# Fraternal Herald/Volume 31/Number 5/The Story of Jos. Francl

* related portals: Czech lands.
* related authors: Joseph Francl.
Third part of The Story of Jos. Francl, published in Bratrský Věstník (aka Fraternal Herald) in May 1928.
THE STORY OF JOS. FRANCL.
Translated by Fred Francl. III.
The next morning I presented my companions with a statement of our expenses thus far. We had used up two thirds of our provisions and had $24.00 in cash left. This small amount of money would hardly pay for the ferrage across the rivers. We cannot buy anything on the way and if we could, we haven't the money to buy with. Here we are full of anxiety, lying around and doing nothing for whom and for what, I do not know. We are in a serious condition. Here we are like a lot of crabs crawled into their holes in winter and no one takes pity on us to give us advice. Come here, Merrman! We will go and see if we cannot sell our property! Someone will buy it for its cheapness! We will offer it for $300, that is cheap enough and if we can get $280, well and good.
Mr. Merrman and I went to our neighbors, to see the owner of the train. He met us and began to tell us much about the road and the hardships we were to encounter. And before he finished he himself made us an offer to buy our wagon and oxen. “You are very welcome,” I thought to myself, with a light heart. Mr. Merrman began to bargain with him. At first he wanted $400 but finally brought the amount down to $250, including the remainder of the provisions and articles in our camp. Hurrah! We have sold out and in addition to that, were hired out to work for him at $18.00 per month. Merrman had four horses and wagon in his care, Adolphus our old wagon and oxen, Friederickus four pair of oxen and wagon, Gustavus was to be an all-around wagon man and I entered upon my duties as cook. I was one of a staff of five. Afterward I was instructed to care for two very fine French ponies and a little wagon, whereon we loaded the cooking utensils.
We were somewhat troubled as to how our companions would receive the news. After a few hours of consultation among. themselves, the three brothers concluded it was the wisest thing to do. However, our joy was of short duration, for we were told that the purchaser was going only to Salt Lake City and would not pay us until we got there. That was another staggerer to mediate over and we did ponder on it all evening. We would travel with a large party, it would be pleasanter and safer and after we found out about the man who had bought us out, we were thoroughly satisfied. We felt perfectly safe about our wages and the payment thereof.
Mr. Kinney was the name of the proprietor of the wagon train. He had. received an appointment from the government to fill the highest judicial office in Utah Territory and was now going out to Salt Lake City to fill it, with his whole court. He receives $3,000 a year in salary and $10 additional every day for expenses on the road going to his destination. To make the trip more profitable, he bought $25,000 worth of dry goods and notions and is taking it with him to sell in Salt Lake City for double the cost, in which he succeeded very well.
(Note of transcriber: This Mr. Kinney later became a resident of Nebraska and his name is entered in the history of that state. John F. Kinney was born in New Haven, N. Y. He held several important political offices in Iowa and in 1853 was appointed member of ​the Supreme Court of Utah Territory. In the spring of that year, with his family and staff, he set out by wagon train for Salt Lake City. In 1856 he returned to Iowa, in 1857 settled in Nebraska City, Nebraska, where he lived the rest of his life, except one year (1860) when he was member of the Utah Supreme Court. He helped survey the town of Beatrice, Nebraska, which was named for his eldest daughter.)
So we entered upon our various duties. I, in my high office, roasted thirty pounds of coffee, as a beginning. Cooking was divided among five people and the work was not hard, as each had his portion of it laid out. One had the bread to make, another attended to the meat, a third the tea, coffee, dried apples, prunes, peaches, etc., and the fourth the water and wood. The fifth, myself, washed the dishes and set the table. That is, I scattered a few dozen tin plates over the ground on the grass.
Now we are ready and waiting for the first wagon that takes the lead today to come around and load up our kitchen. We have no extra work to do, the kitchen colonels, we are relieved from all guard duties in the night. This comes to us as a great relief. In the summer we must be ready with the meals and everything very early in the morning, so that everything be in order when moving times comes.
On the third day, after supper, we received a visit from a real wild Indian, a chief of the Omaha tribe. He said he was looking for his squaw., He had not seen her for two days, she was wandering around among the emigrants. He was six feet tall, straight as a fir tree, had a Roman nose and dark yellow features. He was wrapped in a buffalo robe as in a mantle. Suspended from his throat was a large silver medal, on which were engraved the words: “I am the chief.’ In his hand he held a bow and arrows. He said he was very hungry, so I gave him all he wanted to eat. He used no knife or fork, that is he used the forks nature had provided him with. He ate all he could and what was left on the table, he gathered up and wrapped it in a piece of cloth and departed without offering a word of thanks.
