[Published in the Scotts Bluff (Neb.) Herald Sept. 16, 1928]

     (38) LINCOLN, Sept. 14 (Associated Press)--In 1869, Dan Parmelee, of Elkhorn, Nebraska, had a contract with the Federal Government to run subdivision and township lines at and around the 100th meridian, near Plum Creek, now Lexington. He sub-contracted with the Daugherty brothers, surveyors from Menominee, Wisconsin, to carry out the work.

     The Daugherty surveying party was assembled at Omaha, their starting point, in June, 1869, waiting to fill their ranks before proceeding westward. At this time I, then a mere lad, arrived in Omaha with letters of introduction to a few commercial houses. I presented these letters immediately upon arrival, but was informed that "business is dull, and no places are open." Matters looked gloomy; however, I kept up courage, notwithstanding the fact that my whole wealth consisted of $4.00 in cash, a trunk, and a fairly good wardrobe. As I walked down the street I noticed on a window the inscription Y. M. C. A. I entered the house, and again inquired for work, but was again informed that Omaha was "remarkably quiet." However, there might be a chance to work on a farm until something better turned up. I was also told that a surveying party, about to go West, had been inquiring for men. Forthwith I hastened to the Morrison House yards, where the surveyors were camping, and made application for work. Again I heard that "all places were filled." There was something in the kind looks of the men that gave me confidence, however, and while standing before the (39) surveyors I was informed that they needed a cook. Here was my chance, I thought, and I asked for the job.

     My city clothes betrayed the fact that I was a tenderfoot, and I was told, among other things, that I was too young and too delicate for such work, that Indians were in the section where the surveying was to be done, and that no one would be responsible for my safety. I also was questioned as to my experience in cooking. I answered that I had none, but that, if given a chance, I would obey orders, and do the best I could. I must have pleaded my case well; at least I was so persistent that I was told to report the next morning at seven o'clock. Thus, two hours after my arrival in Omaha I had a job.

     At the appointed time next morning we left Omaha, the outfit consisting of eleven men, one wagon, and three horses. At noon the party arrived at Mr. Parmelee's home, at Elkhorn. Here we had supper, and the next morning breakfast. Another wagon, a team, and two extra horses were added to the outfit, and the march to the West continued.

     Our spirits were high, for we anticipated enjoyment and adventure. Noon found us fording the Elkhorn River, and orders were given to camp. Here I had my first experience as a cook. To me this was the crucial test; life and a job depended upon it. John Daugherty, one of the brothers, gave orders to prepare the noonday meal.

     Hurrying to the wagon, I pulled out a sack of flour; the baking powder can, the salt, and the dishpan followed. Directions on the baking powder can were strictly followed; water was added, and soon the dough had the proper consistency. But the hands of the cook and the dough had become so attached to each other that they refused to be separated.

     Noticing that John Daugherty was watching me, I (40) inquired, in a meek tone of voice, what was to be done. "Add flour," he replied. I asked no further questions. Coffee, biscuits, and bacon made up the lunch, which was served on the ground, a piece of canvas taking the place of a table cloth.

     After dinner the horses were again hitched to the wagons, and the party proceeded on its way. Before me was the vision of another supper and breakfast, but fate was kind; in a few days I considered myself an efficient cook.

     Winding our way westward, we reached Columbus, where we were told that Indians were bad around Big Springs, and to be on the lookout for them. Not particularly alarmed by this report. we continued our march to Grand Island, where a short stop was made for mail.

     At Grand Island the news of Indian depredations was confirmed, and precautionary orders were given. Every man was to carry his Spencer carbine during the day, and every evening it was to be cleaned and placed at his head during the night. in order to be ready for an emergency. A night guard was established, each man taking four hours' watch when his turn came.

     We had a few Colt revolvers and a limited number of paper cartridges for them. In the wagon were a thousand rounds of carbine cartridges. Orders were given that no ammunition was to be wasted; no firing was allowed except in providing game for the food supply.

     The carbines were strapped to our shoulders as we left Grand Island, headed for our next goal, Old Fort Kearney, 190 miles west of Omaha.

     The old adobe fort, once an important point on the old Oregon Trail, was now in ruins, having gone out (41) of commission with the completion of the Union Pacific Railroad.

     However, this was still a dangerous place, and we were advised to keep a close watch. I recall very vividly one particular night when it was my turn to do guard duty.

     The rain was coming down in sheets, the tent was leaking, and thunder and lightning were furious. But the watch must be kept, and the outgoing man, as usual, had to load his rifle and be ready for danger.

