CHAPTER I.

First visit to Lancaster County -- Settlement -- Salt basins -- Making salt -- Comers and goers -- Improvement -- Fourth of July, 1862 -- Elder Young and party -- Founding Lancaster County-seat fight -- Clay county despoiled -- Indian scares First district court -- Scenes and incidents in justice courts -- Growth and progress -- Removal to Seward County.

In the last days of June, 1861, we chanced to meet Wm. T. Donovan on the Streets of Nebraska City, and upon our learning that he lived on Salt creek, and in the neighborhood of the wonderful salt basins, we speedily arranged to accompany him, that we might see for ourself the country and the basins of which we had heard so much.

If we remember correctly, after passing the old Majors farm, four miles out, we passed over an unbroken wilderness, save Wilson‘s ranch at Wilson creek, until we reached McKee’s ranch on the Nemaha, where widow McKee and her sons lived. James Iler also lived near the same point. This was twenty miles out and near the present town of Syracuse. The next improvement was that of John Roberts, on the Nemaha, near the present sight of Palmyra, and five miles further to the west, lived a Mr. Meecham, a weak-kneed Mormon who had fallen out by the way. These were all the people that we saw on that trip until we reached Salt creek. After enjoying the hospitalities of our friend’s home for the night, a somewhat novel mode of conveyance was improvised for our trip to the basin. A tongue was fastened to the hind axle of a wagon, and a pair of springs was made of short ash sticks with a board across the ends of the sticks for a seat, and our carriage was complete, and Buck and Bright served for motive power. On the second day of July, 1861, we followed a dim track down—to Lincoln?—no; to Lancaster?— no—but down Salt creek (we hardly ever go up Salt creek), to the mouth of Oak creek, where we forded the stream. There was at that time a magnificent grove of honey locust timber on the west side of Salt creek, and just south of Oak creek; and a little to the south of the foot of O street, the large bend of the creek, there were perhaps a hundred majestic elms and cottonwoods, with here and there a hack-berry and honey locust. Those lovely groves would now, if they could have remained in their natural grandeur and beauty as we saw them, be of priceless value to the city for a park. Joseph, the elder son of Wm. T. Donovan, was our teamster and guide. The big flies that infested the low bottoms were a great help as persuaders of our oxen, and at times our ride was exciting in the extreme, as the oxen would dart first to the right, then to the left, to get the benefit of a brush to rid themselves of flies.

It brings peculiar thoughts to mind as we look around us now and consider the changes that twenty-six years have wrought.

One dim track only crossed the site of the future city from east to west, that had been made by hunters and salt pilgrims, and the one already mentioned running up and down the creek. As we viewed the land upon which now stands this great busy city, we had the exciting pleasure of seeing for the first time a large drove of the beautiful antelope, cantering across the prairie about where the government square is. We forded Salt creek, just by the junction of Oak creek, and what a struggle we had in making our way through the tall sunflowers between the ford and the basin. There was something enchanting about the scene that met our eyes. The fresh breeze sweeping over the salt basins reminded us of the morning breezes at the ocean beach. The basin was as smooth as glass, and resembled a slab of highly polished, clouded marble.

The wrecks of some old salt furnaces and two deserted cabins were the only sign of civilization. All was wild and solitary, but our soul was filled with rapturous delight. The geese, brant, and pelicans had undisputed sway, and the air was filled with their shrill notes.

The nearest human habitation to either the basin or the present city, was that of W. T. Donovan, on the Card well place on Salt creek, about five miles up the creek or south of the ford. Joel Mason lived a mile farther up. Richard Wallingford lived at his present home. A. J. Wallingford also lived just across the creek. John Cadman lived just across the county line, as the counties were first constituted, in old Clay county, and where the village of Saltillo now stands. Dr. Maxwell lived in that neighborhood; also Festus Reed; and above Roca, J. L. Davison and the Pray family had located.

Wm. Shirley, on Stevens creek, was the nearest settler to the eastward. Charles Retslef and John Wodencamp, also, Judge J. D. Maine, held the fort a little farther up the creek, and Aaron Wood was located near the head of Stevens creek. John and Louis Loder lived down Malt creek near Waverly; also Michael Shea and James Moran. To the westward it was a complete wilderness.

