Patrick Murphy came to this country from Dunmanway, County Cork,
Ireland, in 1866, landing at Castle Gardens, New York. For four
years he lived near Rochester, N. Y., and learned the nursery
business. In April 1870, he came to Omaha, and worked for a time on
the Telegraph lines, later in the year, he, in company with three
other young men bought an ox team, covered wagon, and baching
outfit; and having secured some tools they set out to look lor
homesteads. They journeyed on to Lincoln, then to Beatrice, and
along the Little Blue to Spring Ranch and Red Cloud on the
Republican River, but not being satisfied with the country in those
parts, they returned to the edge of Saline County and camped near
the Turkey Creek.
Two were then appointed to stay by the
goods, while two went and sought out claims. Having secured the
numbers of vacant claims, they then went to Beatrice after their
mail. The other three young men received letters from their railroad
employers, saying, their jogs were still open to them if they would
return. This temptation proved sufficient, for they decided they had
seen enough of land and returned.
Mr. Murphy had sufficient
money to buy their interests in the outfit; so he bought them out,
but drove them to Lincoln, where they said, goodbye, and have not
since met.
Mr. Murphy was now on his own, and having fixed
himself up with a supply of flour, lard, and lumber, he started out
for his homestead, reaching his destination on December, first,
1870.
Within a week he had a dugout ready for occupation,
the roof was made of poles from Turkey Creek, slough grass and dirt,
with an upper layer of sod. During those early days he went sixteen
miles for a load of hay, and had to ford the creek twice to bring it
home there were no bridges then west of Crete. He would also go to
Beaver Crossing on horseback, a distance of sixteen miles, carrying
a sack of meal and securing flour; he worked on the railroad at
Fairmont, and on to Hastings before it was a town, and saw the
erecting of the first house.
During the winter of 1870 the
Indians were camped along the Little Blue, and many were scared
because of their presence. There was no stove in the Murphy dugout,
the cooking being done on a fireplace, and the baking in a dutch
oven. One night during the visit of these Indians, Mr. Murphy was
lying in bed; when he heard the sods of his chimney falling into the
fireplace; he was soon up and dressed, secured his loaded rifle, and
stealthily opening the door he peeked towards the chimney for the
enemy, wondering what might happen next, when to his surprise and
relief, he found it was his ox mounted on the bank side just within
reach of the chimney, and deliberately hooking away with his horns,
causing the sods to fall into the house. This was very unkind of the
ox to play such nerve straining pranks at such a time, but what a
relief! No doubt as some people say, "his heart was in his mouth,"
but it would now find a more normal condition seeing there were no
Indians.
There was a neighbor named Elias Peterman, a
harness maker by trade, who, with his wife and family was trying to
make his way in the world, so they would take in boarders and he
would go and work at his trade in neighboring towns. They had an
Englishman named "Bill Haimes" boarding with them at the time, and
"Elias" was away from home, all went well until one midnight a
heifer managed to get onto the roof of the house, and soon had its
front feet and horns sticking through the ceiling. Bill Haimes made
his way in the dark to where the ceiling was falling in, and groping
around with his hands, caught hold of those feet and horns, "Why,"
said Bill, when telling the story. "I thought I had caught hold of
the devil." The mother and children had just got out of their bed
when the heifer fell through, breaking the bed to pieces.
Such were the experiences in the days when generally speaking people
had not $10 in cash. Rye was roasted for coffee, and luxuries were
as George Eliot would have said, "superlatively middling, and the
quintessence of extreme mediocrity."
In speaking of the
change of the physical aspect of the country, Mr. Murphy was bold
enough to suggest that it had been spoiled rather than otherwise;
Nebraska, locally speaking, had lost its romantic beauty by the
planting of too many trees and he is a professional nurseryman. He
thought of the beautiful and almost unlimited views that have been
lost by these modern improvements, as we call them.
He spoke
of a beautiful view formerly seen from a rise near the Turkey creek,
when in the early spring he would look with delight along the valley
with its opening leaf and springing grass, the water glistening in
the sunlight, as it moved along serpentine fashion; winding and
wending its way across a mighty continent to the mighty deep
"Beautiful for situation and every prospect pleasing."
I
began to think there was some truth in the old saying, "I cannot see
wood for trees." Mrs. Keller, a neighbor would run onto the roof of
her house when dinner was ready to see if her husband was coming,
then, away in the distance she would see him making his way to
partake of that which was the evidence of her wifely care and
forethought; and surely nothing pleases a woman more, than, to see
the man on time when the meal is ready. But now, she could not see
beyond the house yard or the home pasture at most. Another question
which might be asked, is, "have we gained anything by the loss of
the 'Mirage' as seen in the pioneer days?"
Mr. Murphy
grafted the first trees at the Crete Nursery, and planted most of
the trees in the Exeter Cemetery; he has handled and raised trees
for years. Ten years after homesteading he took a partner, not for
the business but for the home. They have had ten children, and have
the joy of knowing they are all doing well.
The last, and
not by any means the least of the things we mention regarding this
worthy pioneer from the "Emerald Isle," is, his having represented
Fillmore County in the State Legislature during two terms 19071911,
(on the Democratic Ticket.)
America has given a home to many
Irishmen, but in their accepting of her homes, we may also see how
America owes a great debt of gratitude to "O'd Oirland" for giving
her so many noble sons.
Pioneers of Fillmore and Adjoining Counties
Source: Pioneer Stories of the Pioneers of Fillmore and adjoining Counties, by G. R. McKeith, Press of Fillmore County News, Exeter, Nebraska, 1915
