Early History Of Omaha - Chapters XVIII-XX



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CHAPTER XVIII
THE FIRST LEGAL EXECUTION

SOMETIME in the month of June, 1863, a boy named Horace Wilson, employed
by a Mr. Maxwell to gather drift-wood on the Missouri river bottoms north
of city, found the dead body of a man in the stream near the shore. He
informed some men, in camp near by, who came and took the body out of the
water. The body was bound around the arms and neck with a log chain, and
also around the legs with another. An inquest was held according to law by
the coroner, and the body was identified as that of one Isaac H. Neff.
It was evident that he had been most foully and cruelly murdered, and his
body loaded down with log chains and thrown into the river.

   It was also ascertained in the course of a few days that Neff had
recently come from Denver to Omaha with several unloaded teams, in company
with one Cyrus H. Tator. The next discovery that was made was that two or
three of Neff's empty wagons were found standing on the high ground above
Sulphur Springs, where they had remained a week or two. A further
investigation disclosed the fact that Tator had left Omaha with a load

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of goods for Denver, a few days before, taking with him one of these
wagons.

   Thomas L. Sutton, the sheriff, then started to overtake him, which he
did in Colfax county, where he arrested him on the charge of murder. He
was brought back to Omaha, where the District Court was in session, Chief
justice Kellogg presiding. A special grand jury was immediately ordered,
and he was indicted by them for the killing of Neff on the 17th of June.
He was tried, convicted and sentenced to be hung.

   Charles H. Brown, assisted by judge Lake, who was then practicing law,
appeared for the State, and Hon. A. J. Poppleton and William A. Little for
the defense. The argument of Mr. Poppleton was a most brilliant, eloquent
and logical effort in fact, it is said by those who have known Mr.
Poppleton for twenty years to have been the best speech to a jury that he
ever made, and we believe that so considered it then and is of the same
opinion still.

   The case was carried to the Supreme Court by the defense, and the
decision of the court below was affirmed.

   The object of the murder was robbery. It was supposed that Neff had
considerable money on his person. After Tator killed Neff he sold the dead
man's teams to Heber P. Kimball, then living at or near the Mormon town of
Florence, but now a prominent man among the Mormons in Utah. Kimball was
one of the most important witnesses against the defendant. Tator had also
tried to sell the wagons, but failing in this, he left them where they
were found.

   The execution took place on Friday, August 28, 1863 it being the first
legal execution that ever occurred in the Territory, although there had
previously been several hangings by lynch law. There were about two
thousand spectators present, among them being persons from all parts of
the Territory and from western Iowa.

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   At the request of Sheriff Sutton, Gen. McKean detailed a guard of forty
soldiers from Company C, 7th Iowa cavalry, who preserved the strictest
order on the occasion.

   Rev. T. B. Lemon, of the M. E. Church, administered the Holy Communion
to the prisoner in his cell in the morning, and afforded him all the
spiritual consolation in his power.

   At 11 A. M. Sheriff Sutton brought the prisoner out from his cell, and
assisted by City Marshal Thomas Riley, placed him in a buggy and drove to
the place of execution, the military forming a hollow square about the
vehicle. The road was lined with buggies, wagons, and people of all ages,
sexes and colors, on horseback and on foot.

   The place of execution was near Sulphur Springs, in the immediate
vicinity of the spot where the murder was committed.

   The scaffold was a plain frame, four beams erect, with a platform and
trap door, with steps leading up to the platform. A short seat on each
side of the platform, where were seated Rev. Mr. Lemon, the prisoner
Tator, Sheriff Sutton and Marshal Riley.

   The prisoner did not appear greatly depressed, but assumed a cheerful
rather than a despondent look. In fact he was remarkably self-possessed
for one under such dreadful circumstances. This self-possession which he
had maintained all through his trial and imprisonment never deserted him,
not even at the last moment.

   The prisoner addressed the assembled multitude from the scaffold, from
his manuscript, for about half an hour, reviewing the trial, the
circumstances of his arrest, and maintaining his innocence. He read his
address in a full, clear tone with some considerable emotion, but with
scarcely any perceptible trembling. Among other things that he said was
that he did not suppose so many people had assembled merely for the
purpose of witnessing the suffering he was about to endure, but more to
see and hear what he had to say on the occasion.

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   After the conclusion of his address, a prayer was offered up by Rev.
Mr. Lemon. Sheriff Sutton then placed the rope around the prisoner's neck,
and assisted by Marshal Riley, tied his hands behind his back, drew the
black cap over his head, pushed the lever and the trap door flew open,
launching Cyrus H. Tator into eternity at exactly one o'clock P. M.,
August 28, 1863. He died almost without a struggle.

   Tator was born in Chatham, Columbia county, New York, in 1833. He
studied law in the office of Elijah Payne, in the city of Hudson, and was
admitted to the bar when about twenty-two or twenty-three years of age. In
1856 he emigrated to Kansas, and was elected probate Judge of Lykins
county in 1857, was re-elected in 1859, and was afterwards a member of the
Kansas legislature. He was generally called Judge Tator. In 1860 he went
to Colorado, and from there he came to Omaha in company with the man he
murdered. He left a wife, whose maiden, name was Mary E. Bishop, to whom
he was married in 1858 and by whom he had one child.