In company with Darwin Peckham (now of Lincoln) we commenced making salt on the 20th of August, 1861. We pre-empted one of the log cabins and "bached" it during the fall. Salt was very scarce during war times, and was high in price, and of a necessity great numbers of people came to scrape salt. They came from all the settled portions of the territory, from Kansas, Missouri, and as far east as central Iowa. At the time of the second visit we found the roads well broken by pilgrims in search of salt. Going for salt in those days was like going fishing—it was all in luck. If the weather were perfectly dry, they could get plenty of’ it, for it could be scraped up by the wagon load, but three minutes’ rain would end the game. We have seen a drove of men that came a full hundred miles arrive just in time to see, a little rain clear all the salt off the basin in a moment, and they left to hold an empty sack. We found a goodly number there when we arrived, and they were holding the empty sack, for it had just rained and the basin was as black as ink. We remember Milton Langdon as one of the disconsolate pilgrims. The next morning all except our party pulled out, and "we were monarchs of all we surveyed."

We immediately built a small furnace, made a sheet—iron salt pan, and began boiling salt, and by the time the next drove of pilgrims came we had salt to sell or trade them. Many farmers would bring their sorghum pans to make their own salt, and when they would get enough or tired, we would trade salt for their pans and all their spare provisions. When the weather was dry many would scrape more than they could haul home, and we would trade for their scrapings at twenty—five cents per hundred and pay in boiled salt at two dollars per hundred. in dry times we would accumulate a mountain of scraped salt, amid as soon as the first rain came our scrapings would be worth from fifty cents to one dollar per hundred. Pilgrims would grab for it. They brought null manner of provisions to trade for salt—meat, flour, chickens, butter, fruit, potatoes, eggs; and others were willing to go to the groves and cut and haul wood and trade us; others would haul up a large pile of wood and then rent our furnaces for the night, and would work all night, and thus get a supply. So we had salt to sell, scrapings to sell, furnaces to rent, and, generally, provisions to sell. One man we remember brought a fine suit of clothes and traded us for salt. A party brought two four—horse wagon loads, 5,000 pounds, of flour from Winterset, Iowa, and we made him an even exchange of 5,000 pounds of salt for it. It was a lively time, for hundreds were coming and going continually during the fall.

We remember several distinguished visitors of that fall, among whom were Hon. O. P. Mason and Hon. J. Sterling Morton. We treated them to slap—jacks of our own make, which the judge seemed to relish, but our friend Morton didn’t seem to appreciate our cooking; just why has always been a mystery. Hon. P. W. Hitchcock, afterwards U. S. senator, and his excellency, Gov. Saunders (he was then our governor), also made us a visit. They were not repairing fences, hint quite likely they were examining J. Sterling Morton’s fence around the saline land. Many of lesser note visited us during the fall.

Late in the fall we moved our family to Salt creek, and wintered in one apartment of the log cabin that W. T. Donovan occupied, and as the salt business always quits when winter begins, we put in the time as best we could, chasing rabbits, etc. Uncle Dick Wallingford, learning that we had graduated at the carpenter’s bench, besought us to build him a house. We suppose we have the honor of building for Uncle Dick the first frame building in Lancaster county, in the winter of ‘61 and ‘62. We made the doors of black walnut lumber that was about as hard as glass. We also call to mind the struggle we had one night the following summer in making a coffin for Grandmother Wallingford out of that hard lumber.

We took up our abode at the basin with the wife and two children on the first day of May, 1862. That same day a county convention was held at the basin and nearly every man in the county was there, bum we remember none of the proceedings, as we were occupied in setting our house inn order. Two or three days later, Milton Langdon arrived with his family, and took lip their abode just west of the B. & M. bridge, north of Oak creek. The season of 1862 was exceedingly prosperous. Great numbers of people came and went every day. Numerous other furnaces were started, and the salt works presented quite the appearance of business.

Here we must beg indulgence, while we relate a little story. In the winter of ‘62 and ‘63, there was an old fell low by the name of Ben Vanthusen camping amid boiling salt, and there was an Indian camp a little distance away, and the Indians had been bothering Ben until he had become impatient with them. A young stalwart brave thought to play a trick on him, and approached him with the usual aboriginee’s salutation, "How !" and at the same time offered Ben a finely polished ramrod which he reached out to take, when Mr. Indian struck him a violent blow with the rod across the knuckles. Ben couldn’t stand that, and quickly as thought returned the compliment within his fist, propelled by his stalwart arm; the blow took effect just under the ear of the young brave, and he reeled backward and sat down in a pan of boiling salt water. A sharp shriek, and Mr. Indian jumped for life, and ran wildly into the swamp hallooing all sorts of bloody murder in the Indian tongue. Other braves went to his relief, and carried him to camp. He was thoroughly cooked and well salted. Time little settlement soon became alarmed, fearing that the Indians would be enraged and seek vengeance. A hurried consultation was had, and tine camp was visited to learn, it possible, the temper of the redskins. We found the man almost dead, and while he was writhing in agony, the other Indians were making all sorts of fun of him, calling him squaw main, etc., and pointing their fingers at him; and finally Ben Vanthusen appeared on time scene, and they began at once lionizing him, as if to further tantalize the poor unfortunate. They finally made a litter of an buffalo robe and carried him away with them, while in a dying condition.

