The secret of the cañon.

Front matter

UNITED STATES OF AMERICA.

t t

• .*

Preface

This book is an effort to describe the genesis and evolution of a mission-congregation on the western frontier. The author has made no attempt to write a novel. Nor does he want this product of his pen to be, in any sense, regarded as a pure work of fiction. It simply is a compilation of facts in the form of a narrative. It was hoped in this way to make interesting a subject which, in its matter-of-fact statements, usually is considered the very opposite. In concrete form a series of incidents in home-mission experience, which really happened, and can easily be paralleled in various regions, is here presented in such a manner as to afford a panoramic and life-like picture of a great, but too little appreciated, work for humanity.

Only more or less real persons appear in these pages. Of course, their identity is hidden. Their actual names are not even suggested. Nor can it be denied that the halo of idealization has been thrown about their real character. The charm of romanticism was too irresistible. Several of these (v)

VI preface.

characters are composite — being a combination of two or three actual ones.

As will readily be discovered, Canon City is a creation. It is given all the qualities of a typical western town. But the principal events narrated in these pages are facts of Nebraska history and church chronicle, all of which can readily be substantiated, either by living witnesses or authoritative documents.

It is but fair to state that the author is intimately acquainted with many frontier missionaries and pioneer settlers, and has personally inspected their life with its peculiar environments. Hence he was under no necessity to draw upon his imagination for the materials of this book. He therefore presents it in the hope that it may help to increase an interest in a phase of benevolence which ought to be dear to every patriot, as well as every lover of humanity.

The only reasons why the author has chosen a Lutheran mission as the typical one, are, first, because no other church has such an immense responsibility, or opportunity, in this line of work, and, secondly, because the Lutheran denomination is the one with whose operations he is best acquainted. But these pages are meant to be absolutely without bias toward any branch of that faith preface.

Vll and without an iota of prejudice against any Christian church or confession. He has simply stated the facts as they are. All the great denominations have done good deeds in the West. The author would not belittle that of the least.

If in this realistic presentation of frontier-life, which forms the environment of the Church’s development, things have been mentioned, or language quoted, which the reader, perhaps, may not consider to be suitable or edifying to the young, he will, please, attribute such supposed faults to the author’s judgment, not to his heart. But it is doubtful whether a true knowledge of facts ever can do harm. Yet the author has suppressed many, because he thought they might injure. He had in view no other object than that of making virtue lovely and sin hideous.

May this little book be blessed of God in the holy cause of winning America for Christ.

The Author.

Eights and Shadows 295

CHAPTER XXL

Thh Red Man’s Revenge 315

CHAPTER XXH.

Last Geimpses 332

Chapter 1. Prairie Schooners

The Platte river runs the whole length of the State of Nebraska through a plain almost as flat as a table. Its two branches start in the Rocky Mountains, and, after meeting at the town of North Platte, flow as one stream, which, three hundred miles further east, empties into the Missouri. Not so much as a paddle-boat is ever seen upon it. Some wit has said that not even a catfish could navigate it without getting stranded on a sandbar. Another has remarked that it would be considerable of a stream if it were turned up edgewise.

The Platte is wide and shallow. It is full of sand, which is forever so shifting from place to place that little islands are constantly being formed, and as constantly being washed away again. It is, on this account, a dangerous stream to ford, as many a frontiersman has, to his sorrow, found out. It has no visible banks, and hence cannot easily be seen until one almost steps into it. But few trees skirt its sides.

(II)

THE SECRET OE THE CAf^ON.

The great plain through which it flows is very wide at the mouth, but narrows toward its source, and is bordered by sand-hills on the north and clayblufis on the south. Before the year 1842, when Fremont made his famous expedition to Pike’s Peak, little was known of this great plain. He followed the line of the river on the south side and thus traced a way upon which afterwards sixty thousand people yearly used to emigrate westward — some mad for gold, others eager for land and homes.