   The second legal execution in Omaha was that of Ottway G. Baker for the
murder of Woolsey D. Higgins. The murder, for which Baker paid the penalty
with his life, was a most brutal butchery, and was committed on the night
of the 21st of November, 1866, at the grocery store of Will R. King--a
brick building at the Southeast of Farnham and Twelfth streets, now
occupied by express offices, &c. Higgins, who was a fine young man and
well liked by everybody, was the book-keeper and Baker was the porter.
They slept together in the store. Higgins in the afternoon, after banking
hours, had received about $1,500 in currency, and had put it in the safe,
the keys of which he always carried. Baker was aware of the fact that he
had received this money, and resolved to obtain possession of it, which he
could not very well do without killing Higgins. The two men retired as
usual, Baker going to bed about half

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past eight, and Higgins some time afterwards. At the dead hour of night
Baker awoke, crept softly out of bed, and procuring an axe, he returned to
the bedside and dealt the sleeping Higgins two terrible blows, which
caused instant death. Baker then went to the safe, and with the keys
unlocked it, taking out the money. Putting on his clothes he went out of
the back door, and placing the money in an old tin can, he hid it under
the sidewalk on the west side of Eleventh street, between Harney and
Howard streets He then returned to the store, and descended to the cellar
where he fired the building by putting some boards up against the floor,
and saturating some rags with coal oil. After applying the match he went
to the back door and stood there with his pistol in his hand until the
fire had burned through the floor and the smoke had filled the room. His
intention was to utterly destroy all trace of the terrible crime which he
had committed. The fire was discovered by an outside party, and the alarm
given to the fire department, which then consisted of only one hand engine
and the hook and ladder company. At about the same time Baker fired a shot
into his own arm, to make it appear as if some one had entered the. store,
murdered Higgins and attacked him, and throwing the pistol away, he also
gave the alarm, by running out of the back door yelling, "fire! murder!
thieves!" During the progress of the fire the revolver went off several
times, it having become heated by the flames. The fire was extinguished,
and the murdered Higgins was found in his bed. Baker immediately invented
a rather plausible story. He said he had been awakened by the smoke coming
into the room, and that he had got up and run to the cellar door, as the
fire appeared to be in the basement, and there he had met some one who
fired at him, wounding him in the arm, and that he then ran out on the
street and gave the alarm.

   His story was regarded rather thin, as there were many suspicious

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circumstances which pointed directly to him as the perpetrator of the
deed, and he was taken into custody next morning. One thing that led to
his arrest more than anything else, was the finding of a lot of matches
scattered all over the bed. It was thought that this was done by the
murderer to cause the bed to burn the more rapidly when it would take
fire; but the matches being on the bed was a pure accident, as was shown
in his confession. It appears that the matches were knocked off from a
shelf on to the bed by the stream of water from the engine. At the
examination before the coroner's jury it was clearly demonstrated from the
manner of the wound, that no one but himself could have fired the shot
which hit him in the arm. He was held to await the action of the grand
jury, who indicted him for the murder. He was tried and convicted. Hon. G.
W. Doane, the then District Attorney, and Hon. John I. Redick, now
Associate Justice of New Mexico, appeared for the State, and Col. Savage,
Ben. Sheiks, Mr. Hopkins, and Mr. Park & for the defendant. The case was
taken to the Supreme Court, who overruled the motion for a new trial, and
decided that the sentence of death should be executed. Up to this time-
considerably over a year after his arrest--there were some few persons who
believed him innocent; but upon learning that his fate was irrevocably
fixed, he sent for his spiritual adviser, Father Egan, of the Catholic
Church, to whom he made a confession and told where the money was hid.
Father Egan, accompanied by Col. Savage and John DeLaney, accordingly
proceeded to the spot and there found the money. Baker also confessed that
he had about a month before the murder set fire to the wooden buildings at
the southwest corner of Farnham and Thirteenth streets, the fire burning
from the corner up to Samuel Burns' brick building.

   Baker was hung on St. Valentine's day, February 14th, 1868, about a
quarter of a mile west of Capitol Square. The execution

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was superintended by Sheriff Hoel, Deputy Sheriff Seymour and Egan, and
was witnessed by about 8,000 people, 500 of whom were women.

   The young lady to whom Higgins was engaged, Miss Lizzie Herd, a very
pretty girl, was so overcome at her lover's tragic death that she died
within six months after its occurrence.

   The following is the principal portion of Baker's confession, which was
dated January 28, 1868:

   "It is not my intention to conceal anything connected with this heinous
crime, though, as the details of the circumstances connected with it will
only serve to open again the yet bleeding wounds of Mr. Higgins and his
family, I did not intend at first to make them known. Mr. Doane, in his
theory, came very near the facts in the case. I first planned this
horrible crime in the old store, but was prevented from executing it by
God's mercy until that night; not that there was not money enough--on
several occasions there was more. went to bed that night about half-past
eight; what time Higgins came to bed I do not know. When I waked, I got
out as easily as possible, went all round the center tier of boxes to get
on the south side of Higgins, came up, made one or two offers [efforts] ,
and was on the point of giving it up, when the devil put it into my head
that Higgins had only been shamming sleep, and would tell all that I had
done. This gave me the heart to commit the crime. I struck the first blow.
He drew a long breath. I thought he was on the point of hallooing. I gave
him another; then went to the safe, got the money, put on my clothes, went
out of the back door down to where the money was found, leaving the back
door open till I came back. I pulled off my clothes; went into the cellar,
set fire to the building by setting some boards up against the floor, took
the oil can, put some coal oil in some old rags, set fire to them and then
went up stairs. I then went to the back

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and stood there with the pistol in my hand until the fire burned through
the floor and the smoke had filled the room. Then I fired the shot which
wounded my arm, then gave the alarm, and threw the pistol away; but the
devil always looks out for his own. He carried it to the fire. I ran out
of the back door, hallooing fire! murder! thieves! The first man who came
up had on a gray overcoat. At this time I was at the corner of Farnam and
Twelfth streets. There I threw away my hat. The man went to the engine
house to ring the bell. I ran backwards and forwards two or three times
there; when three or four men got there, I burst in the west side door;
went in, got my boots, threw one large case of tobacco out of the doorway,
and then put on my boots. By this time there were six or seven men there;
then two shots went off. I got away from the door, but the other two shots
did not go off for some time, perhaps two minutes. That was all shots
which I heard, and it was all that was fired, in my belief. When the crowd
got there with the engine, the west side doors were closed. This was some
more of the devil's work. Now, when the engine began to play, the fire had
got upon the swinging shelf; the water was now thrown upon the matches,
which went tumbling down on the bed. This was not the work of the devil;
it was God's hand which threw the matches down to show the devil that he
might help the guilty, but God was the one who administered justice. The
fact of the matches being scattered all over the bed, led to my arrest,
but they found [formed] no part of my plan. The lamp burner was an old one
which had been saved from the old store. There was only one fire kindled ,
that was done so as to cause the floor to break in there, so that the body
would be crushed by the weight of the goods. It was not my intention to
burn the whole store. There were only five shots fired to my knowledge,
one before the alarm and four after. There was no

