way, and you will have a
lot of degenerate profligates and vile men and women, whom you
never can improve so long as they remain in idleness. Idleness
breeds crime and ignorance, and turns the saint to the savage.
Therefore, I contend that if, in some way, the Indians had been
compelled to work for their bread or starve, they might have been
civilized and Christianized long before this. But they have been
kept in idleness, where it is im-
possible to keep any one, and at the same time develop the
moral and intellectual faculties. Here the question will naturally
arise, How can this be done? This, I know, is a difficult question
to answer; but I will give some suggestions. If the Government had
bought the Indian lands and paid for them at once, or as soon as
it was able, and altogether dispensed with the annuities paid the
Indians, they would have soon spent their money, and, thrown upon
their own resources, would have been compelled to work for what
they needed.
The expectation of the annual payment has
encouraged them in idleness, and made it more difficult for the
missionaries to manage them. They have come to think that the
Government is in duty bound to provide for them, and so there is
no inducement to work.
Many times they foolishly barter away their
annual supplies, which being thus exhausted long before the time
for another installment, they get cold and hungry, complain of the
Government because it does not feed and clothe them better, and
wreak vengeance upon the frontier settlers along the
border-line.
9
I realize that the Government is trying to
teach them to work for themselves. But there is one great
difficulty in the way; it is doing too much of the work itself. It
is evident that these people can never be taught to work until
compelled to do so or starve. If some such plan had been adopted
years ago, there would not have been the suffering among them
there has been under the present mode of ministering to them; for
as soon as the wild game on which they depended was gone, they
would have provided for themselves in some other way.
The reader may say, "Have not various tribes
been civilized, Christianized, and taught to work under the
present mode of administration?" So far as I know, not one tribe
has ever been civilized and taught to work so long as it was
numerically strong enough to maintain its rights and cope with
other wild tribes. Only when they could no longer defend
themselves in the wild state, could they be induced to settle down
and go to work. So long as there are large tribes of Indians
allowed to roam the plains, supported by the Government, just so
long will there be wild savages to murder border
settlers. So far as I can learn, there is not as much farming
done by the wild tribes nowadays as by their ancestors when first
found in America. Why is this? Simply because they are supported
by the Government, and "do n't have to" work.
The reader may think that I am uncharitable
toward the poor Red Man of the plains, but I think I have due
charity for him. I wish to do him all the good I can, and it is
for his benefit that I write these lines. If I properly understand
the nature of charity, it encourages neither ignorance nor
idleness, and it is not charity to help a man that will not help
himself. I believe, as the Scriptures teach, that if a man will
not work, neither shall he eat.
I have another and more severe criticism on
the means employed by the Government to make and keep the Indians
peaceable. The way the Government has made treaties with them has
tended to make them hostile and troublesome. Usually, when they
have broken out and murdered the settlers, they have done their
evil work and hurried out of reach of justice. A few days
afterward the soldiers would be ordered
to pursue them, and sometimes succeeded in overtaking and
punishing them; but generally the Indians evaded them, escaping to
the plains and hiding. The soldiers, after following them a few
days, would give up the chase, and return home. Thus escaping
punishment, the Indians would soon return, and steal and murder
until the Government gave them a large sum of money on their
promising to cease hostilities and be peaceable. As long as this
money lasted they were very friendly; but they have learned that,
when in need, the easiest way to supply their wants is again to
become hostile to the whites along the borderline, and force the
Government to give them another sum of money to purchase peace. If
I am correctly informed, this mode of procedure has been carried
on for many years. I have made a rough estimate, and find that the
Government has given at least a thousand dollars to the Indians
for each white person murdered by them. In consulting the Indian
Bureau of 1886, I notice that the treaty interest alone amounted
to more than $160,000. Surely the giving of such large sums of
money for treaties of peace is an incentive to the In-
dians to repeat their cruel deeds of bloodshed. I was informed
that the Government paid $1,500 for the return of Mrs. Eubanks and
Miss Laura Roper, who were made prisoners at the time of the
slaughtering of the settlers on the Little Blue River. I also
learned that the little boy whom the Indians captured near Fort
Kearney was taken West and sold to the Government for $1,000.