On the other side of the river, two miles away from us, the view is obstructed by high hills. The only house to be seen is a Catholic mission. I believe it is the last house, for we are now on the border of the Indian territory of Nebraska. (Note of transcriber: Francl was mistaken about the mission, there were no Catholic missions in Nebraska at the time. What he refers to was the Presbyterian mission in Bellevue). We are going to cross the Missouri river. The steamboat is here and all the goods is unloaded on the other side and some men from the train are watching it. A number of small accidents happened to me here, not worthy of mention however. I have a whip in my hand. Crack! O what sad thoughts! Crack! Good-bye, happy days on earth! Crack! Crack! Everything is ready, 28 wagons, 199 head of oxen and horses are to be ferried across. One half is aboard the large steamboat and off we go down the river two miles to a solid, high landing. (Note of transcriber: This ferry boat was owned by Peter A. Sarpy, who for more than thirty years was fur trader in Bellevue. There he had an Indian wife, Nokomi, in St. Mary a white wife, Mrs. Robinson. He died in 1865 in Plattsmouth and is buried in St. Louis, whence he came. Sarpy County in Nebraska is named for him). We find ourselves on shore again and the boat returns for the remainder. Here we are all together on the road, travelling westward along the banks of the river to the place where the goods have been unloaded.
With all such trains as these, large or small, it is customary to elect a leader or captain and every member of the train must follow his orders. He rides on a horse all day and watches that each one does his duty and does it right. He has no other work to do, except to stand guard in times of necessity. Now all the wagons have to be placed in a circle. The tongue of each wagon is pulled up through the wagon before it. This is done so that cattle do not wander away. They are driven inside the circle, to be caught and yoked up. We had to do this every morning. The captain gave orders that we were to stay here four or five days, which did not suit us very well, we wanted to be on the way.
The trumpet is calling the men to supper. We are to have visitors. A row of Indians is sitting down on the ground, in a half circle. What they want I do not know. After a while they went away. Mr. Kinney notice that one of his largest and fattest dogs was missing. He had three and the missing one was a large New Foundland dog, the meanest of all. Mr. Kinney suspected the Indians of taking him. None of us saw them do it and it was a puzzle to all how they got the dog. That same evening the captain told us that those who would volunteer to go to the Indian village the next morning to get the dog, could stand up. Twenty-four came to the front. The next morning all the volunteers armed themselves, some were in wagons and others on horseback, and started off for the Indian village. (Note of transcriber: This Omaha Indian village was situated about five miles west of Bellevue). We looked like an army going to war. When we came within 500 paces of the village, forty Indians armed with bows and arrows, tomahawks, spears, stone hammers, some had old rifles and swords, advanced toward us. Through our interpreter, whom we took along, they told us we could not enter their village. Now came their chief, the same to whom I had given a supper. He folded his arms crosswise on his breast and said that he was not pleased that from his proud and moral tribe, the Omaha's, some of his brothers, without his consent, stole a dog. That he would not like to see brothers shed-the blood, of brothers, that he would make it right in regard to the dog, if our chief would be satisfied with a horse. In that event, he would, with pleasure, give him a horse for the dog, which he had much relished and which was good. (Note of transcriber: It is entirely possible that this chief was Logan Fontenelle, the son of a French fur trader Lucien Fontenelle and an Omaha Indian mother. He was the first Indian chief in Nebraska who could talk with the white men as well as a white man and with the Indians as well as an Indian, for he could converse fluently in English, French and Indian. He was killed by the Sioux in 1855 and buried near Bellevue.)
The war was over. We started to leave and began to shake hands with the Indians. They said “How How”, as if to say “How do you do?” Now they sat down in a half circle, the chief in the center. He sticks his dagger, from which hang red eagle feathers, into the ground and each of the Indians does the same and lays down what other weapon he has. We received notice that we too must sit down and smoke the pipe of peace. The chief was the first to begin, he handed the pipe to his neighbor and so it went around the whole circle. It was very quiet while we were smoking. I paid close at​tention to everything that was transpiring. When I lived in Europe and during my travels I saw many pictures, but I never saw anything like this. I had always hoped to see Indians smoking the peace pipe and now it was reality. They did not smoke tobacco but various herbs, leaves, flowers, bark, roots, etc. They mix all this together and call the mixture kiniket. They inhale a long draught of smoke, like a Turk and pass the iron or stone pipe around, until all have partaken of it. They force the smoke slowly out of their ears, nose and mouth.
