Mr. Walter Howarth came to this district on April 1st 1872 and
homesteaded half a n.ile north of Turkey creek on the county line.
He is a native of Bolton, Lancashire, England, coming from a densely
populated, and an immense manufacturing community to live on the
lonely prairie, thus leaving the possibilities of muslins, calicos,
and woolen goods for those of the corn cob silk.
When he
landed there was no depot at Exeter or Friend, they were merely flag
stations; the train never stopped, it just slackened speed a little,
and he had to throw off his grips and jump. How different the
country looked; very few trees, nearly all the settlers lived in
dugouts or sod houses, and very rarely was a frame house to be seen.
In those days the Indians came up the creek every winter
trapping, and often he went in company with other young fellows and
would sit in one of their tents in the evening to see their mode of
life, but not to be edified by their conversation. Only some of
their younger boys could speak a little English, and they never
spoke unless spoken to, but they made them welcome, and gave them a
seat by the fire more especially if they came with a little gift of
tobacco. Nearly every evening they were there their medicine man, a
tali intelligent looking Indian was orating to them, of course they
could not understand the story, but it seemed to greatly interest
the Indians for they listened with rapt attention occasionally
breaking into a ripple of smiles, probably, when he was telling of
some particularly brave deed done by a member of the tribe. For an
hour at a time he would talk on and on never stopping except to fill
the pipe, for he seemed to have charge of the tobacco, and always
had the first pull at the pipe before passing it around the circle.
One of the settlers on the creek had lost a number of
turkeys with the cholera and had thrown them into the bush, and this
same lot of Indians (they were Omahas and Pawnees) found them and
while they lasted the odors from their camp Kettle were most
fragrant.
One night he was sitting in the tent next to a
particularly good looking Indian maiden, when she got hungry and
putting ner hand under a pile of buffalo robes on which they were
sitting, pulled out a big cows liver which someone had given them,
and cutting on two or three slices with a dirty looking butcher
knife, threw them on the fire in the middle of the tent, and when
they were just barely warmed, drew them out and began to eat. This
and other things he saw knocked all the romance of Indian life out
of Mr. Howarth, no such cooking for him.
During the time Mr.
Howarth was teaching school, one day one of the girls who lived near
the school house (a sod affair) stayed at home to help ner mother
wash. About the middle of the forenoon she ran into the school house
crying as if her heart would break, "Oh! teacher," she said, "Will
you and the big boys come over, papa's away, and the house is full
of Indians." Of course they went, and found 10 or 20 Indians in
possession. Houses in those days were wonderfully elastic affairs,
and though this consisted of only one room, yet it held the beds and
furniture for an average sized family, and in addition a little
stock of groceries. The Indians were taking these from the shelves
and asking for them; after they got there the Indians bought and
paid for a few things and soon left, but there was no more school
that morning. The girl and her mother were in no personal danger,
but no doubt they would have stolen something, and as one of the
Indians was sharpening his hatchet on a little grindstone which
stood near the door, poor little Jennie thought her last day had
surely come.
That school house, crude affair as it was, with
sod walls, homemade desks, and planks for seats, turned out two or
three pupils who afterwards became very successful teachers; they
didn t have a little smattering of Latin or Algebra or Botany, but
were well grounded in the essentials^the.3 R's and after that the
rest was easy of accomplishment.
One spring morning he was
busily at work in the yard, he had finished teaching school the week
before, (here let us say, that in the 5 years he taught, 6 months
was the school term, and $25 per month the highest salary he
received) and had just drawn all his back pay. It was a beautiful
morning, the kind of a day which makes one glad to be alive, and
altogether he was feeling particularly happy and free from care. The
poet says; "In Spring the young man's fancy lightly turns to
thoughts of love' and he was singing at the top of his voice, "Come
where my love lies dreaming" (The strains of which in some way or
other reached Bolton with satisfactory results) when happening to
turn round there stood a 6 foot Indian right close to him. The
moment he saw him the thought of his money came into his mind, for
he had taken his purse from his pocket and Thrown it into the
cupboard, and the house door was open and the cupboard door also,
and to get to him the Indian had to pass the open door. So Mr.
Howarth grabbed up his hatchet and ran to the house; and if the
purse was not there, right there was going to be a fight between an
Englishman and an Indian. But there it was in plain sight, so he
invited Mr. Indian into the house and had a visit. The Indian
couldn't speak much English but he could beg and proceeded to do so.
On the table was a side of bacon from which that morning he had
taken to ribs intending to boil them with some beans, so when he
asked for meat he gave him the ribs, he held them in one hand and
looked them over, then put them in the other hand and took another
look, then put the poor ribs on the table and grunted "no good"
didn't want them; and after they had been in his dirty paws Mr.
Howarth didn't want them either so he threw them outside to the dog.
After that the Indian saw the writing materials on the table, and
drew from some part of his dress a letter or permit given to him by
the Indian Agent when he was leaving the reservation. The letter was
torn, creased and very dirty, and he made it known that he wanted a
clean copy, which Mr. Howarth soon made. It stated that John
Wangawah was a good Indian, but in great heed of help, that it would
be an act of Christian charity to aid him, and that he would pray
continually for all those who bestowed gifts upon him.