On the morning of the Fourth of July, wife suggested that we celebrate by gathering a lot of gooseberries, of which there were great quantities. Just as we had filled our buckets, we heard someone hallooing, and as we emerged from the brush, who should we see but Elder Young and party, consisting of Rev. Peter Schamp, Mr. McKesson, Mr. Warnes, Luke Lavender, and Jacob Dawson. They were in search of a suitable location for our colony. They were patriotic, and had not forgotten the flag. Dinner was quickly provided and disposed of, the neighbors called in, and we had a celebration that was a feast to the soul. As the dear old elder talked to us of our blessed flag, and how it had been trailed in the dust by recreant hands, and the mighty struggle that was going on to maintain its supremacy, how our hearts swelled with emotion as we realized that our country and our all was at the moment trembling in the balance. This was probably the first time our national flag ever kissed the breezes of Lancaster county, and it was an occasion long to be remembered by all the participants.

Some, we know not how many, of that little group have gone to their long home. Uncle Jacob Dawson lived just long enough to see the foundations of Lincoln well laid, and was called away. Our dear old friend, Elder Young, lived to see the city of his founding great and strong, and marching forward to greater achievements, and "he was gathered to his fathers full of years and full of honors."

In the second week in July, and after making a thorough examination of the surrounding country, the party made settlement on the land where Lincoln now stands, and dedicated a portion of section twenty-two for a town site, and christened it "Lancaster."

Lancaster did not grow as more modern towns do. A few settlers began to arrive, and settled on the beautiful lands in the vicinity, but not many cared to try their hands at building a city just then. Town building was a slow process in those days so far inland.

It must be remembered that the bill providing for the Union Pacific railroad had passed but the previous winter, and the eastern terminus had not been fixed by the president. Our nearest railroad was at St. Joseph, Mo., and Ottumwa, Iowa. And further it was yet very questionable as to whether our upland prairie was of any value for agricultural purposes. The farms were all yet confined to the Creek bottoms. Prairie fires would sweep the prairies just as soon as the grass was dry in the fall and leave the roots exposed to the scorching rays of the autumn sun and then to the frosts of winter. The snow would gather into huge drifts, there being nothing to hold it except the ravines. This resulted in very short grass crops on the upland, and frequently there was scarcely grass enough to hide a garter snake in midsummer. People saw the fact that the prairie produced but little grass, but were slow to discover the causes, and were ready to condemn the land as worthless for cultivation. Some are led to believe that great changes have taken place in the general character of the soil, as well as in the climate. We have frequently been asked if this land was not all covered with buffalo grass. To this question we answer most emphatically, no. It might have been at some remote period, but never since white men have known it. Many are of the opinion that it scarcely ever rained in those early days. That is certainly a mistake. The summer of 1860 produced scarcely any rain (we well remember the year of the Kansas famine; we resided at Nebraska City at the time), and to help matters along there were sixteen days and nights of continuous hot south wind. It was almost insufferably hot, so stifling it was that people could not bear to sit in the wind, even late in the evenings, but would be compelled to seek a wind-brake. Except that memorable year, rains were just as plentiful and as well distributed through the growing seasons in those years as now, and vegetation, where it had a fair show, made the same luxuriant growth. But we do not wonder that the overland immigrant who passed through this country in the early spring or hate in the fall pronounced this a desert hand, for as far as the eye could reach, in all directions, nothing could be seen but black prairie. Most dreary indeed was the spectacle. There being nothing to retain the moisture, and the sun bearing down on the defenceless head, and the mirage playing in the distance like sonic specter, it did not seem that it ever could be a fit abode for civilized man. It took men and women of strong nerve and great faith to attempt to build a home in this wilderness then, but there were some brave souls that were equal to the hour, and such were the men who founded Lancaster.

