Genealogy Trails
Pottawattamie County, Iowa

To have a race for life on the back of a trusted and speedy pony with a band of bloodthirsty indians after you, is an experience almost unbelievable to the present generation, but such was the harrowing experience of John F. Jackson of Avoca, who is a pioneer of the western plains, and an old and respected resident of this section. The eventful and stirring life of the west during the early mining, ranching and freighting days is familiar to Mr. Jackson through actual experience. He was born across the water being a native of Scotland, his natal day being December 4, 1835. His parents were William and Mary Jackson, who started for American in 1836.

While on the voyage the mother died and was buried at sea. The father located in Pennsylvania where he purchased a small farm, residing on it until the time of his death. John F. Jackson, the only surviving member of the family, was less than a year old when he landed on the shores of the United States. He remained at home until 23 years old when, becoming imbibed with a strong desire to see the west and understand its experiences, made his way to Boone County, Illinois, where he worked on a farm for a year and in 1859 started for "Pike's Peak or Bust." Reaching St. Louis by train he took employment as a roustabout on a steamboat, together with another young man who accompanied him. On the trip upstream the officers of the boat became a little too rough and Mr. Jackson "mixed" it with one of them, quit his job and himself and a companion returned to St. Louis on a packet steamer.

Going by steamboat up the Kaw River to Leavenworth, Mr. Jackson and his companion paid some young man who had an outfit and five horses $100 each to take them to Pike's Peak and the trip was an eventful one. "These young men traded their horses off for bulky ones," said Mr. Jackson, "and finally traded the bulky ones for three oxen, with which we made the journey. Shortly after passing Ft. Riley on the Republian River we met a party returning from Pike's Peak and they told us there was a stretch of 74 miles with no water and we had better carry casks of water with us. We paid no attention to him, but later wished we had. Luckily it rained and the oxen satisfied their thirst by eating wet grass but finally we had to dig deep into the sand in order to secure sufficient water to keep us and the oxen alive.

When we had reached a point about 300 miles west of Ft. Riley the provisions began to run low and the men we had paid for taking us to the end of our journey wanted myself and my companion to return to Ft. Riley for provisions, agreeing to give us three days provisions free for making the 300 mile walk there and back. This made me angry and I said to the young man: "We gave you $200 at Fort Leavenworth to take us to Pike's Peak and supply the provisions. Now you want to give us three days rations free to walk 600 miles for more provisions. I'm not going back and I'm going to have enough out of that wagon to take us to our stopping place, or die in the attempt. I paid for it and I'm going to have it. "Nothing further was said, but the men divided up the provisions among themselves giving us only bread, they keeping all the meat and the boys with me wanted to shoot them, but I would not let them.

We finally got to Pike's Peak where we remained one day and then went to Central City. I had just $20. My companion had spent all of his money for whiskey. On the trip out we saw about 500 Comanche Indians in several bunches, but they did not attempt to molest us. We also saw several herd of buffalo and would occasionally kill one of them for meat. "We went to Gregorytown, where the first Gregory Load (goldmine) had been struck and secured work at $1 per day digging the foundation for the first log cabin erected there." "We washed gold for a while until we secured money to take us to Denver. That city was then known as St. Charles, and there were only eight houses on Blake Street, all of them log cabins.

"In 1860 I started freighting between Omaha and Denver, leaving Denver on November 5th and reached Omaha on December 19, 1860, with a load of 110 raw hides. There was no market for them then and most of them were given to me. The Indians were peaceable then and we experienced no trouble.

"On one trip we stopped at a ranch and wanted hay for our oxen and it was refused, and the ranchers, fearing we would take the hay anyhow, after we had struck camp nearby, put strychnine in salt and poisoned one yoke of my oxen and I had to pay another man $1 per day for another yoke to haul us on to Omaha. The ranchers were George Forbes of Omaha and a fellow named John Lewis. When we reached Ft. Kearney we had to cross the river in slush ice and there was a deep snow all the way from there to Omaha. The U.P. was being graded then, but we could not follow the roadbed because the culverts had not been put in, so we kept to the crooked Military Road. Finally we took the ice on the Platte River and made fairly good time. There were few houses then between Fort Kearney and Omaha.