     Fumbling in my pocket for a cartridge, and not waiting for a flash of lightning to see what I was doing, the paper cartridge dropped from my hands, struck the iron of a whiffletree, and exploded. Every man in the tents turned out, immediately ready for action, thinking that the Indians were upon us. The matter was soon cleared up. The party recovered from its scare, and after bestowing a few very uncomplimentary remarks upon the culprit, soon forgot the incident.

     A few days later Plum Creek was reached. Here we were informed that our work was to be done south of this point. We were told to pick up driftwood, or any kind of wood, as we went on, for fuel was scarce in that section.

     I happened to find a piece of a broken telegraph pole, but being called away just at that moment, I did not put it into the wagon. Upon my return I was accosted by a man, who was somewhat of a nag. "Here, you , help me put this into the wagon," he said.

     This was too much, even for a cook, and a fight soon followed. The party looked on and grinned at us, evidently pleased with the course of events. Later the fellow was ridiculed for letting a boy get the best of him.

     My opponent in the fight soon developed blisters on is feet from the unaccustomed walking. This (42) incapacitated him. As there was no man to take his place, it was decided that he should change places with me. Thus, I became a part of the surveying crew proper.

     We had eleven men, divided into two parties of four each, who surveyed, two teamsters, and a cook. Every morning the teamsters were given orders where to prepare camp, and they rarely missed the mark a quarter of a mile. This is remarkable in a level country where no landmarks can act as guides and with no other directions other than to "drive twelve miles on this line."

     Ten weeks of surveying had passed; chaining had become monotonous. There were no signs of Indians during all this time. We never even saw a pony track. As a result the party became careless, and felt so safe that the night guard was discontinued. For amusement, target practice became popular. The cartridge supply box ran so low that you could almost see the bottom of the box.

     But one evening, on nearing the camp on the edge of a lake where the ground was soft, we received a shock which struck terror into our hearts. There before us were fresh Indian tracks, in such numbers as to make sure that we were close to a big Indian war party. There was no escape from this danger.

     We went into camp that night with a great deal of fear. The conversation was in low tones, and there was not much said. We were told that in two days the work would be finished, and that the march back to civilization would begin.

     We had very little sleep that night; all sensed danger and feared an attack at any moment. We felt that we would be discovered, for an Indian is an excellent scout. Furthermore, these Indians had left their reservation, and knew that Government cavalry would be sent out in search of them, and it was their job to (43) watch for the soldiers. So we had little chance of escape.

     In the morning we all concluded that it was immaterial in which direction we went, for there was a probability of running into Indians, no matter which way we went. So it was decided to go on with our work. Two parties, of four each, left at the same time, going in different directions, to meet at a given point where the teamsters made camp. One of the chainmen had left his gun in camp, while the other carried his carbine in its accustomed place, strapped to his shoulders.

     We proceeded about a half mile and were about to cross a chain of hills, losing sight of the camp, when I approached the surveyor and said that it was not fair for me to be carrying a gun every day for more than ten weeks, danger or no danger, and that the other chainmen were just as able to carry a gun as I was.

     The surveyor replied that he had been thinking of that himself, and ordered the other man back to get his gun. The man refused to go, stating that he would not carry a gun, as it was too much of a load. Whereupon he was told to get the gun or quit. He replied that he would quit.

     While this parley was on, we looked toward the camp and noticed a man riding past it. This was unusual, as none of the teamsters were in sight, having presumably taken their horses to water.

      It was never considered prudent to camp on the edge of a lake in an Indian country, for fear of a raid from the rear. The open country was considered the safest.

     In a few minutes the teamsters appeared with their horses, and almost immediately the report of a gun startled us. The man on horseback rode toward us quickly, and so near that we could tell he was an Indian.

     (44) The only gun in the party was that carried by the chainman, and, as the scout of our party was a crack shot, we realized that it was more useful in his hands than in ours. He immediately aimed at the Indian and fired. All agreed from the Indian's actions that he was hit in the arm.

     The members of the other party, who had gone in an opposite direction, heard the shot, and suspecting danger, arrived at camp simultaneously with us.

     When we were warned of danger the previous evening by seeing tracks at the edge of the lake, we took an inventory of our cartridges and counted two hundred in the case that contained one thousand when we left Omaha.

     A hasty conference was held, and while this was in progress, we noticed an Indian on the highest knoll of the hills which we were to cross. He was waving a red blanket--an unfailing signal to his party beyond.

     While this was going on, our helplessness in case of an attack became more evident. Some grumbling was heard at this time, and it was decided to go to North Platte, seventy-five miles away, for ammunition and supplies, both of which were getting very low.