The story of the founding of the embryo city, amid the struggle over the location of the county-seat, is an interesting them. The settlement at Yankee Hill (where the insane hospital now stands), under the leadership of John Cadman and Win. Fields, made an interesting and energetic fight for the prize. These men looked with jealousy upon the Lancaster colony. Our friend Cadman was wide-awake, and with a fertile brain was ready for almost any emergency. It will be remembered that the boundaries of the county were materially changed in the winter of 1862-63. Friend Cadman secured the election to the legislature from old Clay county, John S. Gregory was by some trick of legerdemain elected to represent Lancaster, amid Hon. H. W. Parker was sent from Gage. The trio each had an axe to grind. Parker wanted to make the county-seat secure for Beatrice, and Cadman wanted to spoil Elder Young’s little game and make a new town and clothe it with the honors of the county-seat. So they arranged and carried through the scheme to eliminate Clay county from the map of Nebraska, and give to Gage the south twelve miles, and the north twelve miles to Lancaster, in the interest of Cadman and his friends. Thus it came that Gage and Lancaster are each thirty-six miles long, and that Clay county was buried out of sight, to he resurrected at a later day farther to the west. We have never been able to learn just what interest our friend Gregory was to have, but suppose he was to be endorsed for the post office at the basin at a salary of one dollar per month, and also to have his name perpetuated by renaming the great salt basin "Gregory Basin," both of which he secured; but the honors of his office and the name were very much like a soap bubble-they got away from him in a very short title. Cadman and his friends lost no time in fixing upon a point for their new town at Yankee Hill, and then came the tug of war. About this time what was known as the steam wagon road was located from Nebraska City to the west, and the crossing of Salt creek fixed at Yankee Hill. An appropriation of five hundred dollars was secured by the legislature for a bridge on Salt creek in Lancaster county, to be located by territorial commissioners. When these gentlemen came to fix the location of the bridge, the Lancaster party, headed by Elder Young, and the Yankee Hill folks, led by Cadman, each made an earnest showing why they should have the bridge, and we take it for granted that each succeeded in convincing the commissioners that their claim was the best, for they divided the money between the two points, and thus, with the aid of private help, two good bridges were secured.

Each place made slow progress; a little store and a blacksmith shop were secured by each. Lancaster had the help of the salt interest to assist it, while its rival had the freight road. Each had energetic men as leaders, and they were equally well situated, but Lancaster had the sympathy of the greater number of the people of the county. Friend Cadman had roused the ire of all his old neighbors on the head of Salt creek. They were very sore over having all their pleasant dreams of a county-seat at Olathe suddenly vanish, and their county disappear, or torn ill two and swallowed by her greedy sisters. When the county—seat problem came before the people for settlement, the Lancaster folks had a walk—away, and secured a grand triumph at the polls.

This county-seat election occurred in the summer of 1864, and was held at the house of the writer, just south of the great basin.

Notwithstanding his defeat in his pet project of founding a county— seat, Cadman secured a return to the legislature for several terms and had an honorable part in molding the destiny of the county, in helping to secure the capital removal bill, and securing the location of it within her borders; and while Elder J. M. Young may justly be honored as the founder of Lincoln, to John Cadman belongs the honor of doing splendid work in securing a grand triumph in removing the capital and securing the principal benefits to his country; and while he did not realize the full fruition of his hopes in getting it at Yankee Hill, we are glad to know that he has been duly rewarded, and that in his green old age he is blessed with plenty of this world’s goods, and friends innumerable to brighten his pathway. Long live Hon. John Cadman!

In the early summer of 1862, we had the pleasure of helping to raise a log house for Charles Calkins, on Middle creek, on what was afterwards known as the Horton farm, and about five miles west of the city. This was the first log cabin between the basin and the Grand Island settlement.

In the beautiful month of June our good wife made a visit to Nebraska City, and left us alone "with our glory" for a little season. One afternoon a vast throng of Omahas camped at the head of the basin, but we thought nothing of it as it was a common thing to see great numbers of Indians on their way to their summer hunting grounds on the Republican river. John Chambers’ family lived a little way from our cabin. We went to bed as usual that night, with our bright saber under our pillow, and a rifle standing within easy reach. Near midnight we heard a (not very) "gentle tapping, as of some one rapping at our cabin door." "What’s the matter ?"we cried." Matter enough," says poor trembling John, his wife clinging to him like grim death, and crazed with fear; "the Indians are upon us. For God’s sake what shall we do?" Whether we dressed or not, you may guess. We forgot that we ever had a saber or a gun. When we awoke our ears were greeted with the most unearthly sounds, as if ten thousand devils were turned loose. We all run, as most folks do when badly scared, and we hid as best we could among the hills and awaited the coming of events, which we expected every minute. The pandemonium continued, but came no nearer. We waited patiently for the enemy, but they did not come. We were disappointed. The Indians were expecting to meet their mortal foes (The Sioux) on their hunting grounds, and were having a war dance. "Only this, and nothing more."

on the Sabbath following the 4th of July, 1862, to a fair-sized congregation. A Sabbath-school was organized very soon afterwards, and was of great value to the youth of the little community. This was the first Sunday-school between the Missouri river and the mountains. Religious services were held quite frequently under the leadership of Elder Young, Rev. Dr. McKesson, and Rev. Peter Schamp, and other ministers that chanced to stray so far into the wilderness.

