CHAPTER XI.

FIRST WORK IN NEBRASKA.

CRUDE IDEAS OF NEBRASKA--BELLEVUE--STORY OF A DIAMOND--HOW THE PEOPLE VIEWED US--HUNTING FOR A TOWN WITHOUT HOUSES--FIRST SERMON IN NEBRASKA--WILD SPECULATION--ITS DEMORALIZING EFFECTS--FIRST QUARTERAGE RECEIVED--GLAD OF GREEN PUMPKINS--THANKFUL FOR POTATOES AND SALT--HOSPITALITY OF FRIENDS.

HE people of Massachusetts at one time decided that the country would not be settled west of Newton, a suburb of Boston. And the inhabitants of Lynn, having surveyed the country fifteen miles west, determined that it never would be densely populated beyond that point.
     When we first reached Nebraska, we believed, and so did everybody else, that Nebraska never would be settled west of the first tier of counties lying along the Missouri River. Coming from a densely-timbered country, Nebraska had a very dreary and desolate look. We almost feared there would not be wood enough to keep us from freezing to death during the first winter. In 1858 Nebraska had a population of about sixteen thousand souls, and during the

few following years the population decreased rather than increased.
     Many became discouraged, and declared they would not stay in such a "God-forsaken country." They felt that God had intended this country for the Indians, and that in remaining they were trespassing on Indian rights.
     Bellevue was our first appointment in Nebraska. It is ten miles south of Omaha, situated on a beautiful plateau, overlooking for miles the Missouri River. It is said that in 1805 a Spanish adventurer came to Bellevue, and, in climbing the bluff to the plateau, was so struck with the natural beauty of the spot that he exclaimed, "Bellevue"-"beautiful place;" hence the name.
     Something more is necessary, however, to make a city than a beautiful location. If a beautiful location could make a city, Bellevue would have been the finest and largest city in the State. A more exquisite spot for a city I never saw.
     Bellevue at that time was the county-seat of Sarpy County, the county being named in honor of Colonel Peter A. Sarpy. From 1823 to 1855 Colonel Sarpy was agent of the American Fur Company at Bellevue. He was raised in St. Louis, and brought up in refinement. But when he grew to manhood he preferred the freedom of the Western prairies to the gayety and refinement of civilized life.

     I remember reading a story published in the Omaha Herald about Colonel Sarpy. It was told by the Hon. J. Sterling Morton, and was called

"THE STORY OF THE DIAMOND.

     "The beautiful bluffs that rise so majestically from the mission at Bellevue, shimmering in the morning sunlight, and the deep verdure that covered them that summer day, made them look like a string of gigantic emeralds just fallen from the clouds. Colonel Peter A. Sarpy met me that morning, up back of the old mission-house, by the grave of Big Elk. He was buoyant, and his eye glistened, and he was in the best of health and spirits. He was dressed neatly, and upon his breast I noticed for the first time a diamond, which gleamed and flashed with striking brilliancy. 'Colonel,' said I, 'you have been adding to your jewels;' and, looking steadily at the gem, 'is that something new?' 'O no, my friend,' said he, 'that is old, very old; and I will tell you all about it, if you will listen, and what is to come of it in the hereafter, if you will.' He continued: 'Many, many years ago, when St. Louis was a village, my good Catholic mother died--may God rest her soul in peace!in that town. We children followed her remains to the cemetery, and laid them quietly in the grave, and wept until our eyes could weep no

more. And then, shortly after, I came up here to Nebraska among the Indians to trade, and my brother John remained in Saint Louis. But a few years ago I went down to that city to purchase goods; and one afternoon, after I had been there several days, my brother said,. "Peter I want to see you privately in the counting-room, tö talk about the dead;" and so I went in, and John said: "Peter, this city is growing very rapidly. It is stretching out to the south and the west and the north. It needs more room, and the old graveyard where our mother is buried must be given up. We must remove her remains to another resting-place, and we will do it together while you are here; we will do it to-morrow." And so the very next day we went to our mother's grave, and carefully we brought the coffin to the light, and lifted it up tenderly on to a bier. It was badly decayed. The top was moved a little to one side, and I could not resist a desire to look in. As I did, the sunlight streamed in, and I saw something gleaming there. At once I remembered the diamond which my mother had worn always, and which had been buried on her breast, and I reached in and took it out, and this is it which you now see.
     "It is mine now; and when these bright days come, I feel young again, and remembering my

