Collection of Nebraska Pioneer Reminiscences Part 16

The man of the house came rushing out. Mr. Steele explained and asked directions, only to find he was not near Fairbury as he hoped. He was kindly taken in for the night, and while all slept in the one room, that was so clean and comfortable, and the welcome so kindly, a friendship was started that night, a friendship that grew and strengthened with the years and lasted as long as E. D. Brickley, the man of the dugout, lived.

I arrived in Fairbury the first day of May, 1871. The morning after I came I counted every building in the town, including all outbuildings having a roof. Even so I could only bring the grand total up to thirty.

That summer proved a very hot one--no ice, and very few buildings had a cellar. We rented for the summer a little home of three rooms. The only trees in sight were a few cottonwoods along the ravine that ran through the town and on the banks of the Little Blue river. How to keep milk sweet or b.u.t.ter cool was a problem. At last I thought of our well, still without a pump. I would put the eatables in a washboiler, put the cover on, tie a rope through the handles, and let the boiler down into the well. In late September a lady told me as her husband was going away she would bring her work and sit with me. I persuaded her to stay for supper. I intended to have cold meat, a kind of custard known as "floating island"; these with milk and b.u.t.ter were put down the well.

After preparing the table I went out and drew up my improvised refrigerator, and removing the cover went in with milk and b.u.t.ter.

Returning almost instantly, the door closed with a bang and frightened a stray dog doubtless attracted by the smell of meat. He started to run and was so entangled in the ropes that as far as I could see, dog, boiler, and contents were still going.

The whole thing was so funny I laughed at the time, and still do when I recall that scene of so long ago.

HOW THE SONS OF GEORGE WINSLOW FOUND THEIR FATHER'S GRAVE

BY MRS. C. F. STEELE AND GEORGE W. HANSEN

_Statement by Mrs. Steele_

I have been asked to tell the story of how the sons of George Winslow found their father's grave.

In April, 1911, it was my pleasure and privilege to go to Washington to attend the national meeting of the Daughters of the American Revolution.

I went in company with Mrs. C. B. Letton as well as a number of other delegates from different parts of the state. While pa.s.sing around to cast our votes for president general, an eastern lady noticing our badges exchanged greetings with some of our delegates and expressed a wish to meet some one from Fairbury. She was told that Fairbury had a delegate and I was called up to meet Mrs. Henry Winslow of Meriden, Connecticut. She greeted me cordially, saying her husband's father was a "Forty-niner" and while on his way to California was taken sick, died, and was buried by the side of the Oregon trail. In February, 1891, a letter appeared in a Boston paper from Rev. S. Goldsmith of Fairbury, Nebraska, saying that he had seen a grave with the inscription "Geo.

Winslow, Newton, Ms. AE. 25" cut on a crude headstone, and that he was ready to correspond with any interested party as to the lone grave or its silent occupant. This letter came to the notice of the sons of George Winslow, and they placed Mr. Goldsmith in communication with David Staples, of San Francisco, California, who was a brother-in-law of George Winslow and a member of the same company on the overland journey to California.

Mr. Staples wrote him about the organization of the company, which was called the "Boston and Newton Joint Stock a.s.sociation," and the sickness and death of George Winslow; but after this they heard nothing further from the Nebraska man.

Mrs. Winslow asked me if I knew anything of the grave. I did not, but promised to make inquiries regarding it on my return home.

[Ill.u.s.tration: MRS. CHARLES B. LETTON

Eighth State Regent, Nebraska Society, Daughters of the American Revolution. 1907-1908]

Soon after reaching home, Judge and Mrs. Letton came down from Lincoln and as guests of Mr. and Mrs. G. W. Hansen we were all dining together.

The conversation turned to the trip Mrs. Letton and I had enjoyed together, and we told the story of the talk with Mrs. Winslow. To my great surprise and pleasure Judge Letton said, "Why, Mrs. Steele, I remember seeing, many years ago, close by the Oregon trail, somewhere near the head of Whiskey Run, a grave marked with a red sandstone, and it is probably the grave you are searching for. I believe Mr. Hansen can find it."

A few days after this Mr. Hansen reported the finding of the grave. He said the headstone had been knocked down by a mower and dragged several rods away, and that he had replaced it upon the grave; that the inscription on the stone was as distinct as though freshly cut. I at once wrote to Mrs. Winslow, giving her the facts, and telling her Mr.

Hansen would gladly answer any questions and give such further information as she might wish.

The grateful letter I received in reply more than compensated me for what I had done.

