September 1871
Abbie B., age 22, Kansas
September 1, 1871
Wanted to write before; had no time. When one has nothing but a dutch oven to bake in, and four men to eat bread (J. R. does not stay on his claim as he should) it keeps one busy.
Must go back and write up. I had baked the Fri. they came. Then baked again Sat. to have bread and pies over Sun. It was supper time before I got ginger cookies baked. Brother H had found some elder berries at the river, enough fore one pie. There were five of us for dinner, so I cut it into five pieces, Mr. Rose coming while we were at dinner. I treated him to my piece. That day the men were up and over the country and along the river. When they came back at eve—they had made arrangement to go hunting Monday, and said I should bake a lot of bread. I set yeast that eve, and baked all a. m. Sunday, got dinner, after that was tidied up, I was glad to lie down. I had taken quinine to ward off the ague. I would not be sick while they were here, if I could help it. After resting, felt better and got supper. Another heavy shower and it came in at the door.
Monday put the house to rights, packed provision and beding— and were ready when Jake drove up with a team of mules to a waggon, and J. R. and George, who lives with Jake, rode the other two. They loaded an open barrel in which to pack the meat, a sack of salt, wood to cook with, bacon & skillet, bread and coffeepot, ct. The driver called to me “Here is a good place to sit,” and I climed up to the spring seat, over which a blanket was folded. “All ready” and away we went to the south west, away from the Ninnescah, all in gay spirits.
I had given up going on a hunt, after we had so much ague. Now we were on the way, and it was quite exciting—
The buffalo had been within six or eight miles of us a few days before. The hearders had shot some, and driven others away. Now there was no telling how far we would have to go, or if we would see any at all. When out about six miles we passed two carcasses that had lately been shot.
We went by a dogtown, and saw them frisk into their holes. We also saw antelopes, prairie chickens and a gray wolf. This was upland prairie, short grass—buffalo grass, no trees or brush in sight.
All watched to see the first buffalo—which we spied some five miles on, and to our left. We went on, and soon saw five more, within 3/4 mile. It was decided, that as Brother H and cousin Tom had to hurry home, the hunters would try to get one or more of those, and go no farther. So we camped there at Sandy creek, fed the mules—and had lunch. Philip and Jake being the best marks men—started in the direction of the buffaloes. The depression of the creek hiding them somewhat. They are very hard to kill, unless close enough to shoot them in the eye, or back of the shoulder. Rather than run a chance of loosing them, they decided to wound them that they could not run far. The one Philip shot, had its leg broken and went a little farther, but the other one though wounded went a bout a mile. The men hitched the team, we drove near the first one, and we all got out of the waggon, they walked nearer. I stayed by the team. We were all looking at the fallen monarch of the prairie, when unexpectedly he jumped up made a dash toward the team, which in turn dashed to run, I being near grabbed a bridle, and managed to hold them.
That was the buffalos last effort, he fell and was dead. The boys complimented me on “saving the day” as they said. They began at once to cut up the meat, some at one anamel, and others had driven over to the one farther away. They saved only the hind quarters. While they were doing that—nine big ones passed within half a mile, and in the distance we saw a great heard cross the divide, graze on this side, then cross back.
We drove back to Sandy creek—and camped for the night, as it was well toward evening. The boys spread the waggon cover on the grass—then cut the meat in pieces to cool, and put it on the cover, while cousin Tom and I got supper.
We had brought wood for fire, and cooking water along. Besides bacon—we had buffalo stake, bread and coffee, which we ate from and drank from tin cups. How all enjoyed that supper. How they joaked and laughed, for every one was satisfied with the days sport.
My eyes hurt from looking so much, and the hot sun. Brother H put a robe under the waggon, and I laid down—using a comfort for cover, as it grew cool when the sun went down. I kept on my sun bonnet—to keep insects out of ears and hair. I did not sleep much, the boys were so noisy. A skunk chaced J. R. and he could not come back to camp, until one of the boys— went out and shot it. Then when all would get quiet, I suppose someone would say something funny, and another laugh would follow.
The first thing we heard Tuesday early, was brother H crowing with all his might. Some salted and packed the meat in the barrel, others got breakfast, and still others fed the mules.
That over we started back, with all the mules hitched to the waggon. I drove some miles “four in hand,” and felt great.
Sometimes I drove through a buffalo wallow, where they had lately rolled in the dust, and we would all get a jolt. Brother H- and cousin Tom, were pleased with the hunt: so was I. After we have been having the ague so much, I had not expected I would have a chance to go.