mother, I put it on and wear it; for it makes me a better man.
     It is a charm, sir; and the memories which it brings to me are brighter and richer and more precious than all the gems in the world; for they are the sacred recollections of a Christian mother, a holy woman, whose teachings were purer than any diamond that ever glowed. And now, while men think I am only an old Indian trader, who sees nothing in the future, who believes in no destiny for this beautiful. Nebraska of ours, I know, sir, that not many years will come and go before I, too, will be called to another life in another world. And then these vast plains will be settled up; somewhere in this Missouri Valley, perhaps in sight of where we now stand, a great city shall have been builded. Then I may have been in my grave many years. And some day, very likely, they will come to you, as they did to brother John about our mother, and say: "Here, sir, your old friend, Peter A. Sarpy, is in the way; the city needs more room, and, sir, you must take his old bones away."
     "'And if so, do it; do it decently and kindly; but remember this diamond. Peep into my old coffin. It is a pure gem, sir--first water--and will surely flash whenever your eye can see. Then you reach in--I'll be still--and snatch the diamond out, and put it on and wear it.

     The years will roll on, and you will have grown old; then death will rap at your door, and you, too, will have come into another life in that other world. Tell your boys to bury this stone with you. But not many years more will have followed the trail of those who have gone into the shadowy hunting-lands, before your boys will be called upon by the authorities to move your bones also.
     "' Tell the boys, when that time comes, to reach into your coffin again, and take this glittering jewel out from the grave.
     "'Tell the oldest to put it on and wear it, and be buried with it too, leaving instructions for its reresurrection again.
     "'And so, sir, we'll keep this diamond glittering among the generations to come. It shall be buried and raised, and worn and buried again, until finally it shall be buried for the last time, away off in some of the islands of the Pacific, when the West shall have been found and settled in full, and finally perfected.
     "'I tell you, sir, this cry for room, more room, will never cease.
     "'And let this diamond go on from grave to grave, from generation to generation, gleaming and flashing forever like a star, in the shield of one who shall always be .a pioneer in the vanguard of progress and civilization.

     "He stopped his speech, and in silence we walked to the trading-post. But there was an element of prophecy in that summer morning talk of Colonel Sarpy, which makes it ring in my ears and thrill in my veins even unto this day. He looked into the future as into a mirror, and saw the face of to-day and to-morrow as clearly and plainly as a child sees trees and flowers 'shadowed in a pure brook."
     In the grave-yard, near where Colonel Sarpy stood when the above remarkable speech was made, sleep the remains of our first-born child.
     When Colonel Sarpy uttered this prophecy, Omaha was a little village with only a few houses. Lincoln was an untrodden prairie, save by the Indians, the buffalo, and the wild beasts that roamed the plains. But Omaha has become a mighty city, stretching away to the north, the west, and the south, and the cry has been heard for years, "More room." Lincoln, the magic city of the plains, in the heart of the." Great American Desert," has arisen, and grown, and to-day has a teeming population of near sixty thousand souls. Addition after addition has been made, and still the cry rings out over the prairies from her authorities, "More room."
     The "Great American Desert," where is it? Echo answers, Where? Driven from the plains of Nebraska to the western slopes of the Rocky

Mountains, then on toward the setting sun, the "Great American Desert" "has become a vagabond on the face of the earth."
     When we reached Bellevue, we found no church or organization. The outlook was not encouraging by any means, but gloomy in the extreme. A class had been organized, but had gone down. The acts of some, we learned, had not been in harmony with their profession. Methodism had no standing in the community, and the people looked at us with curious eyes. To get hold of the hearts of the people, and give Methodism a respectable standing required time, patience, and labor. The foundation of the church had to be laid, and the superstructure reared, and we were there for that purpose; so we went to work with a will, though discouragements met us at every step, and in almost every form.
     We had been on the ground only a short time, when Mrs. Davis was taken ill and remained so for several weeks. For a long time we had but little hope of her recovery. The people were very kind, and rendered every possible assistance; night and day they stood by us in the dark hours of our trial. We shall never forget them. The remembrance of their kindness and many tokens of love, is indelibly written upon our memories, and will never be erased.