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noise to my knowledge in the store that night; if there was, it was while
Mr. Beale was there with Higgins; if they made any, it did not awaken me.
After I had my arm dressed, I went back to the front of the store. Dr.
Peabody said to me, 'If I had a friend in there, I would go in in spite of
anybody!' Then I broke open the front door, the one with the lock on it. I
broke the glass out, pulled back the bolts and went in, but could not go
back a great ways for fear the floor would give way. I dressed and
undressed before I gave the alarm; then put on my boots after there were
three or four men there. I alone am guilty; let me pay the penalty of the
crime. I should have had to implicate others who are innocent had I got a
new trial.

   "With regard to, the two previous fires, I desire to state that I set
the new store on fire to prevent W. R. King from moving in so soon. I did
not stop there over five minutes after I had done it, for fear I should be
missed from the store; then I got back to the old store without either Mr.
Nave or Higgins knowing that I had been out, and went to bed. Afterwards I
set fire to Hellman's warehouse to draw Higgins' attention, and besides to
prevent any deposits from being made on that day. When this fire was
discovered I was at the new store at work, and had been there about twenty
minutes. I did not start at the first, but waited till there was quite a
crowd; then I had no idea it would do so much damage as it did.

   "Mr. Donovan has been a sufferer by me also on two different occasions.
I went into his shop when he kept on Fourteenth street, and on each
occasion took two pairs of boots, amounting in all to about forty dollars
more or less."

   "I must now return my sincere thanks to Judge Lake for his leniency
towards me all through the trial. Mr. Doane will also accept my thanks for
the feeling manner in which he prosecuted me."

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   "Mr. Redick, I freely forgive you for the way in which you made your
plea in this case.

   "I must not forget my own counsel, for they have labored with the
utmost faithfulness ever since I have been incarcerated to obtain
testimony and counsel for me. I return my heartfelt thanks for the same. I
am also thankful to Mr. Hopkins also Mr. Parks, who exerted himself in my
defense with his able talent. Mr. Morris has not only given me legal
advice, but has done me many personal favors. Col. Savage has all the
thanks imaginable for the able manner in which he has conducted my case,
since he has become connected with it. May he never again whilst a member
of this bar have so unworthy a client.

   "I have never let any one into my confidence until after the Supreme
Court was in session, so that neither one or the other of my counsel knew
whether I was guilty or innocent. I thank the community for their leniency
towards me. Had this been in any other part of the State of Nebraska,
besides Omaha, I should never have had any trial; but thank God, the law
has had its course, and I have had a fair and impartial trial.

   "I desire also in this connection to thank all those who would place
religious instruction within my reach, but I believe only in the Catholic
Church. and wish to die in her communion, as it was their instruction
alone that brought peace and hope to my soul.

O. G. BAKER."




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CHAPTER XIX
FLORENCE

THE HISTORY of Omaha would be incomplete without some reference to
Florence, where the Mormons stopped in 1846, and remained there for some
years, during which time the place was called Winter Quarters. It has
already been Mentioned that they were ordered off the land by the Indian
agent, to whom the Indians had complained of them for cutting timber, and
many re-crossed the river and lived among the ravines in the bluffs on the
Iowa shore, and also at Council Bluffs. When they had determined which
made Florence  to  emigrate to Utah, they started nearly all their trains
for Salt Lake from Florence, up to about the year 1865, a lively place and
a busy outfitting point.

   Many of our Ornaha merchants took advantage of this state of affairs to
establish branch stores there, reaping quite a benefit therefrom.

   In 1856 the Florence Town Company was organized, the banking house of
Cook, Sargent & Parker, of Davenport, Iowa, being heavily interested in it.

   It was expected that the Mississippi & Missouri railroad, now the
Chicago & Rock Island, would cross the Missouri river there, the

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first survey having been made down the Pigeon Valley in 1854; but the road
never got there.

   In consequence of the energetic efforts made by Cook, Sargent Parker,
in the interest of Florence, the town, which had been chartered as a city
in 1856, kept on growing very rapidly until the fall and winter of 1857-
58, when Cook, Sargent & Parker went down, as did nearly every other
banking house in the country during that memorable financial crisis, and
then the town began to go backward.

   A claim club had been organized there, and acted in the same manner as
did similar clubs in the early days of the Territory.

   Among the people of Florence the Germans were very numerous, and in
1856 and 1857 they had a theatre in full operation, and went so far as to
attempt the representation of Schiller's "Robbers."

   On the 4th Of July, 1857, one Biggs, a blacksmith, stabbed and killed a
man named Kingsley, the latter having been too intimate with Biggs' wife.
Biggs gave himself up to Dr. Heath, then city mayor, who turned Biggs over
to the sheriff at Omaha. The sheriff allowed Biggs to take a swim in the
river, and he crossed over to the Iowa shore, and has never been heard of
from that day to this.

   In August, 1857, an election was held in the Territory, at which
election Florence gave Fenner Ferguson, who was running for delegate to
Congress, 700 votes. When the news came that Ferguson had been elected
over Thayer and other candidates, a grand jubilee was held at Florence. An
iron cannon, which was brought out and fired, exploded, killing Dr.
Hardcastle, who had served in the Mexican war.

   In the winter of 1857-58 a singing society and a brass band were
organized. A newspaper, called The Courier, was published there, but it
could not have been  in a very flourishing condition, for a ball was given
in its behalf, by which $4o was realized.

