Chapter I (3)

Thus, with sunshine and showers the week passes quickly enough, and brought again the Sabbath bright and clear, but windy. A number of us took a walk one and one-half miles up the valley to the colony tent; went by way of a large oak tree, in the branches of which the body of an Indian chief had been laid to rest more than four years ago. From the bleached bones and pieces of clothing and blanket that were yet strewn about beneath the tree, it was evident he had been of powerful frame, and had been dressed in a coat much the same as a soldier's dress coat, with the usual decoration of brass buttons. Wrapped in his blanket and buffalo robe, he had been tied with thongs to the lower limbs, which were so low that the wolves had torn the body down.

When we reached the tent under which they had expected to hold their meetings and Sabbath-school, we found it, like many of their well-meant plans, now flat on the ground. It had come down amid the rain and wind of last night on the sleepers, and we found the tenters busy with needles trying to get it in order for pitching. None busier prodding their finger ends than was Mr. Clark.

"What have you been doing all this time, Mr. C.?" I asked.

"What have I been doing? Why it has just kept me busy to keep from drowning, blowing away, freezing, and starving to death. It is about all a man can attend to at one time. Haven't been idling any time away, I can tell you."

We felt sorry for the troubles of the poor men, but learned this lesson from their experience--never buy a tent so old and rotten that it won't hold to the fastenings, to go out on the prairies of Nebraska with; it takes good strong material to stand the wind.

In the afternoon we all went up on to the table-land to see the prairies burn. A great sheet of flame sweeping over the prairie is indeed a grand sight, but rather sad to see what was the tall waving grass of last year go up in a blaze and cloud of smoke only to leave great patches of blackened earth. Yet it is soon brightened by the new growth of grass which could not show itself for so long if the old was not burnt.

Some say it is necessary to burn the old grass off, and at the same time destroy myriads of grasshoppers and insects of a destructive nature, and also give the rattlesnake a scorching. While others say, burning year after year is hurtful to the soil, and burns out the grass roots; also that decayed vegetation is better than ashes for a sandy soil.

These fires have been a great hindrance to the growth of forest trees. Fire-brakes are made by plowing a number of furrows, which is often planted in corn or potatoes. I fancy I would have a good wide potato patch all round my farm if I had one, and never allow fire on it. To prevent being caught in a prairie fire, one should always carry a supply of matches. If a fire is seen coming, start a fire which of course will burn from you, and in a few minutes after the fire has passed over the ground, it can be walked over, and you soon have a cleared spot, where the fire cannot reach you.

_Monday, 21st._ Bright and pleasant, and Mr. K. finishes his corn planting.

A DESCRIPTION OF THE COUNTRY IN WHICH THE COLONY LOCATED.

As this is to be my last day here, I must tell you all there is yet to be told of this country. There are so many left behind that will be interested in knowing all about the country their friends have gone to, so I will try to be very explicit, and state clearly all I have learned and seen of it. Allow me to begin with the great range of bluffs that closely follow the north side of the river. We can only see their broken, irregular, steep, and sloping sides, now green with grass, on which cattle are grazing--that swim the river to pasture off the "Soo" (as Sioux is pronounced) lands. The reservation is very large, and as the agency is far west of this, they do not occupy this part much, only to now and then take a stroll over it.

The difference between a hill and a bluff is, that a bluff is only half a hill, or hill only on one side. The ground rises to a height, and then maintains that height for miles and miles, which is called table-land. Then comes the Keya Paha river, which here is the dividing line between Dakota and Nebraska. It is 125 miles long. At its mouth, where it empties into the Niobrara, it is 165 feet wide. Here, thirty-five miles north-west, it is about 75 feet wide, and 6 feet deep. The water flows swiftly over its sandy bed, but Mr. K. says "there is rock bottom here." The sand is very white and clean, and the water is clear and pleasant to the taste.

The banks are fringed with bushes, principally willow. The valley on the south side is from one-fourth to one and one half-miles wide, and from the growth of grass and bushes would think the soil is quite rich. The timber is pine, burr oak, and cottonwood principally, while there are a few cedar, elm, ash, box elder and basswood to be found. The oak, elm, and box elder are about all I have seen, as the timber is hid in the canyons. Scarcely a tree to be seen on the table-lands. Wild plums, choke cherries, and grapes are the only fruits of the country. No one has yet attempted fruit culture. The plums are much the same in size and quality as our cultivated plums. They grow on tall bushes, instead of trees, and are so interwoven with the cherry bushes, and in blossom so much alike, I cannot tell plum from cherry bush. They both grow in great patches along the valley, and form a support for the grape vines that grow abundantly, which are much the same as the "chicken grapes" of Pennsylvania. I must not over-look the dwarf or sand-hill cherry, which, however, would not be a hard matter, were it not for the little white blossoms that cover the crooked little sticks, generally about a foot in height, that come up and spread in every direction. It is not choice of its bed, but seems to prefer sandy soil. Have been told they are pleasant to the taste and refreshing.

