they could have remained in their natural grandeur and beauty as we saw them, be of priceless value to the city for a park. Joseph, the elder son of Mr. Donevan, was our teamster and guide. The big flies that infested the low bottoms were a great help as persuaders to our oxen; and at times our ride was exciting in the extreme, as the oxen would dart first to the right, then to the left, to get the benefit of a brush to rid themselves of the flies.

It brings peculiar thoughts to mind as we look around us now, and consider the changes that twenty-six years have wrought. One dim track only crossed the sight of the future city from the east to west, that had been made by hunters and salt pilgrims, and the one already mentioned, running up and down the creek. As we viewed the land upon which now stands this great city we had the exciting pleasure of seeing for the first time a large drove of the beautiful antelope cantering across the prairie just about where the Government Square is. We forded salt Creek just by the junction of Oak Creek, and what a struggle we had in making our way through the tall sunflowers between the ford and the Basin. There was something enchanting about the scene that met our eyes. The fresh breeze sweeping over the salt basins reminded us of the morning breezes of the ocean beach. The Basin was as smooth as glass, and resembled a slab of highly polished clouded marble. The wrecks of some old salt furnaces and two deserted cabins were the only signs of civilization, all was wild and solitary: but our soul was filled with rapturous delight. The geese, brant, and pelicans had undisputed sway, and the air was filled with their shrill notes.

The nearest human habitation to either the basins or the present city was that of Mr. Donevan on the Caldwell place on Salt Creek, about five miles up the creek, or south of the ford, Joel Mason lived a mile further up. Richard Wallingford lived at his present home. A. J. Wallingford also lived just across the creek. John Cadman lived just across the county line, as the counties were first constituted, in old Clay County, and where the village of Saltillo now stands. Dr. Maxwell lived in that neighborhood, also Festus Reed, and where Roca now stands, J. L. Davidson and the Pray family had located. Wm. Shirly on Stevens Creek was the nearest settler to the eastward. Charles Retslef and John Wedencamp, also Judge J. D. Maine, held the fort a little further up the creek, and Aaron Wood was located

To.

near the head of Stevens Creek. John and Louis Loder lived down Salt Creek near Waverly, also Micheal Shea and James Moran. the westward it was a complete wilderness.

In company with Darwin Peckham (now of Lincoln) we commenced making salt on the 20th of August, 1861. We pre-empted one of the log cabins and batched it during the fall. Salt was very scarce in war times, and was high in price; and of a necessity great numbers of people came to scrape salt. They came from all the settled portions of the territory, from Kansas, Missouri, and as far east as central Iowa. At the time of the second visit, we found the roads well broken by pilgrims in the search of salt. Going for salt in those days was like going a fishing. It was all in luck. If the weather was perfectly dry, they could get plenty of it; for it could be scraped up by the wagon load; but three minutes rain would end the game. We have seen a drove of men that came a full hundred miles and arrive just in time to see a little rain clear all the salt off the basin in a moment, and they left to hold an empty sack. We found a goodly number there when we arrived, and they were holding the empty sack; for it had just rained, and the basin was as black as ink. We remember Milton Langdon as one of the disconsolate pilgrims. The next morning, all except our party pulled out, and "we were monarchs of all we surveyed." We immediately built a small furnace, made a sheet iron salt pan, and began boiling salt; and by the time the next drove of pilgrims came, we had salt to trade or sell them. Many farmers would bring their sorghum pans to make their own salt, and when they would get enough, or get tired, we would trade salt for their pans and all their spare provisions. When the weather was dry, many would scrape up more than they could haul home, and we would trade for their scrapings at twenty-five cents per hundred. In dry times we would accumulate a mountain of scraped salt, and as soon as the first rain came, our scrapings would be worth from fifty cents to one dollar per hundred. Pilgrims would grab for it. They brought up all manner of provisions to trade for it, meat, flour, chickens, butter, fruit, potatoes, eggs, and others were willing to go to the groves and cut and haul wood and trade us. Others would haul up a large pile of wood and then rent our furnaces for the night, and would work all night, and thus get a supply. So we had salt to sell, scrapings to sell, furnaces to

rent, and generally provisions to sell.

One man, we remember,

. brought a fine suit of clothes and traded them to us for salt. A party brought us two four-horse wagon loads, 5,000 pounds, of flour from Winterset, Iowa, and we made him an even exchange of 5,000 pounds of salt for it. It was a lively time, for hundreds were coming and going continually during the fall.

We remember several distinguished visitors of that fall, among whom was the Hon. O. P. Mason, and the Hon. J. Sterling Morton. We treated them to slap jacks of our own make, which the Judge seemed to relish, but our friend Morton did not seem to appreciate our cooking, just why has always been a mystery to us. Hon. P. W. Hitchcock, afterwards United States Sepator, and his Excellency, Governor Saunders, (he was then our governor) also made us a visit. They were not repairing fences, but quite likely they were examining J. Sterling Morton's fence around the saline land. Many of lesser note visited us during the fall.