We reached home before noon. Mr. Rose came and got some meat for himself and gmires. We did not want much. I set sponge at once to bake, as the boys leave tomorrow and I want bread for their lunch. I pelted the sponge, and baked after the others had gone out to sleep.
Brother H wanted me to go with him, but I said no, I will stay the six months—and I wont leave P- now. Up early next morning. I wanted to go along as far as Lanes. A heavy dew, and the boys thought I had better stay home, but I wanted to go so badly.
They went ahead, I followed holding up my clothes the best I could. My shoes, stockings, and even garters got wet. When we reached North’s house they were hitching the team. When we got to Lanes I got out, and they drove on. It hurt to see them go. Mr. & Mrs. L and her brother were all ailing. I tidied the house, and worked all a. m. to give her a rest. After dinner I got a chill then fever.
I said I must go home, I did not want to leave brother alone. She urged me to stay, that Mr. L would take me home in the morning. I knew how it would go in the morning, and said if they would get the pony, I’d go.
When I got as far as the North house (bachelors Rest) I stoped to rest. George lifted me from the saddle, Mr. Smith made a cup of tea—and after a time was able to ride on, Mr. Smith insisting that George get a horse and ride along. I thank them whenever I think of it as I was hardly able to sit on the pony, and I found Philip with fever again.
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Abbie B., age 22, Kansas
September 3, 1871
Baked two loaves for over Sunday. If we dont eat more, they will last a long time. I fed and watered the ox. He is quite a pet, although he has long hornes, I am not afraid of him. I fed him corn and mellons. When I call him, he comes as far as the roap will let him. I was moving him to a new feeding place, and he put his nose on my shoulder. Too bad his mate died. They were such a good yoke of oxen—and so tame.
Thousands and thousands of Texas cattle, were driven north this Summer. Some have been allowed to graze on this side of the river before crossing. Texas cattle generate -I think that is the word -in their feet during the long trip, a substance that poisens the grass- This does not hurt them -but if native cattle eat that grass it poisens them and they die of what is called Texas fever. That is what killed the one ox.
Philip thinks he is a little better this evening. J. R. just came. He should stay more on his claime.
Brother H[iram] brought us apples, material for a shirt for P and calico for me a dress. Such a lot of writing paper—and buff envelopes. P had brought a lot along from W. So I’ll not soon be out of writing material.
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Abbie B., age 22, Kansas
September 4, 1871
Philip scarcely able to walk. J. R. said he would go to Roses for medacine yesterday p. m. Then put it off until today. Now he is sitting on the wood pile. Philip said “Can you go?” Yes, I am planning to go, as soon as the table is emptied, I told him.
I am stronger than yesterday. Arming myself with a stout cane off I started. It is hard walking through the long medow grass. When near the river I saw a big snake curled up under a tree. It did not move, and I backed away, badly scared. I had my cane, but was too weak to kill it.
I called acrost to Roses, who live near the bank, and one of the girls brought the medacine over. Mrs. R has the ague now. Coming home the wind waved the grass that it looked like waives, and I got dizzy— I feared I would fall, and wondered what next—
I finily got to a bunch of Sunflowers that grew in a buffalo wallow. There I shut my eyes, and rested in their shade until I felt stronger— Brother was watching for me, and glad I got back, while I was glad to give him the medacine, and lie down.
This p. m. I made new pickle for the meat and fixed some to dry. After it is salted enough I get on top the dugout and hang it down the chimney. Very very handy—only one must be careful not to have a big fire.
I am asked sometimes if I am not sick of Kansas. No I am not. It is very sickly, nearly every one gets the ague. But so it is in most new settlements, and one is not always careful.
Philip was hardly over the bilious attack, when we went on the buffalo hunt, and the long ride in the sun was too much for him. I took that walk through the wet grass the morning the boys left, and I think that brought on the chills and fever again.
Mr. Smith had chills and fever, and was flighty, he thought he had a two story head, and could not keep track of the upper story. That amused the boys. With all our ague—some funny things happen—and on our free days—we have some hearty laughs. I do not write all that happens—only a sketch.
The sun is setting, the sky is a glorious vision of colors.
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Abbie B., age 22, Kansas
September 6, 1871
Philip continues to improve, his appetite is coming back.
I tend the ox—must dip up so much water for him. This a. m. washed, p. m. baked two loaves of bread and a pie. Had the ox to feed and water this evening again.
Will answer letters now.
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Abbie B., age 22, Kansas
September 7, 1871
The sun is just setting, a great red ball in the West. To the south we see a great colum of smoak. A prairie fire, but out of sight.