Then comes the wild gooseberry, which is used, but the wild black currants are not gathered. Both grow abundantly as does also the snowberry, the same we cultivate for garden shrubbery. Wild hops are starting up every where, among the bushes and ready to climb; are said to be equally as good as the poled hops of home.

"Beautiful wild flowers will be plenty here in a couple of weeks," Mrs. K. says, but I cannot wait to see them. The most abundant, now, is the buffalo bean, of which I have before spoken, also called ground plum, and prairie clover: plum from the shape of the pod it bears in clusters, often beautifully shaded with red, and prairie clover from the flower, that resembles a large clover head in shape, and often in color, shading from a dark violet to a pale pink, growing in clusters, and blooming so freely, it makes a very pretty prairie flower. It belongs to the pulse order, and the beans it bears can be cooked as ordinary beans and eaten--if at starvation point. Of the other flowers gathered mention was made on my May-day.

Mr. K. has a number of good springs of water on his farm, and it is easily obtained on the table-land. It cannot be termed soft water, yet not very hard.

About one-half of the land I am told is good tillable land, the other half too sandy for anything but pasture lands. Soil is from eighteen inches to two feet deep.

I will here quote some of the objections to the country offered by those who were not pleased. Time only can tell how correct they are. "It is too far north. Will never be a general farming or fruit growing country. Summer season will be too short for corn to ripen. Too spotted with sand hills to ever be thickly settled. Afraid of drouth. Too far from railroad and market, and don't think it will have a railroad nearer soon. Those Sioux are not pleasant neighbors. Winters will be long and cold." But all agree that it is a healthy country, and free from malaria. Others say, "Beautiful country. Not as cold as in Pennsylvania. Of course we can raise fruit; where wild fruit will grow tame fruit can be cultivated. Those sand hills are just what we want; no one will take them, and while our cattle are grazing on them, we will cultivate our farms." We feel like quoting a copy often set for us to scribble over when a little girl at school, with only a little alteration. "Many men of many minds, many lands of many kinds"--to scatter over--and away some have gone, seeking homes elsewhere.

Those who have remained are getting breaking done, and making garden and planting sod corn and potatoes, which with broom corn is about all they can raise on new ground the first summer. Next will come the building of their log and sod shanties, and setting out of their timber culture, which is done by plowing ten acres of ground and sticking in cuttings from the cottonwood, which grows readily and rapidly.

There are a few people scattered over the country who have engaged in stock raising, but have done little farming and improving. So you see it is almost untouched, and not yet tested as to what it will be as a general farming country. Years of labor and trials of these new-comers will tell the story of its worth.

I sincerely hope it will prove to be all that is good for their sake! I hide myself away from the buzz and hum of voices below, in the quiet of an upper room that I may tell you these things which have been so interesting to me to learn, and hope they may be interesting to read.

But here comes Lizzie saying, "Why, Sims, you look like a witch hiding away up here; do come down." And I go and take a walk with Mrs. K. down to see their cattle corral. The name of corral was so foreign I was anxious to know all about it. It is a square enclosure built of heavy poles, with sheds on the north and west sides with straw or grass roof for shelter, and is all the protection from the cold the cattle have during the winter. Only the milk cows are corraled during the summer nights. A little log stable for the horses completes the corral, while of course hay and straw are stacked near. Then she took me to see a dugout in the side of a hill, in a sheltered ravine, or draw, and surrounded by trees. It is not a genuine dugout, but enough of the real to be highly interesting to me. It was occupied by a middle-aged man who is Mr. K.'s partner in the stock business, and a French boy, their herder. The man was intelligent, and looked altogether out of place as he sat there in the gloom of the one little room, lighted only by a half window and the open door, and, too, he was suffering from asthma. I asked: "Do you not find this a poor house for an asthmatic?"

"No, I do not find that it has that effect; I am as well here as I was before I came west."

The room was about 10×12, and 6 feet high. The front of the house and part of the roof was built of logs and poles, and the rest was made when God made the hill. They had only made the cavity in which they lived, floor enough for the pole bed to stand on.

