Burial: Spring Creek Cemetery

Census: 1860, IL Whiteside Genesee Pg 703A

Spring Creek Cemetery ..( Crow Family Cemetery )

Location: NE 1/4 Section 30 Township 16N Range 9W, Northeast of Cushing

HAWORTH Ozella R 4/16/1873 4 yrs, dau of D.F.& J.E.

Haworth D.F. (Dillion) 4/16/1873 age 25

Jane E 4/16/1873 age 24, wife of D.F.

CROW Edith 7/2/1893 Dau of R.R. & E. Crow, 1 yr 4 mo 2 da

Johnnie M 5/30/1881 ? age 1? Son of O. & E.J. Crow

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Dillon and his wife, Jennie (Crow), and child Gracie, died in a snow storm on 18 April, 1873.

The story of their death is recorded in the Library of Congress, Memories Project. See:

http://lcweb2.loc.gov/cgi-bin/query/D?wpa:1:./temp/~ammem_Itwg::

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The next document is the license to sell issues to Jonathan S. Crow,

Guardian, is dated March 17th, 1875, and is signed 'Samuel Maxwell,

Judge."

I had been told the full story of the [deaths?] of [Dillon F.

Haworth?], his wife and child in the great "Master Storm" of [1873?],

many times in the olden days, but the memory of it had become like a

half forgotten dream. But the reading of these old documents and the

memories they revive together with some details which I have gathered

from persons still living. That story would read like this:

..................

In the summer of [1871?] [Howard?] County and all the [Loup?] Valley

County and [?] of Nance County was in all respects an unhibited

wilderness, except for an occasional [Pumeo?] Indian on a hunting or

trapping expedition on the [Loup?] River, or a Sioux Indian on a foray

to steal two ponies of the [Pawnees?], no human foot tread its soil,

but in the late summer and fall of that year, a few adventurous white

men came, and it were, to spy out the land. Among these were J. N.

Paul, A. [G?]. Kendall, afterwards County Clerk from [1873?] to

[1881?] and then Commissioner of Public Lands and Building of the

State of Nebraska, and some others, who spied out the lands near St.

Paul, and some other Danish people who

settled lands near Dannebrog. Some of these selected homesteads.

Nearly all returned to their homes to come back in the spring.

In the spring of 1872, settlers came by scores and hundreds, so that,

strange as it may appear, by the spring of 1873 all the choicest

Government land along the [Loup?] Valleys, for fifty miles by the

river from here was taken by Homesteaders, so that one coming after

that must be content to go back to the hills or to the inland creek

valleys.

I came in July 1873, but by that time all the choice government land

was gone except such as was termed "Sand Hills" or thought to be too

rough for farm lands. Most of the settlers came in covered wagons,

"Prairie Schooners" as they were called, some leading or

driving a cow or two,

some with pigs, or a crate of chickens, some with a plow or other farm

apparatus strapped under or on top the wagon among household goods, to

start the future farm.

Among them, coming with ox teams and a covered wagon, was Mathew Crow

and his family, three stalwart boys, Jonathan, Rodney, and [Vance?],

all grown men, and several daughters. They came late in 1872 and

selected land in Spring Creek Valley, half way between where the towns

of Wolbach and Cushing now stand. Old Mathew was the first to build

his "dug-out" just back from the creek in the face of the first [?].

Dug back into the bank to form the back and part of the two ends of

the house, while the front and remainder of the ends were built of the

tough sods of the creek bottom land. In the center of the room was an

oak tree crotch, on which rested stout center poles that extended to

the gable ends, with a roof of oak rafters, covered first with willow

brush, then with sod--two layers deep-- with joints nicely broken, and

a sprinkling of yellow clay to fill the cracks. While now it was an

effectual barrier of rain, cold or heat.

There were four one-sash windows, two in the front, and one in each

end, with a partition separating one end for sleeping rooms, and in

one corner of the living room was a feature that I had never seen in a

new settler's cabin--a fire place. This was dug back into the bank and

a flue bored to the top of the bench and there a sod chimney extended.

I visited this home on a winter night in the late 70's and with a

cherry fire of oak logs in that fire-pace, a more cozy winter home I

could not imagine.

One of the daughters of Mathew Crow married Dillon F. [Haworth?], they

had two small children, Gracie and Eva Pearle, five and three years

old, and they wanted a farm upon which to make their future home and

raise their family. They went farther up the creek and "squatted" upon

the same land described in those Court proceedings and here they too

started to build their future home.

The winter of 1872-3 was fairly mild and they made considerable

progress with their new home. During March and the first half of April

they had progressed so far that their home was nearly complete, in

[fact?], all but a part of the roof that was not yet all covered with

sod and clay as the customs required, but it was so nearly complete

that they moved into it expecting to finish the roof in a day or two.

Easter Sunday, April 13, 1873, started as a balmy spring day, warm as

June, with all the promise of coming summer and Dillon [Haworth?], his

wife and little ones were happy with anticipation of what they would

do with their fine farm of rich creek bottom land when they should get

their start in life.

