# Fraternal Herald/Volume 31/Number 6/The Story of Jos. Francl

* related portals: Czech lands.
* related authors: Joseph Francl.
Fourth part of The Story of Jos. Francl, published in Bratrský Věstník (aka Fraternal Herald) in June 1928.
THE STORY OF JOS. FRANCL.
Translated by Fred Francl. IV.
Buffalo Creek, a small stream, flows through a long, low, level valley covered with luxuriant grass. It is a trysting place for buffalo, antelope and other wild animals. Buffalo are very numerous here. When we arrived, the first thing we saw were two buffalo about a mile away from the road. We stopped, saddled our horses and everyone who could find something to shoot with prepared for the hunt. I had a double-barrelled gun and went too. Now we see the half-breed Indian interpreter we took along chasing a buffalo. We see him in the distance, riding his horse and pursuing the animal. He is close to it and when about two yards away, fires four shots. Suddenly the buffalo turns toward him and the half-breed starts off on a swift gallop, away from the animal. The buffalo stops. Now the rider has again advanced and caught up with him and is driving him in our direction. His horse is beginning to grow faint, he has been driven for an hour and a half. “Boys, be ready, the buffalo is now a mile and a half ahead!” A fresh horse is procured and the chase continues. It is now seen that the second horse is exhausted. The buffalo is now headed toward the stream about half a mile away. Another party of hunters awaits him there, with revolvers. Here he is! In the tall weeds! We come closer, we fire. I took two shots at him, he stands still and allows us to shoot. We had no other guns, only revolvers. Before we could get another fresh horse, he was six miles up the stream, hidden in the tall grass and weeds. It was nearly five o’clock before we got him out of the weeds, out on the prairie and pursued him until by a lucky shot in the leg we stopped him and about ten paces away from him shot him. Both his eyes were shot out and he was bleeding from his mouth and sides. We shot him in the head and brought him down on his knees, we cut the cords in his legs and then, as he lay there half-dead, he kicked out his hind leg and broke the stock off my gun, close by the hammers. We jumped on him, danced around him, cut up capers and shouted with delight.
He was a large, well-fattened buffalo, larger than any ox I ever saw. Every buffalo has a bushy head and shoulders. The latter are overgrown with long, thick, coarse, matted hair, something like a lion’s mane. The hair on his hind quarters is thin and smooth, like that of a horse. A buffalo cow gives better meat and is more preferable. We guessed this buffalo’s weight to be from 2,000 to 2,300 pounds. Some of the boys ran to get the team and wagon and we busied ourselves in skinning and cutting the animal. The same day, or rather late at night, the third hunting party brought in the meat from another buffalo.
We spent five days here, hunting, cooking, roasting and feasting. We had buffalo steak and roasted meat in many ways. What was left we salted down and some we dried with smoke and heat and hung it up under the covers of our wagons to dry out thoroughly in the sun’s heat. Every evening large heards of buffalo came near us to the stream, to drink. We paid no attention to them and let them pass unmolested. The next day, while traveling along over a stretch of level land, the captain of the train gave orders to stop. There was a number of wagons 1,000 feet in the lead. The train was cut in two, leaving a wide, open space. On the south side of the road was a small valley and many buffalo were grazing there. Something must have frightened them, for a great herd, we counted 2600, same running toward us on a half-trot. They passed through the open space between our wagons without injury to themselves or us. Buffalo are easily counted. They follow each other closely in rotation, in a half-trot gait.
On the following day we saw a more wonderful sight. If anyone had told me before I saw these buffalo that there were so many in existence, I would not have believed him. On the other side of the river, to the left, was a long, wide stretch of level prairie. This was covered with buffalo. In the distance, as far as we could see, nothing but buffalo. Beyond, on the horizon, were thick clouds of dust in the air, where they were running or horning themselves. All this belongs to the Indian, this is his wealth. The calves are kept in the center of the herd, one can see the old buffalo crowding together to protect them. This buffalo country or range, where they are so numerous, extends for 130 miles.
I shall stop here with my story of wild life and shall write only of things that befell us on the way to Fort Laramie. On a stream called Rattlesnake Gulch we made camp. In the night, at about ten o’clock, we were routed out by rattlesnakes. We had to pull up and move to a safer place. There were so many rattlesnakes that we killed fourteen under our wagon wheels in a short time and they were large, 4 and 5 feet long and 114 to 2 inches thick. These are the most venomous and dangerous snakes, a browninsh mottled color on the upper part of the body and yellowish underneath.