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   During the same winter the legislature at Omaha broke up in a big row,
and adjourned to Florence, and there held its session in two adjoining
stores, formerly occupied by Baugh and Heath & Græter. Over the rear doors
of these store were painted the words, "Terms Cash," which, it is said,
scared away many applicants for bridge, ferry, and other charters.

   These two buildings were afterwards removed to Omaha and were occupied
by Dewey & Stone, the furniture dealers, till last year, when they tore
them down and erected in their place the largest brick business building
in Omaha.

   Since 1858 Florence has gradually receded, until it is now a very small
place, but a very pleasant suburb of Omaha.



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CHAPTER XX
THE PAWNEE WAR

OMAHA bore a prominent part in that episode of our Territorial history
known as the "Pawnee War," which event occurred in the summer of 1859, and
the following chapter of the history of that "war" is from the pen of Mr.
John T. Bell, official phonographer of the District Court. At the time of
its occurrence he was a mere boy , but nevertheless he took part in the
campaign, and his recollection of the affair being yet fresh, he is
enabled to present the facts in a reliable and entertaining manner.

    The Pawnee Indians then occupied two villages about twelve miles
directly south of Fontenelle, and on the south side of the Platte. They
bad behaved themselves very well, considering that their depredations
consisted chiefly in robbing lien roosts and picking up little odds and
ends of personal effects belonging to the whites, and the settlers had
concluded there was no danger whatever to be apprehended from them, but in
this they were doomed to disappointment.

   In the latter part of June, 1859, the entire tribe of Pawnees--braves,
squaws, pappooses and dogs--left their villages and marched across the low
land intervening between the Platte and the Elkhorn on the western side of
the latter stream just across from Fontenelle.

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   Here they remained a day or two; after which short delay, they
proceeded up the Elkhorn, without crossing it, pursuing a northwesterly
direction. They said they were going up the river on a grand buffalo hunt,
and would be gone several "moons." On the day after they left their first
camp on the Elkhorn, half a dozen "bucks" crossed the river at a point
about a dozen miles above Fontenelle, and attacked an old bachelor by the
name of Uriah Thomas, who was living alone in a little log hut some
distance from any other house. The Indians took his pocket-book,
containing $136, a package of valuable papers, including several land
warrants, drank up all his whisky (the unkindest cut of all) and then
drove off a fine yoke of oxen, after first having taken the precaution to
lock Mr. Thomas up in his shanty. After the Indians had been gone for some
time, Thomas set about effecting his release, which he accomplished with
but little difficulty, and then cautiously proceeded to Fontenelle and
gave the alarm. Of course, the wildest excitement prevailed. A company of
a dozen men or so was immediately organized, and an advance was made upon
the Thomas mansion, after a careful reconnoitering by scouts. No Indians
were discovered, and the party concealed themselves in and about the hut,
and waited patiently for several hours but no Indians making their
appearance, the whites returned to Fontenelle. Two days afterwards, the
people living at West Point and DeWitt came down to Fontenelle in a body,
and reported that as the Pawnees moved up the river, on the western side
of it, marauding bands had crossed over to the eastern side, and had
burned the dwellings of the settlers, ripped up their feather beds,
scattered the contents, and used the ticks for blankets; tore to pieces
clocks for the purpose of getting the brass rings to hang in their ears,
and drove off all kinds of stock.

   This was a fine state of affairs. Thirty men, armed with rifles, shot-
guns, muskets, and revolvers, started for West Point the next

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morning in wagons, reaching that settlement about the middle of the
afternoon. They saw no Indians that day, and after deliberating over the
matter, concluded to return to Fontenelle the next day, but concluded
before doing so to send a portion of the party to DeWitt, some six miles
up the Elkhorn. As this detachment was on the point of returning to West
Point to rejoin the others, having met no redskins, a scout came in with
the information that he had seen a small body of Indians crossing the
river a mile or so distant. Arrangements were instantly made to capture
the party. A portion of the white men took position in one room of Mr.
Moore's double log house, while the rest kept themselves out of sight. The
people of the house were instructed to admit the Indians into the
unoccupied room of the house, and after they were all in the room, the
outside door was to be securely fastened, then the middle door between the
rooms was to be opened; the white men were to rush from the room in which
they were concealed into that occupied by the Indians, and then their
capture would be a very easy matter--as they thought. It was a very neat
little plan, and looked well, but it didn't result as well as it was
expected. The Indians, eleven in number, approached the house; they were
invited to walk in, which invitation was accepted, as it was evidently
their intention to walk in whether they were invited or not; the outside
door to the room was closed and fastened; the signal was given; the door
between the two rooms was opened; the white men rushed with a yell into
the room which was occupied by the Indians--and, captured the whole posse?
Not much. The greasy-skinned, slippery devils shed their blankets, dived
down among the legs of the white men, slipped out like so many eels, burst
open the door and were out of the room like a flash, and all the white men
had to show for their strategem was the lodgement of a slug in the wrist
of one of their own number--Mr. James H. Peters--which

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was brought about by the accidental discharge of a gun during the melee in
the room. The Indians were followed out of the house by the whites who
blazed away at them as they ran toward the river. Two or three of the
Indians were killed and one wounded; one was captured, having been brought
down "on the wing" by a shot which should have been better aimed.

   The whites then hastily got their wagons together, put the wounded
Indian in one of them, and started back to Fontenelle, being very anxious
to vacate that particular section of the country before the Indians who
had made their escape from the house should reach the Pawnee camps, and
tell the tribe of the fracas. The whites "stood not upon the order of
their going, but went at once," rattling over the level prairie road at a
decidedly rapid pace. They had not proceeded far before the wounded Indian
gave evidence of being dead. He was closely examined by those in the
wagon, who agreed unanimously that he was defunct--that he would never
again smash up a brass clock for the purpose of getting the wheels to hang
in his ears, nor rip up a feather bed in order to get a substitute for a
blanket. He was a goner, and as it would not pay to haul dead Indians, the
wagon was driven to the bank of the Elkhorn, near which the road ran, and
the corpse was picked up and pitched into the river. As soon as the
supposed to-be-dead Indian struck the water, he dived down and swam under
water for the opposite bank, and it was then discovered that he had been
playing "possum," and that he was better than a dozen dead men yet. But
even an Indian cannot stay under water all the time; he must come up to
breathe, and when that red rascal's head broke the surface of the stream,
as he came up to get a whiff of air, a load of buckshot was deposited in
the back portion of his cranium by a white man who never could appreciate
a practical joke, and had but a poor opinion of jokers, whether white,
black, or red. The buckshot was evidently too heavy a load for the

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Indian to carry conveniently, for he never reached the other side of the
river alive.

