Across The Fence: Scalped at Plum Creek

At 9 o'clock on the evening of Aug. 6, 1867 the telegraph went dead at the Union Pacific's Plum Creek Station near present day Lexington, Nebraska. Telegrapher William Thompson, a recent immigrant from Hampshire, England cussed his bad luck as he made his way to the section house. A dead line meant there was a downed line and William would have to roust out the section crew and join them in a search for the location of the problem. He suspected that the trouble was directly related to the continuing skirmishes between the railroad, the telegraph, the Army and the Cheyenne. Most likely a hunting party or a small group of vengeful young warriors had cut the line... again.

When William pushed open the barracks door he found a couple of the men on the section crew had already turned in and others sat around the table carefully guarding their hopeful, winning poker hands. No doubt William's announcement of a line down brought a bevy of complaints as the players tossed their cards across the table and the others crawled out of their bunks. The disgruntled men gathered up the tools they would need, some strapped on their pistols or pulled rifles from the rack and then walked to the handcar shed. When all was ready, William Thompson, Sam Wallace, Jim Delahunty, John Kearn, Tim Murphy, Pat Handerhand and Pat Griswold pushed the handcar to the main line, crowded onto the car and began the trip down-track to find the break.

Two of the men held lanterns aloft, following the dip and rise of the wire from pole to pole while another two men pumped the car into the darkness ahead. Barely three miles from the station, the handcar was launched into the air and the seven men went sprawling down the railbed embankment. Other than a few scratches and bumps, no one was injured and the men crawled up the slope to the rails. William noticed that one of the rails had been pried loose from the ties and was resting on a large rock. The realization of the extent of the sabotage had barely registered when the Cheyenne attacked.

From the underbrush along the tracks, nearly forty Cheyenne warriors urged their horses up the steep railbed in pursuit of William and his crew. The men scattered for cover and having lost their weapons when the handcar was thrown from the track their only defense was to run or hide.

Pat Handerhand was unable to outrun the mounted warriors who pursued him and the others heard his terrified screams as he was beaten to death with Cheyenne war clubs. Pat Griswold was seen dodging through the brush with three Cheyenne warriors in close pursuit. Those who saw his desperate race assumed that he would also perish. Delahunty and Kearn along with Murphy and Wallace, dove into heavy brush where the Cheyenne ponies could not follow and crawled to safety.

William, pursued by a single, mounted warrior scrambled for cover amongst the brush when a bullet slammed through his arm and spun him around. Regaining his bearings William stumbled onward as the horseback warrior overtook him. William heard the steady beat of hooves approaching behind him and the sharp 'yip-yip' of the Cheyenne brave as the distance between him and his pursuer narrowed. William was bumped to the side as the pony nudged past and was thrown to the ground when the Cheyenne thrust the butt of his rifle into the back of William's head.

William lay stunned and barely conscious as the Cheyenne warrior reined his horse to a stop and leaped to the ground. The warrior grabbed a handful of William's hair, drew his knife from the sheath and stabbed William in the neck. He then began to slice a line around the top of William's head. William Thompson later told what being scalped was like; "...he made a twirl around his fingers with my hair, he commenced sawing and hacking away at my scalp. Though the pain was awful and I was dizzy and sick, I knew enough to keep quiet. After what seemed to be a half hour he gave the last finishing cut to my scalp on my left temple, and as it still hung a little he gave it a jerk. I could have screamed my life out. I can't describe it to you. I just felt as if the whole head was taken right off."

The triumphant Cheyenne raised his trophy as his victory cry pierced the night, then ran to his pony, sprang to its back and galloped away to join his comrades. In his haste, the warrior dropped the bloody scalp and despite the flow of blood into his eyes, William saw it fall to the ground. The Cheyenne, realizing he had dropped his trophy, wheeled his pony around and jumped to the ground to retrieve it.

At that moment a bright beam of light pierced the darkness and illuminated the path that lay ahead of a freight train that sped toward the damaged track. Forgetting William's scalp, the Cheyenne mounted his pony just as the U.P. engine hit the raised rail and was thrown to the side. The coal tender and the next three freight cars were catapulted over the engine and came to rest at the bottom of the embankment.

The fireman, George Henshaw, was trapped in the cab of the engine and scalded to death in the escaping steam. Brooks Bowers, the engineer, was trapped in the wreckage, dangling upside down from his mangled leg. The conductor, Mr. Kinney, was in the last car and uninjured, escaped from the jumble of cars and ran back toward the Plum Creek station.

The Cheyenne war party gathered round the tangle of freight cars and set to plundering the goods that had spilled from the wreckage. William's only thought was to retrieve his scalp. Crawling painfully through the grass, he groped in the darkness around the spot where he had seen it dropped. At long last his fingers touched the slick, bloody tangle of hair. With his last bit of endurance, William tucked the scalp inside his shirt and then lost consciousness.

Mr. Kinney had flagged down another approaching freight train and had backed it up to the Plum Creek station. At the station Wallace, Murphy, Delahunty and Kearn were already there. Although presumed to be dead, Pat Griswold, managed to crawl into the station an hour later, a bullet had shattered his hip.

As the sun began to rise on August 7, a party of armed men had rigged a makeshift fortress on a flatcar coupled to the front of the engine that Mr. Kinney had flagged down. At first light the assemblage headed down-track in hopes of recovering William's body, it being assumed that he was in fact dead. When the men got within a mile of the wreckage they saw a man staggering along the side of the tracks, it was William Thompson.

The raw wound that covered most of the top of his head had turned black and the dried blood on his face was streaked with sweat and a steady flow of tears. In excruciating pain, William frantically waved his salvaged scalp as he rambled on and on in delirious mumblings.

The men took William aboard the flatcar and continued down track to the wreck. Their approach, and a deadly long-range shot made by one of the men, caused the remaining Cheyenne to flee. The freight cars had been plundered and the fleeing Cheyenne must have presented an amusing sight as their horses trailed long, flowing banners of calico and other brightly colored cloth. Engineer Bowers was found in the wreckage. (Some accounts say that he was dead others state he was still alive, though badly burned.) Most of the freight cars had been set fire and little remained to be salvaged.

A record breaking run was made from Plum Creek station to Omaha with William Thompson and Pat Griswold on board for medical treatment. William had placed his scalp in a bucket of saltwater, hoping that it could be reattached.

Arriving at Omaha, a huge crowd had gathered to meet the train and among them was a reporter from the Missouri Democrat who was eager to interview the man who had been scalped alive and still lived. The reporter's name was Henry M. Stanley who would later gain international recognition while searching for a lost doctor in the wilds of Africa when he inquired, "Doctor Livingstone, I presume?"

Stanley wrote for his paper; "People flocked from all parts to view the gory baldness which came upon Thompson so suddenly. The man was evidently suffering tortures and appeared weak from loss of blood."

Dr. R. C. Moore convinced William that the scalp could not be reattached, but did, in fact save William's life. Soon after his recovery, William quit his Union Pacific job and returned to his roots in Hampshire, England. Before his departure William gave his salt-cured scalp to Dr. Moore. The last recorded location of the 'famous' scalp is said to be on display at the Union Pacific Museum in Omaha, Nebraska.

M. Timothy Nolting is an award winning Nebraska columnist. To contact Tim, email; [email protected]