In the year 1847 Mormons followed the same plain toward the setting sun. This route was close enough to the river to have a supply of water and far enough from the bluffs to keep clear of the Indians, who, at the time we are writing of, were lurking enemies that might be met almost anywhere in these regions.

This magnificent savanna is now dotted with farms and lined with railroad towns, like a string of beads, all along the river. But this was not the case on the loth of August, 1864. Then but few human habitations were visible, and near the city of Omaha a gang of Pawnee Indians, for so many sacks of flour and so many hams as wages, were grading the first few miles of the Union Pacific Railroad.

PRAIRIE SCHOONERS.

On that day a procession of thirty “prairie schooners ” was threading its way along the south side of the Platte. These were simply common wagons covered with a canvas stretched over wooden bows fastened in the side-boards. A bed was made in the rear ; a small stove, the pipe of which was sticking out of the top, was fixed in the middle. Provisions, cooking utensils, and other household goods, were packed in or hung on the outside, dangling as from a moving tin-shop. Cows or horses were tied to the end-gate, while calves or colts frisked along-side of their mothers. The men would walk beside the horses, or oxen, hitched to the “ schooner,” while the women and smaller children would ride. This was then the only mode of traveling in that part of our country. Many still prefer it. It is not unusual, even yet, to see such movers, or “homesteaders,” passing over the plains when the thermometer registers ten degrees below zero. Truly this is gypsy-life with a vengeance, of which the reality sternly hides the poetry. Yet some seem to enjoy it and get into the habit of following it as a mode of life, never staying longer anywhere than is necessary to raise one crop, and then again seeking new squatting-places.

In the case already referred to, almost every

14 the secret of the caK^on.

“schooner’’ contained a family which was moving to the far West. Some of them had come as far as Omaha on the cars and had there bought teams. But some of them had started with their “ schooners” in Illinois, Indiana and Kentucky, and had already traveled a thousand miles in this manner. None had ever seen the others before they came together for this journey. Some regarded their meeting as an accident, others looked upon it as the result of Providence, while still others never gave it any thought at all. They numbered one hundred and twenty souls.

As we shall meet some of them again, we will pass along this wagon-train and seek an introduction to at least a few.

This first family of father and mother, with their four children, traveling with two large iron-gray horses, are the Benders, from Pennsylvania. Jacob Bender had been out West before, having spent twenty years there. After having been away all that time working at the carpenter’s trade until he became a contractor, going back east on a visit, he had found “Mary” as true as he had been. So a marriage took place in the quiet little village. They would have gone West before, but “ Mary ” always declared she would not go thither as long as her mother lived. That good woman lived

PRAIRIE SCHOONERS.

thirteen years after “Mary’s” wedding day, when she was laid away in the church-yard of the neighborhood in which she had resided all her life. Now Mrs. Bender felt free to go, and as her husband had never felt contented in the East, they started on the journey on which we find them. It was a serious undertaking for people of their age. But they did it for their children. The oldest is a boy twelve years of age, named Samuel. The next is Ruth, a sweet young girl, with dark-brown curly hair falling down in ringlets upon her shoulders. Her eyes are blue as the sky, and she is ten. The third is a little boy, with blue eyes and light hair, and kind, pale face, seven years old. His name is “Ollie,” or Oliver. The baby is three, and knows himself as “Marti Huter,” or Martin Euther.

The next group we will get acquainted with is a number of Scandinavians, who have come over the sea. This one is a Norwegian family, whose name is Opsal. It is composed of a man and wife and a little girl with auburn hair and blue eyes, called Thea. Her ruddy face is full of smiles, and she is trying to spell, even now, the words of an English primer.

This other is a family of Swedes, Eindborg by name, whose two-year-old baby is beginning to answer the call of Hulda. Here is also a family from Denmark, whose two children are Olaf Hansen, aged twelve, and his sister Christina, aged eight. This last is a German family, named Kahn, with four children — Herman, Theresa, Hans and Dorothea. A common feature of all these foreign children is that every one of them has light hair and eyes, high cheeks and wide forehead, giving their faces a broad appearance. Otherwise they look as bright and sweet as any.