   It did not take many days for the news with regard to the killing of
the Indians at West Point to he carried to every part of the Territory,
and the entire country was in a blaze of excitement. It was generally
thought that the Pawnees would at once declare war against the whites, and
the outlying settlements were supposed to be in danger of immediate
extermination. Governor Black issued orders to the few militia companies
then organized, to hold themselves in readiness to move at a moment's
notice, and muskets were shipped to the different settlements, with orders
for the immediate organization of other companies. The settlers along the
Elkhorn river flocked to Fontenelle, which village was turned into a
military camp. The growing crops were neglected, and suffered much damage
thereby. Pickets were thrown out during the day, and a cordon of sentinels
surrounded the place at night. All the ammunition was collected together,
and pewter teapots, teaspoons, etc., were moulded into bullets.
Blunderbusses which had done good service in patriot hands during the
revolutionary war, and which had not been loaded nor cleaned since, were
dragged forth and burnished up. Old sabres which had figured prominently
on "muster days" celebrated by the forefathers of the present owners, were
produced, and measures adopted for the purpose of inducing them to leave
their scabbards from which they had not been drawn for years. It was
reported every day for a week that ten thousand Indians were approaching
the town fully attired in the traditional war paint and feathers, and in
consequence of these cheerful stories the people were constantly kept in a
pleasant state of exciting suspense. At night each bush or shrub would be
transformed into a stealthily approaching redskin.

   A week of this sort of life drifted by, and no attack had been made. By
this time a force of about two hundred men had gathered in

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and about Fontenelle, and it was then resolved by the officials of the
Territory that it would be a fine stroke of policy to cross the Elkhorn,
follow the trail of the Indians until they were overtaken, and then and
there attack them and administer a lesson which they would not soon
forget. A sufficient number of wagons were provided with the necessary
camp equipage and a large amount of provisions (several barrels of whisky
being included in the latter), and on the 5th day of July the force moved
across the river, and went into camp on Maple creek, a few miles from
Fontenelle. Gov. Black accompanied the expedition, of which he was the
commander-in-chief, though the battalion was under the command of Colonel--
since Major General-- Thayer, which gentleman had served in the Mexican
difficulty, and was consequently supposed, by a credulous public, to be
thoroughly conversant with the art of war.

   Omaha was represented in the expedition by a gun squad, commanded by
Capt. James Ford (who became a general during the war), and of which most
of the young men of the city were members. Among those who went out as
members of this organization and otherwise were Capt. Ford, Hobart Ford,
Si De Forest, Bob Howard, U. S. Marshal West, George and Ed Hepburn, Gen.
Estabrook, George Armstrong--mounted on his famous bob-tailed black
trotter--Charles Woolworth, A. S. Paddock, James G. Chapman, Cam. Reeves,
John McConihe, Dr. Henry, Maj. J. H. Croft, W. J. Kennedy. Dr. J. H. Peck
accompanied the "army" as surgeon, driving in a single buggy his chestnut-
sorrel "Mack," which horse is still in his possession and frisky as a colt.

   Our mounted force always rode at the head of the columns, preceded by a
few scouts, a considerable distance in advance. The sun beat down upon us
with terrible force, and the sandy stretches of country over which we
passed, at intervals, threw out an immense amount of heat. Our horses were
very poor and weak, and the

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excessive heat together with the heavy loads, soon began to tell on them,
and consequently the progress made was very slow indeed. We had no roads,
as the country had not yet been surveyed, and no settlements had been
made. We struck the trail of the Indians and followed it steadily, over
hills, through valleys, and across streams, which last named were always
miry. Here we would generally be delayed somewhat, as a bridge of some
description was required before we could get the wagons across. A force
would be set to work to cut brush, while another would mow down the heavy
slough grass. The brush would be thrown into the stream, the grass piled
on the brush, and then if the banks were very steep, the horses would be
unhitched from the wagons, which would be let down by ropes, and then
drawn up the opposite banks by the teams which had been previously taken
across. Notwithstanding the many difficulties encountered, we usually
traveled as far in one day as the Indians we were pursuing would march in
three, it being an easy matter to locate the places where they had camped
each night, these encampments being about seven miles apart. The utmost
precaution against surprise was observed when, at the close of a long,
tedious day, a convenient spot for a camp would be selected, the wagons
corralled, and the animals turned out to graze. At an early hour in the
night, sentinels would be posted all around the camp, and relieved every
two hours. After about a week's travel, during which we had not seen a
human being, excepting those of our own party, we came one evening upon a
single Indian lodge. We knew that we could not be very far behind the
Indians, as the last few camps we had passed gave unmistakable signs of
having been but recently vacated, and when this lodge was discovered, it
was surrounded at once, and found to be occupied by "Jim Dick," an under
chief among the Omahas, who told us that the Pawnees had been joined by
the Omaha, and Ponca tribes, and that with this increase of their numbers,
there were

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at least 5,000 Indians in the party we were in pursuit of, and that  they
would encamp that night about seven or eight miles farther on, having
occupied the camp it which we found Jim Dick's lodge, the night previous,
he having laid over one day's tramp on account of his squaw being sick.
This somewhat startling news called forth a hurried consultation. Five
thousand Indians could utterly annihilate our force of two hundred
undisciplined and poorly armed men, provided the Indians were disposed to
fight. Jim Dick told us that the Ornahas would not join the Pawnees as
they wished to remain at peace with the whites, but it was impossible to
say what the Poncas would do. It was finally determined to go forward. The
Omaha and his squaw were compelled to go with us under guard, in order to
prevent the news of our approach being conveyed to the Indians, in camp.

