Trying Times In 1873 by D.B. Wright
Taken From: Pioneer Sketches, Nebraska and Texas 1919
By: D.W. Wright ©1915
​
"We started from near Otomway, Iowa, with a good team of horses and a few cattle, and larded at Beatrice in the latter part of September, 1872, where we wintered, as they said there was nothing to do for a living farther west.
"During our stay in Beatrice, father hauled rock for some of the best buildings there.” He paid $300 for the right of a homestead to C. J. Jacobs, Alfred Harsis' father-in-law. Then we traded for two yoke of oxen to begin life right in the West.
"We arrived at our homestead in Nuckolls County, May 10, 1873. There were ten acres of broken land on the place and 9x12 'dug-out' on the southeast corner of the tract. This dug-out had a half window in the gabled front. There were six of us in the family, and we had a bed, stove, table and several boxes in this 9x12 room. Sister and I slept on the table, and were always sure of our bed being made.
"Father had $7 in money to build and do all the improving with, and with which to keep up a sickly wife and a family of helpless children.
"His machinery consisted of a wagon, breaking plow, harrow, scythe, axe, hoe and a 11-inch auger.
"Our nearest neighbor on the east was Alfred Harris, two miles, on the north, Mr. Alender, one and a half miles; on the west they said twenty miles – but we never saw him.
"We sowed the ten acres in wheat the first year, cut it with a oradle and threshed it with a flail.
"Father began to break prairie, and soon the plow blade got dull. He cold-hammered it out on a piece of railroad rail about eight inches long for an anvil. This did not do very well, so he built a furnace out of sod in which to heat his lays. He used wood instead of coal to heat them with. His cutter broke and he could not weld it, so he carried it about twelve miles distant to a man who had a forge and coal to get it mended.
"We planted some sod corn. Father took the axe and I the corn; he drove the axe through the sod and I dropped in the corn, and then another lick with the axe and the seed was covered.
"When it did not rain enough to fill the ponds (buffalo wallows) to water the cattle, sister and I drove them once a day to a pond in a draw two miles east of us, where there was water. We were afraid and disliked it very much, but it had to be done. When the wiggle- tails were too thick to strain out of the water from the little holes in the draws, father hauled water in a barrel on a sled from Mr. Alender's.
"When we went visiting we rode on a sled. In the summer-time the wagon-bed was set off on some blocks, as that was the only means of keeping the clothing dry, as it had a good cover, and the 'dug-out' leaked – and there was not room to put the things and live there too. "Father had to build a house, so during the summer he cut logs on the creeks from far and near, as the right lengths were hard to find. The logs were twenty-eight feet long and so crooked that when one end was on the wagon the other was laying on the ground – some of them had to be swung under the wagon and hauled home in that manner. In the fall we had a log raising. Among those who helped to raise the house were: Fred and Alfred Harris, . Alender, T. J. Hewett, E. L. Downing, and others. We used mud for mortar to fill the cracks between the logs, and chuncks of wood in the holes formed by the crooked timbers. The house was covered with a series of ribs, over which was put a layer of willows, which in turn was covered with grass, then a final covering of earth on top of all – not a board was used in the entire building. At first we hung up a piece of old carpet for a door – the building also had two half windows. When a door was finally put in, the lumber and nails came from Sutton, about forty miles distant. The grass was knee–high under the bed for a year or two, as we did not get to tramp it off there.
"Father made us a bedstead, split from a log. He made us shoes out of the tops of old boots which had been brought along in case of necessity; and the soles were made out of saddle skirts, as we did not need the saddles – our oxen not being broke to ride.
"In the summer while we were in the 'dug-out' father heard a terrible noise which sounded like someone in deep distress; he went out and listened, and it proved to be a bunch of Texas cattle which had stampeded. A man was on a pony ahead of the cattle hollowing as loud as he could, endeavoring to attract the cattle so that he could turn them to stop -get them to mill, as we say, or come into the back
These cattle were being herded here at that time. Part of the herd, when they would run in a circle and then break up. About ninety head lost their horns during the stampede, caused by striking against one another in the run.
"There were lots of deer and antelope here in those days. One day mother and I saw animals coming into our corn so we took the dog and chased them off; they proved to be deer. Father saw a few buffalo. There were lots of prairie chickens on the prairie, but no quail.
"In August the county was devastated by a prairie fire.
"The up-land hay was no good, and what was secured had to be cut in the draws.
"We were ready for winter in our new home, the largest log house in the county, and we thought it a mansion— dirt floor and roof. We had a cross log to hold up the long logs in the roof, the cross logs being about five feet above the floor. These cross logs felt many a soft head that bumped them. Ask Will Welch if he ever felt the soft side of one of these logs. "
​
Recollections Of Pioneer Life
Taken From: Pioneer Sketches, Nebraska and Texas 1919
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.
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.
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 out 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.
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.
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.
Our greatest dread and fear the first year was Indians and prairie fires.
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 hantalope, 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.
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.
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.
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 1 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.
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 (boylike) 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 hunter?, 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.
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.
There was no preaching for several years.
Our nearest railroad station was Nebraska City, 150 miles away.
Our post office was Hebron, 20 miles distant, where we got our mail once a week.
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.
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.
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.