As a general rule the settlers enjoyed themselves very well, and were reasonably prosperous but it was not always so. Sometimes winter storms would shut us off from communication with the world at large. and provisions would get short, and we would be driven to desperate straits. We have known families to live on boiled corn or wheat for a week at a time with no seasoning but salt. The winter of 1863-64 was a most desperate one. The cold was extreme. The last day of December, 1863, was a memorable day for the intensity of the cold. We lead no thermometer except our own blood, and that. told us that it was the mutest bitterly cold of any day of our life. We afterwards learned that at Burlington, Iowa, time thermometer indicated thirty degrees below zero.

That winter was one of much suffering. Salt had declined material in price, and the demand had fallen off; while wood for boiling it had been scarce, and the weather was so severe that it seemed as if all things conspired against the people, and for at time the whole settlement was on the verge of starvation. The spring of 1864 found the settlement in rather a dilapidated and impoverished condition, but hope soon revived. Immigrants began to arrive in goodly numbers and began opening up farms, and that gave new life and hope to all. Settlements began to extend west ward, and all the people began too have more faith in Nebraska. It ma he well here to relate a common saving of those days, just to show how absurd the expressed views of many people were in regard to this country.

If an incoming immigrant talked of going over to the Blue valley to look for at location, he was told at once that it was of no use to look at that country, for it never rains west of Salt creek. That fool notion had become so thoroughly embedded in the minds of many of the early settlers that we expect some of them firmly believe it to this day.

It has been claimed that F. Morton Donovan was the first white child born in this locality, but this locality was rather large, for the fact is he was born on Stevens creek ten miles distant. The first white child born at the basin, or in the immediate vicinity of the present city, was a son born to Joseph Chambers in the winter of 1862-63. He died in infancy. Our son, Elmer Ellsworth Cox, was born March 8, 1863, and was the first white child born in the immediate vicinity who is now living.

There were some exciting and almost ludicrous scenes in the courts at the basins. Milton Langdon and J. S. Gregory were the two prominent attorneys, and in all matters of a judicial nature they were arrayed against each other. They were both of them keen and tricky, ever on the alert to catch the enemy napping, and t hey had some high old times. Occasionally a case would arise that tried the mettle of the court, attorneys, and officers.. A rough customer, who it was said had graduated in the rebel army, put in an appearance, and made sonic violent threats, in which lie promised to kill some citizen.

An information was filed, and a warrant was issued and placed in the hands of the sheriff. A crowd gathered at the court-room, and it soon became known that the culprit refused to surrender to the sheriff. All became excited, and while the court was giving some directions to the citizens about assisting the sheriff, the fellow came stalking into the court—room, carrying his rifle in a position for immediate use. The sheriff followed at a convenient distance of probably ten rods. The court invited time man to take a seat, which was promptly declined, but he took a careful survey of the court and all the surroundings, and with the rifle ready cocked and finger on the t bigger, he began a retreat, and all hands seemed ready to stand out of his way. The justice remarked to the sheriff and posse, " You will be justified in taking that man, if you have to kill him to do it," hut they (didn’t take him ; he backed off with drawn weapon, and bid defiance, and no one was willing to take the risk of his capture. He was bent on vengeance, and had no intention of leaving until lie had wreaked it on somebody. He became angry at the justice for saying take him dead or alive, and during the next morning, while his honor was busy at his salt furnace, he happened to observe the sneaking scoundrel creeping up a small ravine in the rear, with a view of getting a sure shot at him, but finding that his victim had observed him, he started off at a rapid pace across the basin. His honor quickly halted him. He instantly cocked his rifle, but sternly and most emphatically his honor commanded a truce, and marched straight up to the fellow, who curled down like a whipped cur, received a court blessing in the open air, and then took his final departure to parts unknown. Had it not been for a good degree of firmness on that occasion, it is quite probable that some other writer would have had the honors of this occasion instead of us.

On the morning of August 20, 1862, there was a heavy frost, which killed all the corn on the lowlands throughout Nebraska.

During the spring of 1863, J. S. Gregory built the first frame house in the vicinity of the basin, and made quite extensive improvements. Mr. Eaton, of Plattsmouth, an uncle of our friend Gregory, became quite well acquainted with him during these years, and their fraternal relationship are spread upon the court records of Lancaster county for many years.

Settlements increased rapidly during the spring and early summer of 1864, but took a serious set-back later in the season, on account of the Indian troubles, so that the number wintering here in the winter of 1864-65 was hardly greater than in the winter previous.