The people whom we have thus far noticed all profess the Lutheran faith in sincerity. But besides these, there are many others in this caravan moving on in the clouds of dust, which the horses and cattle are raising. About one- third of them are Americans. Among them is a family, by the name of Clarke, whose little daughter Eva, about nine years of age, is very sick. A doctor whose name is Porter, and a lawyer, both young men, are traveling together in a wagon. Strange to say, the doctor is in search of health. So is Miss Smiley, a brave young school teacher, from New England. She is driving alone. Another individual, a Yankee merchant, by the surname of Snide, is in this company. This schooner in the rear contains an Irish family, whose name is Mc- Cabe. That honest-faced girl, with large hazel

PRAIRIE SCHOONERS.

eyes and long black hair, is Nora McCabe. She is almost a young woman, though only fourteen years of age. She has her regular hours for prayer on this journey, and wonders why these Protestants, the first she has ever seen, do not likewise.

The last of our new acquaintances is a minister on horseback, though the rest do not know him as such. In stature he is medium, but strongly built, his eyes large and tender, his black hair sprinkled with white. He is older than he looks, though not yet sixty. He usually rides ahead of the rest by himself, and seems much absorbed in his own thoughts. His quick-footed pony is almost covered by the large saddle and leathern bag that is thrown over him.

How wonderful that such a motley crowd should thus come together on such a journey. Yet this was but a repetition of what happened a thousand times in those days. Millions of people in peaceful emigration! This would have been a miracle in past ages. The over-crowded old world sends its superfluous multitudes into the new, to develop here, under the blue arch of freedom, both religion and civilization into a condition of perfection which neither before had known. To be where not one, but all, could rule ; where not a few only, 2 l8 THE SECRET OF THE CAfJON.

but all could comfortably live, aud where each could worship and speak as the individual conscience dictated, this is the reason they came — though many never lost sight of the “loaves and fishes.”

The day was now far spent. Musing on these things. Dr. Porter, while the people were getting ready for the night, was walking up the nearest bluff to watch the sunset. The western sky was lit up with roseate glory. The young man stood there gazing upon the beautiful scene until the king of day had passed through the gates of fire into the Hesperian wonderland.

The murmur of voices and the sounds of preparation were wafted up from the camp below. The hot day was followed by the breezes of a cool evening. The musical doctor had brought his cornet with him. This he now put to his lips and regaled the company with some delightful strains. “Annie Laurie” rolled along the valley like the soft cadences of an invisible orchestra in the amphitheatre of the hills. “ Columbia, the Gem of the Ocean” brought a cheer from several Americans in the camp. The “Mocking Bird” startled a hawk and a dozen buzzards which had settled on the high ground during the interlude. Yankee Snide and a few like him were the only ones who

PRAIRIE SCHOONERS.

were insensible to the doctor’s melodies. They were busy shuffling cards and drinking whiskey.

Dr. Porter, with bared head, on his elevated vantage point, would have enjoyed himself still longer, but moving figures several miles toward the south made him feel that he had ventured out long enough. Those horsemen might be foes as well as friends.

As he left the enchanting scene which had so fascinated his romantic nature, he repeated to himself the oft-quoted prophecy of Bishop Berkeley :

“ Westward the course of empire takes its way ;

The four first acts already past,

A fifth shall close the drama with the day ;

Time’s noblest offspring is the last.’*

CHAPTER 11.

GRAVES ON THE PRAIRIE.

Our friends had left Omaha a week ago. They had come about two hundred miles and were approaching the region of Plum Creek. Another train had preceded them only one day. Every evening they would come to the place where those had camped the night before. They would still find the smoking embers which had boiled their coffee and the cobs of the corn which their horses had munched.