     It meant a great loss to the contractors to have the work unfinished, and while they demurred at quitting the job, the rest of the party, to a man, were in favor of heading for North Platte. Accordingly, the two teams were hitched without comment, and very soon the wagons were in motion. One of the contractors broke the silence by remarking that "we were a fine and brave outfit to have one Indian scare eleven men." No reply was made to this remark, and we kept trudging along silently behind the wagons.

     Suddenly we were aroused from this state of mind by hearing loud voices in the rear, and on looking back we saw so many Indians chasing us at such a speed (45) that it seemed as though we would be trampled into the dust. 

     Such yelling we had never heard before. Their whooping and war cries spelled death, and drove terror into our very souls. So panic-stricken did we become that some of the men, paralyzed with fear and not realizing the danger of their actions, ran away from the wagons.

     At this critical time the two brother contractors, who were equal to the situation, ordered the men that were running away to return to the wagons, stating that they would shoot them in their tracks if they did not do so.

     It was noticed by all that those of the party who had been wishing for a "scrap" with the Indians before they got back, showed the most cowardice of all at this time, in the face of a real danger.

     Orders were now given to stop the wagons and to turn the horses loose-six in all. This was a piece of strategy, directed by the Daugherty brothers, who stated that no attack would be made until the Indians had captured the horses.

     At that period on the plains, the wealth of an Indian and his power depended upon the number of horses he owned.

     True to the prediction, the entire band of Indians gave chase to the horses, passing close to the wagons. They were met by our fire, and they shot at us in return.

     During their absence we were ordered to get our surveying shovels out of the wagons and to dig pits deep enough to protect us from the fire of the Indians.

     On their return from capturing our horses, they held a pow-wow about two hundred yards from our wagons, and probably decided upon the best means of attack.

     In the meantime. trenches were dug between the (46) two wagons, and we felt fairly well fortified and safe within them.

     In a short time, they displayed a white flag. We considered this a ruse to close in on us and to find out the number in our party, and the easiest way of killing us without loss to themselves.

     Our orders were to shoot and yell at them in our loudest voices, and to show them that we had no respect for their signal. Then they displayed a red and black flag, which probably meant some kind of punishment if we failed to respond to their signals. This attempt on their part was again met with by our derision and defiance.

     Then a red flag appeared which meant "no quarter." Our voices against this display ran as high as previously. Then the attack began according to the Indian mode of fighting.

     They formed a circle, gradually getting nearer and nearer to our wagons, firing all the time and increasing their speed. Finally they closed in on us. We were told that if we shot, we must take good aim and shoot to kill, and that none except the best marksmen should fire unless we got into close quarters.

     One of our party had a long Tom and forty cartridges. That glorious old Springfield rifle, true and trusty in aim, with the report of cannon firing, stirred the valleys and the natives. It was equal in execution to all the Spencer rifles in the party.

     The wagons and pits afforded us protection, and when the Indians had drawn near enough. the best shots were ordered to fire, the long-barreled Springfield was discharged, and an Indian fell from his horse, to be picked up immediately and carried away by his friends. Then the whole party of Indians went over the hills, and in a short time we heard their moanings (47) and lamentations, grieving, no doubt, for their dead comrade.

     Again they returned to fight in the former fashion, and were met with rifle fire from us, with the result that this time several Indians toppled from their horses. These were also picked up and carried over the hills. This time the mourning was louder and lasted longer. But they returned for another engagement, coming still closer.

     Fearing that something might happen in the way of tricky attack, we were ordered to hold our fire in reserve for closer range.

     They came on as before. We fired, and they again took to the hills, renewing their cries and incantations at the loss of their companions.

     During the day they tried to trap us by picketing a, fine horse within close range. An Indian crawled up and did the work, returning the way he came. The horse was a good target, but as much as we hated the Indians, we did not fire upon the animal. Their scheme was that the horse would appeal to us, and that one of our party would go after it and ride to the railroad for help; in this attempt they would kill him.

     The only places from which help could come were Fort McPherson, ninety-five miles away, and Ogalalla, twenty-five miles distant. The citizens of the latter place consisted of a station agent, a section foreman, and six or eight section hands.

     The Indians seemed to be well supplied with guns, although in those days it was a crime to sell them firearms.

     At sundown, the fight was renewed with more vigor than before, evidently with the intention of finishing us. It seemed that the Indians had been reinforced, for their whole band, with their numerous rifles, burst forth with greater fury than before.

     (48) Their formation was the same, drawing closer and closer, until they were almost upon us. Then command was given for every man to fight for himself; it was a battle against death and scalping.