Besides the large sum of money expended for these captives, the
Government paid the Indians still more to induce them to behave
themselves. It seems to me that the better course for the
Government, when the Indians broke out and murdered the white
settlers, was to continue warring with them until they were glad
to treat on almost any terms. The Government should have
thoroughly whipped them until they begged for peace, and taken
from their annuities at least a thousand dollars for each white
person murdered or captured by them. If this plan had been adopted
fifty years ago, most of the Indians might now be civilized. At
least there would not have been one-half as many of our
frontiersmen killed by them. While it might seem cruel to fall
upon and, if necessary,
kill a large number to make them know their place and keep it,
yet in the outcome this would doubtless have saved many lives of
both Indians and white men. One complete conquest of a child is
worth more to it than a thousand punishments without
conquering.
I feel sure that the massacre along the
Little Blue in 1864 was wholly for the purpose of forcing money
from the Government. Although the savages ran off horses and
cattle belonging to the settlers along the Blue, I think money
from the Government was the moving cause of that terrible
slaughter. I know men who, by Indian ravages, lost all their
property, and have never received a cent for it from any source;
they should have been reimbursed from the Indian annuities. I pity
the Indians, and realize that we ought to do all in our power to
civilize and Christianize them, but they should be made to keep
their place, and to pay for all the property they have destroyed
and the lives they have taken. The Congress of 1891 did finally
pass a bill allowing the settlers remuneration for the loss of
their property by the Indians, such sums to be taken from the
Indian annuities. This
was a step in the right direction, but ought to have been made
years ago. If the Government would now take away their guns and
ponies, and give them tools for farming, it would be but a short
time before they would be farmers and doing well. Roaming the
prairies and hunting from year to year is degenerating, and as
long as the Indians are allowed to do this, and receive support
from the Government, they will be wild and unmanageable. At first
the Indians might think the Government cruel in preventing it, but
in a short time they would learn to be grateful. It is more cruel
to allow any person or people to go on in idleness and ignorance
than to compel them to do something for themselves. If the Indians
were made to lay down their arms, and stay at home and work, the
missionaries could do more for them in one year than they have
done in the last forty years. God pity the Indian! But if they
will not do something for themselves, of their own free will, let
us compel them!
Commissioner Jones says the cutting off of
rations from all Indians, except those who are incapacitated from
earning a support, has had
very gratifying results, and, if followed up, will ultimately
lead to the abolition of the reservation and the absorption of the
Indian into our body politic. He makes the emphatic statement that
the present Indian educational system, taken as a whole, is not
calculated to produce the results that were anticipated so
hopefully, and may be added to the obstacles to independence and
self-support. Under this class Mr. Jones has placed indiscriminate
issues of rations, periodical distribution of large sums of money,
and the general leasing of allotments. In the last thirty-three
years, the report says, over $240,000,000 has been spent on an
Indian population not exceeding 180,000. Notwithstanding this, the
Indian is still on his reservation, being fed; money is still
being paid him; he is still dependent on the Government for
existence; he is "little, if any, nearer the goal of independence
than he was thirty years ago; and if the present policy is
continued, he will get little, if any, nearer in thirty years to
come."
After the Indian excitement had died away, we
turned our attention to farming near Beatrice, where we first
settled, in Gage County.
in the spring of 1865 we bought a large, well-improved farm,
and planted a hundred and forty acres of corn. This year proving
to be a good season for corn, we raised an abundant crop, which we
shelled and drew out on the Little Blue; for by this time the
stage-line, broken by the Indians, was repaired and running as
before, giving us a good market for our grain.
© 2001 for NEGenWeb by Pam Rietsch, Ted &
Carole Miller