_Statement by Mr. Hansen_

Upon a beautiful swell of the prairie between the forks of Whiskey Run, overlooking the charming valley of the Little Blue river, in a quiet meadow, five miles north and one mile west of Fairbury, close to the "old legitimate trail of the Oregon emigrants," is a lone grave marked with a red sandstone slab, twenty inches in height, of equal width, and six inches thick, on which is carved "Geo. Winslow, Newton, Ms. AE. 25."

Through this meadow untouched by the plow may still be seen the deep, gra.s.s-grown furrows of the Oregon trail; and when George Winslow's companions laid him at rest by its side, they buried him in historic ground, upon earth's greatest highway.

To the honor of George Winslow's comrades be it said they loved him so well that in their grief the feverish haste to reach the gold fields was forgotten, and every member did what he could to give him Christian burial and perpetuate his memory. They dug his grave very deep so that neither vandals nor wolves would disturb him. They searched the surrounding country and found, two miles away, a durable quality of sandstone, which they fashioned with their rude tools for his monument, his uncle Jesse Winslow carving with great care his name, home, and age, and on a footstone the figures 1849. This service of love rendered him that day gave to his sons their father's grave, and enabled us sixty-three years afterwards to obtain the story of his life, and the story of the journey of his company to California.

Of all the thousands of men who were buried by the side of the old trail in 1849 and 1850, the monument of George Winslow alone remains. All the rest, buried in graves unmarked or marked with wooden slabs, have pa.s.sed into oblivion.

In June, 1912, it was my pleasure to meet George Winslow's sons, George E. of Waltham, Ma.s.sachusetts, and Henry O. at the home of the latter in Meriden, Connecticut. They were intensely interested in the incident of their father's death and in the protection of his grave. It was planned that they should obtain a granite boulder from near their father's home in which the old red sandstone set up by his companions in 1849 might be preserved, and a bronze tablet fashioned by Henry O. Winslow's hands placed upon its face. This has been done, and the monument was unveiled on October 29, 1912, with appropriate ceremonies.

I learned from them that Charles Gould, then in the eighty-ninth year, the last survivor of the party, lived at Lake City, Minnesota. Mr. Gould kept a record of each day's events from the time the Boston and Newton Joint Stock a.s.sociation left Boston until it arrived at Sutter's Fort, California. A copy of this interesting diary and a copy of a daguerreotype of Mr. Gould taken in 1849 are now in the possession of the Nebraska State Historical Society. The original letter written by George Winslow to his wife Eliza from Independence, Missouri, May 12, 1849, and the letter of Brackett Lord written at Fort Kearny June 17, 1849, describing Winslow's sickness, death, and burial, and a copy of a daguerreotype of George Winslow taken in 1849, were given me by Mr.

Henry O. Winslow to present to the Nebraska State Historical Society.

From the Winslow memorial published in 1877, we learn that George Winslow was descended from Kenelm Winslow of Dortwitch, England, whose two sons Edward and Kenelm emigrated to Leyden, Holland, and joined the Pilgrim church there in 1617. Edward came to America with the first company of emigrants in the Mayflower, December, 1620, and was one of the committee of four who wrote the immortal compact or Magna Charta. He became governor of Plymouth colony in 1633. His brother Kenelm came to America in the Mayflower with the long hindered remainder of the Pilgrim church on a later voyage.

His son Kenelm Winslow was born at Plymouth, Ma.s.sachusetts, in 1635. His son, Josiah Winslow, born 1669, established the business of cloth dressing at Freetown, Ma.s.sachusetts. His son James Winslow, born 1712, continued his father's business, and was a colonel in the second regiment Ma.s.sachusetts militia. His son Shadrach Winslow, born 1750, graduated at Yale in 1771 and became an eminent physician. At the outbreak of the Revolutionary war, being a gentleman of independent fortune, he fitted out a warship or a privateer, and was commissioned to attack the enemy on the high seas. He was captured off the coast of Spain, and confined in a dismal prison ship where he suffered much. His son Eleazer Winslow, born 1786, took up his abode in the Catskill mountains with a view to his health and while there at Ramapo, New York, on August 11, 1823, his son George Winslow was born.

The family moved to Newton, Ma.s.s., now a suburb of Boston, where George learned his father's trade, that of machinist and molder. In the same shop and at the same time, David Staples and Brackett Lord, who afterwards became brothers-in-law, and Charles Gould were learning this trade.

George Winslow was married in 1845. His first son, George Edward, was born May 15, 1846. His second son Henry O., was born May 16, 1849, the day the father left the frontier town of Independence, Missouri, for California.

The Boston and Newton Joint Stock a.s.sociation consisted of twenty-five picked young men from Newton and the vicinity of Boston, each member paying $300 into the treasury. The incidents along the journey we obtain from Mr. Gould's excellent journal. They left Boston, April 16, 1849, traveling by rail to Buffalo, taking the steamer Baltic for Sandusky, Ohio, and then by rail to Cincinnati, where they arrived April 20, at 9:00 o'clock p. m.