    It was nearly night when we came upon the lodge, and we proceeded but
a mile or so before going into camp. Arrangements were made to start out
as silently as possible, at three o'clock the next morning. After supper
had been disposed of, the cooking utensils and camp equipage were
reloaded. and everything made ready for a start as soon as the signal
should be given. The arms were put in as good condition as possible;
bullets were moulded, and each man was instructed with regard to his
duties. It was a misty moon-light night. The camp was near the banks of
the Elkhorn, whose waters, rising in the far off Black Hills, at the foot
of the Rocky Mountains, rippled past with a monotonous sound. Occasionally
the sharp cry of the coyote would be heard, as he wandered forth on a
marauding expedition, or the hoot of the owl would break suddenly on the
night air. The sentinels paced up and down through the tall grass,
watching with vigilant eye and prepared to give notice at the earliest
approach of danger. The tired animals nipped the rich grass, which
abounded in the greatest profusion,

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keeping close to the wagons, as they always do when away from the
settlements, evidently being taught by instinct that their safety depends
upon keeping close to their masters. Orders were given for the fires to be
extinguished at an early hour, and the men gathered about the wagons in
little groups, and talked in low tones of what the coming day would bring
forth. There was but little sleeping among us that night, but few jokes,
and no boisterous laughter. It will be seen at a glance that the situation
was not particularly exhilarating nor inspiring. We were a hundred miles
or so out from the settlements, shut off from all chance of reinforcement.
We were in pursuit of, and expected to attack the Pawnee tribe, numbering
3,500 in all, and this tribe we found on coming up with it, to be
reinforced by nearly as many more, so that if they were all "on the fight,
" there would be at least 2,000 braves for us to attack, and we were then
within a few miles of that body of Indians who were quietly encamped and
resting in blissful ignorance of our proximity.

   At three o'clock in the morning the camp was aroused, and in a very
short time we were on the move. Orders were issued in a low tone as we
passed rapidly along. The trail ran near the river bottom, on the table-
land adjoining, and we met with no obstacles whatever until daylight, when
we came to a small stream which ran out from the bluffs and into the
river. The scouts approached this stream carefully, for it was thought the
Indian camp could not be far away. The creek was skirted with timber,
which shielded our approach; and when the stream was reached, the Indian
camp was seen on the opposite side, near where it ran into the river. A
large extent of ground was covered by the lodges, and here and there
Indians were to be seen gliding about, entirely unconscious of our
approach. In a very few moments, however, we were discovered, and the camp
vanished like magic, and in an incredible short space of time the wide
river bottom stretching out before us was swarming

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with redskins, some mounted, some on foot, but all striving, shouting and
yelling, to make their escape. They leveled their lodges to the ground,
but did not attempt to take them away; they thought, only to save
themselves. The Omahas did not run, neither did they strike their tents,
but remained in them knowing they had no reason to fear the whites. Our
mounted force crossed the river at once; and followed up the flying
Indians, but some time was lost in getting the wagons across the miry
stream. Finally the entire force, wagons and all, were safely landed on
the other side of the creek, and moved up the river at once. The tall
slough grass through which we passed concealed a good many of the weaker
ones among, the Indians, who, finding themselves unable to keep up with
the others, had dropped down in the rank grass, hoping to be passed by. On
either side of us could be heard the yells and cries of pappooses, who had
been thrown away by the frightened squaws, in their endeavors to "travel
light." Small dogs, pet badgers, wolves and the like had been left by
their masters to shift for themselves, and they added their voices to the
noise and confusion. It was a lively time. The sun had just risen, and was
tipping the tops of the hills and the trees along the river with golden
splendor. In a very short time not an Indian was to be seen, where but
half an hour before hundreds and thousands had swarmed. They had taken
shelter among the willows on the river bank, and in the breaks along the
bluffs on either side of it.

   But they did not escape us. An under chief of the Pawnees, a fat old
codger, who was trying to get away on foot, was overtaken by a horseman
who shot at him and missed him, but just as he had secured a better aim
for a second attempt, the Indian threw up his hands and surrendered. He
was told to call his tribe together for a parley immediately, or he would
be murdered in cold blood. The Indian was very glad of this chance for
saving his life, and he at

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once set up a series of terrific yells, in answer to which one redskin
would show himself at this place, another at that, and then after an
interchange of yells and calls, the Indians gradually approached our
prisoner, who explained to them that a parley with the "Chemokee man" was
of the utmost importance at that particular juncture.

   By this time our scattered forces had collected together; the wagons
were corralled; a line of battle formed, with the six-pound brass piece in
front of it, and the horsemen on the flanks. When the Indians, who were
lurking about, discovered the full strength, or weakness rather, of the
force they had been running from, they left their hiding places and
approached us quite readily. They were ordered to keep at a respectful
distance in front, and only the chiefs were allowed to come to the wagons.
The Indian force constantly received additions to its numbers, and before
an hour had passed, we were confronted by about 2,000 redskins. The Pawnee
chiefs were told that they could have their choice--give up the braves who
had been engaged in the robbing and burning about West Point (for it was
found that but a small party had had a hand in those depredations); pay
the expenses of the expedition out of certain moneys due them from the
government, or fight us. One of the chiefs, a black, scowling fellow, with
a sort of sheep-thief look about him, wanted to fight us. He said that he
had two hundred and fifty braves, and he knew he could clean us out, but
the older and wiser heads, of the tribe had been to Washington--that moral
city of which we are all so proud; they had held big pow-wows with the
Great Father; they had gained a somewhat correct idea of the number of
whites, and of the power and majesty of the nation which we, with our
single brass gun represented; and last but not least, those old coveys had
a very distant recollection of that exploit of Gen. Harney at Ash Hollow,
and they begged of that bloodthirsty, belligerent young devil to "abate
the ardor of his wrath," "for," said these old

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sages, "if you do kill off this pusillanimous looking crowd of palefaces,
you have not gained anything, for the Great Father at Washington will soon
hear of it and he will send out more soldiers than there are sands on the
Elkhorn, and we will be wiped from the face of the earth."