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Abbie B., age 22, Kansas
September 10, 1871
Have not written for two days. Had time, but there was nothing of special interest to write. Finished P- shirt, all but button holes. No mail for some days. Two weeks ago brother H was here. Time passes— My six months will soon be up. Philip wanted to take me on a trip to Indian Territory, but we have both been too ailing. I think I will go home, and he will likely spend the winter in Indiana. Have been thinking of going to the cabin, since I feel stronger. Went this p. m. Took my time and walked slowly. Sometimes it seemed as if I was taking good bye looks. Perhaps I was. It is a long walk. I find I am not nearly as strong as when I came to Kansas.
We have corn, mellons and potatoes—back of the cabin. I tried to eat a mellon—but have taken so much quinine, that mellons sicken me. Such a lot going to waste.
The cabin, so lonely— I could not even rest there— The walks to well and river grown over. It did not seem like the old cheerful place, and I left— Went up the river to the plum patch, found three qts.
Was acrost the river from the Rose house. Would have gone over, but had on such an old torn dress— I still have a little self respect left.
Coming home I stopped at my garden and got sweet corn for supper. Had dried apples soaking. Stewed some plums—drained them, and boiled the apples in the plum juice, and they are much better.
Do not think I will have a chill tomorrow. I am getting thin, I will soon look like the man who had ague so long, that he looked like two knitting needles, stuck in a mellon seed, as Bess Bee said of some one.
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Abbie B., age 22, Kansas
September 14, 1871
George came with mail. Jake had been to the P. O. Two letters and two papers. Mr. Smith is sick again. George said they expected the doctor from Wichita. I gave him letters, and asked him to give them to the Dr. to mail in W. George had scarcely gone when I had a chill and went to bed. Philip got supper, and made me a cup of tea.
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Abbie B., age 22, Kansas
September 15, 1871
Philip had a chill to day, but it did not last long.
The baking was a trouble to day, I must make new yeast before I bake again. Mother sent me hops again—and I will make yeast soon.
When Mrs. North moved to town—she gave me her cat Jimmie. Now the mice and rats are so bad up at Bachelor Hall, that they borrowed Jimmie.
I will miss him. He often slept at my feet.
When on our hunting trip, the handle of the teakettle was broken, and it made it very unhandy to use. Now Philip has fixed it. He is so handy about the house, when he is well. He made a darning needle for me, out of a piece of wire. Browned coffee, and pounded a can full, in p. m. copied my expenses for the year, and did other writing.
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Abbie B., age 22, Kansas
September 16, 1871
There were two angry people here to day – and we are not our good natured selves yet. J. R. uses P- blankets. Fortunately he sleeps out, or up at his clame most of the time when not working down at the ranch or elsewhere. This morning P saw that they were lousy. His indignation was justafiable.
We put one at a time in the big camp kettle and boiled them, and I finished them in the tub. Such heavy work. Now I hope he will get blankets of his own, and sleep else where. I hope we wont be sick tomorrow, it will be Sunday, and I must go and do some baking.
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Abbie B., age 22, Kansas
September 17, 1871
Neither of us feeling well to day. Letters for both & papers. The other day I heard some one call— Went to the door, there was a hearder on a horse, when he saw me, he jerked off his hat. He was surprised to see a woman. He inquired about some lost horses—then rode on. His horse had four brands W. 4- O -A. one below the other. A few horses have been in P – corn patch, and a white one has spoiled my garden—and comes here and eats the corn P wants for the ox. He was tame, so P caught him and tied a tin can to his tail, which I hope will keep him away. Jake sent up some sweet potatoes. We could not get any sweet potato plants last Spring when we wanted to plant the garden.
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Abbie B., age 22, Kansas
September 22, 1871
A long time since I wrote. I hate to begin, for I know I will get tired writing and miss some things. Monday-while I baked, Philip went to see the neighbors—and get the mail. Came back at noon—and reported Mrs. L very sick. He thought I had better go down. It was 3 p. m. when I started. Took a loaf of fresh bread along for Mr. Smith, who is getting better but has no appetite. Thought it would be better than soda biscuits. Had quite a visit with him. He told me of parts of New Mexico and Arizona he had been in, and wished I could see them, particularly Jacobs Well and Inspiration Rock. When I left he said, “Be very careful, dont try and do too much, and get sick.”
There had been a log acrost the branch where I used to cross, it was gone and I had to take off shoes and stockings and wade. It was a miry place, and I went in over my feat, such ugly mud, had trouble to wash it off.