     The summer of 1858 was a very sickly one. Nearly everybody in the community was prostrated. To hire help was an impossibility, and we had to do all our own work, save what was done by our kind neighbors. I kept house, cooked, washed and ironed, waited on Mrs. Davis, prepared for the pulpit, and preached on the Sabbath. It was a new experience--a bitter but useful one. I shall never forget the first trip I made to Fairview. I was told it was a town eight miles west of Bellevue. I sent out an appointment, and on Sunday morning, started on horseback. We had been told it was beautifully located on an elevation, overlooking the whole surrounding country. I rode on until I thought I must be getting near, and began to look for the new town. I strained my eager eyes in valn to get a glimpse of the expected beautiful village. On and I urged my horse, thinking every moment that the village would rise in view. At length, away to the right of the road, I saw a little shanty. I reined up my horse, rode out toward the shanty, but before reaching it was met by the man of the house. I said to him: "Will you be so kind as to tell me the way to Fairview
     "O, yes," said he. "Which way did you come?"

     "From Bellevue."
     "You came the main traveled road from the east, I suppose ?"
     "Yes, sir."
     "Well, sir, you passed through Fairview two miles east of this."
     "How is that?" said I; "I have not seen a house for miles until I saw yours."
     "O," said the gentleman, "there are no houses in Fairview yet. It was only laid out a few months ago."
     I told him that I had sent out an appointment to preach there that day.
     "Well," said he, "I think I heard there was to be a meeting there to-day, and I guess some of the neighbors have gone there for that purpose. If you will go back two miles and look very carefully in the grass, you will see some white stakes; then if you will look to the south, you will see, at the head of a little ravine, a log cabin with some trees near by. Robert Lang lives there, and I expect the meeting is to be at his house." I rode back, found the stakes, saw the log cabin, and on reaching it found a number of persons waiting for the preacher. In a little grove near by I preached my first sermon in Nebraska to about a dozen hearers. I took dinner with Brother Lang, a jolly, whole-souled, deeply pious Scotchman. Some years after this Brother

Lang entered the evangelistic work, and has been instrumental, in the hands of God, in leading hundreds of souls to Christ. He has been a faithful worker in Christ's vineyard, and will have many stars in his crown of rejoicing.
     After dinner I rode twelve miles to Plattford, where I had sent out an appointment for evening service. Here I expected, from what had been told me, to find a good town, 'a good society of Methodists, and a large congregation. But, alas! I was again doomed to disappointment. I found no town, no members of our Church, no congregation. Plattford, like Fairview, was only a paper town, and its location was marked alone by a few stakes seen here and there in the grass. Just at dark I rode up to a small house some distance north of the town site, where I was hospitably entertained by a kind family belonging to the Congregational Church.
     This was my first Sabbath's work in our new field of labor, on the frontier, in the territory of Nebraska. It was anything but pleasant, and the future outlook was not a very flattering one.
     In 1856-7 the wildest excitement prevailed. Speculation was rife. New towns were spread upon all the county records. Town companies were formed, towns laid out, and agents sent East to sell the lots. Many innocent and unsuspecting parties were taken in by these unscrupulous

agents. It is said that the recorder of one of the northern counties laid out a town, then went East and sold lots at fabulous prices. In addition to the money received from them, he made large sums for recording the deeds of these worthless lots. Soon after reaching Bellevue I received a letter from a Methodist minister in Ohio, asking for a description and the location of the town of Platonia. He had sent three hundred dollars, the little savings of years, to a friend, who had purchased for him several lots in this new town. He had written again and again, but could hear nothing from his old friend. I began to make inquiry about the new town, and finally met a man who told me where it was located. A few days afterwards I went down and took in the new village. I found a half-finished, dilapidated frame building, standing in the midst of a large field of corn. The town, to this day, is used as a farm for raising corn and hogs. Many professing Christians were carried away by the mighty tide of speculation that swept over the country. It was not strange, when professing Christians engaged in such dishonorable transactions, that the Church should fill into disrepute and lose its power for good. When we learned the history of the past, we were not at all disposed to censure any for scanning us with curious and suspicious eyes.