The first term of the district court was held on the 8th day of November, 1864 (the day Lincoln was elected to the second term), in Jacob Dawson’s double log cabin, and was presided over by his honor, Judge Elmer S. Dundy, with the same dignity as is manifest in these days in the great government court-house. Members of the bar present were Hon. T. M. Marquett and Judge Pottenger, of Plattsmouth. Uncle Jake’s cabin stood just where the Commercial block now stands. Uncle Jake was put to straits to properly entertain the judge and the attorneys. We remember that he came over and borrowed all the store coffee at the basin. As if to add to the pleasures of the occasion, we enjoyed a regular blizzard of whirling, drilling snow.

The judge appointed Pottenger prosecuting attorney, and friend Pott, as we called him, drew up one indictment against one Pemberton, for shooting into a Bird‘s nest. The charge was malicious assault with intent to kill. His honor allowed Pottenger seventy-five dollars. Marquett defended Pemberton for ten dollars, and quashed the indictment, and Pemberton skipped the country before other proceedings could be held.

The story of the crime is as follows: Old man Bird had some difficulty with Pemberton about the chickens, and one of the young Birds (a pullet) sung some unsavory songs for Pembertons benefit, Pemberton met the old Bird one morning at the door and demanded satisfaction, and finally drew a revolver and shot, the ball missing the old Bird, but passing through the door and lodging in the wall just above a bed full of young Birds. Then he hit the old Bird a lick on the head with the butt of the revolver. The old Bird flew to the justice’s office, all covered with blood, just as his honor was being seated with his little family at the breakfast table, and, of course a little scene occurred, which we will not relate.

In the summer of 1864, the whole West was very easily excited after the horrible massacre in Minnesota. Wild rumors were afloat continually, and the scattered settlements were harassed with fears throughout the whole summer and fall. The most trifling circumstances were magnified as the were related by the panic-stricken people into general massacres, or wholesale slaughtering of some neighboring settlement. The impression prevailed that the rebel government at Richmond was inciting the redskins to a merciless warfare all along the frontier. Tomahawk Ls and sea I ping knives of the red devils were vividly pictured in all our dreams. We knew this much, that the dark hours of the war presented a grand opportunity for them to clean us out, root and branch. We also knew that they were in no friendly mood; or, in other words, we were quite sure that were thirsting for our blood, and all that kept them back was their tear of a terrible retribution; and further, the fire we saw was not all fox fire. There were people murdered by them in Nebraska, and not a few. At Plum creek of the west, on Turkey creek, on the Little Blue, there were murders and kidnapping, such as make our blood boil to this day as we think of them. We had just cause to fear, and it would have been foolhardiness to be otherwise than on the alert.

On one occasion, when the writer was at Nebraska City with a load of salt, we had arranged to help Jacob Dawson haul a steam saw-mill out from Little Wyoming, which was a few miles north of the city. While we were yet loading the boiler, word was current that there had been murders at Plum creek. Now there were two Plum creeks, and we all feared it might be the Plum creek in Seward county.

The story of the crime is as follows: Old man Bird had some difficulty with Pemberton about the chickens, and one of the young Birds (a pullet) sung some unsavory songs for Pembertons benefit, Pemberton met the old Bird one morning at the door and demanded satisfaction, and finally drew a revolver and shot, the ball missing the old Bird, but passing through the door and lodging in the wall just above a bed full of young Birds. Then he hit the old Bird a lick on the head with the butt of the revolver. The old Bird flew to the justice’s office, all covered with blood, just as his honor was being seated with his little family at the breakfast table, and, of course a little scene occurred, which we will not relate.

In the summer of 1864, the whole West was very easily excited after the horrible massacre in Minnesota. Wild rumors were afloat continually, and the scattered settlements were harassed with fears throughout the whole summer and fall. The most trifling circumstances were magnified as the were related by the panic-stricken people into general massacres, or wholesale slaughtering of some neighboring settlement. The impression prevailed that the rebel government at Richmond was inciting the redskins to a merciless warfare all along the frontier. Tomahawk Ls and sea I ping knives of the red devils were vividly pictured in all our dreams. We knew this much, that the dark hours of the war presented a grand opportunity for them to clean us out, root and branch. We also knew that they were in no friendly mood; or, in other words, we were quite sure that were thirsting for our blood, and all that kept them back was their tear of a terrible retribution; and further, the fire we saw was not all fox fire. There were people murdered by them in Nebraska, and not a few. At Plum creek of the west, on Turkey creek, on the Little Blue, there were murders and kidnapping, such as make our blood boil to this day as we think of them. We had just cause to fear, and it would have been foolhardiness to be otherwise than on the alert.

