Chapter IV.
RECOLLECTIONS OF PIONEER LIFE.
NARRATED BY MRS. ALICE HENBY-SAVIN.
WHEN my father, Willis Henby, with his family settled in Nuckolls county in 1870 the county was not organized, and was inhabited by Indians and wild
animals.
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Our transportation from Iowa was with one team of horses and one of oxen hitched to emigrant wagons containing our family and all our household goods; three good cows were brought with us.
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The first thing in the way of improvements when we landed on the homestead was the making of a “dug-out" (that's a house dug in the side of a bank) ; it was 12x16 with one window and one door; a fire-place was built in one end with a sod chimney; the floor was of dirt; the roof was covered with poles and brush, then sod and dirt on top. Our house was comfortable, but very dark when the door was closed, as the one window was just one sash. We lived in this house five years, then built a two-story house 18x24, which looked almost like a mansion in that day. But how happy we were to get out of the old “dug-out" and live on top of the ground once more.
My father went to Blue Springs the first winter we lived here and traded his ox team for flour and provisions to supply us the first year. Although he needed them to break out his claim, as oxen were used mostly for that kind of work, but his family had to have bread, and there was no other way to get it and hold down the homestead.
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The first winter we spent here was very mild (no snow) and our cows lived on the buffalo grass and looked well. But in the spring, when the wild flowers were in bloom, I think it was in April, we experienced a three days' blizzard that did much damage. All stock that was loose drifted with the storm and perished, and some were drifted under in sheds and smothered. We had some young calves, and having no place of shelter for them, we put them in our covered wagon and they came through alright.
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One incident of that blizzard we have often laughed about, my father wore a high silk hat (such as they wore at that time) ; he thought he would see how things were and when he stuck his head out of the door the wind struck his hat with such force as to carry it over in Thayer county, where it was found after the snow went off.
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Our greatest dread and fear the first year was Indians and prairie fires.
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The Indians had made a raid through this country the spring before, killing a man living near the Blue river and took his team, then had a fight with the soldiers half a mile from our home. The soldiers shot down their own ponies to make a breast-work for defense during the fight. Of course the settlers expected the Indians any time the following spring. Many false rumors were started about the Indians coming. An Englishman who was getting wood on Spring creek came rushing in, much excited, and informed us that the Indians were coming. He said, “Hi knew they weren’t antalope, for hi see their 'eads!’. But they proved to be men looking up land. The Indians did not bother us, and all alarms proved false.
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But we did have some experience with prairie fires. Once they swept Spring creek, burned out our corrals and stampeded our cattle. Father went to look for them and night overtook him causing him to lose his way and wander around all night, and morning found him in Kansas, near the White Rock mounds. He knew where he was then, and returned home, finding the cattle had come home before him. For days the timber burning on the creek made it almost suffocating for us.
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There was much wild game here— buffalo, deer, elk and antelope. Every spring my father would kill enough buffalo to supply our summer’s meat, which was cured and dried, and very good, we thought. Through the season we would often have fresh antelope meat, which tasted something like mutton. Elk and deer were somewhat scarce at times.
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My brother. Will, caught a young antelope in the grass, where it had been hid by its mother, and was just a few days old; we made a pet of it— called him “Bob.'' He soon learned his name, and would drink milk from our hands. This animal was a beauty, but when his antlers grew he proved worse than a ''billy goat" to butt, and the only way we could get rid of his charges on us was to set the dogs after him; no dog could catch him, but he would give them merry chase. He got so he would run away and people would shoot at him, and caused us so much trouble that brother sold him.
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Once when my brother, Oscar, and I were herding the cattle we heard a rumbling noise that sounded like distant thunder. In a moment we knew what it was. I said, "Let's run for home;" but he (boy like) said, "No, let's hide behind a hill and see them!" It was a bunch of nine buffalo, bellowing and pawing the earth, for they were closely pursued by hunters, and some of them were wounded. We did not realize the danger we were in at the time, because if the buffalo had scented us there would have been no one left to tell this story.
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Our first Sunday schools were held from house to house, and although some had to walk or drive oxen they would go for miles to attend and have a social time together.
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There was no preaching for several years.
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Our nearest railroad station was Nebraska City, 150 miles away.
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Our post office was Hebron, 20 miles distant, where we got our mail once a week.
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The first wheat we raised we took to a flouring mill in Jefferson county, some 35 miles distant It took three days to make the round trip. Once we got out of breadstuff before father could make the trip, so we used potatoes instead.
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The first school I attended in Nebraska was in a little 10x12 “dug-out" with rude benches for seats. We furnished our own books; and there were three pupils in attendance. We had a spelling school one night. My what a grand affair we thought it. People came for miles; one family walked five miles and back that night. Everyone took part in the spelling match. That seemed to be a beginning of interest along educational lines.
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I might tell of hardships and privations we met from grasshoppers, hailstorms and drouths, but my story is long enough, so I will leave that for others to tell.