During the day, which we have described, the motherly eye of Mrs. Bender had discovered, she thought, a few moving forms far off on the bluffs to the left. She did not feel right about the matter, but said nothing. She was not certain of being correct and did not want to appear timid. Wonderful maternal instinct !

Just then a body of Sioux Indians were shadowing this very train and failed to attack it only because it was so large. Eater they met a smaller one further on. The next day, after having trav- (20)

GRAVES ON THE PRAIRIE.

eled about fifteen miles, the front teamsters suddenly stopped their horses. This often had happened. Sometimes a swingle-tree would break, or hamestring unfasten, or a woman get out to walk for a change, and such an occurrence would for a moment stop the whole line. But what is the matter now? Why do all the people now gaze straight ahead, whither the minister is pointing ? He is explaining that he sees a commotion of men that seem to be soldiers. At least he can descry carbines glistening in the sun. The rest, standing up on horses and wagons, discern the same, but no one can decide what they are doing. Every heart beats faster. Each one fears evil.

The minister, whose name none yet know and whose calling only a few have guessed, rides upon an eminence. There he is able to conclude that “the boys in blue,^’ are employed in some peaceful occupation. He beckons to the others and moves forward. All hopefully and revivingly follow. In a short time they came to the place of interest. Wagon tires and smoking pieces of wheels were scattered all around. In several spots the grass was stained with blood. Everywhere were signs of a struggle. A company of cavalry and some frontiersmen with broad-brimmed hats were engaged in closing eleven graves. _

THE SECRET OF THE CAf^ON.

‘^Had you a battle with Indians!” asked the minister of the Captain.

“No, sir; there was a massacre here yesterday of a whole wagon-train of people, and, after slaughtering the owners, the Indians took the horses and burned the wagons.

“Were there any women among these slain ?’^

“Not any,” replied the Captain.

“But,” said the minister, “there were two women in that train. I saw them leave Omaha the day before we started.”

Pointing to the fresh mounds with his sword, the Captain earnestly replied, “ Heaven pity them; they would be better off here.”

A sense of horror crept over all. Mrs. Bender’s heart sank within her. Her husband, too, felt discouraged. “Let us go back,” he said, more to console her than actually to suggest what to do. At that moment they overheard the Captain tell Dr. Porter, that no Indians were now known to be near, except this roving band, and that the military were chasing these from the country.

“Well, one danger is over,” exclaimed Mrs. Bender, as Miss Smiley was now joining her. “ How thankful I am that we did not go with that unfortunate train, as we had intended doing. Something seemed to hold me back, though the only reason I could give was that there were so few women with it I have no doubt it was Providence that prevented us.”

Captain Holman (his name the ladies had learned from a private), as though inspecting the train, which was now pretty well bunched around the scene of the massacre, just then happening to ride along, they hailed him. Tipping his hat, he answered their inquiries by saying that such a large number as they were need not fear an attack, if watchful, and, besides, they all could settle so near Fort McPherson as always to be under military protection.

‘^We are corraling the red- skins pretty well,” he said. “ Only a few stray ones committed this outrage. But these poor fellows were too reckless. They knew that eleven men should not venture to cross the plains.”

booking at Mrs. Bender with an inquisitive twinkle in his eyes, the Captain said, “ You are from Pennsylvania, aren’t you ? ”

Without denying it she replied, “And how do you know that ? ”

Smiling, he replied, “ I am from the grand old Keystone myself,” and, saluting them, he rode after his duties.

The meeting on the frontier of people from the

24 the secret oe the caRon.

same state, though they have never seen each other before, often is a gleam of sunshine through prison bars, and often proves the foundation of warm friendship afterwards.

Mr. and Mrs. Bender now reasoned that to go back would be suicidal, and might defeat the entire object of their coming west. Every door, save one, seemed shut, and that opened toward sunset. This was the conclusion of all the Americans.