     Those Indians who had no guns kept up a terrific assault with arrows, which flew in all directions. Here was a battle for existence; the scarcity of our cartridges was forgotten, and we blazed away, forgetful of everything except our determination to stop the fire of the Indians. Our fire was fast and furious, and the Indians could not hold out against our resistance. Had they continued five minutes longer, they could have swamped us and annihilated every one of our party.

     Peace, quiet, and thanksgiving followed the withdrawal of the Indians, yet we knew that the fight was not over, and that it would be resumed in the morning. In our pitiful plight, we realized that nothing short of a miracle could save us. Being practically without ammunition and with a horde of Indians before us, our situation was one of dread. The brother contractors, while probably of this opinion, did not lose heart, and the elder explained to us that our only hope was to get away--if we could. To remain meant certain death. The Indians would either starve or kill us.

     "To-morrow," he said, "they will come again; to-day we defended ourselves, to-morrow we cannot. To-night, at about twelve o'clock, we will leave these pits and start for the railroad."

     Then he reached into the wagon and got hold of a bag of sugar. This he passed around. Several canteens were filled with water from a keg in a wagon and distributed in like manner.

     Conversation then turned to the day's fighting, and its termination, all agreeing that the last defense was the most successful, and that the Indians, realizing (49) that they were losing men, would resort to some different strategy.

     "We must take a chance," Daugherty repeated, "and get away. To remain is sure death. I will begin," he aid, "by burying my compasses and records in the pits:"

     Later we took more sugar, filling our pockets, and what remained in the bag we mixed with sand, to deprive the Indians of a luxury they dearly loved.

     The hour for departure was approaching. The moon hone brightly, which gave us much concern. The Indian fires could be plainly seen.

     In our party were men who had great faith in prayer, and they appealed to God for deliverance, as all men do in grave danger. While others remained silent, yet heir thoughts were of hope, and all agreed that only a merciful Providence could free us.

     Twelve o'clock came, and orders were given to take our shovels, so that in the event that we were followed, we could build breastworks.

     Silence was the command, and the Platte River was our first destination, then the railroad. In a short time we crossed a hill. The Indian camp was now hidden. Then we arose to our feet and followed the direction if our leader, running swiftly, then walking rapidly, and finally resting. Fatigue set in, and recklessness and indifference took such hold of us that we were willing to be killed by Indians rather than to continue the exhaustion.

     A strange thing happened about this time. The moon, pining in all her brightness when we left the wagons, became obscured in fog. This was so dense that we could not see our way. In a short time it cleared sufficiently so that we could see the North star in the direction we were heading. On we went, encouraged by the Daugherty brothers; sometimes we were so tired that (50) they picked us off the ground and set us on our feet, urging us on.

     In this fashion we reached the South Platte River at four o'clock in the afternoon--after being sixteen hours on the way. After drinking water to our heart's content, we swam the river (no irrigation ditch in those days); got into the tracks of the Union Pacific Railroad. We looked up and down the railroad, and saw a section house, which we found to be Roscoe, twenty miles north of the fort.

     At ten o'clock we signaled a passenger train, and at twelve we arrived at North Platte. The next day we met General Emery, commander of Fort McPherson, informing him of the attack. A few days later he sent Buffalo Bill with an escort to the scene.

     On their return, they reported that there was nothing in sight except ashes, all the equipment having been burned. The compasses were found intact. Later the contractors, at their own expense, furnished a guard for protection, and completed the work.

     The heroes of this thrilling adventure were William and John Daugherty of Menominee, Wisconsin, subcontractors for Dan Parmelee of Elkhorn, Nebraska.

     A few days later, Buffalo Bill was in the Spotted Tail agency, and learned from the Pawnee killer himself that they lost sixteen men in the attack on our party. The only wound inflicted on our side was a glancing bullet which struck a wagon tire, rebounded, and hit John Daugherty squarely on the forehead. Blood oozed out of the wound, and we thought that our greatest fighter was done for. While firing, a Spencer cartridge exploded, scattering the powder into his face. Five years afterward the specks were still there.

     We figured that the Indians had shot two thousand rounds of ammunition at us that day.

     One of our men found employment in North Platte, (51) and had a coat, which was thrown over the breastworks before the engagement. Before leaving the wagons he had put this coat on. When daylight appeared, it was found to be full of holes. The story goes that a man from the East was in North Platte at that time, and seeing the coat, asked if he had it on during the fight.

     We also learned that our escape from the wagon had been discovered by the Indians, and that our trail was closely followed until the fog set in. They had waited until it cleared. away, by which time we were in safety.