On one trip I was just out of Denver and struck camp. My oxen scattered away from camp and I went out to look for them when I saw a band of Indians on the ridge above. They started out for me. I then struck out southwest on my saddle pony, Dolly, and the Indians raced after me for five miles, when I stopped to give my pony breath. This gave the Indians new hopes and they started after me again. I was not in range of their old Springfield rifles, so they did not shoot at me. The pursued me at breakneck speed until I crossed the river and came in sight of the camp. This was in 1865. I always kept that pony. I brought her to Avoca with me and turned her out on pasture on a pension. She lived to be 44 years old.

I freighted 18 trips from Denver to Omaha and had many harrowing experiences after the Indians became hostile. I was just behind a caravan of emigrants who were met near Kearney and 30 of the party were killed by the Indians, who robbed them of everything they had. My ox teams pulled up to the spot shortly after the massacre and myself and men buried the dead. The Indians had gone, however, when we arrived and we were not molested. The scene of the massacre was at Plum Creek, just east of Kearney.

The first attack the Indians made on my wagon train was in 1863, when we were driving about 100 head of cattle to Denver and it was near the Bijou River that the Indians attacked us, but the wagon boss and the other men drove them off and then sent to Fort Kearney for help. A Lieutenant and 11 men were sent out after the Indians and on overtaking them the lieutenant ordered some of his men to dismount and disarm the Indians. Catching the soldiers at this disadvantage, the Indians fired, killing one of them and wounding two others. Then the lieutenant and the surviving soldiers returned to the fort.

In the latter part of 1863, the Indians became bad and no emigrant trains could pass Fort Kearney unless they had 30 men with them, and were held up until that number of men had joined the party, for fear they would be massacred by the Indians because they always made their raids on immigrant trains and early in the morning. They scarcely ever bothered the ranchers. For three days we drove two teams abreast and the Indians would come across the hills armed with old Springfield rifles they had gotten from the government, together with poisoned arrows. They would attempt to circle about us, but we had several sharp shooters with us that kept them from molesting us.

On another trip I had some farm tools for a rancher and when I stopped to deliver them I found that the Indians had killed him, burned his houses, killed one of his children and made his wife a prisoner. The wife, with a baby in her arms, was taken before the Indian Chief who held her captive for 18 months. During the first night in the Indian camp the baby began to cry and the Indians killed it to make it stop the noise. I saw this woman after her escape from the Indians. She returned to her folks in Indiana. These same Indians attacked the next ranch, but the owner had his houses protected by seven feet side walls of sod. The women folks would load the rifles while the ranch owner and another man with him kept shooting at the Indians and drove them off, thus saving themselves the same fate of their neighbors.

One day a band of Indians stopped me. They seemed friendly enough and asked if we had any "whick" as they were very fond of whiskey but it was against the mandates of the government to give it to them. We told them we had none. Then the Indians wanted to shake hands with me. I held my six-shooter in my right hand and my whip in the other. I told the Indians I would shake hands with them if they would unbuckle their arrows from around their shoulders and they refused to do this. I then began whacking them around the legs with my blacksnake whip, and they fled. The Indians were powerfully afraid of a gun and would not fight if there was one in sight. They did not know exactly what they were then, but did know that they hurt and frequently killed, so they were foxy enough to behave when they came across emigrants that displayed fire arms.

Shortly before I quit freighting I left Denver with a train of ox teams and learned that I could not pass Fort Kearney because of the danger from the Indians. I stopped my ox teams about eight miles west of the fortress, rode my pony to within three miles and then circled the fort looking for holes, as I wanted to get through. I made a mark in the snow with a stick I carried with me, and that night drove around the fort and escaped being held up. I drove all night without seeing any Indians and in the early morning came upon another train encamped east of Kearney and we came on into Omaha together without being molested.

But the Indians became so bad that I quit freighting in 1868, came to Pottawattamie County and bought 100 head of cattle intending to drive them back to Colorado after the Indians quieted down. They kept up their warfare so long that I decided to get married, so I built me a one room shanty on a farm owned by another man in Harrison County. It was made of rough boards, and it was to this shanty that I took my bride.

In 1869, Mr. Jackson purchased 40 acres of land near Avoca and has resided in this vicinity since that time. Although nearly 90 years of age, Mr. Jackson has a clear vision of what happened in the early days and recites them to his friends frequently.

[Avoca Journal Hearld, Avoca, Iowa, by Harry Wilkinson, Published October 23, 1924]
Submitted by Ann