   It was finally arranged, after several hours had been occupied in the
discussion of the matter, that the terms proposed by us would be acceded
to, and then began a hunt for the Indians who had been making trouble back
in the settlements. By the middle of the afternoon we had seven young
fellows tied behind our wagons, and we were moving off toward a suitable
place to encamp for the night. Each of the head chiefs had attached his
"sign manual" to a portentous looking document which set forth in the most
grandiloquent terms the fact that the indviduals whose crosses were
thereunto attached, regretted exceedingly the depredations which had been
committed by certain unruly and headstrong young men of the Pawnee tribe
of Indians, and that they, the undersigned, authorized the keeping back
from certain moneys due the tribe from the government, a sufficient amount
to defray the expenses of the expedition, and the signers further agreed
that they would make no effort to release the seven young men who had been
turned over to our tender mercies, no matter what we chose to do with them.

   When the young Indians were given up to us, a squaw belonging to one of
them, insisted on being allowed to go with her brave, and when this
request was denied, she screamed and cried, tore the hair out of her head
by great handfulls, threw her arms around the young fellow's neck, and
gave way to the most violent grief. She was dragged away from him with
great difficulty, and we then proceeded on our way, traveling but a few
miles before going into camp. One of the prisoners seemed to be suffering
a great deal from some cause, and upon one of our doctors making an
examination,

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it was found he had been shot through the body, and that the wound was
mortifying. He was one of the party of eleven who had been shut up in the
room at West Point, and as he ran off, after getting away from the house,
he had been shot by one of the whites, but was not so seriously injured
but that he was able to reach the Pawnee camp, since which time his wound
had been getting more and more painful each day. The doctor said he would
not live to reach the settlements, and he was therefore set free and told
to go back to his tribe. He was found the next morning a short distance
from camp, dead.

   We enjoyed a happy, easy time the afternoon and night after the
conference with the Indians, naturally supposing that all danger was now
past, and that we could return home at once. It was arranged that we
should proceed up the Elkhorn a few miles farther, then travel in a
southerly direction until we should strike the head of Beaver Creek, then
go down that stream to its intersection with the Loup Fork, following the
Loup until we should come to the Platte, and then keep along the Platte
until we reached the settlements. We had a beautiful camp that night. Huge
cottonwood, walnut and elm trees spread their branches over our heads. A
noisy little stream rippled at our feet, and the ground was covered with a
rich green carpet of Nature's weaving. Our minds were free from care or
the apprehension of danger for the first time in many days, and we
thoroughly enjoyed our pleasant surroundings. In due time a supper of
black coffee, fat bacon, molasses, and a certain kind of hot bread,
peculiar to the plains, was prepared and eaten with a relish. It requires
the stomach of an ostrich, or a very healthy man, to digest it, and it
would kill the oldest man in America in three weeks' time if he should eat
it and follow sedentary pursuits. The usual way of preparing bread on the
plains is to mix up batter and bake "flap-jack." It is expected that after
a man has been on the plains a week, he

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will be able to "flop" a slap-jack over in a frying pan, when one side is
done, without the aid of a knife, and when he has been out a month, he is
supposed to be able to take hold of the frying pan handle, throw the half-
done slap-jack over a covered wagon, run around to the other side with his
frying pan, and catch the descending mass, dough side down. The old hands
allow a beginner just a month in which to acquire this accomplishment, and
if he is unable to go through with it without doubling the slap-jack up in
the pan when he catches it, at the end of that time, he is considered a
discouraging failure.

   As we said before, we were happy. As the sun sank to rest, and the
twinkling stars came out one by one, and the moon rose bright and clear,
our camp presented a beautiful picture. A chain of sentinels surrounded
it, but they were not so anxious or watchful as they necessarily were when
upon guard previous to our coming up with the Indians. The song and jest
passed around, and the hours slipped pleasantly by until it was time to
"turn in." Then blankets were spread under the wagons, and as the moon
looked down upon us, lighting up the scene with a mellow haze, we dropped
off to sleep with the music of rippling waters and the chirp of thousands
of crickets, hidden in the grass, sounding in our ears.

   We were roused up at an early hour the next morning, and in a short
time our cavalcade was on the move. After marching a few miles we reached
a high point of ground, from which a magnificent and picturesque scene
burst upon the view. Far off to the north. west we could trace the
windings of the Elkhorn by the timber upon its banks, while here and there
could be seen small streams which found their way from the highlands
across the broad river bottoms. At our feet was seen the Indian camp, now
a scene of active commotion, for they had just discovered our approach,
and were rapidly gathering their herds of ponies from the neighboring

Page 156

hills. It was a mutual surprise. We supposed the Indians would remain the
night previous at the place where the pow-wow was held, and they probably
thought we had turned back that morning, intending to go home by the route
we had come.