Seventy miles this side of Fort Laramie we see a party of Sioux Indians coming toward us. They are all on horseback and well armed. They came up to us, unsaddled their horses and all sat down on the ground in a circle. The chief steps forth and begins to speak. He wants us to give him some tobacco, sugar, tea and bread. These things are given him (they are of about $30.00 value). There are twenty-eight Indians, excepting the children and women. They have been at war with the Pawnees, are returning from battle. My companion, Mr. Merman, draws my attention to a sack an Indian is carrying and from it blood is dropping. After considerable sign language we made the Indian understand what we wanted—to see what he had in the sack. He opened it and with a great deal of shouting “hi-hi-hi” spread out twenty-one Indian scalps on the grass. A chill of horror comes over us at the sight. He now began to dry them. Every Indian knows well the scalp that is his, the one he tore from his victim’s head and takes great delight in turning it over in his hands and examining it. It is noon now and the trumpet is calling us to dinner. The Indians are leaving us with loud shouts and “hi-hi-hi.”
​Fort Laramie is occupied by about fifty soldiers, stationed here to protect the emigrants from the Indians. It is a sod earth house, enclosed by a ditch and two small cannons stand in front of it. In about three days’ travel from Fort Laramie the country begins to be rough and broken up, with high rocky hills. They did not impress me much by their beauty. In some places they are high, smooth, formless and produce a weird effect. In others they are covered with stunted cedars. Indians will not live in them, the only living creatures to be found there are wild animals, like wolves, gray bears, wild sheep and antelope. I will not describe the rest of my journey to Salt Lake City, for I do not remember that anything of interest occurred.
On the 2nd day of September we arrived in Salt Lake City. Our engagements and labors came to an end here. It is now our task to provide ourselves with ways and means to continue on our journey, eight hundred miles further west to California. The money for our teams, property and wages we have already received) it was given us promptly. It is necessary now to buy some horses and this we are trying to do. We have been here five days and everything is very expensive. We are anxious to get away and leave this unchaste breed of humanity, the Mormons. Salt Lake City contains seven or eight thousand people. It is beautifully located and laid out near the shores of a beautiful lake of the same name. The lake is thirty miles wide and a hundred and thirty miles long. Its surface can be seen from the city, three miles distant. Along its shores are many freshwater springs and fresh-water streams flowing into it. In their vicinity large flocks of pelicans, wild geese, ducks and other kind of water fowl live and can be seen to congregate. As regards the Mormon religion and the position the women occupy in it, I] am not well informed.
On the 8th of September eight young men, well armed, each on a small Indian pony, could be seen passing out of Salt Lake City, headed for the west. Mr. Merman, my partner, and I bought our provisions together and so little of them there were: 5 lbs. coffee, 5 lbs. sugar and 40 lbs. dried beans. We did not have enough money to buy any more. These were all the provisions we had to last us across a desert eight hundred miles long. Soon after leaving Salt Lake City we came to a place where these are hot and warm springs. These continued to be very numerous for eight miles and thereafter every eight miles we found a large spring. Then we came to the Thousand Valley Springs, three hundred miles from Salt Lake City and found a number of boiling springs and a large stream of hot water flowing from them. Thick clouds of steam arose and showered down hot water. This spectacle was more pronounced in the early morning. The water had a very bad odor, we could smell it for three miles, something like rotten eggs.
As far as the springs our traveling was pleasant enough. But what are we going to do now? Our provisions are nearly gone, all we have left is a little coffee without sugar and here we are in a dreary, desolate, forsaken land. There is no river or stream of flowing water, only a tiny spring every ten miles, We cannot hope to overtake and emigrant train at this late season of the year. They are a long way ahead of us now, on their way to California. It may be we can catch up with some at the Humboldt River. If so, they will have to give us some food. If they do not, we shall take it by force.
We travelled and during the first fifty miles suffered from hunger. We deliberated on what we were going to do and decided to kill and eat a pony. We chose one for the sacrifice and decided, if we got no game within the next two days, he would have to give up his life. For that purpose we gave him his freedom and gathered dry grass to feed him, to rest and fatten him. Those were trying times. Such pangs of hunger! Such anxious thoughts of this and that, and no solution offered itself. On the third day the sun rose and found us at the Humboldt river, scouting the country around to find some dry patches of grass. A mile away we saw something that looked like a large animal lying down. All eight of us put spurs to our horses and behold! Hurrah! A large, emaciated ox, that had strayed or was intentionally left to shift for itself, was taking comfort in the grass. We came to a halt immediately and danced around him with delight. We put an end to him with a rifle shot in the head and then cooked soup, beefsteak, roast beef, and ate our food without salt, for we had forgotten to supply ourselves with it. The poor, worn-out brute had such tough meat that we soon had our fill. It was so tough we could not chew or swallow it. Each of us dried a part of it and took it along.