Late in the fall we moved our family to Salt Creek and wintered in one apartment of the log cabin that Mr. Donevan occupied, and as the salt business always ceases when winter begins, we put in the time as best we could, chasing rabbits, &c. Uncle Dick Wallingford, learning that we had graduated at the carpenter's bench, besought us to build him a house. We suppose that we have the honor of building for Uncle Dick the first frame building in Lancaster County, in the winter of '61-62. We made the doors of black walnut lumber that was about as hard as glass. We also remember the struggle we had one night in the following summer in making a coffin for Grandmother Wallingford out of that hard lumber. We took up our abode at the Basin with the wife and two children, on the 1st day of May, 1862. That same day a county convention was held at the Basin, and nearly every man in the county was there; but we remember none of the proceedings, as we were occu pied in setting our house in order. Two or three days later, Milton Langdon arrived with his family and took up their abode just west of the B. & M. bridge north of Oak Creek. The season of 1862 was exceedingly prosperous. Great numbers of people came and went every day. Numerous other furnaces were started, and the salt works presented quite the appearance of business.

Here we must beg indulgence while we relate a little story: In

the winter of '62-'63, there was an old fellow by the name of Ben Vanthiesen camping and boiling salt, and there was an Indian camp a little distance away. The Indians had been bothering Ben until he had become impatient with them. A young, stalwart brave thought to play a joke on him, and approached him with the usual aborigine's salutation, "How", and at the same time offered Ben a finely polished ramrod, which he reached out to take, when Mr. Injin struck him a violent blow across the knuckles. Ben couldn't stand that, and quick as thought returned the compliment with his fist, propelled by his stalwart arm. The blow took effect just under the ear of the young brave, and he reeled backward and sat down in the pan of boiling salt water. A sharp shriek, and Mr. Injin jumped for life, and ran wildly into the swamp and mired down, hallowing all sorts of bloody murder in the Indian tongue. Other braves went to his relief and carried him to camp. He was thoroughly cooked and well salted. The little settlement soon became alarmed, fearing that the Indians would be enraged and seek vengeance. A hurried consultation was had, and the camp was visited to learn, if possible, the temper of the red-skins. We found the man almost dead, and while he was writhing in agony the other Indians were making all sorts of fun of him, calling him squaw man, &c, and pointing their fingers at him. Finally Ben Venthiesen appeared on the scene and they began at once to lionize him, as if to further tantalize the poor unfortunate. They finally made a litter of a buffalo robe and carried him away with them, while in a dying condition.

On the morning of the 4th of July, wife suggested that we celebrate by gathering a lot of gooseberries, of which there were great quantities. Just as we had filled our buckets, we heard someone hallowing and as we emerged from the bush who 'should we see but Elder Young and party, consisting of the Rev. Peter Schamp, Dr. McKesson, Mr. Warnes, Luke Lavender, and Jacob Dawson. They were on the search for a suitable location for a colony. They were patriotic, and had not forgotten the flag. Dinner was quickly provided and disposed of, the neighbors were called in, and we had a celebration that was a feast to the soul. As the dear old elder talked to us of our blessed flag and how it had been trailed in the dust by recreant hands, and of the mighty struggle that was then going on to maintain its supremacy, how our hearts swelled with emotion, as

we realized that our country and our all was at the moment trembling in the balance. This was probably the first time our national flag ever kissed the breezes of Lancaster county, and it was an occasion long to be remembered by all the participants. Some, we know not how many, of that little group have gone to their long home. Uncle Jacob Dawson lived just long enough to see the foundations of Lincoln well laid, and was called away. Our dear friend, Elder Young, lived to see the city of his founding great and strong, and marching forward to greater achievements, and he "was gathered to his fathers, full of years and full of honors."

In the second week in July, and after making a thorough examination of the surrounding country, the party made a settlement on the land where Lincoln now stands, and dedicated a portion of section twenty-two for a town site, and christened it Lancaster. Lancaster did not grow as more modern towns do. A few settlers began to arrive and settled on the beautiful lands in the vicinity; but not many cared to try their hands at building a city just then. Town building was a slow process in those days, so far inland.

It must be remembered that the bill providing for the Union Pacific Railroad had passed but the previous winter, and the eastern terminus had not been fixed by the President. Our nearest railroad was at St. Joseph, Mo. and Ottumwa, Iowa, and further it was yet very questionable as to whether our upland prairie was of any value for agricultural purposes. The farms were all yet confined to the creek bottoms. Prairie fires would sweep the prairies just as soon as the grass was dry in the fall, and leave the roots exposed to the scorching rays of the autumn sun, and then to the frosts of winter. The snow would gather into huge drifts, there being nothing to hold it except the ravines. This resulted in very short grass crops on the upland and frequently there was scarcely enough to hide a garter snake in midsummer. People saw the fact, that the prairie produced but little grass, but were slow to discover the causes, and were ready to condemn the land as worthless for cultivation. Some are lead to believe that great changes have taken place in the general character of the soil, as well as the climate. We have frequently been asked if this land was not all covered with buffalo grass. To this question we answer most emphatically No. It may have been at some remote period, but never since white men have known it. Many are of