As for the foreigners, the men looked on in brave curiosity, while the women under the canvas silently wept and prayed by turns. But, somehow, when people once emigrate, they seem to be able to do only one thing, and that is, to go forward. Consequently the thirty wagons started westward.

But not all. A widow whose husband had been killed in the Rebellion was in the train. With her was her only child, a little boy. She had been observed to be nervous and changeable in her moods. To-day^s experience was too much for her. All at once she drove out of the line, turned her team about, and furiously drove eastward. “ Good bye,’’ she yelled, “ I can not stay in this God-forsaken land.” Several of the men tried to dissuade her, but she desperately pointed a gun at them, and, like a demon in a chariot of the air, with staring eyes and streaming hair, she flew away in dust and distance.

Steadily the train moved on all the afternoon. At last evening came. There is not much twilight on the plains. The sun suddenly drops out of sight, as if it fell from its place in the heavens. Just as quickly, like a pall, darkness falls over the landscape.

The teams were beginning to stop for the night, when a horseman appeared on the bluffs. He was a weird figure against the darkening sky. He had on a broad hat, called sombrero, with leathern band. A belt containing revolvers and huntingknife was about his waist. With his woolen shirt and blouse, deerskin trousers, big boots and spurs, his gun resting on the pommel of his saddle, and his long hair hanging down to his shoulders, he seemed a dangerous man to meet. But he was a friend, an army scout. In repose his heavy mustache and bushy eye-brows and sunburnt face gave him the stern appearance of an iron-incased knight; but when he came near and spoke, not even the children were afraid of him.

“ Ivook yere. D’ you folks mean ter camp that air way to-night, all spread out in no fashion? Two Injuns could scalp th'e half of ye afore tother half would know what’s up.”

THE SECRET OF THE CAf^ON.

With this abrupt speech he introduced himself. Then as a born commander he arranged the inexperienced immigrants for the night. Using Mr. Bender and Dr. Porter as aids, he placed all the teams in a circle, the rear ends all towards the centre. On the fenceless prairie this w^as easily and quickly done. As fast as the horses could be driven up, the corral was completed.

The camp now became the scene of busy life. The men unhitched, took out the feeding-troughs, and tethered the animals in the great meadows of sweet buffalo grass. The women took out their provisions and kettles. The river afforded water for beast and man. lyittle trenches were scraped in the soft sandy loam, in which such drift-wood as could be found and “buffalo chips’’ fed the rustic fires. On these frontier stoves the kettles soon vrere singing their happy song. The camp was like a lighted village. With the bare earth as table and couch, no meal ever was more heartily enjoyed. Amidst the thick ambient gloom, under the moonless sky, this encampment was the only illumination — a beacon light of civilization in the red man’s wilderness.

The Benders had invited the swarthy scout to supper. He accepted the invitation and related some genuine frontier adventures. When he was

GRAVES ON THE PRAIRIE.

done about half the people had gathered about him. After having cautioned the men to bring in the horses from their grazing revels on the prairie, he, without having given his name, or seeming to hear the cheers that were given in his honor, mounted his black charger and rode into the darkness.

One by one the tired people fell asleep, the men rolled in blankets on the grass, the women and children in the ‘‘schooners.” A gun was lying near each man’s hands, and the watchers were at their posts, more wakeful than comfortable. Soon all was silent, save in one tent.

We have already mentioned the family whose little girl was sick. In passing up along the low Missouri bottom, she caught malarial fever. She seemed to recover, but remained very weak. Thinking that out-door life would have the usual effect of instilling new vigor into the frail constitution, a physician had advised them to go on. At first she improved, but now a relapse had set in. Dr. Porter said she might rally, if she could have perfect rest. That at present was impossible. The hot sun and continual jarring of the wagon were against the little invalid. On this night she was worse than usual. To give her the full benefit of the fresh air, she was placed in a small open tent

THE SECRET OF THE CAf^ON.