On one occasion, when the writer was at Nebraska City with a load of salt, we had arranged to help Jacob Dawson haul a steam saw-mill out from Little Wyoming, which was a few miles north of the city. While we were yet loading the boiler, word was current that there had been murders at Plum creek. Now there were two Plum creeks, and we all feared it might be the Plum creek in Seward county.

However, it proved to be the other. But it answered the purpose of getting up a big scare. We were uneasy and hurried up all we could with loads. We reached Stove creek ranch, thirty miles east of salt basin that night at about eleven o’clock, and had it not been that we dare not attempt the crossing in the night we probably would have traveled all night. In the morning it was raining and we could not cross until about noon. We were eating dinner when we saw a long train of teams coming over the hills from the west. We knew mischief was to pay. We hailed the first that approached us to learn what we could.

"Oh, all the people on Blue river are killed, and all the settlements of Salt creek have fled from their homes and are at Shirley's ranch on Stevens’ creek.’’ " Do you know anything about my family," asked the writer, hurriedly. Yes, they are at Shirley’s ranch with the rest." Hurrah, boys, now for Shirley’s ranch on a double quick.

We tumbled the engine out of one wagon, unhitched from the boiler and put four yoke of oxen on an empty wagon, and if ever oxen traveled it was there and then.

There was four of us, and we took turns whipping, and the wonder is that we did not kill the oxen, for it was extremely hot. We reached the ranch just after dark, and a motley crew we found; at least a hundred people were there, men, women, and children. They were well over their scare, but were well along in the mad state. Everybody was cross almost to ugliness. Shirley had built a new house, but had not moved into it. This was stowed full above and below. His old house was full and the yard was full. The clothing was all wet and also the bedding. Many were suffering with hunger. We found wife and babes stowed away up-stairs in a bed that was wet as wet could be. The story of their panic was told, and was as follows: The night before word came to the neighborhood that the settlement on the Blue were all murdered, and to all appearances the redskins would bounce on the Salt Creek settlers that night; it was then nearly dark; wife and children were at the mercy of some good neighbor, as they had no team. Uncle Peter Bellows came nobly to the rescue. With his broad German accent he said, "Mrs. Coax, you shall go wid us." Blessed be the name of Uncle Pete forever! But Uncle Pete had his peculiarities. He was a great hand to gather up things, such as old log chains, old plowshares, broken pitch forks, horseshoes (he hadn’t a horse in the world), ox yokes, and all sorts of old irons; he was rich in old irons, but in his hurry he forgot to take any provisions for the family. When he comes for wife he says" Mrs Coax, ve takes you and de childern, but ve can’t take noting else; vell dot is so, hurry up. Mine Cot, the Ingins is coming shure enough."

Wife protested that she must take something to eat and some bedding, and finally persuaded him to take a sack (50 lbs.) of flour and a ham of meat and a bed, if she would walk herself. We then had three children, aged respectively, a girl five years, a girl three years, and a boy sixteen months old.

The oldest girl walked, the second one was perched up on the load of goods; wife carried the babe on her right arm and with the left hand carried one end of a trunk a mile and a half. The babe site carried the full ten miles that dark stormy night. Wild with fright they went pell-mell. Imagine if you can the terrors of that awfu1 night-the rolling thunder, the lurid lightning, with a mortal dread of the savage foe. Weary and fainting they arrived at the ranch late in the night. In the morning it developed that that sack of flour and ham of meat were all the provisions in camp for a hundred hungry souls, except some green corn purchased of Shirley. But they had plenty of old irons. It further developed that there were no hostile Indians within less than a hundred miles. By the morning after we arrived in camp the panic had entirely subsided and all were ready to return to their homes.

Within the following two weeks things were quiet. The writer had a quantity of Salt that it was necessary to haul to market. Our bread and butter for the coming winter depended on it. It was perilous to leave home. It was certain starvation to stay at home. We-must go and take our chances.

One bright summer afternoon we made ready with a big load of salt and started for Nebraska City, arrived at Wood’s ranch at night, turned the oxen out to grass, ate supper and went to bed. Near midnight, Dr. Crimm, wife, and her sister, came as if Satan was after them. "The Indians are upon us sure enough this time," they shouted. " You must go for your wife and little ones or they will all be slaughtered." All was wild excitement. Thee writer was somewhat incredulous, but standing between doubt and fear, there was only one course to take. We must fly to the rescue. We hastily hitched up old "Nig‘‘ and "Darb", and went on the dead run for home. Just as the morning light was breaking we passed Uncle Jake Dawson‘s cabins, standing on the ground now occupied by Commercial block. There was a sleep-and-go-easy sort of fellow by the name of John Jiles in the neighborhood at the time. John was standing sentinel at the west end of the cabin. We hailed him and asked what was the matter, rather derisively. We were somewhat provoked at what we thought to be a useless scare. He sharply retorted, "You’ll find out before you get to the basin.’’ We went on feeling that it was another sell out. When we reached home we found everything in dire confusion. Many had left and all the balance were hurriedly preparing for flight, in the anguish of despair we said, "Wife, what shall we do’? ‘‘ She answered, "I will stay if others would stay, but we can’t stay if the place is deserted by all the neighbors." A hurried consultation resulted in this, that we would all go to the river with the salt and remain there until matters had become settled.