They left Cincinnati April 23rd, on the steamer Griffin Yeatman for St.

Louis, and arrived there April 27th, then by steamer Bay State, to Independence, Missouri. The boat was crowded princ.i.p.ally with pa.s.sengers bound for California. A set of gamblers seated around a table well supplied with liquor kept up their game all night. Religious services were held on board on the Sabbath, Rev. Mr. Haines preaching the sermon.

The usual exciting steamboat race was had, their boat leaving the steamer Alton in the rear, where, Mr. Gould remarks "we think she will be obliged to stay."

On May 3rd, they landed at Independence, Missouri, and began preparations for the overland journey. In the letter written by George Winslow to his wife, he says:

"We have no further anxiety about forage; millions of buffalo have feasted for ages on these vast prairies, and as their number have been diminished by reason of hunters, it is absurd to think we will not have sufficient gra.s.s for our animals....

"We have bought forty mules which cost us $50 apiece. I have been appointed teamster, and had the good luck to draw the best wagon. I never slept better in my life. I always find myself in the morning--or my bed, rather--flat as a pan cake. As the darn thing leaks just enough to land me on terra firma by morning, it saves me the trouble of pressing out the wind; so who cares....

"Sunday morning, May 13, 1849. This is a glorious morning and having curried my mules and washed my clothes and bathed myself, I can recommence writing to you Eliza....

"We engaged some Mexicans to break the mules. To harness them they tied their fore legs together and threw them down. The fellows then got on them and wrung their ears, which like a n.i.g.g.e.r's shin, is the tenderest part. By that time they were docile enough to take the harness. The animals in many respects resemble sheep, they are very timid and when frightened will kick like thunder. They got six harnessed into a team, when one of the leaders, feeling a little mulish, jumped right straight over the other one's back. One fellow offered to bet the liquor that he could ride an unbroken one he had bought; the bet was taken--but he had no sooner mounted the fool mule than he landed on his hands and feet in a very undignified manner; a roar of laughter from the spectators was his reward. I suppose by this time you have some idea of a mule....

"I see by your letter that you have the blues a little in your anxiety for my welfare. I do not worry about myself, then why do you for me? I do not discover in your letter any anxiety on your own account; then let us for the future look on the bright side and indulge in no more useless anxiety. It effects nothing, and is almost universally the bugbear of the imagination.... The reports of the gold region here are as encouraging as they were in Ma.s.sachusetts. Just imagine to yourself seeing me return with from $10,000 to $100,000...."

On May 16th this company of intrepid men started out upon the long overland trail to California. They traveled up the Kansas river, delayed by frequent rains and mud hub deep, reaching the lower ford of the Kansas on the 26th, having accomplished about fifty miles in ten days.

The wagons were driven on flatboats and poled across by five Indians.

The road now becoming dry, they made rapid progress until the 29th, when George Winslow was suddenly taken violently sick with the cholera. Two others in the party were suffering with symptoms of the disease. The company remained in camp three days and the patients having so far recovered, it was decided to proceed. Winslow's brothers-in-law, David Staples and Brackett Lord, or his uncle, Jesse Winslow, were with him every moment, giving him every care. As they journeyed on he continued to improve. On June 5th they camped on the Big Blue, and on the 6th, late in the afternoon, they reached the place where the trail crosses the present Nebraska-Kansas state line into Jefferson county, Nebraska.

Mr. Gould writes: "About a half hour before sunset a terrific thunder shower arose, which baffles description, the lightning flashes dazzling the eyes, and the thunder deafening the ears, and the rain falling in torrents. It was altogether the grandest scene I have ever witnessed.

When the rain ceased to fall the sun had set and darkness closed in."

To this storm is attributed George Winslow's death. The next morning he appeared as well as usual, but at 3 o'clock became worse, and the company encamped. He failed rapidly, and at 9 o'clock a. m., the next day, the 8th of June, 1849, painlessly and without a struggle, he sank away as though going to sleep. He was taken to the center of the corral, where funeral services were performed, by reading from the scriptures by Mr. Burt, and prayer by Mr. Sweetser. He was then borne to the grave by eight bearers, and followed by the rest of the company. Tears rolled down the cheeks of those strong men as each deposited a green sprig in the open grave.

For him the trail ended here--in these green pastures. All the rest of his company traveled the long old trail across plains, mountains, and deserts, and reached the fabled gardens and glittering sands of El Dorado, only to find them the ashes of their hopes. He alone of all that company was never disillusioned.

EARLY DAYS IN JEFFERSON COUNTY