There the little sufferer lay on a bed of blankets and pillows. A lantern revealed the fever-flushed face and the black sinking eyes. Her voice was low and sweet. Her gentle countenance won all hearts. Almost wild with grief, her mother was kneeling beside and over her.

By this time the minister sought the sick one. All that rude as well as tender hands could do had already been done for the little girl’s comfort. Without asking for the privilege of doing so, the good man kneeled down and offered a fervent prayer. Henceforth the heart-stricken parents were not comfortless. They realized that the house of God was even in the desert. After this devotion, the minister ventured to ask the child, “My dear little girl, may I ask your name?”

Feebly she replied, “ Eva.”

“ Did you ever go to church or Sunday-school?”

“ O, yes !” was her simply joyful answer.

“You have then heard of Jesus?”

“Yes, sir, and of His love too.”

“Trust Him then and love Him, for he said, ‘ Suffer the little children and forbid them not to come unto me.’ ”

Gasping, she said, “You did not say it all — ‘ for of such — is the kingdom — of heaven.’ ”

Astonished by this unexpected testimony, the good man gently said, “ Eva, Jesus has a beautiful home in store for you. Don’t be afraid.”

“I aint,” she said, smiling, “my home is lit up already.”

“Yes,” he replied, mistaking her meaning, “ they need no sun there.”

“ No ; it is lit up,” she joyfully answered, pointing her pale hand toward the visible sky, “don’t you see, God has his lights out? ”

The minister followed her gaze and sat in silence. There “smiled the stars like new hopes out of heaven.”

The midnight stillness was unbroken, save by the breathing of horses, the chewing of kine, and the howling of a pack of coyotes not far away.

The little invalid fell into a fitful slumber, then awoke as from a dream. Looking sweetly at her mother, she laid her hand in hers, fell asleep, but waked not again. Her spirit had gone up the stairway of light, and morning found her among the angels.

With the rising sun all was astir in camp. Everybody was glad that the Indians had not disturbed them. But none failed to be genuinely sad at the news that death had been in their midst.

Mrs. Bender had already prepared the little body for burial. Mr. Bender was collecting boards of various shapes and kinds to niake a rough coflSn. When it was finished, Miss Smiley placed on it a wreath of white poppies and some rare purple gentians — gathered, at her request, by Dr. Porter and his companion.

Nothing remained to be done but to bury little Kva. More sympathetic people never plucked flowers or dug a grave. A lone box-elder tree at the mouth of a gulch still marks the spot. Thither the solemn procession moved. The first two verses of “Jesus, Dover of My Soul” were sung. The minister read the burial service of some church — ^which, no one cared to know. Then the words “Ashes to ashes” were spoken, and Eva Clarke was left to wait for the resurrection, with nothing but a mound and a pine board to mark her resting place, only that the box-elder stood solemn sentinel there.

Slowly the wagons fell into line again and moved forward, leaving Eva among the prairie flowers.

Chapter III. The Homestead

Fort McPherson had been but recently built. It was not the pile of stones and logs of the Revolutionary period, but simply a cluster of houses and barracks, inclosing a square plot of ground bordered on one side by a deep gully.

At this time several thousand people were living in and around it. It was the military key to the country west of it. For the sake of safety, during this period of Indian depredations, no train containing less than forty wagons was allowed to pass beyond its limits, a rule which was rigidly enforced.

As our friends had come for homes, they decided to take up land, under the homestead laws, within easy access to the fort. Here the Platte valley is so narrow that one can easily see across its entire breadth. The bottom land contains some alkali, often appearing in white patches on the surface. The uplands are more fertile.

No nation ever was so generous, and at the same time so wise, as ours, when it offered to give to each applicant i6o acres of land for the improvements and time one would spend upon it, and i6o more for planting lo acres of trees. This privilege of the poor has, in many instances, become the speculation of the rich. Yet the evils of the system have been more than over-balanced by its benefits. It has filled the great West with an intelligent and thrifty population, a hardy agricultural citizenship.