Every Omaha Indian is proud of himself and of his ancestry. His hair is always carefully groomed. From his brow to the top of his head it rises like the comb of a rooster, three inches high, the rest is cut short. The old Indians do not wear these combs, their hair is combed over half the face. Others have the hair pasted with something that looks like tar and is smooth as dry mud. It produces ferocious look. What a photograph they would make! They smear their faces with various kinds of colors, mostly yellow and red. Their eyebrows and ears are usually painted red. All of them are almost half naked. One of these Indians had received or traded for an old pair of pants, but he did not know what to do with the seat and legs. He cut away all except a small piece on each side, the rest he has no use for. They wear elk hide shoes. They are a lot of proud, conceited Omahas, they feel they are armed and have been to war. Each has a little board six inches wide and two feet long, pointed at one end, a little piece of looking-glass fastened in the center. Each sticks this board before him into the ground and when he thinks no one is looking at him, observes himself in the glass and preens his hair and otherwise attends to his toilet.
They would not allow us to go into their village all together. We had to divide ourselves into three parts, leave all our weapons in the wagons hebind us and then, while half the Indians acted as guard over us, we were lead through their village.
I will try to make it plain how an Indian village looks. Imagine hoops such as are used at home in raising hops, arranged into a rounded pyramid and tied firmly together at the top, making a cone-shaped structure eight feet in diameter at the base. Twenty or thirty of these stand together about fifteen steps apart. Beginning close at the bottom they are wrapped or covered with hairless buffalo robes and hides, clear to the top. An entire Indian family lives in each. Inside these wigwams, on the floor, are skins of wild animals, that is the only furnishing and serve for a bed. One of the Indians invited us into his wigwam but we could see nothing except a few dried Indian scalps. He made signs and pointed to them, saying: “Pownee heap bad Indians.” The Pawnees are a neighboring tribe. No women were to be seen in the willage. Before we left we had to smoke the pipe of peace or friendship once more, but we did not get the horse and so we returned without accomplishing anything. All the goods are loaded on the wagons and tomorrow afternoon we shall start.
In the evening we received another visit from the Indians. It was a fine evening. The Indian agent kindly asked one of the Indians if they would sing for us. Five old and eight young Indians climbed into a wagon, stood up and began to sing in a monotone, then with more variation in a higher voice, until all were “ki-ki-ing” with all their might. When this part of the singing ended, they began hollering and imitating all sorts of animals. One barked like a dog, another howled like a wolf, a third mewed like a cat and this unearthly noice was continued for a long time, with the same melody.
On July 14th, at two o’clock in the afternoon, the trumpet gave first warning for everyone to be at his post, with his oxen yoked up and ready. Tra-tra-tra-tra, now boys hurrah! Forward for the plains! Names of places on the pictures: (Note of transcriber: Evidently some descriptive booklet or literature): 1. Camp.—2. Chimney Rock.—3. Courthouse Rock, Scott’s Bluff.—4. Indians chasing buffalo.—5. Laramie Peak.—6. Devil’s Gate.—7. Castle Rock.—8. Emigrant train passing Wind River Mountains.—9. Stuck Fort (or fast).—10. Driving stock across the plains.—11. Mouth of Ash Hollow.—12. Scene on the desert, Nebraska Territory. I sent five leaves (pages).
The whole train streached out a mile long, the wagons being thirty steps from each other. We travelled about two miles back over the road we had come on and then turned straight west. The road led us by the Catholic mission and we stopped there for fresh water. The next place where we can get water is twelve miles away, the same being true of wood for fuel. We filled kegs and all other kinds of vessels with water to drink and cook with. The mission is a fairly good looking and comfortable house, with a small bell thereon. There is a square yard around the house and a well in the center (a courtyard?). A hand and a horse power mill, Indians are shelling Turkish wheat (corn). There is not much to it, this is about all it consists of. We got all the water we needed and also a new passenger, a half-breed Indian, on his way to Salt Lake City. He hired out to us as hunter and interpreter.
