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-