To me it seemed too lonely for any enjoyment except solitude--so far removed from the busy throngs of the world. But the greater part of the stockman's time is spent in out-door life, and their homes are only retreats for the night.

We then climbed the hill that I might have a last view of sunset on the Keya Paha. I cannot tell you of its beauty, as I gaze in admiration and wonder, for sun, moon, and stars, have all left their natural course, or else I am turned all wrong.

_Tuesday._ Another pleasant day. Mrs. K., whom I have learned to regard as a dear friend, and I, take our last walk and talk together, going first to the grave of a granddaughter on the hill, enclosed with a railing and protected from the prairie wolves by pieces of iron. Oh! I thought, as I watched the tears course down Mrs. K's. cheek as she talked of her "darling," there is many a sacred spot unmarked by marble monument on these great broad plains of Nebraska. "You see there is no doctor nearer than Keya Paha, and by the time we got him here he could do her no good." Another disadvantage early settlers labor under.

Then to the river that I might see it flow for the last time, and gather sand and pebbles of almost every color that mingle with it. I felt it was my last goodbye to this country and I wished to carry as much of it away in my satchel and in memory as possible.

We then returned to the house, and soon Mr. Newell who was going to Stuart, came, and with whom I had made sure of a passage back. Mrs. K. and all insisted my stay was not near long enough, but letters had been forwarded to me from Stuart from brother C. asking me to join him. And Miss Cody, with whom I had been corresponding for some time, insisted on my being with her soon; so I was anxious to be on my way, and improved the first opportunity to be off. So, chasing Lizzie for a kiss, who declared, "I cannot say good-bye to Sims," and bidding them all a last farewell, with much surface merriment to hide sadness, and soon the little group of friends were left behind.

I wonder did they see through my assuming and know how sorry I was to part from them?--Mrs. K., who had been so kind, and the colony people all? I felt I had an interest in the battle that had already begun with them. Had I not anticipated a share of the battle and also of the spoils when I thought of being one with them. I did feel so sorry that the location was such that the majority had not been pleased, and our good plans could not be carried out.

It was not supposed as night after night the hall was crowded with eager anxious ones, that all would reach the land of promise. But even had those who come been settled together there would have been quite a nice settlement of people.

The territory being so spotted with sand hills was the great hindrance to a body of people settling down as the colony had expected to, all together as one settlement. One cannot tell, to look over it, just where the sandy spots are, as it is all covered with grass. They are only a slight raise in the ground and are all sizes, from one to many acres.

One-half section would be good claimable land, and the other half no good. In some places I can see the sand in the road that drifts off the unbroken ground. We stopped for dinner at Mr. Newell's brother's, whose wife is a daughter of Mr. Kuhn's, and then the final start is made for the Niobrara. The country looks so different to me now as I return over the same road behind horses, and the sun is bright and warm. The tenters have gone to building log houses, and there are now four houses to be seen along the way. Am told most of the land is taken.

We pass close to one of the houses, where the husband is plowing and the wife dropping seed corn; and we stop for a few minutes, that I may learn one way of planting sod corn. The dropper walks after the plow and drops the corn close to the edge of the furrow, and it comes up between the edges of the sod. Another way is to cut a hole in the sod with an ax, and drop the corn in the hole, and step on it while you plant the next hill--I mean hole--of corn.

One little, lone, oak tree was all the tree seen along the road, and not a stone. I really miss the jolting of the stones of Pennsylvania roads. But strewed all along are pebbles, and in places perfect beds of them. I cannot keep my eyes off the ground for looking at them, and, at last, to satisfy my wishing for "a lot of those pretty pebbles to carry home," Mr. N. stops, and we both alight and try who can find the prettiest. As I gather, I cannot but wonder how God put these pebbles away up here!

Reader, if all this prairie land was waters, it would make a good sized sea, not a storm tossed sea but water in rolling waves. It looks as though it had been the bed of a body of water, and the water leaked out or ran down the Niobrara river, cutting out the canyons as it went, and now the sea has all gone to grass.

Mr. N. drives close to the edge of an irregular series of canyons that I may have a better view.

"I do wish you would tell me, Mr. N., how these canyons have been made?"

"Why, by the action of the wind and water."

"Yes, I suppose; but looks more like the work of an immense scoop-shovel, and all done in the dark; they are so irregular in shape, size, and depth."

Most that I see on this side of the river are dry, grassy, and barren of tree or bush, while off on the other side, can be seen many well filled with burr oak, pine, and cedar.