The Humboldt river is as large as the Sázava (Bohemia) and the road now follows the river banks for three hundred mile$, until the river disappears into a lake. We now enjoyed better times, for we were able to shoot an abundance of wild geese and ducks, but we soon grew tired of them. Cooked in water, without salt, they were very unpalatable. In addition to the ducks and geese we possessed ourselves of two other oxen and sheep. These animals had no owners, probably because of their weakness or illness they were turned out to do for themselves, for such animals are not able to keep up with the drove. We kept a careful watch for the Utah Indians here. The Humboldt river flows through a very wide valley in places and the banks are at times bordered with a thick growth of willows, brushwood, etc. This makes an ideal hiding place for Indians and so we always kept far enough away so that a rifle bullet could not reach us.
Now we are on the desert again. Our company is divided into three parties. Mr. Merrman and I began to ration our food. Four of us stood guard each night over our horses, we were afraid the Indians would steal them and surprise and kill us. One night, when my partner and I had the watch, I stood guard until midnight and he took my place. During his watch, sleep overcame him and he took a short nap. When he awakened, he jumped up suddenly, frightened the horses and in a moment they were gone. What are we going to do now? The night was very dark, the sky overcast with thick clouds and lightning flashed. It had been our duty to watch the horses, the other boys are not caring much, they are sound asleep. I went down to the river and my partner took the other side, to look for the horses. We had gone about three miles distance when suddenly a dog begins to bark and howl, right in front of me. I had no gun, so I turned around and ran for camp, all the while calling Henry! Henry! hardly able to get my breath. Henry soon came. What is the matter? What has happened? “The dog is following closely behind me. He sniffs my track.” We began to run again as hard as we could, terribly frightened, back to the camp. We found the others up, in abject fear and helplessness. “Boys, a sure thing now, we will have to pack our stuff on our back and carry it the next 350 miles. Once again we will have to throw away what we can possibly do without.” (Once before we threw away our clothes and kept nothing but a suit ​each.) We will catch up with some train and they will have to give us something to eat.
It began to grow light when suddenly we heard a sound coming from the brush, something like a horse’s whinney. And sure enough, here are all our eight horses, feeding together on a patch of fine grass. It happened this way: The animal that barked behind me was a wolf and not a dog. I surprised him while he was eating a dead ox. He was running away from me and not after me. Three days later we caught up with a train. The owner took pity on us and gave us dinner and some flour, which we divided equally. We now fared better. Flour soup was a common dish with us. The recipe for making it is simple and ought to be printed in a scientific cook book. This makes enough for. two persons: Take two spoonsful of flour and mix it with cold water, very thin. Pour this into boiling water and let stand until cool and thick (paper paste).
The emigrant train in question carried twelve scalped people, scalped by the Indians of course. This company of well armed men, numbering 172 people, shot and killed every Indian they met on sight, and for that reason the Indians got bad. (Note of transcriber: The inference is, that Francl and his companions learned of the following incident from the members of this train). After our departure from Fort Laramie, on the 7th day of Aug. 1854, an emigrant lost a cow. He told the captain at Fort Laramie that the Sioux Indians had stolen it from him. The captain ordered a company of twenty-five soldiers with one cannon to go to the Indian village and demanded that the Indian who stole the cow (and also killed and eaten it) be given up. The Indian was not forthcoming, so the captain ordered the soldiers to shoot. They shot only once. The captain was the first to fall. In a short time all the rest of the soldiers were killed. Then the Indians went to Fort Laramie, attacked the soldiers there and killed all, from the highest to the lowest, except one soldier who escaped and saved himself by running away. He was brought safely to Salt Lake City. (Note of transcriber: This incident occurred on the 17th of August 1854 and was the beginning of all succeeding troubles with the Indians. A. E. Sheldon, in his book “History and Stories of Nebraska”, mentions it in a chapter he calls “The Mormon Cow” and the following is taken from it):
“In the early days the Sioux Indians of the plains were firm friends of the white people. The first traders among them were welcomed as brothers. They left their goods piled in the open air in Sioux villages and found them safe on their return. The white men who made the first trails across Nebraska often found food and shelter with the Sioux. The early emigrant trail wound for four hundred miles through the heart of the Sioux country. Over it went white men, singly and in companies, with ox-wagons, on foot, and pushing wheelbarrows and no harm came to them from the Sioux.