Found Mrs. L in bed— Mr. L just able to crawl, and her brother getting supper. Mush and milk, coffee and pie. The L – are one of the very few, who keep a cow. After supper fixed to bake bread next day, then commenced at the dishes, which sat around in confusion, seemed not to have been cleaned for some days.
A little room, two beds, a table and stove. The brother sleeps out in another building, where they keep barrels ct. She moved to the other bed while I made hers, then back, while I made that one also. Then I bathed her. She has what she calls “the flu.” East we call it dysentery. What with waiting on her, and the mosquitos so many, there was little sleep for me.
Next morning waited on her (wonder who did it when I was not there), washed dishes, pots and pans, I had not found the evening before, dressed a chicken, browned coffee, and what not. Had chicken and sweet potatoes for dinner. It was long after noon when the bread was baked, and house tidied up. Then they wanted me to go to the P. O. I was too blind to see, what I do now, that any one who could eat as heartily as they did, were better able to go to the office than I was. I got on Cricket their Mexican pony and rode over. It was the first time I had been to the trail since I came in April. Struck the trail as the last of a heard were crossing the river. I asked a hearder if it was safe for me to go on. He said, “no danger, the beeves are a mile or more ahead, these are young cattle and laggards.” Forded the river—rode to the post office, only to be told that one of the boys had been there, and taken it along. Coming back, a large flock of prairie chickens flew up, and frightened the pony. I managed to stick on. Mrs. L required waiting on during the night, but I got some sleep.
Wednesday. One of the boys passed, and gave me a letter from sister Mary. Set yeast to bake again. She takes medacine day and night.
When morning came baked pies and bread. From some hunters Mr. L bought a piece of buffalo eat as big as my body. He put in on the table, and I was expected to cut it up, and salt it down, which I did. When dinner was ready I was too sick to eat. They talked of going to town soon. “I can go to day,” she said. I was surprised, as she had only set up while I made her bed.
The dishes were not finished when I had a chill. I said I must go home, I was feeling so badly. By the time they got Cricket—the chill was over, and fever had come on. When I passed the Hall Jake came out with a paper for us. Mr. Smith was getting supper, Mr. Philips was there.
They invited me to stay for tea, but I rode on. Their fresh buffalo and sweet potatoes did not tempt me. I was anxious to get home, and anxious about Philip.
I took the foot path across the branch between the Hall and our place because it is nearer. Cricket did not want to cross, and at a steep place whirled around and started back. I talked and coaxed and got to the bottom again, thinking he would waid acrost, but he made a big jump, and started up the bank full tilt. I grabbed his main and kept my seat. It is a mystery to me how I ever kep on, for I had a mans saddle—and was riding side ways. They say “angles take care of children, and old people,” wonder to which class I belong.
I remember nothing more of the ride home, when brother lifted me from the pony, and I could not stand. I sat on the grass until he staked Cricket, then he helped me in. I have been wondering to day how I lived to write about it. I promised brother I would never ride Cricket again. He said he was not safe for me to ride, and was angry at them for letting me come home a lone—when I had fever.
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Abbie B., age 22, Kansas
September 24, 1871
A Mr. Newcomer was here yesterday. He wanted me to stay with his daughter, while they went on a hunt. I cannot do that. I am not going to leave brother now, neither of us strong. Started new hop yeast and baked bread. Made plum jam. Had a chill ct. This morning I felt hungry, had no supper last night. This is Sunday, am comed and dressed will write letters and rest today.
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Abbie B., age 22, Kansas
September 25, 1871
Philip went to W was gone one night. He brought me chocolate, nutmegs, cookies and medacine. I wanted two pounds of brown sugar for cookies – have plenty white he got seven pounds, because he could get that much for a dollar. They do so much buying here by the “dollars worth,” Last eve a skunk walked up to the door, I was almost afraid to breath, for fear it would come in but it turned and left. The prairie is on fire acrost the river, and behind a divide. In the evening the reflectin is georgeous. Brother says it is early for prairie fires.
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Abbie B., age 22, Kansas
September 30, 1871
Since Monday have been in bed nearly all the time. Had an attack like Mrs. L. Thankful to be better. I came the nearest to being homesick I ever was. Philip has been doing the cooking. I have no appetite, and that worried him. It is laughable to see him bake flap jacks for himself. To be ill and not see a woman for a week—is hard luck. I am better so let us rejoice. Philip has gone to see if he can shoot a prairie chicken.
The sun is seting— I must take a look at this last of Sept. sun set. And may a picture of it be on memories wall for a long time.
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