[From the Grand Island Daily Independent, Sept. 12, 1927] 

     (On July 16th The Independent carried a story of a historical nature, in which, among others, T. J. Foley, a young surveyor, was involved in a fight with hostile Indians. Today The Independent is in receipt of a letter from Mr. Foley, whose home is at Marshfield Hills, Mass., in which he stated that he had received a clipping of the story from The Independent, that it reminded him of some dear friendships formed in Grand Island, especially in the ranks of that old and excellent organization, the Masons.--Editor's Note.)

     It was my good fortune to make frequent visits to Grand Island in the year mentioned and at intervals for two years preceding, consequently acquaintances were formed with many of the people of the town, well known by name and remembered to this day. It was a great treat to forecast the reception that awaited one, and the privilege of again meeting a coterie of gentlemen never excelled in any land.

     Today in recording their virtues it might be concluded they were of the old school. Far from it; they were not old-fashioned or fogy, but youthful, buoyant and free, full of fun and running over, never forgetful, however, of their duty and attention to friends and strangers. Those lovable early settlers of Nebraska possessed a charm of gentility and refinement so marked and lasting that after the passing of a half century and associated with men in position, the group of men in Grand Island at that period held sway, and the later associates faded away. Those pioneers broadcasted modesty, charity, chivalry and affection, men good and true and great men for the times. A heritage was bequeathed to Hall County in having such splendid men within its boundary.

     (53) In those days Grand Island had an extensive Masonic jurisdiction, reaching to the Wyoming line and including Sidney, Ogalalla, North Platte and Kearney. Candidates for the high orders journeyed from town and ranch and were received with joy and hospitality. The longer they remained the more reluctant they were to leave, but they had to go back, and what did they take with them? A memory that never can be effaced by one of the participants. All this was brought to mind a few days ago, with great interest, by the discovery of two diplomas, which set in motion an inspiration which made it possible to recall the past and its pleasures in Grand Island in the early days.

     Deuel Chapter No. 11, Grand Island, Nebraska. Robert Jordan, high priest; W. A. Deuel, king; George E. Wilson, scribe; Claude W. Thomas, secretary. Dated June 10, 1876.

     Mount Lebanon Commandery, Grand Island, Nebraska. George H. Thummel, E. Comr.; George E. Wilson, Gen.; E. W. Bloomer, C. Gen.; W. H. Platt, Recorder. Dated June 10, 1876. Vised by W. R. Bowen, Grand Recorder.  

      A good-sized book could be written eulogizing the exemplary character and eminence of the officers of he two branches of Masonry.

     Referring to Deuel Chapter, Robert C. Jordan, a merchant, gentle, refined and courteous, with a remarkably pleasing voice which added greatly to his efficiency and impressiveness.

     W. A. Deuel, then railway conductor, later sheriff of Hall County, and still later general manager of the Moffat Railroad. One of the most beloved of men, always ready for a frolic, had friends without number, very inch a man and had qualities to stand any test, to prove his friendship for rich or poor.

     Claude W. Thomas, in the grain trade, dignified and revered, was very attentive to business, and the boys stood in a little awe of him.

     George E. Wilson, Union Pacific agent, a most cordial associate, and a man of great kindness.

     W. H. Platt, known as Judge Platt, a little bit retiring, but with his friends the reserve was forgotten, and he managed to hold his own under all circumstances.

     Referring to Mount Lebanon Commandery: George H. Thummel, a lawyer, and the youngest of all the officers, recently married, in defiance of the decorum of a young bridegroom, and the drives from his friends, his smile remained and joined in the antics of the less dignified.

     E. M. Bloomer, a railway conductor, a vital factor in the aggregation, but his duties were mostly on the road, and in spare time contributed to the cause.

     Then came Johnny Moore, not until after he was married did they call him John. How can he be described? A wit, a story teller, he could make one on the instant, a prince with a big heart and a favorite of all. Later a high official of the Missouri Pacific at Little Rock.

     Then there was Blake Howard, master mechanic of the shops, a member of all the lodges, and held in the greatest esteem, a little older than the rest, and while enjoying the sport of the grown-ups, if going too far those black eyes would change instantly, and Deuel would suddenly come to a halt, for he was most unruly.

     This Blake Howard gave a son to the world, Clarence H., of St. Louis, president of the Commonwealth Steel Corporation, employing an army of men, of irreproachable character, a religionist of the broadest type, a contributor to every good cause, one of the big men of the country, on even terms with bankers and presidents, watchful of the poor, such is his reputation in his home city.

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