“All this was changed in a single day. The Sioux became the fierce and bloody foes of the white men. War with the Sioux nation lasted thirty years. It cost thousands of lives and millions of dollars. The beginning of this bloody war was caused by a lame Mormon cow.
“On the 17th day of August 1854, a party of Mormon emigrants on their way to the Great Salt Lake were toiling along the Oregon trail in the valley of the North Platte. They were in what was then Nebraska Territory, but is now about forty miles beyond the Nebraska state line and eight miles east of Fort Laramie, Wyoming. A great camp of thousands of Indians stretched for miles along the overland trail. They were the Brule, Oglala and Minneconjou bands—the whole Sioux nation on the plains—and were gathered to receive the goods which the United States had promised to pay them for the road through their land.
“Behing the train of Mormon wagons lagged a lame cow driven by a man. When near the Brule Siouw camp something scared the cow. She left the road and ran directly into the Sioux camp. The man ran after her, but stopped after a few steps, fearing to follow her alone into a camp of so many Indians. . . In the Brule camp was a Young Sioux of the Minneconjou, or Shooters-in-the-Mist band. These were wilder than the other Sioux. The young Minneconjou killed the lame cow and his friends helped to eat her.
“The next day the Mormon emigrants stopped at Fort Laramie and complained to the commander there that they had lost their cow. On the morning of August 19th, Lieutenant Grattan and twenty-nine men with two cannons were sent from the fort to the Brule camp after the young Indian who had killed the cow. Lieut. Grattan was a young man from Vermont, barely twenty-one years old, who had no experience with Indians.
“The great chief among. the Sioux at that time was named The Bear. He had a talk with the lieutenant and said he would try to get the young Minneconjou to give himself up. It was a great disgrace for a free Indian of the plains to be taken to prison and the friends of the cow-killer would not let him go. The Bear then tried to have Lieut. Grattan go back to the fort and let him bring the young Minneconjou later. The lieutenant ordered his soldiers to run the two cannons to the top of the hill, to point them on the Brule camp and told the Bear he would open fire if the cow-killer was not given up at once. Pointing to the thousands of Indians, men, women and children, who were spread over the valley as far as eye could see, The Bear said: “These are all my people. Young man, you must be crazy,” and walked to his lodge, while his varriors began to get their guns and bows. A moment later the two cannons and a volley of muskets were fired at the Sioux camp. The Bear was killed. A storm of Sioux bullets and arrows cut down Lieut. Grattan and his men before they had time to reload their guns.
“The Sioux camp went wild. The death of The Bear, the taste of white man’s blood, set them crazy. Warriors mounted their ponies and rode about the field. The squaws tore down the tepees and packed them for flight. Some one called out to the Indians to take their goods which were in a storehouse near a trader’s post waiting for the United States officer who was coming to distribute them. The Sioux burst into the storehouse, tumbled the goods from the shelves, piled them on their ponies. Before sundown the Indians were riding over the northern ridges by the thousands, carrying away their plunder. They buried The Bear wrapped in the richest buffalo robes, in a high pine tree near the Niobrara River. From this burial the bands scattered over Nebraska, Wyoming and Dakota, urging Indians everywhere to kill the white men and to drive them from the country. Thus the Sioux war began.” — —
Henry and I are making preparations for the trip across the desert. In 806 miles there is no water, no groves, no wood, only small, dry, sandy mounds. We ​had only three small pancakes left, which we had made out of the last of our flour. We pulled some dry grass for the horses and started away over the trail. Night is coming on, my friend has taken out his pancakes and is turning one over in his hands. He looked at it mournfully and then said: “Hunger is hard to bear. Eat, you must. Now or never. So here’s to you—live well”—and they were gone. I did likewise, with good appetite. Now the last of our food is gone, we have nothing to eat.
We travelled eighty miles without stopping, in two nights and one day, until we arrived in Carson City (Nevada). Here we found the first trading store and bought 5 lbs. flour for $2.00. Two hundred miles yet to go and praise God, we will be at our destination.
The flour is gone again. At the next store I traded my fine Viennese double-barrelled shotgun for 20 lbs. of flour and 3 lbs. of bacon and that lasted us to California. We crossed the Sierra Mountains safely. We had to walk in the snow a great deal. We stayed overnight on the top of a high hill, where we found a nice, level spot, but before morning we were covered with snow, for we had not taken a tent along from Salt Lake City. We just spread our blankets on the ground.(To be Concluded.)
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