Uncle Pete here appears on the scene again. Wife had gone over the hill to drive up the cow that we might take her, while we were busy loading up our bed clothing and provisions. We were talking over the situation, when all of a sudden several Indians put in an appearance. They were some twenty rods distant when first discovered. We were just then sorry for our incredulity. The dread moment had come, we said to ourselves. Uncle Pete started on the double quick, but we commanded him to face about and dance to whatever music might count. ‘‘It’s too late to run," we said, and at the same moment we jumped into the road ahead of the redskins, and commanded a halt.

The leader pulled out a dirty white rag and began swinging it and hallooing that, ‘‘ Me good Ingin," ‘‘me good Omaha," ‘‘me no Sioux." Oh, how our hearts fluttered just then. The Indians were about as much frightened as we were; they knew the people wonderfully excited. ‘‘ Me good Omaha’’ was sweet to our ears just then. We loaded up our little stuff, tied the old cow behind the wagon, loaded on the children, and pushed out for the river, leading almost a forlorn hope. The load of salt was left at Wood’s ranch. When we had piled our beds, provisions, and children on top of a huge load of salt we must have presented a grotesque spectacle. It was no laughing matter then, but now it’s now its no matter if you laugh. Suffice it to say we were welcomed by our friends in Nebraska City just as cordially as it we had ridden in a gilded carriage to their door.

When it became certain that the Union would triumph over the rebellion and there would be ample security here as elsewhere for life and property, then great numbers came. Also a further stimulus to settlement was the certainty of the building of the Union Pacific R.R. Its eastern terminus had been fixed in the fall of 1864, and the first ground was broken, and it may fairly be said that Nebraska had awakened to a new and vigorous life. During the spring of 1864, having become convinced that it occasionally rained on Blue river, we made up our mind to cast our lot with the little settlement in the neighborhood where now stands the beautiful little city of Seward, and made preparation during the summer, accomplished our object, and made tin’ removal Dec. 1st.

Thus ends our immediate connection with the struggling pioneers of Lancaster county, and there it begins with those of Seward county.

Of those good old days of pioneer life we have many, yea very many, pleasant recollections. There were some dark clouds overspreading our skies at times, but every cloud, let it be never so dark, "had its silver lining.’’

Friendships there sprang up that will remain true so long as life shall last. To have been a pioneer in Nebraska in helping to open the way of civilization, we consider an honor, and looking back through the years—years of pleasant sunshine and prosperity, years of dark, of danger, and adversity, we rejoice that we came to Nebraska and helped to lay the foundations of this mighty commonwealth—" our own, our loved Nebraska."

There were quite a number of the early settlers that should have honorable mention in these reminiscences, and we can hardly forego the pleasure of mentioning some of them.

J. N. Beatty and W. R. Davis spent the summer of 1861 in making salt. The former is now a resident of Osage, Kansas. Hon. Wm. Imlay conducted the salt business at the little basin near the stock yards during 1862—63 and until the spring of 1864. John S. Gregory located on the north side of the big basin in 1862, and put up quite extensive improvements, and built the first frame house in that part of the county. Mr. Gregory was a unique character, and cut quite a figure for some years both in business and later in the litigation of the county, wherein a Mr. Eaton, of Plattsmouth (now deceased), was an interested party. To show the brass of some of our early citizens, we must relate that while the basin was known as the Great Salt Basin for years throughout the country, our friend thought to perpetuate his name and perhaps make it famous, secured the help of our congressman and put a postoffice under the name of Gregory Basin. The name didn’t stick worth a cent, neither did the postoffice. Milton Langdon (now deceased) was connected with the salt interests from the spring of 1862 to 1864, and afterwards filled the office of treasurer of the county. Dr. Crimm and a Mr. Diers, of Brownville, Nebraska, ran quite an extensive salt business during the year of 1864. Hardenburg and Linderman, of New Jersey, commenced operations in 1866. These we believe to be the principal operators in the manufacture of salt until after the formation of the state government in 1867.

In future chapters, while they will relate to the settlement or Seward county, we will have frequently to refer to Lancaster, as they are so blended in interest.