   We were in for it now. We wanted to go in a direction which would bring
us very near the Indian camp, and if they were disposed to fight us, we
would gain nothing by turning aside now. It was decided that we should get
everything ready to repel an attack, move along as though the Indians were
not there, and trust to fate for the rest. Our six prisoners were tied
together and then fastened by a rope to one of the wagons, behind which
they walked quietly along, surrounded by a mounted guard. We did not go
through the camp, but passed along one side of it. A few squaws and
papoose came out to see us as we moved along, but the Indians generally
remained about their tents. Among the squaws who had come out from the
camp, was the one previously mentioned as having torn her hair and
exhibited such great grief at being separated from her brave the day
before, and when the wagon, behind which the prisoners were tied, came up,
this squaw rushed among them and gave her Indian a knife, with which he
stabbed himself in the breast, and fell heavily to the ground. Of course
the wagon stopped at once, and the attention of the guards was taken up
with the wounded Indian, whom they supposed to be bleeding internally, as
but little blood was to be seen about the wounds, although a reddish
looking substance, similar to blood in appearance, oozed from each corner
of his mouth. As the guards were doing what they could to assist the
Indian who had stabbed himself, his treacherous squaw secured the knife
and cut the ropes which bound the prisoners together, and away they sprang
like a flash, all the guards but one running after them, firing upon them
as they ran. Meanwhile, the wounded Indian had stretched out, his eyes
sunk into his head,

Page 157

and he gave every indication of being dead, while that squaw of his hung
over him, indulging in wild expressions of grief. When she saw that the
guards were some distance from the wagon, she gave her buck the signal,
and he jumped to his feet as agile as a cat, and started to run. But he
did not get far. One guard had remained to keep an eye on the corpse, and
when that corpse attempted to run away, contrary to the customs and habits
of corpses generally, the guard drew up his rifle and called, "halt!" The
Indian halted, and it was then found that the wound which he had inflicted
upon himself was only skin-deep, and that he had red ochre in his mouth,
by means of which he had created the impression that blood was oozing from
between his lips. Ile was immediately recaptured, tied behind the wagon,
and the procession moved on.

   We proceeded about a mile, took up position on a high hill, and then
stopped for a consultation. The guards who pursued the escaped prisoners
had returned to the command, and reported that they had either killed or
wounded all the prisoners except the one which had been recaptured. This
was well enough, but in the excitement of the chase they had popped over
one of the Omahas (down among whose tents the prisoners ran), and had also
killed an Omaha pony. The indications just at that time were that we had
cut out more work for ourselves than we could get through with
conveniently. It was reasonable to suppose that the Pawnees had been
thoroughly roused by the occurrences of the last half hour, and if the
Poncas and the Omahas would join them, it was quite probable that they
would "go back" on the agreement of the previous day. The Omahas had acted
very fairly thus far, utterly refusing to have anything to do with the
trouble into which the Pawnees had brought themselves, as they considered
it "none of their funeral," but it was a difficult matter to decide what
they would do now, since one of their braves had been wounded and a pony
killed. We were on a high hill, about a mile

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from the Indian camp, with no chance to get wood or water, and it would be
a very easy matter for us to be surrounded and starved to death. The
prospect was somewhat gloomy and discouraging.

   While we were deliberating over the matter, we saw a procession of
Indians leave the Omaha camp and approach us, "with stately step and
slow," which procession proved to be composed of fifty of the wise heads
among the Omahas. They marched in single file without a sound being heard,
and as they slowly approached us we could see that their minds were filled
with serious thoughts. They were decorated in a peculiar manner, their
costumes indicating that they were prepared either for war or peace, as
circumstances might seem to dictate.

   But they didn't fight us. Our check and our extraordinary
conversational powers saved us for a second time. We reasoned with those
chiefs; we talked as we had never talked before. We portrayed in brilliant
and glowing colors the evils which would result to the red-skins generally
in case the Omahas and the Poncas joined with the Pawnees in declaring war
against us. We dwelt especially upon the immense resources possessed by
the whites; of their great facilities for carrying on a prolonged and
bloody warfare. We deprecated the accidental shooting of the Omaha,
promising to hang the man who had fired the unfortunate shot. We made
mention of the fact that the Omahas had been at peace with us ever since
the first settlement of the Territory. We had regular details made to talk
to those old chaps who had one side of their villainous looking
countenances painted red and the other black, and as soon as one detail of
men could be exhausted, another took their place, and we outwinded them.
Their desire for war gradually cooled, (nothing could withstand the
avalanche of talk that we hurled at their devoted heads,) and they finally
agreed that if we would leave medicines for the wounded Indians, and pay
for the pony we had

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killed, they would let us alone. To this condition we assented cheerfully,
and as the Poncas had signified their intention to do as the Omahas
decided to do in the matter, the Pawnees concluded that they would not
fight us alone. We left a horse for the Indian whose pony had been killed,
and we were allowed to move on. We did not camp very early that night.
Every mile that we traveled put that much distance between us and the
Indians, and we were seized with a desire to make that as great as
possible before stopping for the night. We were not at all afraid to
encamp in their immediate vicinity, but it occurred to us that perhaps in
view of all the facts it would be better if we were some distance from the
Indian camp that night. We thought they would like it better.

   Soon after leaving the scene of our conference, we struck Beaver Creek,
and followed along its course. We traveled late that night and did not go
into camp until near midnight. Keeping along Beaver Creek, we came in due
time to its intersection with the Loup Fork, at the then Mormon settlement
of Genoa. Here we were cordially received by the Mormons, who looked upon
us as a band of brave and noble men who had sacrificed home and home
comforts for the nonce, going forth with our lives in our hands to do
battle in defence of the unprotected settlements, and shield them from the
devastating torch of the savage.

   Leaving the Mormon camp--in a manner becoming a band of heroes--we
journeyed down the Loup Fork, and reached the German town of Columbus that
night, at which place we went into camp. We also indulged in a high old
time--we felt that the Indians were now safe from any murderous designs
which we may have harbored against them, and we rejoiced to know it. We
left one company of our command at Columbus, it having been organized
there, and after leaving that village, our force decreased very rapidly.
We were formally disbanded at Columbus, the different companies being
allowed

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to return to the various settlements from whence they came by the nearest
and most practicable routes. We were told that each company commander
would receive the pay due his company, and that the members of the company
would be paid by him. It was supposed that the government would enforce
the contract we had made with the Indians, keep back enough funds to pay
the expenses of the expedition, and that we would receive the money which
was due us. But the government recoiled on us, paid the Indians all that
was coming to them, and we were left to whistle for our pay. We are
whistling yet.

   Thus ended the Pawnee war.