Views such as I have had from the Stone Butte, along the Keya Paha, on the broad plains, and now of the valley of the Niobrara well repays me for all my long rides, and sets my mind in a perfect query of how and when was all this wonderful work done? I hope I shall be permitted to some day come again, and if I cannot get over the ground any other way, I will take another ride behind oxen.

Several years ago these canyons afforded good hiding places for stray(?) ponies and horses that strayed from their owners by the maneuvering of "Doc." Middleton, and his gang of "pony boys," as those who steal or run off horses from the Indians are called. But they did not confine themselves to Indian ponies alone, and horses and cattle were stolen without personal regard for the owner.

But their leader has been safe in the penitentiary at Lincoln for some time, and the gang in part disbanded; yet depredations are still committed by them, which has its effect upon some of the colonists, who feel that they do not care to settle where they would be apt to lose their horses so unceremoniously. A one-armed traveler, who took shelter from the storm with a sick wife on the island, had one of his horses stolen last week, which is causing a good deal of indignation. Their favorite rendezvous before the band was broken was at "Morrison's bridge," where we spent the rainy Sabbath. Oh, dear! would I have laid me down so peacefully to sleep on the table that night had I known more of the history of the little house and the dark canyons about?

But the house has another keeper, and nothing remains but the story of other days to intimidate us now, and we found it neat and clean, and quite inviting after our long ride.

After supper I went out to take a good look at the Niobrara river, or _Running Water_. Boiling and surging, its muddy waves hurried by, as though it was over anxious to reach the Missouri, into which it empties. It has its source in Wyoming, and is 460 miles long. Where it enters the state, it is a clear, sparkling stream, only 10 feet wide; but by the time it gathers and rushes over so much sand, which it keeps in a constant stir, changing its sand bars every few hours, it loses its clearness, and at this point is about 165 feet wide. Like the Missouri river, its banks are almost entirely of a dark sand, without a pebble. So I gathered sand again, and after quite a search, found a couple of little stones, same color of the sand, and these I put in my satchel to be carried to Pennsylvania, to help recall this sunset picture on the "Running Water," and, for a more substantial lean for memory I go with Mr. N. on to the island to look for a diamond willow stick to carry home to father for a cane. The island is almost covered with these tall willow bushes. The bridge was built about four years ago. The piers are heavy logs pounded deep into the sand of the river bed, and it is planked with logs, and bushes and sod. It has passed heavy freight trains bound for the Indian Agency and the Black Hills, and what a mingling of emigrants from every direction have paid their toll and crossed over to find new homes beyond! Three wagons pass by this evening, and one of the men stopped to buy milk from Mrs. Slack "to make turn-over cake;" and made enquiry, saying:

"Where is that colony from Pennsylvania located? We would like to get near it."

It is quite a compliment to the colony that so many come so far to settle near them; but has been quite a hindrance. Long before the colony arrived, people were gathering in and occupying the best of the land, and thus scattering the little band of colonists. Indeed the fame of the colony will people this country by many times the number of actual settlers it itself will bring.

Mrs. S. insists that I "give her some music on the organ," and I attempt "Home sweet, home," but my voice fails me, and I sing "Sweet hour of prayer," as more befitting. Home for me is not on the Niobrara, and in early morn we leave it to flow on just as before, and we go on toward Stuart, casting back good-bye glances at its strangely beautiful valley. The bluffs hug the river so close that the valley is not wide, but the canyons that cut into the bluffs help to make it quite an interesting picture.

There is not much more to be told about the country on the south side of the river. It is not sought after by the claim-hunters as the land on the north is. A few new houses can be seen, showing that a few are persuaded to test it.

The grass is showing green, and where it was burnt off on the north side of the valley, and was only black, barren patches a little more than a week ago, now are bright and green. A few new flowers have sprung up by the way-side. The sweetest in fragrance is what they call the wild onion. The root is the shape and taste of an onion, and also the stem when bruised has quite an onion smell; but the tiny, pale pink flower reminds me of the old May pinks for fragrance. Another tiny flower is very much like mother's treasured pink oxalis; but is only the bloom of wood sorrel. It opens in morning and closes at evening, and acts so much like the oxalis, I could scarcely be persuaded it was not; but the leaves convinced me.

I think the setting sun of Nebraska must impart some of its rays to the flowers, that give them a different tinge; and, too, the flowers seem to come with the leaves, and bloom so soon after peeping through the sod. The pretty blue and white starlike iris was the only flower to be found about Stuart when I left.

