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The 1884 Horse Creek
The Horse Creed Murders in Nance County has been a source of mystery for decades But Linda Wilke Heil is determined to solve the controversy.
Included in this article is part of a chapter from “Murder in the Land of Broken Promises,” a book being written by Linda Wilke Heil, history instructor at Central Community College in Grand Island.
The book follows Henry Perceval, George Furnivall, Henry Baird and Hugh Mair from their sheltered lives in England to Minnesota and finally to Nebraska where they met their awful fate. Part “historical imagining” and part fact, the book is Linda’s attempt to make the story available in all its tragic detail.
Linda has been working with Ruthie Imus, Patricia Farrar, and Ron Dubas, all of Fullerton, and Jean Lukesh of Palmer as well as others to gather all that can be known about the tragic 1884 events in western Nance County. She has accumulated a great deal of information but is still missing the original coroner’s report. In addition to the coroner’s report, Linda would also like to locate the Hotel register book that was once recycled and used to file scripts at the Fullerton Drugstore. If you know anything about these items and/or would like to talk with Linda about her book, please contact her at the College at lwilke@cccneb.edu or 308-398-7489.
Following is the snippet from a chapter in the book: Perils of the Sea 2 p.m., Thursday 19 May, 1881 Near Newfoundland Banks Aboard City of Berlin It was the jolt that sealed the deal. As Henry Perceval and George Furnivall stood on the main deck aboard the City of Berlin, little did they know that they would soon meet someone to share their ill-fated journey. The two young men had been enjoying a cool afternoon breeze that swept up the tang of the ocean and swirled salty sea air about the deck. They were marveling over the bright sunny day and the faint glimpse of the Newfoundland Banks.
“Land of any stripe is a welcome sight,” Furnivall sighed. Their last sight of land was at Queensland, Ireland the day after they had set sail from Liverpool. As a Royal Mail Carrier, the Inman Line’s City of Berlin regularly stopped at that Irish port to pick up passengers and mail. It had been a profitable innovation on Inman’s part, along with the electric lighting in the dining salon and investment in specially designed berths that claimed to minimize sea sickness. The fact that the City of Berlin could make the crossing in less time than any other steamer also made her the steamship of choice for young men of means like Perceval and Furnivall.
Leaning his elbows on the railing, Perceval said, “I saw something like these banks on my way to England as a boy. My brother and I were only 10 or so when we were packed onto a ship in New Zealand. It was a long trip for us, but we were looking forward to joining my father in England.”
“Did the crew put you to work swabbing decks?” Furnivall asked with a smile, his gold tooth gleaming in the bright sunlight.
“No, but once we got our sea legs, we explored that ship from top to bottom. Until, that is, the first mate discovered us playing in the boiler room. He was not pleased.”
As they gazed back out to sea, the young men did not know that an Austrian ship, much smaller than the City of Berlin, was at that very moment headed recklessly toward the liner’s opposite side. Just as Furnivall and Perceval leaned upon the rail to study the distant view of land, they were thrown onto the rail by a tremendous jolt. At the same time, a prone body slammed into the back of their legs, knocking them both over backwards onto a startled young Scotsman.
Simultaneously, Perceval mumbled “so sorry, mate;” Furnivall growled “what the bloody hell;” and the young Scotsman sputtered “didnae mean to laddies.”
As the three young gentlemen sprawled on the deck, arms and legs struggling for purchase in an attempt to untangle themselves, the young Scot began to laugh, a hearty infectious laugh that soon had all three of them howling. When they could finally catch their breath and stand, Furnivall, reaching his hand out to their new acquaintance said, “well played, mate -- you managed to take us both down without getting so much as a punch in return!”
The laugh lingered in Furnivall’s eyes and on his lips, making the implied threat empty of any malice. “Blasted sorry gents” replied the young man, giving them both a hearty handshake. “My name is Harry Baird.”