Then a cloud appeared, a summer shower was brewing, that would cause

the grass to grow and the flowers to bloom; and the rain did

come, just a summer shower at first, then it grew

darker, the wind that had been so balmy and refreshing turned into the

Northwest, the rain turned to snow, the wind increased to a hurricane

and the great Easter Storm of 1873, that has gone down in history as

the worst that ever visited the Western country was on.

I was not here then, and I hesitate to tell of the terrors of that

awful storm, but when I came in July of that Year, the stories of its

horrors was on every tongue. One told of how it blew through a hole in

his barn no larger than his hand, so much snow that the barn was

completely filled so that his cattle were actually smothered to death.

Another told that it blew through a hole in his bedroom window no

bigger than a straw, enough snow to cover his bed a foot deep, but

this is only an example of the stories that were told. One old

philospher told me this theory about it. "That snow didn't fall down

more than it did up. It simply came straight, driven by that mighty

wind, if one flake struck the ground it was immediately gathered by

the wind and hurled on among the soothing mass that in this way was

multiplied a thousand fold, until the atmosphere was so completely

filled that one exposed to it could hardly breathe. If one ventured

out in it he was quickly rendered helpless for want of breath. "Why,"

he said, "even the snow itself seemed to be searching for some place

where it could escape the fury of that awful wind, and settle down to

rest. It was that which caused it to completely fill every sheltered

place it could enter." I have heard more than one tell of tying a

clothesline from the door to the well, or barn, or wood shed, that he

could clasp it with one hand while protecting his nose and eyes with

the other, and to go and return without straying away and being lost

in the storm; that it was so bad that no human being could survive

exposed to it was practically certain.

And that terrible storm continued all that

afternoon, all that night, all the next day and night and until

Tuesday afternoon, one continuous hurricane of blinding, stiffling,

smothering snow.

There was no one left to tell the story of Dillon F. [Haworth?] and

his family in that awful storm, except little Eve Pearle, three years

old, and this is all she told, "Gracie is dead, now we gotta go."

When the storm ceased every one was deeply concerned about the fate of

his neighbor. The Crows, knowing the condition of the [Haworth?] home

was especially anxious, and as soon as possible the young men hurried

there to find the house filled with snow that had blown in through

that unfinished roof, and after shoveling and digging their worst

fears were realized. There was no one there, nor could track or trace

of anyone be found.

An alarm was sent out, a crew of young men came to join in the search.

All day Wednesday no trace of them was found. Then on Thursday, (I

have this story from the lips of Jasper Sparks one of the searchers

who discovered the bodies, and who is still living) after the sun had

partly melted the snow away, down the creek almost half a mile from

the house, just over the brink of the hill, where the drift was the

deepest, a dark object was found protruding from the snow, after a

hurried effort the dead body of Dillon [Haworth?] was pulled from the

snow, and in his arms was clasped the lifeless form of little Gracie.

A farther search soon disclosed the fringe of a shawl appearing in the

melting snow and in a few moments the searching party had exhumed the

lifeless body of Mrs. [Haworth?] in whose arms was clasped a

bundle, wrapped in a shawl. Carefully they unwrapped the

bundle, and a cold little white face appeared, more as if asleep, than

dead. One of the uncles snatched the little one to his breast, for he

loved her dearly. "Eva, Eva Pearle," he cried, and then, "By heaven

she is not dead, she breathes." Carefully he rewrapped the shawl about

her and snuggled her to his breast to warm her back to life, and

then after a time he called her

name, "Eva, Eva," and she gasped, half opened her tired frightened

eyes, and this is what she said, "Gracie is dead, now we gotta go."

And the weary frightened little eyes closed again in sleep. Little Eva

Pearle [Haworth?] was saved.

It was thought by those who found her, that little Gracie had died

before they left the house, and that what Eva said was only the

repetition of what she had heard her parents say. They were but a few

words, and by themselves were but the half conscious murmurings of a

sick child, but between the lines was told a tragic tale.

At least two other persons lost their lives in the county in that

storm, but the property loss was a serious blow to those new settlers.

Many thought that one half of the livestock owned in the county was

lost. As an example: I know of one man, Thomas [Ostoa?], who came in

1872, bringing 102 horses, with an ambition to start a Horse Ranch for

raising horses to supply the settlers with work teams; of these

102 horses only 26 survived the storm.

Another incident. Captain Samuel [Munson?] had been sent here with a

Company of soldiers, part of [?] calvary, to guard the settlers

against forays of the Sioux Indians and in the winter of 1872-3 was

camped on [Munson?] creek, about two miles above the present Village

of Elba.

On that bright Easter morning a squad of cavalry was

sent on a scouting expedition to the west in search of Indian signs.

When that storm struck them they had reached the Middle Loup Valley

near where Loup City now stands, and in an endeavor to find shelter,

came across the sod cabin of a Mr. Vanscooter, where they were made as

welcome as the circumstances would allow, and there they unsaddled

their horses, evidently turning them loose to shift for themselves.

The horses drifted before the terrific wind until they came to creek

in [?] draw of canyon, and in the bed of this creek they gathered

together to take advantage of the shelter from the wind that it

afforded. When the storm subsided that ravine was filled level full

with drifted snow and every horse perished. That creek is called "Dead

Horse" creek to this day.

Burial: Spring Creek Cemetery

Marriage: 12 Mar 1868, Howard County, Indiana