Before we left the mission I was so fortunate as to get sight of the missionary, a Catholic priest who here, as usual, has the form of a round barrel. He looked as if nothing were worrying him, or minded living in isolation and fear. It looks as if husbandry flourished here and the kitchen was well provided. A young lady cook is calling him and attracted our attention. I looked at her sharply and thought to myself that the reverend missionary had a good taste. I returned to the wagon with the water, I and another youngster. As we were going along carrying the water, a chicken flew out of the grass before us. “Look, a nest and in it fifteen good eggs. Whatever we find out on the range belongs to us!” The priest’s fowls were gathered around the house in the yard and we saw many in the hen coops, where many chickens were cackling, so we took the eggs out of the nest without feeling remorse. Wishing the missionary good health and fame, we conscientiously ate them all.
We travelled until seven o’clock that day. The following day our captain changed plans about starting out early in the morning. He observed that the cattle began to graze at sunrise and before they were satisfied, it took a good two hours’ time. This was fine for us cooks, we had more time to rest in the morning. The next day we travelled eighteen miles and wanted to make night camp beside a nice spring. We all had had our supper and some had gone to bed when the herders of the cattle came running into camp, all breathless and almost falling over with fright. They brought the startling news that a large band of Indians were coming to attack us, that they could hear their war cries and are coming nearer and nearer. Hurry all, for your weapons. Helter-skelter, everybody is running about and there and arming ​himself. I can’t find this, he can’t find that. It was dark and the night cool. Many were shaking with fear and to cap the climax, the cattle were a mile away from us on the prairies. In about half an hour we had everything in order and the oxen and horses hitched up. At ten o’clock at night very quietly we slipped away on our journey west. Two men are stationed behind the train and two men ride in front to guard it. In this manner we travel all night, away from the dangerous place, until nine o’clock the next morning, when we arrived at the Elkthorn river. The Elkhorn river is a little larger than the Sázava river and flows through a rich valley, fertile for farming. A fine thick timber growth follows the course of the river banks and shuts off the view toward the Platte Valley. We rested here until four o’clock in the afternoon. At times we tried our guns and went through all sorts of manouvers against an imaginary foe. We shot at target and made a lot of noice, just for the sake of hearing it. Six wagons of emigrants reached us here and joined our train, They did not trust themselves to proceed alone further. At this place on the Elkhorn river begins the country where the Pawnee Indians live. They are noted for their cruelty and thievery and roam over a large area. I have heard that it embraces 300,000 miles and it is said they number 40,000 people. Along the river banks we see them in hiding, they peek out from behind trees and frighten one. Many of them walk about entirely naked, but armed. We see them more frequently now. The women wear a small apron of skin. We are again on our way on the other side of the river. Two Indians advanced toward us, to see how many guns we carry and to what extent we are armed. Mr. Kinney cried out: “Pigshry,” that means: “Clear out!” and they ran out of sight into the woods.
We arrived in camp on the third day amid a big rain and thunder storm and supper was served with difficulty. I was just pouring out the tea when I heard—
(At this point part of the notes have been lost and are resumed at some point in central Nebraska, that is what is now the central part of the state of Nebraska.)
Here we are at the beginning of the country called “plains”. Every night we place all the wagons in a circle and in time of danger drive all the cattle inside and shut them up. On the third day a bridge broke down, twelve feet high, a loaded wagon with the oxen dropped down into the water and mud. With much labor all the goods though wet and the oxen were recovered, otherwise there was no damage. On Lake Ford or Lucky Ford we stayed two days and got a good many fish and wild ducks. On the fourth day we came to an abandoned ferry and on it crossed to the other side of the river. Here the road begins to follow the Platte River and continues for two hundred miles beyond Fort Laramie. The Platte river is a very wide but shallow stream, almost without fish. The water is so filled with sand the fish cannot live in it. Every now and then we behold a small island but overnight it disappears from view. The Platte flows through a wide, level valley. I took the place of driver from the Lucky Ford river, I drove four pair of well-trained oxen.
A large, long whip in my hands was not to my taste at first, but later on I discovered that I had done well to make the change. My load comprised sugar, syrup, dried apples, peaches, plums, etc. In this new work tie time often passed pleasantly for me. On the third day out from Lucky Ford River we found a corpse almost eaten by wolves (which are very numerous here, howl in concert at night and keep us awake) and scalped by the Indians. It was that of a man who had battled with the Pawnee Indians. He was driving 1500 head of sheep to California and here the Indians were waiting for him and stole 400 of his sheep. It is certain they began to shoot with bows and arrows and quns at the people on the train and so the battle began. Six Indians were killed and only one member of the train, the owner of the sheep. We buried him and went on our way, with sorrowful thoughts. We stopped five days beside a small river called Wood River, where Mrs. Kinney gave birth to a boy. From here on begins the buffalo range.(To be continued.)
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