     The prospect for a support from the people was not very flattering. An appropriation of one hundred dollars from the Missionary Society had been made to the mission. Our house-rent was at the rate of one hundred dollars per year. This would take all our missionary money, and we must depend on the people for a living. We had no assurance whatever that the people would pay us any thing. In fact, the intimations were that the people had all they could possibly do to provide for themselves.
     After we had been there a few weeks, a good Baptist brother by the name of Simpkins brought us a few new potatoes and some green pumpkins. Mrs. Davis thanked him very kindly for the potatoes and green pumpkins. The next time he came he brought a splendid lot of vegetables of all kinds, then kept us in vegetables during the season, and in the fall filled our cellar for the winter. He afterwards often laughed and said: "I first tried you with green pumpkins, for I thought if you were thankful for green pumpkins you would do for Nebraska." Brother Simpkins and family afterwards became useful and faithful members of the Methodist Episcopal Church.
     Soon after Mrs. Davis began to recover from her long illness, her appetite became ravenous, while my own was not a whit behind hers. It seemed almost impossible for us to get enough to

eat. We were ready to devour everything we could get in the way of edibles, and almost everything was palatable. We had a wonderful relish for food. *We began to get into straitened circumstances. Our money was almost gone, and our larder about empty. All we had left was a little bread, potatoes, and salt. We sat down one morning to our meager breakfast--bread, potatoes, and salt. After the blessing was asked my wife said: "Well, I am thankful for potatoes and salt." No queen in her palace, with a table before her groaning with the richest and most delicious viands, ever breakfasted with a greater relish or more thankful heart than ours as we ate our humble meal that morning.
     God gave us access to the hearts of the people. They rallied around us. In many ways they convinced us they were our friends indeed. At the end of three months a brother offered us a house free of rent if we would move, and we accepted his kindly offer. The rooms were on the second floor of a two-story building; the lower room had been used as a store, but was empty. Not long after moving into our new quarters we had our first blizzard. The day before was beautiful. The sun was bright, the sky clear, the atmosphere soft and balmy. It was almost like a summer day. Mrs. Davis washed and hung out her clothes, and as there was no indication whatever

of a storm, she left them on the line. We retired to rest; the soft wind, like a gentle zephyr, blowing from the south. About ten o'clock the wind shifted to the north. It began to snow, and the wind blew a perfect gale. The building rocked like a cradle, and we thought it certainly would go to pieces. In the morning the weather was freezing cold, and the snow was piled in drifts many feet high around the house. We looked out and saw the line, but no clothes, save one or two pieces. We tried to find them, but in vain. They were gone. Not a shred was left. And we never saw or heard of them again. Our neighbors, who were acquainted with Nebraska blizzards, said: "Your clothes were in Kansas long before morning." Our wardrobe was not the most extensive, and we felt keenly the loss.
     Some two months before Conference our landlord told us he wanted to repair the house, and we must move. We were arranging to move into another building when Mrs. Rogers, a neighbor, a member of the Baptist Church, and one of the best friends we ever had, heard of it. She came at once to see us, and said: "You are not going to move into another building, but you are coming to our house. Mr. Rogers and I have talked over the matter, and you are to take our front parlor and bedroom.". We told her that
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would be an imposition, and we did not feel as though we could take advantage of her good nature in that way. She said: "No; it will be a pleasure, not an imposition." So we had to yield to her kind offer, and she and her noble boys helped us move into their nice and comfortable parlor and bedroom. Here we remained until Conference. Mrs. Rogers never had anything nice that we did not have a share. Such hospitality we have never seen surpassed. How often we have prayed for God's blessing on that noble family!
     Our first work in Nebraska, which opened so unpropitiously, closed under bright and most promising circumstances.
     Just before leaving for Conference, the good people made us a donation amounting to seventy dollars, and we never saw people enjoy themselves better than on that occasion.