We have passed a number of emigrant wagons, and--"Oh, horror! Mr. Newell, look out for the red-skins!"

"Where, Miss Fulton, where?"

"Why there, on the wagon and about it, and see, they are setting fire to the prairie; and oh dear! one of them is coming toward us with some sort of a weapon in his hand. Guess I'll wrap this bright red Indian blanket around me and perhaps they will take me for a 'Soo' and spare me scalp."

Reader I have a mind to say "continued in the next" or "subscribe for the Ledger and read the rest," but that would be unkind to leave you in suspense, though I fear you are growing sleepy over this the first chapter even, and I would like to have some thrilling adventure to wake you up.

But the "Look out for the red skins," was in great red letters on a prairie schooner, and there they were, men with coats and hats painted a bright red, taking their dinner about a fire which the wind is trying to carry farther, and one is vigorously stamping it out. Another, a mere boy with a stick in his hand, comes to inquire the road to the bridge "where you don't have to pay toll?" Poor men, they look as though they hadn't ten cents to spare. So ends my adventure with the "red skins." But here comes another train of emigrants; ladies traveling in a covered carriage, while the horses, cattle, people, and all show they come from a land of plenty, and bring a goodly share of worldly goods along.

They tell Mr. N. they came from Hall county, Nebraska, where vegetation is at least two weeks ahead of this country, but came to take up government land. So it is, some go with nothing, while others sell good homes and go with a plenty to build up another where they can have the land for the claiming of it.

The sun has not been so bright, and the wind is cool and strong, but I have been well protected by this thick warm Indian blanket, yet I am not sorry when I alight at Mr. Skirvings door and receive a hearty welcome, and "just in time for a good dinner."

THE COLONISTS' FIRST SUMMER'S WORK AND HARVEST.

It would not do to take the colonists to their homes on the frontier, and not tell more of them.

I shall copy from letters received. From a letter received from one whom I know had nothing left after reaching there but his pluck and energy, I quote:

"BREWER, P.O. BROWN CO., NEB.,

"December 23, '83.

"Our harvest has been good. Every man of the colony is better
satisfied than they were last spring, as their crops have done
better than they expected. My sod corn yielded 20 bushels (shelled)
per acre. Potatoes 120 bushels. Beans 5, and I never raised larger
vegetables than we did this summer on sod. On old ground corn 40,
wheat 20 to 35, and oats 40 to 60 bushels per acre. After the first
year we can raise all kinds of grain. For building a sod house, it
costs nothing besides the labor, but for the floor, doors and
windows. I built one to do me for the summer, and was surprised at
the comfort we took in it; and now have a log house ready for use,
a sod barn of two rooms, one for my cow, and the other for the
chickens and ducks, a good cave, and a well of good water at eight
feet.

"There are men in the canyons that take out building logs. They
charge from twenty-five to thirty-five dollars per forty logs,
sixteen and twenty feet long. To have these logs hauled costs two
and two and one-half dollars per day, and it takes two days to make
the trip. But those who have the time and teams can do their own
hauling and get their own logs, as the trees belong to "Uncle Sam."

"The neighbors all turn out and help at the raising. The timber in
the canyons are mostly pine. Our first frost was 24th September,
and our first cold weather began last week. A number of the
colonists built good frame houses. I have been offered $600.00 for
my claims, but I come to stay, and stay I will."

From another:

"We are all in good health and like our western homes. Yet we have
some drawbacks; the worst is the want of society, and fruit. Are
going to have a reunion 16 February."

"BREWER, Jan., 8.

"You wished to know what we can do in the winter. I have been
getting wood, and sitting by the fire. Weather beautiful until 15th
December, but the thermometer has said "below zero," ever since
Christmas. The lowest was twenty degrees. The land is all taken
around here (near the Stone Butte) and we expect in a couple of
years to have schools and plenty of neighbors."

Those who located near Stuart and Long Pine, are all doing well, and no sickness reported from climating.

I have not heard of one being out of employment. One remarked: "This is a good country for the few of us that came."

I believe that the majority of the first party took claims; but the little handful of colonists are nothing in number to the settlers that have gathered in from everywhere, and occupy the land with them. Of the horse thieves before spoken of I would add, that the "vigilantes" have been at work among them, hanging a number to the nearest tree, and lodging a greater number in jail.

It is to be hoped that these severe measures will be all sufficient to rid the country of these outlaws. May the "colonists" dwell in peace and prosperity, and may the harvest of the future prove rich in all things good!