In
telling us these stories without intending to do so he has shown us
the condition of a bachelor's shanty, writing materials and a side
of bacon on the same table, and without doubt, a pile of unwashed
dishes; these latter were attended to quite religiously every
Sunday. It was on the same trip of the Indians that two or three of
them suddenly appeared at the door of a dug out and so frightened
the woman of the house a very large fleshy person that she dived
under the bedstead a homemade contrivance of ash poles and there
stuck until relieved by her husband.
Churches, there were
none, but occasionally an itinerant preacher came around and held
services wherever he could; either in a private house or school
house. They were generally of that brand who believe the more noise
they make the more effect they will have. He remembers one who
apologized, saying he was not the man he once was, as now he had
only one lung, but after he was well warmed up, he yelled with forty
lung power, sad to say the boys in the back seats were falling off
with laughter. Never before or since has he heard such a racket in a
place of worship, no doubt the man meant well, but instead of
creating a reverent feeling he dispelled it. He thinks it was in
that same series of meetings that the preacher in a Sunday School
class asked one of the boys a question he could not answer; so he
said "I pass" and immediately the next boy said "then clubs are
trumps" and both teacher and class laughed.
The people came
to the meetings on horseback or in wagons, some in wagons drawn by
oxen, he did not know of a man who owned a buggy, and doubts if
there were half a dozen in the county.
What would now be
regarded as horrible hardships were not so looked upon by the early
settlers, but taken as part of the ordinary routine of life. For
instance one of them said, he and his wife lived on corn meal mush
three times a day until they tired of it, and he started out on foot
to Milford, a distance of at least 25 miles and brought home on his
back all that distance, a sack of flour and he didn't seem to think
he had done anything extraordinary. Others have said that when they
first came here, they had to go to Nebraska City for their
groceries, but one thing is certain their wants were not many.
A few of the genuine old frontiersmen who had came in and
settled on the creek some 8 or 10 years before his arrival were
still scattered here and there, but the country soon became too
thickly settled, and they sold out and moved again still farther
West. They had characteristics all their own; never very anxious to
work, and content with the simple necessities, they lived an easy
life.
After the grasshopper visitation of '74 there was
great distress in Nebraska, and charitable people in the East sent a
number of car loads of provisions and clothing for the "grasshopper
sufferers" as they were called. Mr. Howarth was one of a committee
of two appointed to go around their school district and see who were
in need of aid, or rather who would accept it, while they were all
poor, some were poorer than others, yet some were too proud to
accept charity. It was a bitterly cold morning when they started on
their rounds 10 or 15 below zero. They called at every house in the
district and in so doing had to cross the creek a couple of times,
the ice being 12 or 14 inches thick, but on their last time over he
happened to step on some thin ice over a spring and went down clear
to his arm pits, the companion pulled him out and they started for
his house about half a mile away, but it was not long before his
clothing was frozen stiff and jingled like the bead and jet
ornaments on a ladies dress.
After putting on a complete
change of clothing belonging to the companion which was several
sizes too large, they started for Friend with the list of
requirements but unfortunately arrived too late, for all the most
desirable articles had been taken, and all they got were two or
three pounds of plug tobacco and some cloaks and dresses. These they
distributed but the recipients did not seem very grateful they
expected something better, and they never got any thanks for their
labor. Those were hard times and many left the country, he remembers
seeing an emigrant wagon going East on the cover of which was
printed "In God we trusted in Nebraska we busted, off back to my
wife's folks," but of those who stayed most have achieved a fair
measure of success, and the old days are a pleasant recollection.
Fred Walmsley came from Bolton, England, with Mr. Howarth
and homesteaded south of the Turkey creek, but remained only one
year; commuting for his claim and receiving a deed by paying two and
a half dollars per acre, and returned to his native hearth. While
here he passed through the blizzard of '73, when he was snowed in
for three days and had to find a way to daylight by opening the
window and boring a hole through the snow with a broomstick;
afterwards making his escape with the help of an Irish neighbor
named Tom Gilroy, who had come to see what had become of the young
Englishman, by burrowing his way through that hole to liberty.
During that brief stay, he, with Mr. Howarth entertained some
lady friends to dinner. The menu for that specific occasion is not
forthcoming, but whether or not after the American or English style;
there is reason to believe that "All's well that ends well" is
applicable as far as the dinner itself was concerned, for it won
unstinted praise.
The only difficulty arising in connection
with the undertaking was the losing of the dishcloth, which loss,
for a time hindered the bachelors from washing the dishes. But as
Shakespeare says "Wise men ne'er sit and wail their loss, but
cheerly seek how to redress their harms," so they sought for it. We
cannot now tell how much of blame or suspicion was placed upon their
lady guests, or even if they deserved any! but let us remember,
quoting again their illustrious poet, "Men are men; the best
sometimes forget" where they lay the dishcloth. So after all these
years, and especially for the benefit of posterity, hoping at the
same time to free the innocent from any blame or suspicion, I set on
record, that; the dishcloth was found safe and snug as though it
were a linen handkerchief, carefully tucked away in Fred Walmsley's
hip pocket, but again the poet says; "Sweet are the uses of
adversity," and who knows how much of good resulted from that
experience? The one's continued life on the land, and the other's
subsequent life in the city of Manchester, England, are perhaps
richer and fuller for having provided that dinner, and for a time,
losing that dishcloth in those far off pioneer days.
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
